Kafka’s ‘Before the Law’: The participation of the subject in its subjectification

In the Cathedral

Kafka’s The Trial begins with Josef K’s surprising arrest ‘without having done anything wrong’ (Kafka, 2009, p. 5). Josef K, however, is never incarcerated. Instead he becomes entangled with the court and the law in a series of occasionally surreal, and mostly puzzling, encounters around his own ‘trial’. Josef K meets various people at the outer rim of the court and law, such as lawyers or court painters, but is never a witness to the trial itself. Much like Josef K, we the readers are never told what he is accused of, how his trial actually proceeds, or what the judgement is. The novel explores Josef K’s encounter with the court, although he never experiences direct intervention from the court or hears any reference to a specific law. The novel, written in 1914/15, remained unfinished, but there is a final chapter in which Josef K is executed. ¹

‘In the Cathedral’, the chapter from The Trial on which this paper focuses, starts with Josef K being introduced by his boss to an Italian business associate to whom Josef K should show the city’s cathedral. This part of the chapter is characteristic for the entire novel in that it is full of uncertainties (what does the boss want from Josef K?), misunderstandings (at what time do they meet?) and insecurities of Josef K (can he speak enough Italian? In principle yes – but not given the Italian’s surprising accent; is he feeling well enough? No; is there enough time to do what he is tasked with? No). Josef K feels exhausted because of his trial and in a short moment of reflection, he is called by his lover, Leni, who diagnoses that ‘they’re hunting you down’. Josef K agrees at the end of their conversion, saying half to himself, ‘Yes, they’re hunting me down’ (p. 146).

Later on, the Italian associate does not show up at the cathedral. Josef K wanders around inside on his own when he sees a priest about to preach without a congregation. Josef K wants to leave but the priest addresses him by name. Josef K at first engages very tentatively with the priest, who suddenly reveals himself to be a prison chaplain knowledgeable about K’s trial. In a long conversation, the priest informs K that ‘the verdict does not come all of a sudden, the proceedings gradually turn into the verdict’ (p. 152), while K ponders ‘how he could break out of the trial, how he could circumvent it, how he could live outside the trial’ (p. 153). The priest tries to explain to K why he should not deceive himself about the court ² by retelling the parable, ‘Before the Law’, which is, according to the priest, in the introduction to the law. ³

The parable ‘Before the Law’ is about a man from the country who stands outside the law and wants to enter. Before the law stands a doorkeeper who tells the man that he cannot enter. The man decides to wait and occasionally converses with the doorkeeper. The doorkeeper denies the man entrance, tells him that he can maybe enter later; teases him to go in but warns him that behind the door is another door with another doorkeeper with another door and another doorkeeper and so on. The doorkeeper warns him that the sight of the third doorkeeper is already too much, even for him. The doorkeeper accepts bribes from the man in his attempts to gain access, but does not change his behaviour. The man from the country studies the doorkeeper meticulously, down to the fleas on his coat, but never enters the door. As many years go by, the man from the country gets old, nearly deaf and finally is on the verge of death. In the man’s final moments, the doorkeeper bends over him:

‘What is it you want to know now?’ the doorkeeper asks. ‘You are insatiable.’ ‘Everyone seeks the Law,’ the man says, ‘so how is it that in all these years no one apart from me has asked to be let in?’ The doorkeeper realizes that the man is nearing his end, and so, in order to be audible to his fading hearing, he bellows at him, ‘No one else could be granted entry here, because this entrance was intended for you alone. I shall now go and shut it.’ (Kafka, 2009, pp. 154–5)

