In this blog post, I’ll share my thoughts on the play “Waiting for Godot” and my reflections on the themes of waiting, oblivion, life, and death that it explores.
Watching the Play and the Plot
Their shabby attire brings to mind a worn-out sponge. A thin, tattered tie hangs pitifully around “Didi’s” neck. The old boots, sagging as if their laces were missing and their tongues sticking out, belong to “Gogo.” Gogo and Didi stand beside a thin tree that is strangely twisted, as if a piece of wire had been carelessly bent. The tree has no leaves and not a single twig. They are waiting for Godot in that desolate place.
I had always thought of *Waiting for Godot* as a play in which two men wait for Godot, who never comes, while failing to listen to each other and talking past one another. I assumed it would be incredibly boring and uninteresting. When I actually had the chance to see the play *Waiting for Godot*, it turned out to be nothing like that. Although their conversation often went off on tangents and then circled back, strangely enough, I found myself wanting to focus on and listen to those snippets of dialogue over and over again. Although both are past middle age, I felt a sense of familiarity watching Godot whine like a child about his sore feet and Didi rush out because he couldn’t hold his urine.
“Waiting for Godot” is a play in which two men fill the time while waiting for Godot by engaging in comical antics and various conversations to alleviate the boredom. In the morning, they talk about the story of the thief who was crucified alongside Christ. Then Lucky appears, walking pitifully with heavy burdens in both hands, and Pozzo appears, tormenting Lucky by pulling on the rope tied around his neck. The rope looks to be about 10 meters long. Gogo feels sympathy for Lucky’s pitiful appearance and even sheds a tear, but Lucky kicks Gogo in the leg, causing him pain. The intimidating dynamic is reminiscent of a cruel master and a pitiful servant, but listening to their conversation, it seems like nothing more than a game.
As they pass by, a boy arrives at dusk and tells them that Godot will come tomorrow before disappearing. The next morning, Gogo and Didi meet again in front of the bare tree and wait for Godot. The only changes are that Pozzo has gone blind and Lucky has become mute. Once again, the boy tells them that Godot will come tomorrow. That is the entirety of the plot.
Waiting, Forgetting, and the Problems of Life
This play does not simply sidestep life’s important issues and fill the stage with nothing but absurd dialogue. On the contrary, it is filled with very serious themes. It is just that the structure is loose, and the topics shift rapidly. Gogo and Didi briefly feel sympathy for Lucky, who has a noose around his neck. But before long, along with Pozzo, they treat Lucky as a source of amusement and tell him to try dancing. They themselves dance excitedly, then get angry, and make up again in an instant. But all of these things are quickly forgotten.
They even think about suicide. However, since the only tool they have for suicide is an old belt, they soon give up on the idea. They habitually look around in all directions. While waiting for Godot, who may never come, they endure the wait by doing something or talking about something. Each of these fragmented actions they perform is an action we ourselves perform. Joy, anger, sadness, fun, the problem of death, sympathy, condemnation—none of these things is a simple matter.
So, even though the story isn’t structured and the topics change absurdly from one moment to the next, you find yourself continuing to watch them. When Pozzo stands up from his chair and then hesitates before sitting back down, he ponders what excuse to make to justify returning to his seat. His attitude is incredibly comical and elicits laughter. Yet it resembles our own inability to simply say “I like you” or “I want to be with you” when we truly feel that way. Realizing that supposedly intelligent humans engage in such comical behavior, my laughter naturally turns into a chuckle.
At first, I thought Godot was a god, as the name suggests. But as I watched the play, I realized Godot was different from the God I knew. If He were God, He would have actively intervened in their lives and wouldn’t have left them with nothing to do but wait for Godot. The reason I thought Godot might be a god was that references to Christ or God appeared sporadically throughout the play. Didi talks about the thief who was crucified next to Christ and entered heaven with him. He also discusses why only one of the authors of the four Gospels mentioned the story of the thief crucified next to Jesus.
Gogo remarks that perhaps people were ignorant, and the conversation veers off in a different direction. Even afterward, they often talk about Jesus. They approach the subject with quite a bit of religious depth. I wonder why such a story is unfolding in such a disjointed and frustrating manner. Ironically, their conversational style is actually quite comfortable. It’s so similar to our own lives.
They clearly have many serious concerns, but they constantly forget them. Gogo, in particular, has a poor memory. He even forgets that he met Pozzo and Lucky just yesterday. He only remembers eating the bone Pozzo gave him and the pain of being hit by Lucky. Didi has a slightly better memory, but even so, rather than engaging in serious conversations for long, the topic keeps shifting. Our daily lives are just like this. Sometimes we think about very serious life issues, but not knowing what we should strive for, we forget them in an instant.
Only sensory memories—like eating or feeling pain—remain. The serious themes of life, which seem somewhat distant, are quickly forgotten amidst the events and habits right before our eyes. Strangely enough, the narrative structure of *Waiting for Godot* is more comforting than one might expect. In fact, it makes us realize that this stream of fragmented memories, pieced together by such forgetfulness, is the very way we live our lives.
