The Great Wall of China

by Franz Kafka

  As I have already said, this whole episode contains nothing exceptional; in the course of a long life one encounters much that might seem far more astonishing, if taken out of context and seen through the eyes of a child. Besides one can – as the apt saying goes – ‘argue the whole thing away’, just like anything else, in which case it would appear that in this instance seven musicians had assembled to make music in the stillness of the morning, that a small dog had strayed into their company, a tiresome listener, whom they tried in vain to drive away by particularly terrible or lofty music. He pestered them with his questions; should they, who had been sufficiently disturbed already by the mere presence of this stranger, have paid attention to the additional nuisance of his questions and made things worse by replying to them? And even if the law does command one to reply to everybody, could such a tiny stray dog really be called a somebody worth mentioning? And perhaps they could not even understand him, for he probably barked his questions most indistinctly. Or perhaps they did understand him, and constrained themselves to answer him, but he, a youngster unaccustomed to music, was unable to distinguish the answer from the music. And as for the matter of the hind legs, perhaps they really did walk on them for once in a way; that is a sin, no doubt; but they were alone, seven friends, just among themselves, an intimate gathering, as it were within their own four walls, as it were in complete privacy, for after all friends do not constitute a public, and where there is no public present an inquisitive little street dog cannot by himself create one; so if all that is granted are we not entitled to say that on this occasion nothing whatever occurred? That is not wholly accurate, but it very nearly is, and parents ought not to let their children run around so much, but should rather teach them to hold their tongues better and respect their elders.

  Having got this far, one has disposed of the matter. However, when something is disposed of for grown-ups that does not mean that it is yet disposed of for children. I ran about telling my story and interrogating people, making accusations and pursuing my inquiries, I wanted to drag everyone along to the spot where it had all happened, I wanted to show everyone where I had stood and where the seven had been and where and how they had danced and made their music; and if anyone had come with me, instead of brushing me off and laughing at me as they all did, I would probably have sacrificed my innocence and tried to get up on to my hind legs too, so as to give a clear illustration of the whole thing. Well, everything a child does meets with disapproval, but it is all forgiven him too in the end. But for my part I have preserved my childish nature and have turned in the meantime into an old dog. Just as in those days I never stopped loudly discussing that episode – which I admittedly consider far less important today – analysing it into its constituent parts, putting it to everyone present regardless of the company I was in, solely and constantly preoccupied with this question, which I found just as wearisome as all the others, but which I – here was the difference – was for that very reason determined to solve completely, so as to be free again at last to turn my eyes to the ordinary, peaceful, happy life of every day: just as I laboured then, so have I laboured in the following years – with less childish means, it is true, but the difference is not so very great – and to this day I have got no further.

  But it was with that concert that it all began. I do not complain about it; it is my inborn nature that is responsible, and that would certainly have found another opportunity to break through if it had never been for that concert; it was just its happening so soon that I used to find distressing, for it deprived me of a good part of my childhood; the blissful life of a young dog, which many manage to spin out for themselves year after year, lasted in my case only a few short months. So be it! There are more important things than childhood. And perhaps age has in store for me more childish happiness, earned by a life of hard work, than any actual child would have the strength to bear, but for which I shall be strong enough then.

  I began my investigations at that time with the simplest things; there was no lack of material, unfortunately; it is the very superfluity of material that makes me despair in my darker hours. I began to inquire into the question of what nourishment the dog race subsists on. Now that is, if you like, by its nature no simple question, it has occupied us since the earliest times, it is the chief object of our reflections, countless observations and essays and opinions on this subject have appeared, it has become a science of such vast dimensions that it is not only beyond the grasp of any single scholar but beyond all scholars collectively, it is a burden too weighty for all save the entire dog community, and even they groan under it and cannot bear it completely, it is constantly crumbling away into ancient pieces of wisdom, long since acquired, and has to be restored with great labour, to say nothing of the difficulties and the almost unfulfillable prerequisites of my own investigation. No one need point out these objections to me, I know them all just as well as any average dog; I would not dream of meddling in real scientific matters, I have all due respect for science, but as far as making any contribution is concerned I lack the knowledge, the application, the quiet, and – not least, especially for some years now – the appetite. I swallow my food down where I find it, but it does not seem to me to merit the slightest preliminary methodical examination from an agricultural point of view. In this respect I am content with that quintessence of all knowledge, the little rule with which mothers wean their young and send them out into life: ‘Wet everything as much as you can.’ And is not almost everything contained in that? What has scientific inquiry, since our ancient forebears began it, of decisive importance to add? Details, details, and how uncertain they all are; but this rule will remain for as long as we are dogs. It concerns our main diet; true, we have other resources as well, but in emergency, and given a reasonable year, we could live on this main diet; we find our main diet on the ground, but the ground needs our water, it draws its nourishment from our water, and only for that price does it give us our own sustenance, the emergence of which, however, and this should not be forgotten, can be hastened by certain recitations, songs, and movements. But in my opinion that is all; from this aspect there is nothing else that is fundamental to be said on the matter. In this opinion, moreover, I am at one with the great majority of the dog community, and must firmly dissociate myself from all heretical views on the point. I honestly have no wish to put forward out-of-the-way notions, or to be dogmatic; I am only too happy when I can agree with my fellows, as in this case I can. But my own investigations lead in another direction.