After the priest finishes telling the parable, a dispute over its interpretation ensues. Josef K suggests that the doorkeeper deceived the man from the country. The priest challenges this interpretation by emphasizing the virtues of the doorkeeper, which Josef K doubts. The two engage in a discussion about what the doorkeeper’s task actually could or should have been. The priest rarely offers a definite interpretation, but provides guidance into different commentaries on the parable. For instance, he informs Josef K that ‘Regarding this, the explicators comment: correct understanding of something and misunderstanding of the same thing are not entirely mutually exclusive’ (p. 156). Josef K offers another interpretation of the priest’s interpretation who, again, responds that he, the priest, only offers (conflicting) opinions of others and that one should not focus on opinions too much anyway. ‘I am merely showing you the opinions there are on that subject. You shouldn’t pay too much attention to opinions. What is written is unchanging, and opinions are often just an expression of despair at that’ (p. 157). The priest repeatedly returns to defend or at least suspend judgement over the doorkeeper, suggesting that the man from the country is at fault. The final interpretation of the priest concerns truth itself. ‘“No,” said the priest, “one doesn’t have to take everything as the truth, one just has to accept it as necessary.” “A depressing opinion,” said K. “It means that the world is founded on untruth”’ (p. 159). The debate then ends as Josef K grows tired and weary and wants to leave. The priest informs K that he is free to go, the court does not want anything from him, but will accept him when he comes.

Performance, research excellence and the subject

To show that Kafka’s works merit attention, I have chosen the British REF as an example of an unclear power in organizations. With its ambiguous consequences, the REF illustrates some parallels with Josef K’s experiences. ⁴ Under the REF framework, a university department’s research performance is graded by the number and quality of the department members’ publications and impact case studies. Each researcher can submit up to four publications per year. These publications are graded based on rankings of the journals where they appear, which range from one star (lowest) to four stars (highest). In 2013, for the first time, each department had to submit a limited number of impact case studies that demonstrate the economic or social benefits of research. ⁵ While the British governing body uses the REF to control quality and allocate resources, different universities base different decisions about pay, hiring, demotions and promotions on anticipated REF results. Top universities have ‘bought in’ researchers with four-star publications to boost their REF results. Equally, researchers who publish in journals which are only rated one or two stars and researchers who do not publish enough journal articles risk disappearing from academia.

Two parallels appear when mirroring The Trial against the REF. First, the law to which Josef K is subject is unclear or absent, and only perceived as a faint glimmer. Throughout the novel, the law remains abstract and unknowable, and what is known is deconstructed through interpretations to the point of paradox. The REF performance criteria, while they appear to be clear (publishing in top journals secures top ranks), are actually vague when it comes to more concrete issues: the time cycle is unclear, the journal rankings themselves fluctuate significantly, the number of submissions changes with each review cycle, and new criteria, such as impact studies, might or might not be included. And what exactly happens to an academic who meets (or does not meet) the REF top criteria is decided differently at different universities. While some universities have communicated the consequences of individual performance in the REF, anecdotal evidence suggests that this is not the norm, creating uncertainty for individual academics. In sum, one may speak of a clarity of criteria, but a lack of clarity in practice.

Second, being subject to the REF comes with significant personal stakes for academics in terms of career possibilities and self-worth. Empirical studies, such as Knights and Clarke (2014), have found that performance evaluation systems like the REF have resulted in ‘insecurities in the form of fragile and insecure academic selves’ (p. 334). Similar to Josef K, British academics have voiced concerns about the system they face. In the case of the REF, this relates to problems such as the preference for journal publications over books and short-term orientation over long-term intellectual projects (Martin, 2011; Smith et al., 2011). Yet, despite criticism of the system and the reported substantial insecurities resulting from the REF, most British academics participate in the exercise and change their behaviour to improve the metrics (Willmott, 2011). This begs the more general theoretical question, which is also the research question of this paper: How do people participate in (or resist) their own subjectification?

Reflexive entanglement: a conversation with power

In psychoanalytic theories, an image or fantasy is at the core of what motivates the self to participate in its own subjectification. In Kafka’s works, we see a variation of this theme, as Josef K is certainly concerned with fantasies – he fantasizes about the law, the court and his trial. However, what Josef K wants from the law, from the court and from those in power is not entirely clear. Since it remains ambiguous throughout the novel whether Josef K is guilty or not (even his alleged crime goes unnamed) it is unclear whether Josef K wants justice or just acquittal. The fantasies which Josef K strives for are all formulated negatively in the form of violated expectations. In the first chapter, when the court official enters his home to inform him of his trial, K thinks that ‘After all, K had rights, ⁶ the country was at peace, the laws had not been suspended – who, then, had the audacity to descend on him in the privacy of his own home?’ (Kafka, 2009, p. 7). Equally, throughout the novel he increasingly abandons the hope of concluding his trial in favour of ‘break[ing] out of the trial, . . . circumvent it, . . . live outside the trial. That possibility must exist, K had thought about it quite often recently’ (p. 153). While fantasies seem to play a role in Josef K’s self-subjectification, his fantasies are full of ambiguities, which makes them gradually decay.

