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"You're seeing into my heart," Siddhartha spoke sadly. "Often, I have thought of this. But look, how shall I put him, who had no tender heart anyhow, into this world? Won't he become exuberant, won't he lose himself to pleasure and power, won't he repeat all of his father's mistakes, won't he perhaps get entirely lost in Sansara?"
Brightly, the ferryman's smile lit up; softly, he touched Siddhartha's arm and said: "Ask the river about it, my friend! Hear it laugh about it! Would you actually believe that you had committed your foolish acts in order to spare your son from committing them too? And could you in any way protect your son from Sansara? How could you? By means of teachings, prayer, admonition? My dear, have you entirely forgotten that story, that story containing so many lessons, that story about Siddhartha, a Brahman's son, which you once told me here on this very spot? Who has kept the Samana Siddhartha safe from Sansara, from sin, from greed, from foolishness? Were his father's religious devotion, his teachers warnings, his own knowledge, his own search able to keep him safe? Which father, which teacher had been able to protect him from living his life for himself, from soiling himself with life, from burdening himself with guilt, from drinking the bitter drink for himself, from finding his path for himself? Would you think, my dear, anybody might perhaps be spared from taking this path? That perhaps your little son would be spared, because you love him, because you would like to keep him from suffering and pain and disappointment? But even if you would die ten times for him, you would not be able to take the slightest part of his destiny upon yourself."
Never before, Vasudeva had spoken so many words. Kindly, Siddhartha thanked him, went troubled into the hut, could not sleep for a long time. Vasudeva had told him nothing, he had not already thought and known for himself. But this was a knowledge he could not act upon, stronger than the knowledge was his love for the boy, stronger was his tenderness, his fear to lose him. Had he ever lost his heart so much to something, had he ever loved any person thus, thus blindly, thus sufferingly, thus unsuccessfully, and yet thus happily?
Siddhartha could not heed his friend's advice, he could not give up the boy. He let the boy give him orders, he let him disregard him. He said nothing and waited; daily, he began the mute struggle of friendliness, the silent war of patience. Vasudeva also said nothing and waited, friendly, knowing, patient. They were both masters of patience.
At one time, when the boy's face reminded him very much of Kamala, Siddhartha suddenly had to think of a line which Kamala a long time ago, in the days of their youth, had once said to him. "You cannot love," she had said to him, and he had agreed with her and had compared himself with a star, while comparing the childlike people with falling leaves, and nevertheless he had also sensed an accusation in that line. Indeed, he had never been able to lose or devote himself completely to another person, to forget himself, to commit foolish acts for the love of another person; never he had been able to do this, and this was, as it had seemed to him at that time, the great distinction which set him apart from the childlike people. But now, since his son was here, now he, Siddhartha, had also become completely a childlike person, suffering for the sake of another person, loving another person, lost to a love, having become a fool on account of love. Now he too felt, late, once in his lifetime, this strongest and strangest of all passions, suffered from it, suffered miserably, and was nevertheless in bliss, was nevertheless renewed in one respect, enriched by one thing.
