The questions of existentialism have provoked and
troubled many great thinkers in the past: “Who are we? What are our places in
the universe?” However, the beauty of the problem lies in the fact that there
may never be an ultimate answer or solution to address our placement in the
universe. The Greek philosopher Heraclitus of Ephesus must have emphasized this
inconvenient truth: “ ‘It is impossible to step twice into the same river,’ as
Heraclitus says ... ‘It scatters and regathers, comes together and dissolves,
approaches and departs’ (Waterfield 41 F34). The early nineteenth century
Danish thinker Søren Kierkegaard also supports this Heraclitean point of view
when he celebrates philosophical doubts and uncertainty in Concluding Unscientific Postscript to Philosophical Fragments: “An
objective uncertainty, held fast through appropriation with the most passionate
inwardness, is the truth” (Kierkegaard 207).
Therefore, it is only appropriate to adhere to a theory that is most
appealing and familiar to one’s own upbringing and what the German philosopher
Martin Heidegger terms “equipmental
totality.” In my case, I find comfort in addressing my existentiality with
Albert Camus’s theory of absurdism. According to the French philosopher and
journalist, the “absurd” is authentically “a divorce” (Camus 30) between man
and the world: “This world in itself is not reasonable, that is all that can be
said. But what is absurd is the confrontation of this irrational and the wild
longing for clarity whose call echoes in the human heart” (21). Camus proposes
this ongoing conflict is necessarily central to a meaningful life: “That revolt
gives life its value. Spread out over the whole length of a life, it restores
its majesty to that life” (55). In order to fully understand Camus’s theory, I
will examine Franz Kafka’s The Trial
and upon demonstrating how the work falls short of reaching an absurd standard,
I will gain a better understanding into the secrets of living a true life: “But
the point is to live” (65). Thus, I will first present how Camus defines an
absurd work. After that, I will examine how The
Trial is eventually not an absurdist work, although initially it possesses
many convincing traits. When proving why The
Trial is not an absurdist work, a critique of Kierkegaard’s ideas is also useful
to understand Camus’s philosophy.
In “The Myth of
Sisyphus,” Camus’s analysis of The Trial
inevitably leads to his standard of an absurdist work: “Consequently, I
recognized here a work that is absurd in its principles … Nothing is lacking,
neither the unexpressed revolt (but it
is what is writing), nor lucid and mute despair (but it is what is creating), nor that amazing freedom of manner which
the characters of the novel exemplify until their ultimate death” (130). Based
on this standard, there are three components of an absurdist work that The Trial successfully exemplifies: an
“unexpressed revolt,” a “lucid and mute despair” and an “amazing freedom of
manner.” Accordingly, I will demonstrate next how The Trial satisfies these requirements.[1]
At first, Joseph K. is summoned to a court hearing to
defend his case—a situation in which even until the end of the novel, K. and
the readers never find out the true purpose of his arrest and conviction. The
first evidence is that right at the beginning K. is informed of his arrest by
two men who are not in any official uniforms and do not attempt to present him
with any official warrants. Initially, K., as a rational human being, attempts
to seek the truth behind his opaque condition when confronting the court and
condemning it to be nothing but insanity: “And the purpose of this extensive
organization, gentlemen? It consists of arresting innocent people and
introducing senseless proceedings against them, which for the most part, as in
my case, go nowhere. Given the senselessness
of the whole affair, how could the bureaucracy avoid becoming entirely corrupt?
It’s impossible, even the highest judge couldn’t manage it … ” (Kafka 50,
emphasis added). Conversely, when K. finds out over time that this attempt is
completely futile, he simply gives up and ignores the whole matter. When K. and
his uncle visit a lawyer to discuss the case, K. simply leaves his own
life-and-death situation behind and enjoys an intimate moment with the lawyer’s
mistress. The uncle accuses K.: “You’ve damaged your case terribly, when it was
starting out so well. You crawl off to hide with a dirty little creature who
obviously happens to be the lawyer’s mistress, and stay away for hours. You
don’t even look for an excuse, make no efforts to cover it up, no, you’re
totally open about it, run to her and stay with her” (109). At this point, the
illogicality of the matter must convince readers that The Trial may indeed be an absurdist work.
