Kafka’s literary world explores the essence of human existence amidst absurdity and solitude. This guide presents an interpretive approach to deciphering reality and inner worlds through his symbols and metaphors.
Franz Kafka was born on July 3, 1883, in Prague, the son of a Jewish merchant. He received a German education and earned a doctorate in law from Charles Ferdinand University in Prague. From 1908, he worked in the legal department of the Prague Workers’ Accident Insurance Institute, devoting his nights to writing. In 1917, he took leave due to tuberculosis and traveled to various sanatoriums for treatment. He returned to work in 1920, but his condition worsened. He died on June 3, 1924, at the age of forty in a sanatorium near Vienna. Outwardly, his life was extremely ordinary, but inwardly, it was forty years filled with anguish.
Born Jewish, he was neither a Jew nor a Christian; he spoke German but was not German; born in Prague, he was not Czech. He held a government position but was not a pure bureaucrat, nor did he live the life of a complete writer. Neither bourgeois nor proletarian, Kafka was an outsider belonging to no world. The world and humanity seen through this outsider’s eyes constitute the entirety of his fiction. We witness in his novels his struggle to find a place in the world.
Kafka believed that mere existence—simply ‘being there’—was insufficient; true existence required ‘belonging (gehören)’ to that place. Kafka’s protagonists, all pursuing how to belong within the world’s boundaries, held occupations. Kafka, who believed belonging to the world and society came through one’s profession, did not pursue a literary life but instead worked as a civil servant, utilizing his legal expertise.
Belonging to a society becomes possible through understanding and accepting its laws and morals. Yet an outsider like Kafka is bound to be ignorant of these laws and morals. Within the world, laws and morals are self-evident agreements. But to the outsider’s eyes, they appear only as an incomprehensible system of rules. Thus, the outsider can only belong to a world whose laws and morals he fails to grasp, and is merely confined to a wasteland of lost existence. Here, the outsider begins to suspect that perhaps the fault lies with himself. Thus, he begins to search for his own sin. As seen in “A Country Doctor,” a Jewish-specific sense of original sin emerges: “I came into this world with a beautiful wound. That was all I had prepared before I was born.” This sense of original sin can be found not only in “A Country Doctor” but also in “In the Penal Colony.” Literary critic Northrop Frye, in his famous book Anatomy of Criticism, commented that the officer’s statement in “In the Penal Colony” – “The guilt is obvious and beyond doubt” – encapsulates this human sense of original sin. This excessive sense of guilt is also visible in “The Judgment.”
Unlike many modern novelists, Kafka depicts humans as beings serving and subordinated to definite occupations. For occupation is the sole form of existence for modern man. The characters in his works are all described solely through their occupational functions.
For example, Gregor Samsa, the protagonist of “The Metamorphosis,” appears as a capable salesman and the economic pillar of a household. One day, he wakes from a restless sleep to discover he has transformed into a bug. He was a good son and a model citizen. Even after becoming a bug, he agonizes over a sense of duty and a longing for freedom, thinking, ‘If it weren’t for the family, I’d quit that job…’ His existence was for his family and for society. That is, he was not himself for himself, but himself for others. He had degenerated from his original self into a human being bound by social institutions and conventions. Gregor, who had abandoned his own nature, was a model citizen in the world.
Modern society’s laws, morals, and way of life do not tolerate the existence of one’s original self. As repeatedly emphasized in Kafka’s other works, modern society, as an inevitable consequence of its economic machinery, forces humans into a state of ‘self-alienation’. That is, humans are nothing more than a single cog locked within the vast machine of society, and thus become functionalized, abstracted, and dehumanized. Humans are reduced to mere material functions, their lives sustained solely through the form of occupation.
For instance, after his son’s metamorphosis, Gregor’s father returns to work, never removing his bank clerk’s uniform even at home, sleeping on the sofa fully clad in it. This grotesque body, more trapped within the uniform than merely wearing it, is the epitome of the self-alienated modern individual. It is a form not permitted to humanity. He can be nothing other than a bank clerk. The absurdity that occupation is the sole form of existence for humans living in modern times is what Gregor realized, leading to his transformation into an insect and eventual annihilation.
