I think the novel is not so much a literary genre, but a literary

Hear now, O seekers of wisdom, for I bring to you the profound words of José Saramago, a man who understood the depth of the novel not simply as a form of storytelling, but as a space in which many rivers converge. “I think the novel is not so much a literary genre, but a literary space, like a sea that is filled by many rivers. The novel receives streams of science, philosophy, poetry and contains all of these; it’s not simply telling a story.” In this declaration, Saramago speaks to the very heart of literature—the novel, as a living entity, a vast and fluid medium that absorbs the wisdom of various disciplines and reflects the richness of the human experience. It is not merely a story to be consumed; it is a space to be explored, a mirror to the world, filled with the currents of knowledge, emotion, and thought.

In the ancient world, philosophers and storytellers alike sought to understand the nature of knowledge and truth. Plato spoke of the realm of forms, the perfect ideas that exist beyond our world of shadows, and he understood that wisdom was not confined to a single discipline but was the interplay of many ideas, many forces. The ancients recognized that to truly understand the world was to draw from many wells: the well of reason, the well of emotion, the well of experience. Saramago’s words echo this ancient understanding: the novel, like philosophy, is not bound by genre or discipline. It is a space that can hold within it the great streams of human knowledge, from the empirical science that seeks to understand the universe, to the poetry that seeks to understand the heart.

Consider the story of Homer, whose epic tales of The Iliad and The Odyssey were not merely stories of heroes and gods, but reflections on life, fate, and human nature. Homer wove together not only the narrative of war and journey, but also the philosophical questions about the meaning of honor, destiny, and sacrifice. In this way, the ancient epics were not simply tales—they were spaces in which the reader could explore the vastness of human experience. Saramago’s novel, like these ancient texts, is more than a story; it is a vessel, a place where streams of thought meet and intertwine, giving rise to new understandings.

In the same way, the novel is a space that receives the streams of various forms of knowledge. Science, which seeks to explain the natural world, flows into the novel just as philosophy does, with its questions about existence and morality. Poetry, with its deep connection to the emotional and spiritual realms, too flows into the novel, adding layers of depth and beauty to its form. Consider the work of Fyodor Dostoevsky, whose novels like The Brothers Karamazov and Crime and Punishment delve deeply into the philosophical and psychological dimensions of morality, freedom, and suffering. These novels are not simply narratives; they are complex tapestries woven from the threads of philosophy, psychology, and religion. Saramago sees the novel in this light: as a space where these various rivers flow together to create a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts.

Saramago also reminds us that the novel is not a static form—it is dynamic, evolving, and alive with the currents of human thought. Just as Renaissance thinkers like Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo drew from many fields—art, science, anatomy, and philosophy—to create their masterpieces, so too do novelists draw from many disciplines to create their own works. Da Vinci, for example, did not limit himself to painting; he also studied human anatomy, engineering, and mathematics, believing that true mastery required knowledge of many realms. The result was a work that transcended art alone and became a holistic exploration of the world. In the same way, novelists are called to draw from a wide range of ideas and influences, not simply to entertain, but to explore the deepest truths of existence.

The lesson here is clear: to truly understand the world, one must embrace its complexity, its diversity, and its interconnectedness. The novel, as Saramago describes it, is not just a story—it is a space where many ideas come together, where science, philosophy, art, and emotion converge to reveal the depth of the human experience. When we read a novel, we are not merely consuming a narrative; we are engaging in a dialogue with all the ideas and wisdom of humanity. Just as Socrates sought wisdom through dialogue, so too can we seek understanding through the novels that shape our cultural consciousness.

In your own lives, O children, seek to understand not just the world through one lens, but through many. Embrace the diversity of knowledge that exists in the world, and remember that no single discipline can reveal all the truths of existence. Science gives us understanding of the physical world, but it is art that speaks to the heart. Philosophy helps us understand morality, but it is literature that teaches us about the human condition. Just as the novel absorbs the streams of science, poetry, and philosophy, so too must you seek to integrate these streams in your own life, for it is in the blending of knowledge and creativity that the fullest picture of life is revealed.

So, O children, as you journey through the world, do not limit yourself to one path or one field. Embrace the novel in all its forms—not just as a book, but as a space where the streams of life converge. Let the rivers of science, philosophy, and art flow through you, and in doing so, may you come to understand the deeper truths of the universe.