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It is not necessary to accept everything as true, one must only accept it as necessary Nothing speaks a more profound truth than a pristine metaphor… Funny, us, worming through the world ascribing meaning, logic and order to the dumb, blind forces of void.
Are we trees in gale force winds fighting back with fists we do not possess? Is life the love of a cold, cruel former lover bating us on while only It is not necessary to accept everything as true, one must only accept it as necessary Nothing speaks a more profound truth than a pristine metaphor… Funny, us, worming through the world ascribing meaning, logic and order to the dumb, blind forces of void. Is life the love of a cold, cruel former lover bating us on while only concerned with themselves?
What use is logic in an illogical prison where the opinion of the masses reigns supreme? However, this story of a trial—one that never occurs other than an arrest and a solitary conference that goes nowhere—over an unmentioned crime serves as a brutal allegory for our existence within a judgemental societal paradigm under the watch of a God who dishes out hellfire to the guilty. The Trial is not for the faint of heart or fragile psyche yet, while the bleakness is laid on thick, it is also permeated with a marvelous sense of humor and a fluid prose that keeps the pages flipping and the reading hours pushing forward towards dawn.
This is a dark comedy of the human comedy, full of the freeing chortles of gallow humor. Someone must have slandered Josef K. One can be sure of their innocence, yet fall to the blade all the same. The most startling and accurate portrayal of mankind is found when K.
At the bottom of the steps a small child was lying face down on the ground, crying, but it could hardly be heard above the noise coming from a sheet metal shop… We, humanity, are prostrate and bawling in a toxic wasteland, unloved and ignored by the absent parents. Not even passersby stop to help the child, or are even away, for the noise of industry drowns it out. The worst part is that we accept this. We tow the party line, we uphold something meaningless and only given power by our collective acceptance.
Children, such as the child crying in a pool of yellow filth, are a key motif in the novel. Their parents are never apparent and they run like wild animals. One girl is described as hunchbacked and not yet an adult, yet full of sexuality which she asserts over K. Take, for example, the student in the attic courtroom who asserts his dominance over the married women through his power.
He, too, is slightly deformed with bow-legs that call to mind classic depictions of Satan with his animalistic torso and hoofed feet, and bushy red beard like something from nature and not urban society. He also snaps at K. Seemingly we are nothing above the beasts of the world. Even all the textbooks are actually just pornography, the court filled with carnal desires instead of logic and learned reasoning.
This is the force of nature K, and all of us, fight against when attempting to address our condition with logic. We are nothing but dogs pit into a dogfight of which we had no free will in being placed.
They're talking about things of which they don't have the slightest understanding, anyway. It's only because of their stupidity that they're able to be so sure of themselves. A world where trying to go up against it will only lead to frustration and futility.
Through all his proceedings, all his legal advice, nothing is learned. Lawyers and confidants only seem to discuss the workings of the trial and court system; the more we learn, the less we understand.
The system is so complicated that it stalemates itself, and it seems almost pointless to investigate. Is there purpose in assessing our lives, our condition in the world? Not if we address it with logic.
That is why this story is presented as an allegory. The Trial is not a story about the Law or bureaucracy despite the outward appearance.
Franc kafka the trial essay
This is society as a whole and pushes towards a religious allegory that is difficult to swallow. Our reputation is unshakable and even when you prove your innocence over slander, people will still hold it against you.
Nobody even knows who these lawyers are. There is also higher courts, higher judges that nobody knows the name of that also seem to exist only in legend. These unseen, unknowable eyes of justice are like the eyes of God. One may be acquitted amongst their peers, but their soul goes to a higher court that will rule the final verdict.
He proceeds with a parable that summarizes K. He waits his whole life, pestering the gatekeeper. Moments before his death of old age, the gatekeeper reveals that the entrance was meant solely for him, then closes the gates. The perfect expression of futility.
What we have is the absurd, K. I always snatched at the world with twenty hands, and not for a very laudable motive, either. His fate was already decided, and his efforts are in vain. It should come as no surprise, then, that K. The court wants nothing from you. It receives you when you came and it dismisses you when you go.
The painter shows K. Justice is painted with winged feet, in motion at the request of the court, to also represent Victory. Yet the real horror is revealed when K.
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We have a court system, a religious system, a moral system, that is more concerned with victory than actual justice, and seeks out prey for sport. Nobody is safe from the system, and nobody is not a part of it. It is a book that will leave you gasping for air, and thankful for it.