CONVERSATIONS WITH KAFKA
177
I wrote an article about Oskar Baum's novel,
The Door to the
Impossible.
Franz Kafka gave
it
to Felix Weltsch, who published it as a
middle article in the periodical
Self-Defense.
A few days later in
Kafka's office I encountered an official-I think his name was
Gutling-who immediately began to analyze my article.
His criticism was, of course, hostile.
My review, together with Baum's novel, were-in the speaker's
eyes-"dadaist revelations of a diseased mind."
I said nothing.
When, however, he repeated his assertion for about the fifteenth
time, Kafka intervened:
"If
Dada is diseased, even then it is only an outward symptom,
nothing else. But you will not abolish the disease by isolating and
suppressing the symptom. On the contrary, it will only become
worse. A single abscess that breaks internally is far more dangerous
than several surface abscesses.
If
there is to be a genuine improve–
ment, you must go to the root of the diseased condition. Only then
will
the disfigurements resulting from the disorder disappear."
Gutting did not reply.
The arrival of another official ended our discussion.
When I was alone again with Kafka in the office, I asked:
"Do you also think that my essay on Baum's book was dadaist?"
Kafka smiled.
"Why do you ask? Your essay wasn't even discussed."
"But please ..."
Kafka made a contemptuous gesture with his hand.
"That isn't criticism! The critic brandished the word Dada as a
small child waves a toy sword. He wants to dazzle you with the
terrible weapon, because he knows very well that in fact it is only
a toy. It is enough to face him with a real saber for the child to
calm down, because he is afraid for his toy."
"So you were not talking about Baum, and what I had written,
but about Dada?"
"Yes, I girded on my sword."
"But you also regard Dada as a mark of disease," I said.
"Dada is-a crime," said Franz Kafka very seriously. "The
spine of the soul has been broken. Faith has collapsed."
