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Existentialism
Franz Kafka (1883 - 1924)
A common confusion |
Du
hast mich letzthin einmal gefragt, warum ich behaupte,
ich hätte Furcht vor Dir |
A
COMMON EXPERIENCE, resulting in a common confusion. A. has to
transact important business with B. in H. He goes to H. for
a preliminary interview, accomplishes the journey there in ten
minutes, and the journey back in the same time, and on returning
boasts to his family of his expedition. Next day he goes again
to H., this time to settle his business finally. As that by
all appearances will require several hours, A. leaves very early
in the morning. But although all the surrounding circumstances,
at least in A.'s estimation, are exactly the same as the day
before, this time it takes him ten hours to reach H. When he
arrives there quite exhausted in the evening he is informed
that B., annoyed at his absence, had left half an hour before
to go to A.'s village, and that they must have passed each other
on the road. A. is advised to wait. But in his anxiety about
his business he sets off at once and hurries home. This time
he covers the distance, without paying any particular attention
to the fact, practically in an instant. At home he learns that
B. had arrived quite early, immediately after A.'s departure,
indeed that he had met A. on the threshold and reminded him
of his business; but A. had replied that he had no time to spare,
he must go at once. In spite of this incomprehensible behavior
of A., however, B. had stayed on to wait for A.'s return. It
is true, he had asked several times whether A. was not back
yet, but he was still sitting up in A.'s room. Overjoyed at
the opportunity of seeing B. at once and explaining everything
to him, A. rushes upstairs. He is almost at the top, when he
stumbles, twists a sinew, and almost fainting with the pain,
incapable even of uttering a cry, only able to moan faintly
in the darkness, he hears B.--impossible to tell whether at
a great distance or quite near him--stamping down the stairs
in a violent rage and vanishing for good.
Ce
qu'on fait n'est jamais compris mais seulement loué ou blâmé.
Nietzsche, Gay Science |
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