A basic theme in the novel is that K experiences an interpellation, a call by power – the court informs him that he is accused; the boss calls him to guide the Italian business associate; the priest literally calls him by name. However, these interpellations are not followed up: the court never stages a trial in its traditional sense; the business associate is met once but then quickly disappears from the novel; the priest tells him that he is free to go. K rather answers the call of power through reflection. He gets obsessed with how he is or might be seen, how he can understand the call. The call is, however, occasionally paradoxical, sometimes bizarre, but always difficult to understand. Josef K engages in a conversation with himself about what power wants from him and what he wants from power. The effects of such conversations with the self about power can be described as reflexive entanglement.

We can trace the theme of Josef K’s reflexive entanglement not just in this chapter, but in the entire novel. From its start, The Trial raises the difficult question of Josef K’s involvement with the law. The first sentence informs us that ‘without having done anything wrong, he was arrested’. Throughout the novel, Josef K becomes further and further entangled in his case, despite few legal proceedings taking place. While he still pursues his day job, he becomes increasingly obsessed with the court and the law; his attempts to defend himself drag him ever deeper into his case. Moments of defence, such as a passionate speech in front of a court, only worsen his situation (as he is later informed). The chapter ‘In the Cathedral’ exemplifies these obsessions which run through the entire novel: Josef K’s circular thoughts foster his entanglement, as do his attempts to produce meaning through communication with the priest.

Josef K continuously reflects on his position via-a-vis power. He is aware of his reputation at his workplace which ‘was taking all his effort to maintain’ (p. 142). When he is selected to show the cathedral to the Italian business associate, he understands that others have reasons to think he is knowledgeable on Italian language and the arts, but that this view had been exaggerated and he is not actually fit to fulfil the task. Kafka’s writing is very much in the form of a silent conversation – the arguments are not structured neatly but rather as tentative statements which are downplayed or even revoked in a series of further statements, which themselves are equally undermined. Rarely does Josef K make a statement about himself which is not immediately further qualified. This pattern does not shift substantially when others are involved in the conversation. As if sensing K’s unexpected inability to properly understand the Italian’s accent, K’s boss tells him that

If he couldn’t understand the Italian at first . . . he shouldn’t let himself be put off, understanding would come very quickly, and even if he couldn’t understand very much it wouldn’t be a disaster, since for the Italian it wasn’t that important to be understood. (p. 145)

And after many introspections, readers might develop the slight hope that all of Josef K’s more or less fruitless reflections on the trial are cleared up once he manages to engage in explicit communication with a willing and knowledgeable participant: K’s conversation with the priest. Despite the priest’s guarantees that he is impartial yet favourable to K, little gets cleared up in this conversation. Essentially, the conversation with the priest follows the same patterns as Josef K’s conversations with himself. After the parable ‘Before the Law’ is told, K presents one interpretation (the doorkeeper deceived the man from the country), which is offset by an alternative reading (the doorkeeper was dutiful and even exceeded his duty). K considers the alternative opinion, only for the priest to inform him that ‘You shouldn’t pay too much attention to opinions’ (p. 157). The fundamental problem seems to be that Josef K does not understand the call from power. The priest calls him by name, yet there is no insight about the trial to be gained from him – just more possibilities for interpretation. The conversation with power, the making sense of what is happening, seems endless. Josef K’s reflexivity does not lead to a way out of the trial but to further entanglement.

Kafka’s text points to a definition of reflexive entanglement, namely those practices in which the subject of power is concerned with itself, and through which it develops a specific subjectifying perspective on itself. Power calls the self and is addressed by the subject in a conversation about its own position vis-a-vis power. It is a specific form of insight into these conversations of the subject with itself, a glimpse into its reflexive entanglement with power, which is a strength of the literary genre as well as something that sets it apart from academic writing. ⁷ Equipped with these insights from Kafka’s texts, the next step is to take this concept of reflexive entanglement to confront the scholarly literature and its (predominant) portrayal of reflexivity as a liberating practice.