Existence is nothing but occupation. Kafka does not seek an answer to what constitutes human essence. It is enough for the professional to faithfully perform only his assigned task as dictated by the machine that is society. The officer in “In the Penal Colony” is also a specimen of a man intoxicated by his profession. His job is to operate the execution apparatus that carries out death sentences. He fears the loss of this profession and cannot imagine his own existence without this machine. The officer’s attachment to his profession turns him into a madman devoid of conscience or humanity. His obsession with the machine is less repulsive than it is pitiful and worthy of sympathy.
This fixation on one’s profession is also seen in “A Hunger Artist.” The clown’s only skill is starving. He starves inside a cage, waiting for an audience. His sole purpose is to shock the audience with a record-breaking fast. But the audience that once existed has vanished. Now, he fasts alone, innocently, in a cage placed at the entrance to the animal pens of the circus, with no one watching. People watch the animals but show not the slightest interest in this fasting clown. He continues his fast until no one knows how long he has starved, ultimately becoming a martyr sacrificed to the art of fasting. It is one of Kafka’s masterpieces proving that profession is more important than life.
This “A Hunger Artist” has many points that resonate especially when we look around our own lives. How many starving artists surround us? Theater people who put on plays at a loss, with no audience, driven only by passion; poets outnumbering their readers! The countless writers who cannot survive without another job, and the rare, occasionally visible, pure scholars. Will applause come to them, or will they fade and collapse like the starving artist?
Gustav Janoch describes Kafka’s appearance, hobbies, and literary demeanor in detail in Conversations with Kafka. He first met Kafka at the Workers’ Accident Insurance Institute office in Prague. Kafka had a slender build, black hair slicked back, a prominent nose, a noticeably narrow forehead, and beneath it, strangely ashen-green eyes that held a bittersweet smile.
“The sunlight, the factory, the house, the windows across the street, all these distract me. Worst of all is the sunlight. The sunlight robs me of my attention. The light seems to come from the darkness of the mind. It is good that the light overwhelms mankind. Without those tormenting sleepless nights, I would never be able to write. In such moments, I perceive myself as a prisoner in a dark cell.”
Kafka confessed this to the young Czech poet Janouch. In this lonely room, Kafka wrote as a kind of struggle for self-preservation.
Kafka could never find satisfaction in his life as a civil servant. What was unusual was that whenever he had free time, Kafka went to learn furniture making. He was captivated by the smell of planed wood, the sound of saws, and the clang of hammers. Afternoons always passed like this, and when night fell, he felt fear.
“There is nothing more beautiful than pure, clear, and universally beneficial craftsmanship. Aside from making furniture, I have also tried farming and gardening. These activities were far more beautiful and rewarding than forced labor in an office. People working in offices may appear admirable, but that is merely a facade. In reality, they are lonelier and unhappier than they seem. Intellectual labor alienates a person from human society. In contrast, craftsmanship brings a person back to humanity. It is regrettable that I can no longer work in a workshop or garden.”
Kafka yearned for free physical labor. He once expressed envy for a wandering poet who had no profession.
“He had no profession, but he did have a calling. He wandered from one friend’s house to another with his wife and children. A free man and a free poet. Whenever I was in his company, I always felt the pangs of conscience, realizing that office life was drowning my own existence.”
Kafka longed for a life lived for himself. Yet he had to play the dutiful son to his strict father. Outwardly a filial son, inwardly he felt like an outsider even within his own family. Whether outside or at home, he was always a lonely poet.
“I am a crow. Indeed, I am a Kavka (Kafka, a crow). A coal merchant in Deinhoff owns one. That Kavka is living better than I am. Of course, its wings have been clipped… but in my case, there is no need to clip my wings. My wings have already degenerated. For me, there is neither height nor distance. I simply flounder among humans, unsure of what to do. Humans gaze at me with suspicion. After all, I am a dangerous bird, a thief, a crow. Yet I have never had shiny black wings.”
Kafka, speaking thus, seems to be telling his own story in “The Metamorphosis.” These are also the words of Gregor, whom his family fears, finds repulsive, and regards with suspicion.
Kafka once said this to a friend during his lifetime.
“Yes, humanity is in despair. Amidst the ever-growing crowds, humans become increasingly lonelier with each passing moment.”
Born a Jew, destined to be lonely, Kafka struggled with solitude for forty years.
“Are you truly that lonely?” Janouch asked, to which he nodded.
“Like Kaspar Hauser?”
“Far more so than Kaspar Hauser. I am lonely—like Franz Kafka.”
Kafka stated that his loneliness was not something he adopted from others, but his own unique solitude.
