Waiting for Godot
Samuel Beckett (1948 and trans. to English 1953)
Introduction
Though difficult and sometimes baffling to read or (even)
view, Waiting for Godot is nonetheless one of the most
important works of our time. It revolutionized theatre in the
twentieth century and had a profound influence on
generations of succeeding dramatists, including such
renowned contemporary playwrights as Harold Pinter and
Tom Stoppard. After the appearance of Waiting for Godot,
theatre was opened to possibilities that playwrights and
audiences had never before imagined.
Initially written in French in 1948 as En Attendant Godot,
Beckett's play was published in French in October of 1952
before its first stage production in Paris in January of 1953.
Later translated into English by Beckett himself as Waiting
for Godot, the play was produced in London in 1955 and in
the United States in 1956 and has been produced
worldwide. Beckett's play came to be considered an
essential example of what Martin Esslin later called
"Theatre of the Absurd," a term that Beckett disavowed
but which remains a handy description for one of the most
important theatre movements of the twentieth century.
"Absurdist Theatre" discards traditional plot, characters, and action to assault its audience
with a disorienting experience. Characters often engage in seemingly meaningless dialogue or
activities, and, as a result, the audience senses what it is like to live in a universe that doesn't "make
sense." Beckett and others who adopted this style felt that this disoriented feeling was a more honest
response to the post World War n world than the traditional belief in a rationally ordered
universe. Waiting for Godot remains the most famous example of this form of drama.
Existentialism has been a key tool in your HL journey with literature. The concept of the individual’s
freedom of choice, rather than external control, is a philosophy inherent in Beckett’s play.
The crux of this play is the boredom, the cyclical
nature, the ambiguity in the waiting;
and the whole sense of uncertainty that pervades the tramp’s existence… this is where the
absurdist tendencies lie in this literary work.
What is an important element of the play is the act of waiting for someone or something that never
arrives. Western readers may find it natural to speculate on the identity of Godot because of their
inordinate need to find answers to questions. Beckett however suggests that the identity of Godot is
in itself a rhetorical question. It is possible to stress the for in the waiting for …: they are waiting for
something to provide them with guidance, a purpose… even if they don’t know what that something
is.
Written in the manner of “Theatre of the Absurd”, the play is meant to be a disorienting experience
for the audience. It mocks the “absolutes” that we have come to believe in as simply “human
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constructs” which, though they may help us order the world, have no real universal value. Didi and
Gogo are metaphorically epic examples of the absurd existence we humans endure everyday.
WHY SHOULD I CARE? (from Schmoop.com)
We're going to preface this one with the fact that—seriously, Shmoopers—we're not spoiling for a
fight. We don't want to offend you. We don't want to hurt your feelings.
But the fact of the matter is... you have way more in common with a couple of weird vagrants wearing
bowler hats and sitting around waiting for a dude who never shows than you probably care to admit.
... please don't shout at us.
Sure, maybe you're not wearing a bowler. (If you are: thumbs up. Your hat game is strong.) Sure,
maybe you haven't been waiting for the same diety-sounding no-show for eternity.
But dang if things don't get absurd—or even Absurd—for you, too.
See if this sounds familiar: your morning is basically the same every single
weekday. You shower (washing your hair first), you brush your teeth, and you
put on your pants followed by your shirt and your shoes. In fact, you rarely
remember your morning routine—because it's exactly that: it'sroutine. It never
varies.
How about this: you hate math. You hate it with the fiery passion of ten
thousand suns. But in order to graduate, you need to pass a math test. So you
study. And you think to yourself, "I have to do this. There is no other way.
I must," without considering that there actually is an alternative... albeit an
unpleasant one that involves not graduating. (Shmoop PSA: Be cool; stay in
school.)
Or hey: you're at a wedding. The Chicken Dance starts playing, and you're compelled—in fact, you're
led by your eccentric Aunt Ethel and Uncle Travis—to join the line of people flapping their arms like
chickens. You don't want to dance... but you really have no choice. Or do you?