  My observation tells me that when the earth is watered and turned up according to the rules of science it provides nourishment, and moreover it provides it in such quality, in such quantity, in such manner, in such places, and at such hours as the laws require, those laws which science, once again, has wholly or partly succeeded in establishing. That I accept, but my question is: ‘Where does the earth get this nourishment from?’ A question which people generally pretend not to understand, and to which at best they reply by saying: ‘If you haven’t enough to eat, we’ll give you some of ours.’ Notice this reply. I know well enough that the sharing out of whatever food we manage to obtain is not one of the virtues of our race. Life is hard, the earth stubborn, science rich in knowledge but poor enough in practical results; anyone who has got food, keeps it; this is not self-interest but the opposite, it is dog law, the unanimous resolution of the people, the outcome of their victory over self-seeking, for as we know the possessors are always in the minority. And that is why this answer: ‘If you haven’t enough to eat, we’ll give you some of ours’ is a mere stock phrase, a jest, a form of leg-pulling. I have not forgotten this fact. But it seemed all the more significant to me, in the days when I was trotting all over the place with my questions, that when they said it to me they left all trace of mockery aside; of course they still did not actually give me anything to eat – where could they have procured it at a moment’s notice? – and even if they did just happen to have some their furious hunger nat
urally made them forget all other considerations; but the offer was meant seriously, and now and then I really did receive a morsel, whenever I got there quickly enough to grab hold of it. Why was it that they gave me such special treatment? Indulged me, favoured me? Because I was a skinny, feeble dog, badly fed and too little concerned about food? But there are plenty of badly fed dogs running around, and the others snatch the most miserable scraps from under their noses whenever they can, not often out of greed but usually on principle. No, they favoured me; I could hardly have given detailed evidence to prove it, but I had the firm impression that it was so. Well then, was it that they took pleasure in my questions and found them particularly clever? No, they took no pleasure in them and found them foolish without exception. And yet it could only be the questions that gained me this measure of attention. It was as if they would rather have performed the monstrous act of stuffing my mouth full of food – they did not do it, but they wanted to – than put up with my questions. But in that case they would have done better to chase me away and forbid my questions. No, that was not what they wanted; they certainly had no wish to listen to my questions, but it was precisely because I asked these questions that they had no wish to drive me away.

  That was the time when despite all the ridicule, despite being treated as a foolish young puppy and pushed around, I actually enjoyed most public esteem; never again was I to enjoy anything like it; I had access everywhere, nothing was denied me, the rough treatment I received was really a pretext for pampering me. And in the end this was all simply because of my questions, because of my impatience, because of my eagerness for research. They wanted to lull me with this treatment, to divert me without violence, almost lovingly, from a false path, from a path that was not quite so indubitably false as to permit the use of violence, and anyhow a certain respect and fear restrained them from using it. Already at that time I had my suspicions of what they were up to, today I can see it quite clearly, much more clearly than those who were doing it then; the truth is that they wanted to lure me away from my own path. They did not succeed; they achieved the opposite; my vigilance was sharpened. It even became clear to me that it was I who wished to seduce the others, and that I was actually succeeding to a certain extent. Only with the help of the dog community did I begin to understand my own questions. For instance when I asked: ‘Where does the earth get this nourishment from?’, was I – as one might have the impression – concerned about the earth, was I concerned about the earth’s troubles? Not in the least; that, as I soon recognized, was utterly remote from my mind; I was concerned only about us dogs, and about nothing else whatever. For what else is there apart from dogs? Who else can one appeal to in the wide, empty world? All knowledge, the totality of all questions and all answers, is contained in the canine race. If one could only make this knowledge effective, if one could only bring it into the light of day, if only dogs did not know infinitely more than they will admit, more than they will admit to themselves! Even the most talkative dog guards his tongue more closely than the best feeding places usually guard their food. Stealthily one circles round one’s fellow dog, frothing with desire, whipping oneself with one’s own tail; one asks, one begs, one howls, one bites, and achieves – one achieves what could have been achieved just as well without any effort: affectionate attention, friendly touchings, honourable sniffings, loving embraces; two howls of longing unite in one, all energies are turned to finding oblivion in ecstasy; but the one thing that one hoped above everything to achieve, the admission of knowledge, that is not forthcoming; to that request, whether it be silent or spoken, the most that one receives by way of answer after deploying one’s greatest powers of seduction are vacant expressions, shifty looks, veiled and troubled eyes. It is much the same as it was on that occasion in the past, when as a puppy I appealed to the dog musicians and they remained silent.