Waiting for Godot serves to mask the contradictions of such a life. They often wish to leave that place. Each time, they exchange lines like “Let’s go,” “We can’t do that,” “Why not?” “Because we have to wait for Godot,” and “That’s true,” and give up. They live on a vague belief that things will be better when Godot arrives. The boy who visits every night gives them hope that Godot will come. We, too, find vague motivation to endure our tedious lives by clinging to clues that Godot might be coming.
In their teens, the goal is to get into college. This is their Godot. Soon, a new goal emerges. Once they enter college, they start thinking about getting a job or further education. This is their Godot. They believe that once they get a job, they’ll get married and begin a stable life, but yet another new goal arises. Improving quality of life, a nice home, their children’s education—these are their “high points.” That is why those considered somewhat wise think from their youth about what they will aim for toward the very end of their lives.
However, they only realize too late that if their goals are set so far in the future, they will end up running until the very end of their lives, and the “high point” will never arrive. Sadly, some people choose suicide when they realize that the “high point” will never come. Others, like Gogo, who lacks a proper rope and cannot commit suicide, briefly entertain such thoughts but then forget them and return to their old habits. They begin waiting for the “high point” all over again.
Most people continue to wait for Godot, much like the relationship between Godot and Didi, spending their time waiting by socializing with others who are also waiting. In fact, because there are so many conversations and interactions in between, they don’t so much endure the wait as they enjoy the amusement and lose track of time. However, when the moment of death—when they can wait no longer—draws near, everyone realizes that Godot will never come.
My life, too, is a life spent waiting for Godot. I do, however, vaguely suspect that Godot will not come. Since I am still in my twenties, my inner “Boy Who Cried Wolf” seems to whisper the words “Godot is coming tomorrow” with greater clarity. There were times when I seriously pondered the meaning of life’s fragments and its final destination. Yet, like Godot and Didi in *Waiting for Godot*, I quickly forgot and let it slip away.
Eventually, I stopped responding to “Let’s go” with “We can’t do that” and became a seeker. And before long, I arrived at faith. I still haven’t shed the foolishness of waiting for Godot, but I no longer need to wallow in futility, even knowing that Godot will never come.
I’m not sure what Beckett’s intention was when he wrote his play *Waiting for Godot*. What is certain is that the issue of human mortality often appears. On the morning of the second day, Didi comes out alone and sings a song. The lyrics are absurd: a dog, hungry, climbs onto a bowl of soup to tear at the meat, only to be beaten to death by its owner. The actor sings it so well that I find myself wanting to listen to it again and again. I’d call it “Waiting for Godot-style minimalist music.” The lyrics end with “…on that dog’s tombstone.” It’s a moment that, after getting completely absorbed in the comedic song, becomes deeply meaningful when you stop to think about it.
Lucky spouts a torrent of words when he engages in the act of “thinking.” Among those words is a story about a woman giving birth at the child’s grave. Lucky’s “thinking” is truly impressive. He rattles off a mishmash of trivia—the kind you’d expect to see in *Nature*—just like the chatterbox from the old *Gag Concert* used to recite the entire route of Subway Line 2. On top of that, his voice gradually rises in pitch, drawing applause.
However, some of the knowledge he recites comes out stuttering like a machine. And if you listen closely, the words he recites repeat in a loop. Lucky’s behavior in the play seems to mock human knowledge. In particular, it struck me as a mockery of reductionists. Many physicists and biologists are reductionists. They believe that the whole can be understood through its parts. They believe they have come to understand the world through this approach.
Reaching that complete understanding is their ultimate goal. However, in the human world, there are fundamental aspects that are inherently non-deducible, not merely due to the imperfection of our tools. For example, many biological organs possess irreducible complexity. There is no way to construct such an organ incrementally unless dozens of components are precisely manufactured and assembled in the right places all at once.
To avoid these irreducible aspects, they keep circling back, questioning the reasons and then questioning the reasons for those questions. Eventually, they reach a point where they may not even realize that their knowledge has become circular logic. Though this is a highly controversial idea, the “thinking” behavior I observed in Lucky was precisely a depiction of this very state.
It is only when one reaches the grave that everyone realizes the fact that the “high road” does not come to them. The thief crucified next to Jesus accepted him and entered heaven only when he himself was about to die on the cross. Shouldn’t we seriously contemplate “Let’s go” before that moment—which everyone must face—arrives? We must not wait for the “high road” to come; rather, we must respond to “Let’s go” and become seekers.
We must hold onto and seriously contemplate the fragments of life—those issues we briefly consider only to forget. Perhaps none of these issues is as immense as the problem of death. We may be too afraid to live as seekers regarding this issue, telling ourselves, “I can’t do that,” and continuing to vaguely wait for the Savior to come. Yet, everyone eventually realizes that the Savior will come—it is merely a matter of time.