“你真是看透了我的心，”席特哈尔塔悲哀地说，“我经常想到这些。可是你看，我该怎么把他这个本来就心肠很硬的孩子送回那个世界去呢？他难道不会大肆挥霍，不会沉醉于享乐和权势，不会重犯他父亲的所有过失，不会完全迷失于轮回之中？”
船夫的笑容粲然生辉；他轻轻抚摩着席特哈尔塔的胳臂说：“问问河水吧，朋友！你听它正在笑哩！你真的相信你干蠢事是为了避免儿子干蠢事？你能保护儿子不受轮回之苦？你怎么做呢？通过教诲，通过祈祷，通过劝诫？亲爱的，难道你完全忘掉了那个故事，当然你在这个地方给我讲过的那个关于婆罗门之子席特哈尔塔的发人深省的故事？是谁保护沙门席特哈尔塔免于轮回，没有堕入罪孽、贪婪和愚昧之中？他父亲的虔诚，他教师的劝诫，他自己的良知，他自己的探索，这些能保护他吗？有哪个父亲、哪个教师能阻止他过自己的日子，以生活来玷污自己，自己承担过失，自己啜饮生活的苦酒，找到自己的路呢？或许只有你的宝贝儿子，就因为你爱他，因为你想让避开烦恼、痛苦和失望？但是，即使你为他死十次，恐怕也不可能丝毫改变他的命运！”
瓦苏代瓦还从来没说过这么多的话。席特哈尔塔向他诚恳地道谢，然后就忧心忡忡地走进了茅屋，但他久久仍无法入睡。瓦苏代瓦说的这些话，他自己其实也想过，早就懂得。但那只是一种他无法做到的认识，而他对孩子的爱，他的柔情，他害怕失去孩子的恐惧，却要比这种认识更强有力。以前，他可曾对什么如此痴迷过？他可曾如此热爱过某个人，如此盲目，如此痛苦，如此无奈而又如此幸福？
席特哈尔塔不能听从朋友的忠告，他不能放弃儿子。他任凭儿子对他发号施令，任凭儿子瞧不起他。他沉默和等待，每天都进行默默的好心的斗争，进行无声的耐心的斗争。瓦苏代瓦也沉默和等待，友好、体谅和宽容地等待。在耐心方面他们俩都是大师。
有一次，孩子的脸使他想起了卡玛拉。席特哈尔塔忽然想起了一句话，那是很久之前，在青春岁月里卡玛拉对他讲过的一句话。“你不会爱。”她对他说。他同意她说的话，把自己比作一颗星，把那些孩子般的俗人比作飘落的树叶，但他毕竟还是从那句话里听出了一种责备。实际上，他从来都没能完全迷恋和委身于另一个人，忘掉自己，为了爱另一个人而去做蠢事；他从来都不会这样，正如他当时感觉到的那样，这点正是把他与那些孩子般的俗人区分开的重大差别。可是如今，自从他的孩子来了，就连他席特哈尔塔也完全变成了俗人，为了一个人而受苦，热爱一个人，痴迷于一种爱，由于一种爱而成为傻瓜。现在，虽然迟了些，但他毕竟在生活中感受到了这种最强烈最罕见的激情，深受其苦，苦不堪言，可是又很愉快，感到更活跃了，更充实了。
背景阅读

本书简介：
古印度贵族青年悉达多英俊聪慧，拥有人们羡慕的一切。为了追求心灵的安宁，他孤身一人展开了求道之旅。他在舍卫城聆听佛陀乔答摩宣讲教义，在繁华的大城中结识了名妓伽摩拉，并成为一名富商。心灵与肉体的享受达到顶峰，却让他对自己厌倦、鄙弃到极点。在与伽摩拉最后一次欢爱之后，他抛弃了自己所有世俗的一切，来到那河边，想结束自己的生命。在那最绝望的一刹那，他突然听到了生命之河永恒的声音……经过几乎一生的追求，悉达多终于体验到万事万物的圆融统一，所有生命的不可摧毁的本性，并最终将自我融入了瞬间的永恒之中。

作者简介：
赫尔曼·黑塞（Hermann Hesse，1877.7.2-1962.8.9）德国作家。1923年46岁入瑞士籍。1946年获诺贝尔文学奖。1962年于瑞士家中去世。爱好音乐与绘画，是一位漂泊、孤独、隐逸的诗人。黑塞的诗有很多充满了浪漫气息，从他的最初诗集《浪漫之歌》的书名，也可以看出他深受德国浪漫主义诗人的影响，以致后来被人称为“德国浪漫派最后的一个骑士”。主要作品有《彼得·卡门青》、《荒原狼》、《东方之行》、《玻璃球游戏》等。

