Back in high school, I had to complete a culture project where we could earn points by exploring various cultural experiences (like watching foreign films, trying new foods, reading cultural books, and so on). One of the books I chose for the project was Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse. I remembered thinking it was a pretty cool, quick read at the time, so I decided to revisit it now, years later, as an adult.

Siddhartha tells the story of a young man (the titular character) in ancient India, the son of a Brahmin, who sets out in search of enlightenment. Over the course of the novel, he experiments with different paths – asceticism, intellectualism, sensual pleasure, even material wealth – but each ultimately leaves him unfulfilled. His journey eventually brings him to a humble ferryman living by the river, whose quiet contentment suggests a deeper, more natural kind of wisdom.

What struck me reading it now is how much Siddhartha’s journey mirrors the spiritual hunger that so many people experience. As a Catholic, I’ve been reading a lot about the mystic saints lately – figures who longed for more than just a “regular” earthly life, they wanted a stronger prayer life and stronger faith. Like Siddhartha, they searched for something deeper, something that transcended the noise of the world around them, a deeper connection to their faith in Christ. They weren’t trying to escape life so much as understand it more fully, and in that sense, Siddhartha’s story feels universal.

I think it’s hard for most people to find a lasting sense of contentment. We get so caught up in ambition, distraction, fear, or ego that we forget, at the end of the day, we’re all just people trying to find peace. The ferryman, to me, represents that rare example of someone who’s managed to quiet all that noise. His life isn’t flashy or extraordinary, but it’s rooted and full of meaning.

Stylistically, Hesse’s writing is poetic and beautiful. He has a way of crafting sentences that linger, phrases that feel both timeless and intimate. Despite its philosophical depth, Siddhartha is only about 130 pages long, making it a quick read. You could probably knock it out in a single day, maybe on a long train ride. But don’t let the brevity fool you, there’s a lot packed into those pages.

For anyone curious about philosophical fiction, I think this book is a great entry point. It’s approachable, thoughtful, and open-ended enough to invite reflection without feeling preachy. Whether you’re religious, spiritual, or simply someone asking big questions, there’s something here worth sitting with. Reading Siddhartha again reminded me that our search for meaning doesn’t have to be loud or dramatic. Sometimes the most profound truths come quietly, like a ferryman waiting by the river, simply listening to the water.