•
Rating:
“The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place.”
George Bernard Shaw
Can you tell me how many times in your DeBaserian life you have said or heard one of the following statements?: “You didn't understand a damn thing!”; “I didn't mean that”; “Look, maybe I didn't explain myself”; “You misunderstood me”; “Screw you, don't you understand Italian!?”.
It's not easy to express who we are, what we dream, where we would like to go; it's not easy face-to-face, let alone when we press the keys of a computer to try to convey the emotions given to us by the latest album of an unknown Indian who creates sonic marvels by sampling the sounds of a rattlesnake.
Did I say it's not easy? It should be said that it's impossible. Human communication is, in itself, a mirage; the transmitter believes they are sending the message loud and clear, and the receiver has no doubt about their comprehension abilities. But among humans, there is an unbridgeable, insurmountable chasm; we can do our best to put ourselves in each other's shoes, but what passes is (at best) a “tainted” copy of the original communication. And it's tainted by our cultural baggage, our expectations, even the value and meaning that a single word can have for each of us.
I believe this is the essence of “The Emperor's Message”, a very brief parable (not more than a page) written in 1917. In the story, Kafka directly addresses the reader, informing them that the magnificent, now-dying monarch has transmitted a secret and crucial dispatch to a messenger of extraordinary skill; and that the message is directed specifically at the reader, the single reader, and no one else!
The adventures the messenger must face, however, are not only arduous but perpetual, insurmountable; despite exhausting all his strength, he will always remain ensnared in the impotence of his human form.
I believe Kafka has the gift of Beckett.
The Irish genius worked incessantly on increasingly sparse and minimal dramaturgies, where even the human figures were stripped of features deemed non-essential (in “Not I” for example, only a mouth illuminated the scene, telling its dreadful story). Just like the dramaticules (very short one-act plays), which managed to convey, with images as powerful and concentrated as a laser beam, all the despairing anguish of the human condition, Kafka's ephemeral parables (how can I not mention “Before the Law”) go straight to the point, with dazzling allegories and paradigm-shifting insights.
We will never find peace, but unfortunately, we can only imagine that message, and whatever we read into it will be solely the product of our illusions. The end of the story is proverbial: “But you sit, facing your window, and bring the message to life in your dreams at nightfall.”
Loading comments slowly