  Now one might say: ‘You complain about your fellow dogs, about their silence on the really important matters, you claim that they know more than they admit, more than they are prepared to acknowledge in their lives, and that this suppression on their part, the source of which they naturally suppress as well, poisons your life and makes it unendurable, so that you must either change it or have done with it; that may be, but after all you are a dog yourself, you have this dog knowledge too; well then, declare it, not just in the form of questions but as an answer. If you speak out, who will be able to resist you? The great chorus of dogs will join in as if it had been waiting for that moment. Then you will have all the truth, all the clarity, all the admission that you desire. The roof of this lowly life that you speak so ill of will be raised, and all of us, flank to flank, will ascend to freedom on high. And even if we should not achieve that final goal, if things should become worse than before, if the whole truth should be more unendurable than the half, if it should be confirmed that the silent ones, as the preservers of life, are in the right, if the faint hope that we still possess should turn to utter hopelessness, yet speaking out is still worth the attempt, since the permitted way of life is no life you wish to lead. So why, then, do you reproach others with their silence, and keep silent yourself?’ Easy to answer: because I am a dog. At bottom just as stubbornly reticent as the others, resisting my own questions, encrusted with the hard crust of fear. For have the questions I have been putting to my fellow dogs, at least since I was grown up, really been put so as to get answers out of them? Have I such foolish hopes? When I see the foundations of our life and guess how deep they go, when I see the builders at work, at their dark labour, do I still expect all this to be abandoned, destroyed, forsaken because of my questions? No, that I truly expect no longer.

  With my questions I now harry myself alone, I wish to spur myself on with the silence that is now the sole response I get from all around. How long will you be able to bear the fact that the dog race keeps silent and always will keep silent, as your researches make you increasingly aware? How long can you bear it? – that is the really decisive question of my life, over and above all questions of detail; it is a question for me alone and need trouble no one else. Unfortunately I can answer it more easily than the questions of detail: I shall probably be able to hold out until my natural end; for the calm of age is an ever more effective antidote to disturbing questions. I shall probably die peacefully in silence, surrounded by silence, and I look forward to that almost with composure. An admirably strong heart, lungs that cannot be worn out before their time, have been given to us dogs as if in malice; we survive all questions, even our own, bulwarks of silence that we are.

  Recently I have been occupied more and more in reviewing my life, searching for the decisive error that I may perhaps have made and that has been the cause of all the trouble, but I cannot find it. And yet I must have made it, for if I had not made it, and had still failed to achieve what I wanted after a long life of honest effort, that would prove that what I wanted was impossible, and complete hopelessness would follow. Consider your lifetime’s work! First of all those investigations into the question: where does the earth get our nourishment from? A young dog, naturally greedy and full of animal spirits, I renounced all enjoyments, gave all manner of amusement a wide berth, buried my head between my legs in the face of temptation, and addressed myself to my task. It was no scholarly task, either as far as the degree of learning, or as far as the method, or as far as the aim was concerned. That was probably a defect, but it could not have been a decisive one. I have had little schooling, for I left my mother’s care at an early age, soon grew accustomed to standing on my own feet, led an independent life; and premature independence is inimical to systematic learning. But I have seen a great deal, heard a great deal, spoken with a great many dogs of the most diverse kinds and conditions, and I think I can say that I have grasped everything pretty well and correlated my particular observations pretty well; that has made up to some extent for my lack of scholarship; and moreover independence has certain advantages when one is pursuing one’s own investigations, even if it may be
a handicap to learning. In my case it was all the more necessary since I was not in a position to proceed in the proper scientific manner, that is, to use the work of my predecessors and establish contact with contemporary researchers. I was thrown entirely on my own resources, I had to begin at the very beginning and in the full awareness – which is blissful for the young but extremely depressing for the old – that whatever conclusion I happened to arrive at must also be the definitive one. Have I really been so alone in my investigations, from that day to this? Yes and no. It is inconceivable that there must not always have been some individual dogs in the same position as myself, and that there are not some today. I cannot be in quite such dire case as that. I do not depart by a hair’s breadth from the general nature of dogs. Every dog feels as I do the urge to ask questions, and I feel, like every dog, the urge to keep silent. Every one feels the urge to ask questions. How else could my own questions have provoked even such minor tremors as to my delight – an exaggerated delight, I must confess – they often did? And to show that I feel the urge to keep silent no special proof, alas, is necessary. Essentially, then, I do not differ from all other dogs, and that is why at bottom every one of them is prepared to acknowledge me, despite all differences of opinion and all personal dislikes, and why I am prepared to do the same to them. It is only the mixture of the elements that varies, a variety that is very important for the individual but insignificant for the race as a whole. And can it really be supposed that the mixing of this permanent stock of elements has never, past or present, produced a mixture like mine, and indeed an even unhappier mixture, if one likes to call mine an unhappy one? That would run contrary to all other experience. We dogs are engaged in the strangest occupations, occupations in which one would refuse to believe if one did not possess the most reliable information about them.