178
~ARTISAN
REVIEW
"What is faith?"
"Whoever has faith cannot define it, and whoever has none can
only give a definition which lies under the shadow of grace with–
held. The man of faith cannot speak and the man of no faith ought
not to speak. And in fact the prophets always talk of the levers of
faith and never of faith alone."
"They are the voice of a faith which is silent about itself."
"Yes, that is so."
"And Christ?"
Kafka bowed his head.
"He is an abyss filled with light. One must close one's eyes
if
one is not to fall into it. Max Brod is writing a long work called
Paganism, Christianity, Jewry.
Perhaps in argument with the book
I may clarify my own mind a little."
"Do you expect so much of the book?"
"Not only from the book, but most of all from every single
moment. I try to be a true attendant upon grace. Perhaps it will
come-perhaps it will not come. Perhaps this quiet yet unquiet
waiting is the harbinger of grace, or perhaps it is grace itself. I
do not know. But that does not disturb me. In the meantime 1-
have made friends with my ignorance."
At parting before his journey to the sanatorium in the Tatra I
said:
"You will recover and come back in good health. The future
will make up for everything. Everything will change."
Kafka, smiling, laid the index finger of his right hand on
his
chest.
"The future is already here within me. The only change
will
be to make visible the hidden wounds."
I became impatient.
"If
you do not believe in a cure, why are you going to the sana–
torium?"
Kafka bowed over his writing-table.
"The accused always endeavors to secure a postponement of
sentence."