If any of those even vaguely ring a bell—and we know they do—then you are an Existentialist cousin
to Didi and Gogo, the bowler-hatted protagonists ofWaiting For Godot.
Because we've just hit on three big Existentialist tenets in our little scenarios:
1) In the words of Didi from Waiting For Godot, "Habit is a great deadener" (2.795)—which is why
your morning routine has basically become as immovable as petrified wood and as forgettable as...
well, as a morning routine.
2) Everyone has radical personal freedom, but with that comes radical personal responsibility. You
actually do have the choice to not study and to fail math... but the consequences of your actions
make it seem as though you're without a choice in the matter.
3) The world is absurd, as evidenced by the ridiculousness of the Chicken Dance and the fact that
you really feel like you must participate in it.
And dang if those same Big Three Existentialist tenets don't pop up inWaiting For Godot. This is, after
all, a play about Didi and Gogo, who wait every. single. day. for a guy named Godot to arrive (hence
the "great deadener" bit). This is a play about guys who can't wrap their heads around the fact that
they don't have to wait for Godot (they think they have no choice). And, finally, Waiting For
Godot makes us uncomfortably aware about the very thin line that separates the normal (say, taking
off your shoes) and the absurd (say, taking off your shoes multiple times in a row).
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But the similarities don't stop there. Dive right in and wait for Godot alongside Didi and Gogo and
you'll end up taking a long, hard, hilarious, absurd, ridiculous, depressing, and thought-provoking look
in the mirror.
Major Themes
Below are core themes that appear in this play. As you read, annotate and paraphrase ideas that
support and develop these themes:
I.
Existentialism
“We always find something, eh Didi, to give us the impression we
exist?” (Gogo, p. 77)
Albert Camus, an existentialist writer, believed that boredom or waiting, which is essentially the breakdown of routine or habit,
caused people to think seriously about their identity, as Estragon and Vladimir do. In The Plague, Camus suggests that boredom
or inactivity causes the individual to think. This is also similar to the idea of meditation, an almost motionless activity, allowing
the individual to think with clarity. Camus, and other existential writers, suggested that attempting to answer these rhetorical
questions could drive someone to the point of insanity. The tramps continually attempt to prove that they exist, in order to keep
their sanity.
The German existentialist philosopher Martin Heidegger expressed clearly that human beings can never hope to understand why
they are here. The tramps repetitive inspection of their empty hats perhaps symbolizes mankind's vain search for answers within
the vacuum of a universe.
Jean Paul Sartre, the leading figure of French existentialism declared that human beings require a rational basis for their lives but
are unable to achieve one, and thus human life is a futile passion.
II.
Habit
“But habit is a great deadener” (Didi. p. 105)
Beckett infers that humans 'pass time' by habit or routine to cope with the
existentialist dilemma of the dread or anxiety of their existence. Beckett believes that humans basically alleviate, or hide from,
the pain of living or existence (which is at the crux of Existential philosophy) by habit. The idea of habit being essential for
human existence substantiates Sartre's view that humans require a rational base for their lives. Beckett feels that habit protects us
from whatever can neither be predicted nor controlled:
"Habit is a compromise affected between the individual and his environment, or between the
individual and his own organic eccentricities, the guarantee of a dull inviolability, the
lightening-conductor of his existence. Habit is the ballast that chains the dog to his vomit.
Breathing is habit. Life is habit." (Beckett)
Kierkegaard's philosophical view of 'Dread' or 'Angst' (German for anxiety) as described by the German philosopher Martin
Heidegger, is a state in which the individual's freedom of choice places the individual in a state of anxiety, as the individual is
surrounded by almost infinite possibilities.
The basic premise of the play is:
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The more we get stuck in a life of routine and habit, the less
likely we are to know who we truly are ourselves and,
hopefully, break out of the shackles of that routine.
III.
Waiting
Gogo: “What do we do now?”
Didi: “We wait.”
Gogo: “Yes, but WHILE waiting?”
