FROM KAFKA'S DIARIES
357
in a sense public life was made accessible to me by the invitation; the
performance asked of me as a participant I would have carried out,
not well, but tolerably; playing would probably not even have bored
me too much-nevertheless I refused. This being so, I am in the wrong
when complaining that the stream of life has never gripped me, that I
never got free of Prague, have never gone in for any sport or trade, etc.
-I would probably have rejected the offer, just as I rejected the invi–
tation to play cards. Only the absurd gained admission, the study of
law, the office, then . later absurd marginal occupations, such as a little
gardening, carpentering, etc. These occupations must be regarded as
the behavior of a man who throws out a needy beggar and then plays
the benefactor by himself, by passing alms from his right hand to his
left.
But I always refused, doubtless because of my general weakness,
and especially my weakness of will; I came to understand this fairly
late. Formerly I usually interpreted this refusal as a good sign (misled
by the great hopes I had for myself), today only a trace of this kindly
interpretation remains.
October 29.
On one of the following evenings I really did parti–
cipate, by noting down the scores of the game for mother. But this did
not bring about any greater intimacy, and even if there was a trace of
it, it was buried in weariness, boredom, regret over time lost. I would
always have been like that. Only very rarely have I put behind me this
borderland between solitude and community. I am even more deeply in
it than in solitude itself. What a live beautiful land, in comparison, was
Robinson Crusoe's island.
October 30.
Feeling of complete helplessness.
What unites you with these rigidly delimited, speaking, eye-flashing
bodies more closely than with any object, for instance the penholder in
your hand? The fact that you are of their kind? But you are not of their
kind, that is why you have raised the issue.
The rigid delimitation of human bodies is terrifying.
The marvel, the insoluble riddle of not perishing, of silent guid–
ance. This pushes one to the absurdity: "I for my part would have been
lost." I for my part.
November 1.
Werfel's
Bocksgesang.
To freely dispose of a world while disregarding its laws. The impo–
sition of law. The joy of being faithful to this law.