豆瓣热门书评：席特哈尔塔与乔达摩悉达多

来自: 宠物跳蚤
不算评论，只是想谈一个简单的问题。
因为这种情况在我读杨玉功翻译的《悉达多》的时候也发生过。最初总是在“悉达多就是佛教的创始人”这个语境中，直到悉达多去拜访佛陀，也就是乔达摩的时候，我开始困惑不已。
在这个方面，不能不说译者杨玉功应该负主要责任。他的那篇颇有些自鸣得意的序我印象很深刻，一种少年得意之情充斥其中：二十多岁就把全书译完，现在再看觉得还是没有什么不妥的地方；对旧翻译书名音译（即《席特哈尔塔》）有所不满，更指出了一处错误“潜入水中”，他说应翻译为“在水面行走”。恰恰是他得意的书名《悉达多》，误导了很多人，认为这是佛教创始人的一篇西方作家所做的传记，甚至连一些我国出的西方文学史（特别是一部五卷本的德国文学史）谈到此书时也作是评。
实际上如此吗？
当然不！下面从几个方面来说明。
为了区分，《悉达多》一书的主人公悉达多，我们用旧翻译，即音译，席特哈尔塔。
从现实的层面讲，乔达摩悉达多，也就是佛教的创始人应当为其全名，而悉达多仅仅是名而已。书中写的婆罗门贵族青年席特哈尔塔仅仅和佛祖重名（作者是否有意另作讨论），就像张伟，刘伟，王伟一样，怎么能就此认为是佛教创始人呢？而且佛祖乔达摩悉达多出身为印度四大种姓的另一个：刹帝利。
从书中的内容讲，席特哈尔塔曾经拜访了已经尊为佛祖的乔达摩悉达多，作者分明把两人区别开来，怎么可以再将两者混淆？佛祖的传道首先是在鹿野苑，而席特哈尔塔也就是本书的主人公拜访并师从之后，认为乔达摩悉达多是位伟人，但其学说或者体悟并不能满足自己的心灵——这一点很重要，下面马上提到，希望大家注意。
再从思想的深度来讲，《悉达多》（《席特哈尔塔》）之所以会风靡全世界，假如它只是一本佛祖的西方传记，恐怕根本达不到那种动人心魄的效果，事实上，从作者自身思想发展来看，他虽然对印度的哲学很有兴趣，并非真的信服，反而越到后来越是靠近中国的古代哲学，比如老子。
纵观黑塞一生的创作历程，会发现作者不断地在探讨的并非是某一种宗教或者学说让书中的主人公乃至书后的黑塞本人信服，而是这些东西或启发，或阻碍主人公作为一个“人”对自身心灵在现实世界中的探寻。黑塞本人在现实生活中也是这么做的，他没有埋头在书房里冥思苦想，而是走了很多地方，在最接近大自然的地方独自居住，经历了三次婚姻，遭遇无数的误解，他不但写小说，写诗歌，而且还画画。从《盖特路德》《罗斯哈尔德》到《席特哈尔塔》到《纳尔齐斯和歌尔德蒙》，哪一个主人公不是在现实生活中不断地追寻？不断经历生活？如果将《席特哈尔塔》理解为佛祖的传记，真是把黑塞的视野极大的狭隘化了。
我们再重温一下席特哈尔塔所经历过的吧：沙门，静修，物质之富，欲望之淫，亲情之痛，自然之歌。这些是佛教所能概括的吗，难道他最后皈依的是佛教吗？不，他最后皈依的是自然，连皈依佛教静修多年的旧友侨文达也崇敬地望着他，难以理解席特哈尔塔如何达到这样的境界。
“他深深地鞠躬，一躬到地，向端坐不动的席特哈尔塔敬礼，席特哈尔塔的笑容让他忆起了自己一生中曾经爱过的一切，忆起了自己一生中认为宝贵和神圣的一切。”
我们不禁想到歌尔德蒙弥留中追问纳尔齐斯：“可你将来想怎么死呢，纳尔齐斯，你没有母亲？人没有母亲就不能爱，没有母亲也不能死啊！”
这并非无欲无求的佛心，而是不可言传的大道。
附：黑塞与道的关系需另论，此文目的在于辨明乔达摩悉达多和席特哈尔塔绝非一人，并且此书绝非佛祖传记。