Estragon and Vladimir symbolize the human condition as a period of
waiting and uncertainty. Most of society spends their lives searching for goals, such as exam or jobs, in the hope of attaining a
higher level or advancing. Beckett suggests that no-one advances through the inexorable passage of time; in fact we are all
decaying - the only thing we are rushing towards would be death. The anti-climaxes within the play represent the
disappointment of life's expectations. For example Pozzo and Lucky's first arrival is mistaken for the arrival of Godot. These
points reinforce Kierkegaard's theory that all life will finish as it began in nothingness and reduce achievement to nothing.
IV.
Time
“Have you not done tormenting me with your accursed time! It’s abominable!
When? When! One day, is that not enough for
you? One day he went dumb, one day I went
blind, one day we’ll do deaf, one day we were
born, one day we shall die, the same day, the
same second, is that not enough for you? They
give birth astide of a grave, the light gleams an
instant, then it’s night once more.” (Pozzo, p.
103)
Beckett expresses in the play that time is an illusion or a 'cancer', as he referred to it, that feeds the individual the lie that they
progress, while actually destroying them. Estragon and Vladimir through the play end as they begin, have made no progression:
they’ve only gotten older and more decrepit as they’ve been waiting for Godot. The few leaves that have grown on the tree by
the second act may symbolize hope but more feasibly represent the illusive passage of time. Beckett wrote in his Proust essay
that time is the 'poisonous' condition we are born to, constantly changing us without our knowing, finally killing us without our
assent.
V.
Cyclical Structure
Didi: “There you are again again!” (p. 83)
When the structure of action is closing in through the course the play, with the past barely recognizable and the future
unknown, the here and now of action, the present acting on stage becomes all-important. Existentialist theories propose that the
choices of the present are important and that time causes perceptional confusion.
The important thing here is that Didi and Gogo never get anywhere - they lack the courage and fortitude to break from their
cyclical routines and are condemned to repeat them. Pozzo and Lucky have their routines as well.
VI.
Memory and Certainty
Gogo: “We came here yesterday.”
Didi: “Ah no, there you’re mistaken.”
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Gogo: “And what did we do yesterday?”
Didi: “What did we do yesterday?”
Gogo: “Yes.”
Didi: “Why…” (Angrily) “nothing is certain when
you’re about!” (p. 9)
The play is deliberately unnatural and abstract because it is intended to
have universal meaning. The world of Estragon and Vladimir is
fragmented of time and place and is submerged with vague recollections
of culture and the past.
The lack of knowledge of the tramps' culture and past symbolize the
breakdown of culture and tradition in the twentieth century. After
surviving two World Wars, the tradition of the West has been shattered
and culture has greatly changed. The Holocaust showed the atrocities of
war and destroyed peoples' beliefs about human nature. The effects of
political reforms, such as communism, Marxism, and science have
obliterated society's belief in the church. Nietzsche declared the "death of God", as he felt that religion no longer offered a
suitable framework for living. Estragon and Vladimir's uncertainty symbolizes the uncertainty of living in the twentieth century
and more generally the uncertainty of existence.
Significantly, we as a human race, essentially have very little idea of where we’ve been, and why we’re here. We don’t know
enough about evolution yet to clearly identify our forebears, and we don’t have enough certainty to truly ascertain why it is we
are here on this earth. Religions have done an admirable job in providing some answers to these questions, but they generally
rely on faith, not certainty.
VII.
Ambiguity of Language
Gogo: “Que voulez-vous?”
Didi: “Ah! Que voulez-vous. Exactly.” (p. 72)
Beckett distrusted language because it falsified he believed, the deepest self. His bleak vision of human ignorance, impotence and
loneliness made communication an absurd endeavour. James Joyce strongly influenced Beckett and Joyce wrote Finnegan’s
Wake, in which he practically composed his own language to add truthful meaning to his expression. Beckett is simultaneously
torn between the inability to express and his need to express.
Each character inhabits a world that has been shaped by thousands of individual experiences, accumulated through their five
senses, arranging elements in their minds differently. Conversation occurs but the arrangement of words do not bridge the gulf
that exists between them. The silences seem to punctuate conversations that represent the void, emptiness and loneliness
between people. Lucky's breakdown of speech and final collapse into silence could portray Beckett's ultimate response to the
chaos, randomness and meaninglessness of the universe: silence.
