12 Preface to the 1992 Edition
Preface to the 1992 Edition 13
serves as the existential validation of my
theories. Thus, both parts mutually support
their credibility.
I had none of this in mind when I wrote the
book in 1945. And I did so within nine
successive days and with the firm
determination that the book should be
published anonymously. In fact, the first
printing of the original German version does
not show my name on the cover, though at
the last moment, just before the book's initial
publication, I did finally give in to my friends
who had urged me to let it be published with
my name at least on the title page. At first,
however, it had been written with the
absolute conviction that, as an anonymous
opus, it could never earn its author literary
fame. I had wanted simply to convey to the
reader by way of a concrete example that life
holds a potential meaning under any
conditions, even the most miserable ones. And
I thought that if the point were demonstrated
in a situation as extreme as that in a
concentration camp, my book might gain a
hearing. I therefore felt responsible for
writing down what I had gone through, for I
thought it might be helpful to people who
are prone to despair.
And so it is both strange and remarkable
to me that— among some dozens of books I
have authored—precisely this one, which I
had intended to be published anonymously
so that it could never build up any
reputation on the part of the author, did
become a success. Again and again I therefore
admonish my students both in Europe and
in America: "Don't aim at success—the
more you aim at it and make it a target, the
more you are going to miss it. For success, like
happiness, cannot be pursued; it must ensue,
and it only does so as the unintended side-effect
of one's dedication to a cause greater than
oneself or as the by-product of one's surrender
to a person other than oneself. Happiness
must happen, and the same holds for success:
you have to let it happen by not caring about it.
I want you to listen to what your conscience
commands you to do and go on to carry it out
to the best of
your knowledge. Then you will live to see
that in the long run—in the long run, I say!
—success will follow you precisely because
you had forgotten to think of it."
The reader may ask me why I did not try to
escape what was in store for me after Hitler
had occupied Austria. Let me answer by
recalling the following story. Shortly before
the United States entered World War II, I
received an invitation to come to the
American Consulate in Vienna to pick up my
immigration visa. My old parents were
overjoyed because they expected that I
would soon be allowed to leave Austria. I
suddenly hesitated, however. The question
beset me: could I really afford to leave my
parents alone to face their fate, to be sent,
sooner or later, to a concentration camp, or
even to a so-called extermination camp?
Where did my responsibility lie? Should I
foster my brain child, logotherapy, by
emigrating to fertile soil where I could write
my books? Or should I concentrate on my
duties as a real child, the child of my
parents who had to do whatever he could to
protect them? I pondered the problem this
way and that but could not arrive at a
solution; this was the type of dilemma that
made one wish for "a hint from Heaven," as
the phrase goes.
It was then that I noticed a piece of marble
lying on a table at home. When I asked my
father about it, he explained that he had
found it on the site where the National
Socialists had burned down the largest
Viennese synagogue. He had taken the piece
home because it was a part of the tablets on
which the Ten Commandments were
inscribed. One gilded Hebrew letter was
engraved on the piece; my father explained
that this letter stood for one of the
Commandments. Eagerly I asked, "Which
one is it?" He answered, "Honor thy father
and thy mother that thy days may be long
upon the land." At that moment I decided to
stay with my father and my mother upon the
land, and to let the American visa lapse.
V
IKT
OR
E.
F
RAN
KL
Vien
na,
1992
PART ONE
Experiences in a
Concentration
Camp
T
HIS
BOOK
DOES
NOT
CLAIM
TO
BE
an account of facts and events
but of personal experiences, experiences which millions of
prisoners have suffered time and again. It is the inside
story of a concentration camp, told by one of its survivors.
This tale is not concerned with the great horrors, which
have already been described often enough (though less
often believed), but with the multitude of small torments.
In other words, it will try to answer this question: How
was everyday life in a concentration camp reflected in the
mind of the average prisoner?
Most of the events described here did not take place in
the large and famous camps, but in the small ones where
most of the real extermination took place. This story is not
about the suffering and death of great heroes and martyrs,
nor is it about the prominent Capos—prisoners who acted
as trustees, having special privileges—or well-known pris
oners. Thus it is not so much concerned with the sufferings
of the mighty, but with the sacrifices, the crucifixion and
the deaths of the great army of unknown and unrecorded
victims. It was these common prisoners, who bore no dis
tinguishing marks on their sleeves, whom the Capos really
despised. While these ordinary prisoners had little or noth-
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