However, in “The Myth of Sisyphus,” Camus himself also introduces
the reason why The Trial eventually
may not be an absurdist work:
His work is universal (a really
absurdist work is not universal) to the extent to which it represents the
emotionally moving face of man fleeing humanity, deriving from his
contradictions reasons for believing, reasons for hoping from his fecund
despairs, and calling life his terrifying apprenticeship in death. It is
universal because its inspiration is religious.
As in all religions, man is freed of the weight of his own life. But if I know
that, if I can even admire it, I also know that I am not seeking what is
universal, but what is true. The two may not well coincide. (136, emphasis
added)
Therefore,
it is conclusive, according to Camus, that Kafka has strayed away from making The Trial an absurdist work by introducing
religious notions, and the most prominent of which is undoubtedly hope: “Yet
this world is not so closed as it seems. Into this universe devoid of progress,
Kafka is going to introduce hope in a strange form” (130). Consequently, this
idea suggests that The Trial may lean
towards Kierkegaard’s absurdism rather than Camus’s: “The absurd is that the
eternal truth has come into existence in time, that God has come into
existence, has been born, has grown up, etc. has come into existence exactly as
an individual human being, indistinguishable from any other human being,
inasmuch as all immediate recognizability is pre-Socratic paganism and from the
Jewish point of view is idolatry” (Kierkegaard, Con. 211-12). Effectively, Kierkegaard suggests a theological solution
that Camus would refuse: “The formula for the state in which there is no
despair at all: in relating itself to itself and in willing to be itself, the
self rests transparently in the power that established it. This formula in
turn, as has been frequently pointed out, is the definition of faith” (Sic. 372). In essence, there are
numerous biblical symbols and meanings in The
Trial that sustain the above argument.
First,
Kafka has deliberately set the timing of Joseph K.’s arrest on his thirtieth
birthday, “Perhaps because today was his thirtieth birthday, that was certainly
possible” (Kafka 6). The significance of this evidence lies in the fact that,
according to the Bible, Jesus Christ also starts his ministry at the age of
thirty. Second, the relationships between K. and all the female characters in The Trial undoubtedly suggest an
association to the story of the original sin and the temptation of Eve. Throughout
the novel, it is not a coincidence how K. immediately has such a great effect on
these women. K. himself admits: “I recruit women helpers, he thought, almost
amazed: first Fräulein Bürstner, then the court usher’s wife, and now this
little nurse, who seems to have an inexplicable desire for me” (107). Besides,
Leni, the lawyer’s mistress, also offers a Kierkegaardian solution to K.: “Please
don’t ask for names, but stop making that mistake, don’t be so stubborn; you
can’t defend yourself against this court, all you can do is confess. Confess the first chance you
get. That’s the only chance you have to escape, the only one” (106, emphasis
added). Nevertheless, readers see the strongest evidence in the chapter called
“In the Cathedral,” after the priest tells K. the story of “Before the Law.” The
story is about a man whose life is spent trying to get through a doorkeeper
separating himself and the Law. When the man is about to die, the doorkeeper
tells him: “No one else could gain admittance here, because this entrance was
meant solely for you. I’m going to go and shut it now” (217). Here Kafka points
out that the desperate man and K. resemble fiercely, as both try frantically to
seek entrance into a realm within their reach yet are too afraid or stubborn to
do so. Even the priest points out to K. that the man is actually more powerful
than the doorkeeper simply because he has free will, while the doorkeeper is
bounded by this invisible force behind him: “But it is equally clear, according
to this opinion, that he is in fact subordinate to him. First of all, the free
man is superior to the bound man. Now the man is in fact free: he can go
wherever he wishes, the entrance to the Law alone is denied to him, and this
only by one person, the doorkeeper” (221). At the end of the chapter, when K.
takes his leave and receives a surprisingly cold dismissal from the priest, the
priest explains: “Why should I want something from you. The court wants nothing
from you. It receives you when you come and dismisses you when you go” (224). Thus,
this point suggests that K.’s fate is not pre-determined by any courts but his
own choices and what Nietzsche calls “the will to power.” As soon as he forgoes
his will to live, K. is executed: “With failing sight K. saw how the men drew
near his face, leaning cheek-to-cheek to observe the verdict. ‘Like a dog!’ he
said; it seemed as though the shame was to outlive him” (231). After all, the
morality in this story may persuade one into believing that this is indeed an
absurd theme.