In organizational studies, different forms of reflexivity have been discussed (Alvesson, Hardy, & Harley, 2008). However, in almost all versions of the argument, reflexivity is concerned with a type of mental distancing from a given situation through explicit acknowledgement of one’s own position. The idea of reflexivity has been applied to numerous contexts, such as research methodology (Alvesson, 2010; Alvesson & Skoldberg, 2009), leadership (Alvesson, Blom, & Sveningsson, 2017), or practitioner contexts (Schön, 1983). Predominantly, the reflection on one’s own position is described as something positive, as it offers a way of liberating one’s self from a bias, a practice, or a discourse. Reflexivity may help move toward a critical and creative practice (Schön, 1983). Also, Foucault’s overall project of opening up the historic genesis of the subject (Foucault, 2015) generates a potential for reflexivity; it enables us to think differently about how we view ourselves and others.

In contrast to views in much of organizational research where reflexivity is a form of agency that liberates subjects from power, Kafka’s works point to the dark sides of reflexivity. Josef K becomes submerged deeper and deeper in his trial, not through the trial’s procedures, but through his own attempts to make sense of his situation and interpret the law. In Kafka’s stories, reflexivity leads to an obsession that entangles the self in the discourses from which, through reflection, the subject should be able to free itself. Adorno (1967/1997), in his essay on Kafka, anticipates this: ‘The more the I [. . .] is thrown back upon itself, the more like the excluded world of things it becomes’ (p. 262). The inherent ambiguity of reflexivity has been advocated by Kierkegaard, who diagnosed the potential inertia resulting from too much reflexivity: ‘The most refined form of such self-reflection is always the one that becomes interesting to itself by wishing itself out of this state while remaining self-contentedly within it’ (Kierkegaard, 2014, p. 148). Kierkegaard and Adorno see reflexivity as a connection to the other because it is a recognition of the ‘ego-alien’ (Adorno, 1967/1997, p. 255) – the realization that others are really different to oneself. It is this traumatic recognition which, according to the psychoanalysis of Freud or Lacan, forms the desire to be recognized by others. In this view, reflexivity is not a way out of entanglement, but a way in, as it gives form to the desire to be loved by others.

Interpreting Kafka in this way also points towards a different critique of the reflexivity concept as it commonly appears in organizational studies. Rhodes (2009), for instance, argues that too much reflexivity in the process of research may actually reinforce paradigmatic boundaries and limit possibilities of inquiry. He suggests, following Weick (2002), that the danger of reflexivity in research is to become too focused on one’s own practices, rather the practices being studied. However, as Rhodes suggests, the way out is more reflexivity – albeit in an ethical sense, which acknowledges the responsibility produced through academic writing. The problem is that ‘reflexivity can easily degenerate into narcissism’ (Antonacopoulou & Tsoukas, 2002, p. 860) and the solution is to be reflexive while staying open towards others and critical about one’s own truth claims.

For Josef K, the problem of reflexivity is not the danger of becoming overly narcissistic, as Rhodes (2009) or Weick (2002) have suggested with regard to research methodology. In The Trial, an excess of reflexivity adds layers of interpretation upon one another. What is absent, however, is a fundamental reflexivity about the obsession with the self. Kafka’s characters never reflect on the limitations of their reflections, the limitations of their language, their ability to communicate, or their ability of making sense or give meaning.

In Kafka’s stories, there are clear moments in which normative discourses exert disciplinary power, especially with reference to institutions such as the family (The Judgement, the chapter Amalia’s Secret in The Castle, In the Penal Colony; Kafka, 1999a, 1999b). However, The Trial is not primarily a story of coercion; the cathedral chapter is without violence. The struggle between the priest and Josef K is not about following the law; it is not about the expert constructing the subject. The form of power at work becomes clearest in the chapter’s final sentence, uttered by the priest: ‘The court does not want anything from you. It receives you when you come and dismisses you when you go’ (Kafka, 2009, p. 160).

