名著阅读

He did sense very well that this love, this blind love for his son, was a passion, something very human, that it was Sansara, a murky source, dark waters. Nevertheless, he felt at the same time, it was not worthless, it was necessary, came from the essence of his own being. This pleasure also had to be atoned for, this pain also had to be endured, these foolish acts also had to be committed.
Through all this, the son let him commit his foolish acts, let him court for his affection, let him humiliate himself every day by giving in to his moods. This father had nothing which would have delighted him and nothing which he would have feared. He was a good man, this father, a good, kind, soft man, perhaps a very devout man, perhaps a saint, all these there no attributes which could win the boy over. He was bored by this father, who kept him prisoner here in this miserable hut of his, he was bored by him, and for him to answer every naughtiness with a smile, every insult with friendliness, every viciousness with kindness, this very thing was the hated trick of this old sneak. Much more the boy would have liked it if he had been threatened by him, if he had been abused by him.
A day came, when what young Siddhartha had on his mind came bursting forth, and he openly turned against his father. The latter had given him a task, he had told him to gather brushwood. But the boy did not leave the hut, in stubborn disobedience and rage he stayed where he was, thumped on the ground with his feet, clenched his fists, and screamed in a powerful outburst his hatred and contempt into his father's face.
"Get the brushwood for yourself!" he shouted foaming at the mouth, "I'm not your servant. I do know, that you won't hit me, you don't dare; I do know, that you constantly want to punish me and put me down with your religious devotion and your indulgence. You want me to become like you, just as devout, just as soft, just as wise! But I, listen up, just to make you suffer, I rather want to become a highway-robber and murderer, and go to hell, than to become like you! I hate you, you're not my father, and if you've ten times been my mother's fornicator!"
Rage and grief boiled over in him, foamed at the father in a hundred savage and evil words. Then the boy ran away and only returned late at night.
But the next morning, he had disappeared. What had also disappeared was a small basket, woven out of bast of two colours, in which the ferrymen kept those copper and silver coins which they received as a fare. The boat had also disappeared, Siddhartha saw it lying by the opposite bank. The boy had ran away.
"I must follow him," said Siddhartha, who had been shivering with grief since those ranting speeches, the boy had made yesterday. "A child can't go through the forest all alone. He'll perish. We must build a raft, Vasudeva, to get over the water."
"We will build a raft," said Vasudeva, "to get our boat back, which the boy has taken away. But him, you shall let run along, my friend, he is no child any more, he knows how to get around. He's looking for the path to the city, and he is right, don't forget that. He's doing what you've failed to do yourself. He's taking care of himself, he's taking his course. Alas, Siddhartha, I see you suffering, but you're suffering a pain at which one would like to laugh, at which you'll soon laugh for yourself."
Siddhartha did not answer. He already held the axe in his hands and began to make a raft of bamboo, and Vasudeva helped him to tied the canes together with ropes of grass. Then they crossed over, drifted far off their course, pulled the raft upriver on the opposite bank.
"Why did you take the axe along?" asked Siddhartha.
Vasudeva said: "It might have been possible that the oar of our boat got lost."
他清楚地感到，这种爱，这种对儿子的盲目的爱，是一种激情，是符合人性的，它就是轮回，一股混浊的泉，一股捉摸不透的水。但同时他又觉得，它并非毫无价值，而是必不可少的，它来源于自己的天性。这种乐趣也应满足，这种痛苦也得品尝，这种蠢事也该干干。
在这段时间里，儿子尽让他干蠢事，让他每天都忍气吞声地忍受儿子的坏脾气。这个父亲既没有让儿子喜欢的东西，也没有让儿子惧怕的东西。这个父亲是个好人，是个善良、温和的好人，或许是个很虔诚的人，还说不定是个圣人——然后这些品德并不能赢得孩子的心。儿子觉得父亲把他困在这间可怜的茅屋里真烦人，他讨厌父亲，至于父亲对顽皮报以微笑，对辱骂报以友善，对恶行报以宽容，则正是这个老伪君子的最可恨的阴谋诡计。孩子倒宁可受到他的恐吓，受到他虐待。
一天，小席特哈尔塔的这种思想终于爆发，公开反对起父亲来。父亲分派他干一件活儿，叫他去拾些干柴枝，可是孩子却不肯出屋，执拗、恼怒地站在那儿，用脚跺地，攥紧拳头，朝父亲劈头盖脸地吼叫仇恨和轻蔑的话。
“你自己去拾干柴枝吧！”他暴跳如雷，“我才不是你的奴仆！我知道你不会打我，根本就不敢！我知道你想用你的虔诚和宽容来不断地惩罚我，想让我自卑。你想让我成为像你一样的人，也那重头戏虔诚，那么温和，那么明智！可是我呢，你听着，我要让你全都，我宁可做抢劫犯和杀人凶手，下地狱，也不做像你这样的人！我恨你，你不是我父亲，哪怕你当过十次我母亲的情人！”
他满腔愤怒与怨恨，向父亲咒骂了上百句粗野而恶毒的话。然后，孩子就跑掉了，直到夜里很晚才回来。
第二天早上，孩子又不见了。另外，一个用两种颜色的树皮编成的小篮子也不见了，篮子里藏着船夫摆渡得到的铜钱与银币。小船也不见踪影，后来席特哈尔塔才发现它已泊在对岸。孩子逃走了。
“我得去追他。”席特哈尔塔说，尽管他昨天听了孩子那些骂人话后难过得直发拌。“一个小孩子可没法独自穿过大森林。他会丧命的。咱们得扎个筏子，瓦苏代瓦，渡过河去。”
“那就扎一个筏子吧，”瓦苏代瓦说，“也好把孩子弄走的渡船划回来。不过，你还是放孩子走吧，朋友，他不再是小孩子了，他会救护自己的。他要找到回城的路，他做的对，别忘了这点。他做的恰恰是你误了做的事。他想要自己照顾自己，走自己的路。啊，席特哈尔塔，我看出你很难受，但你所受的苦却是别人会笑话的，也是你自己不久就会笑话的。”
席特哈尔塔没答话。他已经拿起了斧子，动手造一个竹筏，瓦苏代瓦则帮他用草绳捆扎竹筏。然后，他们划向对岸，可是筏子被河水冲下去很远，他们奋力逆流而进才使筏子到了对岸。
“你干吗随身带着斧子？”席特哈尔塔问。
瓦苏代瓦说：“咱们船上的桨有可能已经丢了。”
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。