However,
he or she should not forget that the setting of the chapter is in a cathedral. Here
Kafka deliberately creates a situation in which K. has an opportunity to redeem
himself through faith and hope. Specifically, at one point during the
conversation, the priest concludes that the doorkeeper is indeed superior to
the man: “No matter how he appears to us, he’s still a servant of the Law, and
thus is beyond human judgment. In that case one can’t see the doorkeeper as
subordinate to the man. To be bound by his office, even if only at the entrance
to the Law, is incomparably better than to live freely in the world” (223). Undoubtedly,
Kafka creates a clear distinction between the world of the Law, or the divine,
and the free world of humanity. The image of the doorkeeper is definitely
comparable to the messenger of God. What Kafka signifies at this point in the
story is that the divine grants mankind with choices, but only because of their
stupidity and stubbornness, mankind turns away from this offering and faces a
hopeless death. Certainly, K. follows this option and believes in a world
without meaning: “Lies are made into a universal system” (223). Back in “The
Myth of Sisyphus,” Camus suggests the encounter with the absurd leaves man with
only three choices—physical suicide, the Kierkegaardian leap of faith[2] or
consciousness of life. K. has inherently chosen to reject the latter two options
when he decides to give up on life, as Kafka has granted K. the final chance to
take the leap. Therefore, with these Christian notions, The Trial may not be considered a truly absurd work according to
Camus.
Clearly,
Joseph K. in The Trial has both
failed to have faith in his life and also to live an absurd life. Kafka has
presented many absurd traits in The Trial,
but only by introducing the Christian notions of faith and hope into the novel,
Camus rejects his work as an absurd work. From K.’s age to his relationships
and affairs with most of the women he meets as well as the encounter with the
priest, The Trial clearly presents many
biblical resemblances. Undoubtedly, Kafka has not presented K. with a life the
poet T.S. Eliot beautifully describes in his poem East Coker: “I said to my soul be still, and wait without hope/ For
hope would be hope of the wrong thing; wait without love/ For love would be
love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith/ But the faith, and the love, and
the hope are all in the waiting./ Wait without thought, for you are not ready
for thought:/ So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing”
(T.S. Eliot).[3]
Works Cited
Camus,
Albert. “The Myth of Sisyphus.” The Myth
of Sisyphus and Other Essays. Trans. Justin O’Brien. New York: Vintage
International, 1991. 1-138. Print.
Kafka,
Franz. The Trial. Trans. Breon
Mitchell. New York: Schocken Books, 1998. Print.
Kierkegaard,
Søren. Concluding Unscientific Postscript
to Philosophical Fragments. The
Essential Kierkegaard. Ed. and Trans. Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong.
Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 2000. 187-246. Print.
———. The Sickness unto Death. The Essential Kierkegaard. Ed. and
Trans. Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton
University Press, 2000. 351-372. Print.
Eliot,
Thomas. East Coker. Allspirit.co.uk,
2012. April 16th 2012. Web.
Waterfield,
Robin, trans. “Heraclitus of Ephesus.” The
First Philosophers: The Presocratics and the Sophists. Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2000. 32-48. Print.
“I
pledge my honor that I have neither received nor provided unauthorized
assistance during the completion of this work.”
[1] In drama, an absurd work may
consist of several characteristics such as circular structure, communication
difficulties, exhaustion of languages, deliberate failure to create a realistic
situation, overt usage of symbolism and a lack of character development. Franz
Kafka’s The Trial also exerts these
characteristics.
[2] This, according to Camus, is the
philosophical suicide.
[3] The author would like to
acknowledge Professor Ronald Waite’s assistance towards the completion of this
work.