Subjectification is not exerted through ‘merely’ internalizing explicit discourses à la the organization man, but through Josef K’s conversation with power in which power’s answer remains incomprehensible. To be sure, without a legal discourse, Josef K could not be worried about his trial. But Kafka writes about something else: the absence of the values to which these refer (Huber & Munro, 2014) prompts the subjectification of the self. It is not the judge, professor, or doctor who subjectifies, but the subject itself.

The significance of reflexive entanglement becomes clearer when returning to the example of the REF. From a Schwartzian point of view, judging oneself according to a REF score is a form of identification with the organization ideal. Žižek’s work could be used to add that the ideal could be despised (i.e. I do not agree with the REF assessment system), yet still be desired (i.e. I still strive towards doing well in the REF ratings). In Kafka’s text, the call for power which prompts reflexivity is much less clear. It is not about whether the ideal is likeable or not. It is not even about the precise form of the ideal. Rather, the very ambiguity of the ideal opens up space for the subject to entangle itself with power. The unclarity of the REF is quite mundane in that the actual consequences of individual REF performance can be unpredictable, and the actual rules of the REF can change. However, as a result, it becomes difficult to free oneself since all answers can be qualified and turned into questions. Given the unclear rules, the subject is thrown back upon itself and can fill this hermeneutic void by reflexively entangling itself even further into a potentially unwanted and mostly unclear regime of power.

What is similar between reflexive entanglement and other forms of self-subjectification discussed in prior literature, such as cynical distancing (Fleming & Spicer, 2003), is that subjectification starts with an Althusserian interpellation by power. Josef K is arrested, much like the REF starts when entering British academia. Reflexive entanglement is different from cynical distancing in that the lure of power works differently. Wearing a ‘McShit’ tee-shirt acts as a kind of pacifier against capitalist exploitation when working in a McDonald’s restaurant. Kafka’s stories show what happens when a subject actually tries to engage with power in good faith – be it with serious intentions or as a strategy of resisting through believing too much (Fleming & Spicer, 2003). Rather than distancing itself from power, the subject of reflexive entanglement is attempting to get closer to power. Instead of pacifying himself, Josef K’s entanglement with the court becomes an obsession and increasingly takes over his life. Not only does power ignore his attempts at micro resistance, but the continued violation of expectations and the uncertainty about what power wants from him make Josef K participate in his own subjectification. If cynical distancing explains how we fool ourselves into accepting exploitation, reflexive entanglement explains how we become subject to power, even if it does not exploit us or tell us what it wants.

Self-slander as a conversation about guilt

If self-subjectification means assuming a specific position vis-a-vis power, which position is associated with reflexive entanglement? The Trial gives a curious answer to this question with respect to Josef K’s guilt. Rather than being judged guilty by the court, Josef K engages in self-slander. K’s conversation with power becomes focused around his own assumption of guilt, which further entangles him in his trial.

In ‘normal’ trials, the explicit focus is the question of the culprit’s guilt. In The Trial, however, guilt is often only discussed implicitly. When Josef K meets the priest, he does not plead his innocence, but contemplates a life outside his trial. ‘The heroes of the Trial and the Castle become guilty not through their guilt – they have none – but because they try to get justice on their side’ (Adorno 1967/1997, p. 270). Some organization ideals such as the family (Casey, 1999) work through making the subject feel guilty – for instance for caring less for the organization than for one’s family. Reflexive entanglement offers a variation of this theme: it is not the repressive regulation of power structures which form the subject so that it sees itself as guilty. Rather, subjects further participate in their subjectification by assuming guilt in the face of unclear and ambiguous power structures. I call this gradually growing assumption of guilt by the subject in the face of unclear power structures, borrowing a term from Agamben (2011), self-slander.

Self-slander produces reflexive entanglement in two steps in The Trial. First, guilt is not something stimulated by power. Josef K and the priest converse about making sense of the trial, what is truth and the court, but never about a crime or whether Josef K has committed one. But through self-slander, guilt gradually becomes the prism through which the protagonist sees his actions. Reflexivity becomes organized around one’s own assumed guilt, rather than being guilty of a crime. Throughout the novel, the only acts of agency carried out by Josef K consist of him acquitting himself. Second, once self-slander has become the norm, it is difficult to escape. A normal trial may end through confession, but that is impossible in the case of a false self-accusation. The trial cannot end when the accuser is convicted of false accusations, as that would mean recognizing that the accused is innocent. From the point of view of the accused, she knows that she is innocent but also that she is guilty of self-slander. As a consequence, the entanglement with power becomes difficult to escape, no matter what stance the accused takes. Pleading innocent is something only guilty persons do, as the priest explains to Josef K.