Kafka had never been in love with a woman, except for a brief cohabitation with a woman named Dora Diamant shortly before his death. He believed love always inflicted wounds. These wounds were inherently incurable. Because love always appeared bearing impurity. In romantic relationships, Kafka seems to have suffered from an excess of purity, much like the protagonist in “A Hunger Artist.” Consequently, the solitude of his life had no path to resolution.
Kafka is difficult. He’s the kind of author you might pick up, read a few lines, and then put down. His short stories are almost incomprehensible. Where does this difficulty stem from? An obscurity that draws readers into a labyrinth of contemplation, hinders comprehension of the novel, and leaves an unsatisfied feeling after reading.
This obscurity stems from his unique symbolic expressions, concentrated satire, and seemingly meaningless character descriptions that are cumbersome in their abundance. Yet it is clear these symbols and satire carry hidden significance. While explaining his short story “The Judgment,” Kafka implicitly advises that even uniquely symbolic expressions far removed from universality can be understood.
To grasp his symbolism, one would need measurable evidence from the author regarding events or characters, yet even that is absent. This is also what widens the gap between Kafka and his readers. In this regard, the translator has attempted a somewhat bold interpretation. Kafka sought to become an extreme outsider, even attempting to burn his manuscripts, but in this book, he must not be marginalized.
Kafka’s art is a mirror of his tormented soul. Fantastic events and real events crisscross wildly, filling the screen. This blend of fantasy and reality emits a dark haze and a mystical shimmer. Hideous phantasms, enigmatic nightmares, and specters fill his work. These pieces are also an expression of the author’s own desires. He could not contain his creative urge without venting it in such forms. His works, whether novels, novellas, or short stories, are entirely colored by the author’s own resistance, the resistance of humanity. His entire oeuvre is nothing more than a deconstruction and exposure of the chaos and complexity within himself through form.
Kafka’s themes can be compared to those of the French novelist Proust. Both share a commonality in their plunge into the abyss of the human soul. Whereas Proust dissects the human interior with extreme detail and delicate elements, Kafka symbolically depicts the secret strata of the human soul, delving into its depths. This symbolic expression powerfully articulates the abyss and absurdity of the human subconscious, no less effectively than Proust’s lucid analysis. Kafka describes his own experience of being harmed by an unknown force through ordinary thought.
His world of fantasy is neither a daydream nor a refuge. The horror of Georg Bendemann (the protagonist of “The Judgment”), who confessed his non-existent existence to his father only to receive a death sentence from his own flesh and blood, sends shivers down the reader’s spine. Kafka himself once confessed that this short story was a terrifying novel.
Just as we cannot help but shudder at the horror of Gregor, transformed into an insect.
Thus, the dense forest of life into which Kafka’s protagonists are swept evokes a cold shudder in us. It is Kafka’s self-conscious terror, abandoned by humanity and God, having turned his back on eternity.
Kafka relied on symbols to give form to the objects of his longing. He sought to overcome the predicaments confronting his creative activity with the aid of symbols, attempting to transplant his inner experiences into the forms of fantasy and poetic imagery. Most of these images are hazy and indistinct. They vanish if one tries to observe them closely. Their connection to action is also often ambiguous. Consequently, readers are left with an impression of unreality and strangeness. Meanwhile, distinct poetic images recur, undergoing many transformations. These images suggest crucial situations in many of his works. The fasting clown in the cage, the officer in the gallows of the penal colony, the beast in the lair, Gregor sitting in his room transformed into a cave. In a sense, they are all prisoners.
Kafka’s works remain in fragmentary, unfinished form. Most are halted midway, with no completed novel reaching its conclusion. Only “The Metamorphosis,” “In the Penal Colony,” “The Judgment,” and “A Hunger Artist,” translated here, have endings. His short pieces, while pure creations, are ideas and magical images depicted through unique techniques. “A Country Doctor” is a prime example, most easily aligning with the imagery of a perfectly harmonized work of art.
After reading “A Country Doctor,” one feels as if they’ve seen a gloomy photograph. The image is precise. Yet it is a dreamlike image. Even when depicting dreams, Kafka never forgets realism. The reader grows more bewildered. Perhaps Kafka, though a master photographer, presents not the developed print but the raw negative. No customer possesses the eye to discern the forms of objects and humans from the negative. Only the skilled photographer himself can judge, before printing, whether it is a good photograph or a bad one.
