In this blog post, I’ll share my thoughts on seeing the play “Waiting for Godot” and my reflections on the themes of waiting, forgetting, life, and death that it explores.
Watching the Play and the Plot
Their shabby attire brings to mind a lint-covered sponge. A thin, frayed 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’s bent in a strangely twisted way, as if someone had haphazardly bent a piece of wire. 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, while waiting for Godot who never comes, fail to listen to each other and talk at cross-purposes. I assumed it would be incredibly boring and uninteresting. When I actually had the chance to see a production of ‘Waiting for Godot’, it turned out to be nothing like that at all. Although their conversation often went off on tangents and then circled back, strangely enough, I found myself wanting to focus on and listen to every snippet of their dialogue. Although both are past middle age, there’s something endearing about Godot, who whines like a child about his sore feet, and Didi, who can’t hold his bladder and dashes off to the bathroom.
“Waiting for Godot” is a play in which two men pass the time while waiting for Godot by engaging in comical antics and various conversations to alleviate the boredom. In the morning scene, they discuss the story of the thief who was crucified alongside Christ. Then Lucky appears, walking pitifully with heavy loads in both hands, while Pozzo appears, tormenting Lucky by pulling on the rope tied around his neck. The rope appears 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 as you listen to their conversation, it seems to be nothing more than a game.
As they pass by, a boy arrives at dusk to say that Godot will come tomorrow, then disappears. 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 entire plot.
Waiting, Forgetting, and the Problems of Life
This play does not simply sidestep life’s important issues while filling the stage with nothing but absurd dialogue. On the contrary, it is filled with deeply serious themes. It’s just that the structure isn’t linear, 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 glance around. While waiting for Godot, who may never arrive, they pass the time by doing something or talking about something. Each of these fragmented actions they perform is exactly what we do. Joy, anger, sadness, fun, the question of death, sympathy, criticism—none of these things is a simple matter.
So, even though the plot isn’t structured and the topics shift abruptly and absurdly, you find yourself continuing to watch them. When Pozzo stands up from his chair and then hesitates before sitting back down, he agonizes over what excuse to make to stay seated. His behavior 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 a supposedly intelligent person is engaging in such comical behavior, my laughter naturally turns to a chuckle.
At first, I thought Godot was a deity—that “God” was short for “God.” But as I watched the play unfold, 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 deity was that references to Christ or God appeared sporadically throughout the play. Didi talks about the thief who was crucified next to Christ and was granted entry into heaven. 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 people must have been 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 these stories are presented 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 from 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 amid the events and habits right before our eyes. Strangely enough, the narrative style of ‘Waiting for Godot’ is a bit 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 want 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 eventually give up. They live with 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 a vague motivation to endure our tedious lives by clinging to clues that Godot might be coming.
In our teens, the goal is to get into college. This is their Godot. Soon, a new goal emerges. Once in college, we start thinking about getting a job or continuing our education. This is their Godot. We believe that once we get a job, we’ll get married and begin a stable life, but yet another new goal arises. Improving their quality of life, owning a nice home, and providing a good education for their children—these are their “high points.” That is why people considered somewhat wise think from a young age about what they want to aim for toward the end of their lives.
However, they only realize too late that if their goals are set so far in the future, they’ll end up sprinting until the very end of their lives—and the “high point” will never arrive. Tragically, some people choose suicide when they realize that the “high point” will never come. Others, like Gogo, who couldn’t commit suicide because all he had was an old rope, briefly entertain such thoughts but then forget them and revert to their old habits. They begin waiting for the “high point” all over again.
Most people continue to wait for Godot, and like the relationship between Godot and Didi, they endure the time spent waiting by socializing with others who are also waiting for Godot. In fact, because there are so many conversations and interactions in between, rather than simply enduring it, 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. Still, I vaguely suspect that Godot will never come. Since I’m still in my twenties, my “boy who cried wolf” seems to whisper the words, “Godot is coming tomorrow,” with even greater clarity. There were times when I seriously pondered the meaning of life’s fragments and its final destination. But just like Godot and Didi in ‘Waiting for Godot’, I quickly forgot and let it slip away.
Eventually, instead of responding to “Let’s go” with “We can’t do that,” I became a seeker. And before long, I came to faith. Although I still haven’t shaken off the foolishness of waiting for Godot, I no longer need to wallow in futility, even knowing that Godot will never come.
I’m not entirely sure what Beckett’s intention was in writing his play ‘Waiting for Godot’. What is certain is that issues surrounding human mortality frequently arise. On the morning of the second day, Didi comes out alone first 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 hear it over and over again. I’d call it “Godot-style minimalist music.” The lyrics end with “…on that dog’s tombstone.” It’s a passage that, after you’ve been completely absorbed in the comedic song, takes on a profound meaning when you stop to think about it.
Lucky spouts a barrage of words when he’s “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’ magazine—just like the “Chat Man” from the old ‘Gag Concert’ used to recite the entire route of Subway Line 2 by heart. On top of that, his voice gradually rises in pitch, drawing applause.
However, some of the facts he recites come out stuttered, like a machine’s voice. And if you listen closely, you’ll notice that his recitation loops. This portrayal of Lucky 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 large can be understood through the small. 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 imperfections 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 their correct positions all at once.
To avoid these non-deducible aspects, one keeps circling back, attaching reasons to objections and then attaching reasons to those objections. Eventually, one reaches a point where one may not even realize that this knowledge has become circular logic. Although this is a highly controversial idea, Lucky’s “thinking” behavior, as I saw it, was precisely a depiction of this very state.
Everyone comes to realize that the moment of death is the only time when the “high point” truly arrives. The thief crucified next to Jesus accepted him only when he realized he was about to die on the cross, and it was then that he entered heaven. Shouldn’t we all seriously contemplate “Let’s go” before that inevitable moment arrives? Rather than waiting for the “high point” to come, we must respond to “Let’s go” and become seekers.
We must seriously grapple with the fragments of life—those issues we briefly ponder only to forget. Perhaps none of these issues is as immense as the question of death. We may be too afraid to live as seekers regarding this issue, telling ourselves, “That can’t be,” and continuing to vaguely wait for the Savior to come. Yet, everyone eventually realizes that the Savior will not come—it is merely a matter of time.