Self-slander is different from Freudian concepts of subjectification. Self-slander does not depend on narcissism because there is not grandiosity in self-slander, only self-deprecation. ⁸ This twist from narcissistic grandiosity to self-slander can help explain how discourses of excellence and world-class performance at corporations (and universities in the case of the REF) can lead to subjectification; and how self-slander and reflexive entanglement are possible even if the individual does not buy into the rhetoric but instead actually feels far from excellent or world-class. If accounts like Casey’s (1999) explain how we subjectify ourselves through the positive rhetoric of the family, Kafka helps explain how the negative rhetoric of insufficient performance also tempts the subject to participate in its own subjectification.

The practice of self-slander is also different from Žižek’s idea of identifying oneself with something unappealing like fascism or capitalist exploitation. For self-slander, actual guilt in the face of a good or bad ideal is not necessary. It is not a powerful external ideal which provokes subjectification. Rather, it is internal reflexivity through which the subject fills out the ambiguities of good or bad power structures to further subjectify the self. For this inner monologue, power does not need to imply any guilt. Power already works through the subject’s self-slander.

Returning to the example of the REF, Knights and Clarke (2014) have identified a frequent occurrence of the imposter syndrome in their study of British academics, i.e. the feeling ‘that one is not as capable or adequate as others think’ (p. 341). This corresponds to Josef K’s feeling of inadequacy as a worker and as a defendant. The concept of self-slander adds a twist to the diagnosis of the imposter identity. The imposter feels that she deviates from an external, positive perception. When engaging in self-slander, the subject presumes doing badly, irrespective of the actual feedback of the REF. More than just internalizing external evaluative standards, the subject sees their own work through the prism of doing badly and precludes its own possibilities to escape this assumption. The logic is the following: my colleagues may tell me that I’m a good academic but the REF shows that this depends on my performance. Since the external control establishes a formalized target, other types of feedback are devalued. Or even worse: if I meet the formal target as well, I can slander myself that I could have, in theory, not have met the target – and therefore I do not deserve to be recognized by my peers. And since I accuse myself, there is no way the system or my peers could ever tell me that I do well. The imposter is concerned with the possibility that the judgement of others is falsely positive – the starting point is narcissist, as the assumption is that others see her positively. The self-slanderer is concerned with her own definite judgement of guilt – the starting point is guilt which can only result in further entanglement with power. ‘Where guilt consists in bringing about the trial, the sentence cannot be anything other than the trial itself.’ (Agamben, 2011, p. 24).

Different paths: humour and desire as forms of freedom

So far, I have focused on how Josef K subjectifies himself through reflexive entanglement with little hope of escaping. This reading of Kafka is a rather gloomy one. In their essay on Kafka, Deleuze and Guattari (1986) have proposed that the author lends himself to multiple readings and that his writing does not allow for one universal interpretation. And just like the writing of Kafka escapes any fixed interpretation, perhaps the indeterminacy of meaning also protects Josef K from ever completely subjectifying himself. Deleuze and Guattari point out that Kafka is not concerned with freedom or resistance in its traditional sense. Kafka’s strategy was to adopt a language which was against hegemonic power (German was a second language in Prague at the time) and emphasizes paradoxes and improbabilities. In this spirit, I advocate yet another reading of ‘In the Cathedral’, namely, one focused on distancing oneself from power.

There are elements of humour in Josef K’s reflexivity. In a sense, The Trial is a comedy of errors. Nothing really works as it should – rooms are comically dysfunctional, lawyers are more tricksters than experts, the priest fails to mention a single theological concern. There is folly and absurdity in Kafka’s writings. Where formal bureaucracy would apply procedures, there is little rationality. Kafka plays with expectations – a hallmark of comedy and horror. The point is here not a fixed alternative interpretation of Kafka, but that Kafka’s writings allow for multiple emotions to become part of what could be a neutral report of court proceedings. Moreover, erotic desire runs through the novel – sometimes directly connected to some sense of humour. At one point, for example, K has access to some law books.

