Monday, 25 July 2011

Before the Law, by Franz Kafka


This is a hopefully interesting response to what I believe has been a fruitful discussion on a previous post. For the most part, this discussion addressed freedom and how difficult it may be to materialise it, especially against the cages we build ourselves to live in. When Franz Kafka’s name was brought up, my very first thought was this short story, which also appears in the ninth chapter of The Trial. Kafka’s works, and Beyond the Law in particular, have also attracted significant academic attention, a matter to which we will return.

The following translation is by Ian Johnston of Vancouver Island University, Nanaimo, BC, Canada.

Before the Law 

Before the law sits a gatekeeper. To this gatekeeper comes a man from the country who asks to gain entry into the law. But the gatekeeper says that he cannot grant him entry at the moment. The man thinks about it and then asks if he will be allowed to come in sometime later on. “It is possible,” says the gatekeeper, “but not now.” The gate to the law stands open, as always, and the gatekeeper walks to the side, so the man bends over in order to see through the gate into the inside. When the gatekeeper notices that, he laughs and says: “If it tempts you so much, try going inside in spite of my prohibition. But take note. I am powerful. And I am only the most lowly gatekeeper. But from room to room stand gatekeepers, each more powerful than the other. I cannot endure even one glimpse of the third.” The man from the country has not expected such difficulties: the law should always be accessible for everyone, he thinks, but as he now looks more closely at the gatekeeper in his fur coat, at his large pointed nose and his long, thin, black Tartar’s beard, he decides that it would be better to wait until he gets permission to go inside. The gatekeeper gives him a stool and allows him to sit down at the side in front of the gate. There he sits for days and years. He makes many attempts to be let in, and he wears the gatekeeper out with his requests. The gatekeeper often interrogates him briefly, questioning him about his homeland and many other things, but they are indifferent questions, the kind great men put, and at the end he always tells him once more that he cannot let him inside yet. The man, who has equipped himself with many things for his journey, spends everything, no matter how valuable, to win over the gatekeeper. The latter takes it all but, as he does so, says, “I am taking this only so that you do not think you have failed to do anything.” During the many years the man observes the gatekeeper almost continuously. He forgets the other gatekeepers, and this first one seems to him the only obstacle for entry into the law. He curses the unlucky circumstance, in the first years thoughtlessly and out loud; later, as he grows old, he only mumbles to himself. He becomes childish and, since in the long years studying the gatekeeper he has also come to know the fleas in his fur collar, he even asks the fleas to help him persuade the gatekeeper. Finally his eyesight grows weak, and he does not know whether things are really darker around him or whether his eyes are merely deceiving him. But he recognizes now in the darkness an illumination which breaks inextinguishably out of the gateway to the law. Now he no longer has much time to live. Before his death he gathers in his head all his experiences of the entire time up into one question which he has not yet put to the gatekeeper. He waves to him, since he can no longer lift up his stiffening body. The gatekeeper has to bend way down to him, for the great difference has changed things considerably to the disadvantage of the man. “What do you still want to know now?” asks the gatekeeper. “You are insatiable.” “Everyone strives after the law,” says the man, “so how is that in these many years no one except me has requested entry?” The gatekeeper sees that the man is already dying and, in order to reach his diminishing sense of hearing, he shouts at him, “Here no one else can gain entry, since this entrance was assigned only to you. I’m going now to close it.”

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Very intresting topic indeed... However, i cannot decide what exactly "The Law" represents...I can guess that "Te Law" might reflect Freedom - or that the gate to "The Law" might be a ticket to freedom... On the other hand, "The Law" might reflect a sence of belonging, that the majority of human beings crave for... I find it difficult to reach a conclusion and be able to connect it to the way it ends...

Aris in Wonderland said...

It’s a challenging text, just as you say, and I think the fact that it is open to interpretation is part of its value, as well as its charm… And you are very right to bring up the question of what ‘The Law’ stands for, it has also been a subject of academic studies (there will be more coming up on this). A review of this field may be found in P. Glen, The deconstruction and reification of law in Franz Kafka’s “Before the Law” and The Trial, Southern California Interdisciplinary Law Journal, 17, 2007, available here:

http://www-bcf.usc.edu/~idjlaw/PDF/17-1/17-1%20Glen.pdf

Moreover, when the story appears in The Trial, as a parable told by a priest to Josef K., it is followed by a discussion between the two characters on its meaning. I always found this fascinating, in that two fictional characters discuss literature within the text itself, and by literature I mean the novel they belong to, of which the parable appears to be a reflection – it’s in the second half of chapter nine, here’s one source:

http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/7849/pg7849.html

Now, it is interesting to be aware of all of the above, but at the end of the day each of us makes their own sense of the text, which is what the beauty of it is about, isn’t it? When I first read it I was so frustrated! I was thinking, why doesn’t the man act? If he really believes that the law should always be accessible for everyone, if he really strives after it, why doesn’t he defy the gatekeeper and go inside? How worse could the result be, compared to his death by waiting in vain? I suppose I was interpreting it quite literally, and for the most part as a political critique of obedience and passivity. I was 17 at the time, by the way.

Subsequently, I began thinking of the text as representing a form of internal opposition between desire and its repression. Significantly, the man neither leaves, nor moves forward, he is simply blocked and stagnates to death, unable to overcome the unexpected difficulties, and at the same time unable to give up on his goal. He can curse the circumstance, but he cannot change it, and obsesses with the gatekeeper instead. And I suppose this impossible position is one of the reasons why freedom may be so difficult to materialise.

Later on, I thought that the unspecified nature of ‘The Law’ is actually a quite clear representation of its inaccessibility. The law emerges through the gatekeeper’s prohibition and the man’s compliance to it, and this is in fact the only law enacted in the story. But the application of such a law, a rule, or a norm, is exactly what makes it elusive, and the vagueness of the prohibition itself underlines this. In this sense there is no paradox: the more the man complies with the actually existing law, the more impossible it is for him to enter ‘The Law’…

Not that my 17-year old self has entirely given up though… : )