Reunion with Govinda and final teaching

The reunion between Siddhartha and Govinda, occurring near the end of both men's long lives, is the novel's final, culminating dialogue. In it, Siddhartha articulates his mature, non-doctrinal wisdom—centered on love, the oneness of all existence, and the inadequacy of words—and transmits it not through teaching but through a silent, visionary kiss that reveals the smile of the perfected ones, a moment that resolves Govinda's lifelong search and confirms Siddhartha's own attainment of peace.

Context and Arrival

Govinda, now an old monk in the yellow robe of Gotama's order, had spent the rest period between pilgrimages in the pleasure-grove that Kamala had given to the Buddha's followers. He heard talk of an old ferryman, one day's journey away by the river, who was regarded as a wise man by many. Though Govinda had lived his entire life by the rules and was venerated by younger monks for his age and modesty, the restlessness and searching had never perished from his heart. He chose the path to the ferry, eager to see the ferryman. When he came to the river and asked the old man to ferry him over, and when they got off the boat on the other side, he said to the old man: "You're very good to us monks and pilgrims, you have already ferried many of us across the river. Aren't you too, ferryman, a searcher for the right path?" Siddhartha, smiling from his old eyes, replied by questioning whether Govinda, despite his age and robe, could still call himself a searcher. Govinda confessed that he had never stopped searching, and that this seemed to be his destiny. He then asked Siddhartha if he would tell him something.

The Dialogue on Searching and Finding

Siddhartha's first response was a gentle critique of Govinda's very method of searching. He said that when someone is searching, it might easily happen that the only thing his eyes still see is what he searches for, that he is unable to find anything or let anything enter his mind because he is obsessed by the goal. "Searching means: having a goal. But finding means: being free, being open, having no goal." He suggested that Govinda, striving for his goal, might miss many things directly in front of his eyes. Govinda did not quite understand, and Siddhartha then revealed his identity by reminding him of the time, many years ago, when Govinda had found a sleeping man by the river and had sat down to guard his sleep—but had not recognized the sleeping man. Astonished, Govinda looked into the ferryman's eyes and asked, "Are you Siddhartha?" He confessed he would not have recognized him this time either. Siddhartha laughed and welcomed him to spend the night in his hut. Govinda stayed and slept on the bed that had once been Vasudeva's, and asked many questions about Siddhartha's life.

The Teaching on Wisdom and Love

The next morning, before continuing his journey, Govinda asked Siddhartha if he had a teaching, a faith, or a knowledge that helped him to live and do right. Siddhartha replied that he had distrusted teachers and teachings since his youth, but that he had had many teachers since then: a beautiful courtesan, a rich merchant, gamblers with dice, a follower of Buddha, and most of all the river and his predecessor Vasudeva, whom he called a perfect man, a saint. Govinda pressed him for some of his own thoughts and insights. Siddhartha then offered his central realization: "wisdom cannot be passed on. Wisdom which a wise man tries to pass on to someone always sounds like foolishness." Knowledge can be conveyed, but not wisdom; it can be found, lived, and carried, but not expressed in words and taught. He then articulated his best thought: "The opposite of every truth is just as true!" Any truth expressed in words is one-sided, lacking completeness and oneness. The world itself is never one-sided; time is not real, and therefore the gap between the world and eternity, between suffering and blissfulness, between evil and good, is a deception. The sinner is not on a path to becoming a Buddha; within the sinner, now and today, the future Buddha is already present. The world is perfect in every moment; all sin already carries divine forgiveness within itself. Siddhartha concluded that he needed sin, lust, the desire for possessions, vanity, and the most shameful despair in order to learn how to give up all resistance, to learn how to love the world, to stop comparing it to some imagined perfection, and to leave it as it is and enjoy being a part of it. He then picked up a stone and explained that he loves it not because it could become something else, but because it is already and always everything—a stone, an animal, a god, a Buddha—and that he loves it for its very stoneness. He said he cannot love words, only things, and that teachings are no good for him because they have nothing but words. Govinda objected that Nirvana is not just a word but a thought, and that Gotama forbade tying one's heart in love to earthly things. Siddhartha replied that his words about love are in a seeming contradiction with Gotama's, but that he distrusts words so much because he knows the contradiction is a deception. He said he prefers the thing over the word, and places more importance on Gotama's acts and life than on his speeches.

The Vision and the Kiss

After a long silence, Govinda bowed for a farewell and thanked Siddhartha, though he thought to himself that Siddhartha's teachings sounded foolish compared to the exalted one's pure teachings. Yet he also felt that Siddhartha's hands, feet, eyes, forehead, breath, smile, greeting, and walk shone with a purity, calmness, cheerfulness, mildness, and holiness he had seen in no other person since the death of Gotama. Drawn by love, he bowed deeply and confessed that he had not found peace, and asked for one more word, something he could grasp and understand. Siddhartha said nothing and looked at him with a quiet smile. Then he whispered: "Bend down to me! Like this, even closer! Very close! Kiss my forehead, Govinda!" Govinda obeyed, and as he touched Siddhartha's forehead with his lips, a miraculous vision occurred. He no longer saw Siddhartha's face; instead he saw a flowing river of faces—hundreds, thousands—all coming and disappearing yet all seemingly present simultaneously, all constantly changing and renewing themselves, yet all still Siddhartha. He saw the face of a dying fish, a newborn child, a murderer plunging a knife into another person, the same criminal kneeling as his head was chopped off, naked bodies in frenzied love, corpses, animal heads, gods—Krishna, Agni—all in a thousand relationships, each one helping, loving, hating, destroying, and giving rebirth to another. None of them died; each only transformed, was always reborn, receiving ever a new face without any time passing between them. And all these figures and faces rested, flowed, generated themselves, floated along, and merged with each other, covered by something thin, like a transparent skin or mask of water. This mask was smiling, and it was Siddhartha's smiling face, which Govinda was touching with his lips. This smile of oneness above the flowing forms, this smile of simultaneousness above the thousand births and deaths, was precisely the same smile Govinda had seen a hundred times on the face of Gotama, the Buddha. Govinda knew then that the perfected ones smile like this.

Govinda's Transformation

Govinda stood for a little while bent over Siddhartha's quiet face, not knowing whether time existed, whether the vision had lasted a second or a hundred years, feeling as if he had been wounded by a divine arrow whose injury tasted sweet. The face was unchanged, smiling silently, precisely as the exalted one used to smile. Deeply, Govinda bowed; tears he knew nothing of ran down his old face. Like a fire, the feeling of the most intimate love and the humblest veneration burnt in his heart. He bowed, touching the ground, before him who was sitting motionlessly, whose smile reminded him of everything he had ever loved in his life, everything that had ever been valuable and holy to him.