K. opened the top book; an obscene picture appeared, a naked man and woman sitting on a sofa. The artist’s pornographic intention was clearly recognizable, but his lack of skill was such that it ended up being simply a man and a woman emerging from the picture, their bodies all too evident, sitting there too upright and, because of the false perspective, turning towards each other very awkwardly. (Kafka, 2009, p. 42)

The comically bad pornographic books point towards desires and sexual implications connected to the law (although this connection appears ‘awkward’). And Josef K also has sexual desire that leads to erotic adventures but also to a rather unpleasant treatment of women – K’s only evidently guilty behaviour towards others in the novel.

Humour and erotic desire become important parts of Josef K’s obsession with the trial, as they can turn into the nucleus for the emotions and ideas which point towards a looser relation to power. Humour, in the form of laughing at the entire absurd situation and oneself as being part of it, takes away the gravity that otherwise drags the subject down the rabbit-hole of reflexive entanglement and self-slander. Erotic desire can turn the focus from excessively obsessing over the most absurd situations to different topics. It can deviate the subject to other matters. K’s story is not one where the proceduralism of formal rationality prevails. Rather, The Trial is about the despair and darkness, but also the humour and eroticism of formal rationality.

Kafka’s writings do not strive towards escape from power. None of the novels were finished, and there are no indications that Josef K can or wants to move away from the castle, or that Josef K walks away from the trial. Conformity to power, however, does not seem to be a viable option either. When Josef K tries to conform to what he thinks power wants from him, the effects are equally unhelpful. The composition of a submission to the court proves both difficult and fruitless (Kafka, 2009, p. 81). Josef K’s obsession with the situation at hand frees him from earlier worries. For all the troubles and anxieties Josef K goes through in order to be prepared for meeting the Italian business associate, that meeting is quickly forgotten once he starts conversing with the priest. This points towards another curious way of dealing with power in Kafka’s stories: forgetting and quitting. Thus, while none of Kafka’s protagonists walks away from power or successfully starts a rebellion, power is frequently forgotten: the conversation with power is left without resolution and never revisited. This does not correspond with the grand fantasies of resistance and rebellion, but seems to be a pragmatist way to escape the grip of power.

Humour, desire and forgetfulness can all further distort the already unclear call from power. When power is not understood, subjectification can never be complete. If the powerful discourse mumbles, the mishearing can lead us to serve a different master than the one who is calling.

Prior literature in organizational studies has studied humour as a way to deal with power relations. For instance, humour as irony can help employees with the paradoxes of surveillance which may be used by organizations to coerce or care for its employees (Sewell & Barker, 2006). Humour has been found to open spaces for resistance while also producing new divisions within a workforce (Collinson, 1988). Humour, in such studies, deals with the ambiguous intentions and effects of organizational control, while the technology of control is clear and can be made sense of. In Kafka, humour sometimes comes from the failures of a control technology or those who should enact it. In addition, humour also comes from the ambiguities of the power structures themselves. When the call from power is incomprehensible it may well sound funny.

Returning to the example of the REF, the question is whether there is folly or humour in the REF. There are certainly jokes and satire about the REF. ⁹ Whether the way out comes from humour about the REF, desire directed at something else or just forgetting about it altogether, the question is never one about meeting the targets or not, but whether one is subjectified in the process of trying to meet the target. Success does not preclude subjectification. But on the other hand, failure does not preclude distance from subjectifying power.

Josef K sometimes just forgets about earlier concerns and walks away from power. His desire leads him to other places than those which earlier calls by power tried to assign him. In terms of the REF, walking away from power would not mean that one could ignore its implications for a further academic career. But walking away implies not internalizing the pressure of the REF. And additionally, if everybody were to walk away from power, this would lead to a passive resistance which would also do away with the REF altogether. However, Kafka does not write about orchestrated forms of resistance or romantic calls to (unionized) action, but rather about forgetfulness and following desire to other sites of struggle.