Given that they are uncertain about most everything in their existence - the one thing that they think they can rely on is
COMMUNICATION. Beckett strips them of this comfort too, as they are often left isolated, misunderstood and confused when
they attempt to share their inner most thoughts.
VIII.
Suffering
Pozzo: “The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to
weep, somewhere else another stops.” (p. 32)
Beckett portrays the human condition as a period of suffering. Heidegger theorized that humans are 'thrown into the world' and
that suffering is part of existence. Proust describes this point as the, 'sin of being born'. Beckett perhaps feels that to reduce the
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individual's suffering one must detach oneself from one's emotions. He believes most life is suffering until we acknowledge its
presence, and thereby, learn to live with it; to endure it with integrity and courage. These are two character traits that neither
Didi or Gogo attain in the play.
Beckett infers that life may not offer any alternatives to suffering - namely love or pleasure. The only consolation is that suffering
is a precondition of contemplation or creativity; it inspires us to create, to write, to seek in order that we may objectify the
suffering.
Beckett's pessimism is understandable. He lived through two world wars, fighting the Second World War for the French
resistance against the Nazis. He would have witnessed the atrocities of human nature, chaos, and the pointlessness of violence
and the breakdown of communication. He would inevitably spent time during the war helplessly waiting for something to
happen.
IX: Friendship and Companionship
Gogo: “I’ll never walk again”
Didi: “I’ll carry you. If necessary” (p. 32)
Friendship is tricky in Waiting for Godot, as each character is fundamentally isolated from each other.
Relationships teeter between a fear of loneliness and an essential inability to connect. This tension is central
to the play. The problems that keep characters apart vary from physical disgust to ego to a fear of others’
suffering.
But, in a very real way, friendship is the only thing they can rely on! Despite the obvious absurdities and
uncertainties they (and we) face everyday, at least they/we can share them with others! It helps us to cope
knowing that someone else is enduring the same (human) experiences as we are!
Character Analysis (from Schmoop.com)
VLADIMIR
In a typical uber-confusing Beckett move, Vladimir is also called "Didi" or, in one bizarre moment,
"Albert."
Vladimir and Estragon: BFFs?
Breaking into Waiting for Godot is super daunting, but the solution is to just dive in. So let’s start off
with Vladimir. If we wanted to take the easy way out, we’d say he was interchangeable with Estragon.
But a) we never want to take the easy way out and b) in fact, Vladimir and Estragon are two very
different characters.
Popular belief is that Vladimir is the more intellectual. He’s the alpha male, he has the better memory,
and he’s more logical. And Vladimir makes a point of saying—repeatedly, we might add—that
Estragon depends on him for his life. So that’s that.
Well, not quite. First of all, Vladimir’s claims might not be true. If we took his word for everything, we’d
all be wearing bowlers and waiting for the moon to come up. His insistence that Estragon depends
totally on him probably means that he needs Estragon just as much. It’s the original Bert and Ernie6
type comradeship. Gogo might need Didi to tell him what to do and keep him alive, but Didi needs
Gogo to need him. Make sense?
Onward! The next question is, if these guys both need each other, why is their friendship so messed
up? They spend half their time asking if they should really be friends or if they’d be better off without
each other. And, as we’ve come to expect in the play, they never really come to any sort of
conclusion. The nature of their friendship is as ambiguous as all else inWaiting for Godot; the only
thing certain is its uncertainty.
Too scared to part but too hesitant to have a real friendship, the men are left in constant limbo—
especially Vlad. He wants to hug Gogo, but be doesn’t want to get too close. He gives up his jacket to
his friend and shivers in the cold while singing him a lullaby, but then he flips out when Estragon tries
to dish about his personal nightmares. Mixed signals, much? For one reason or another, Vladimir is
incapable of having a real relationship. And that’s because of…
Vladimir’s Inability to Cope with the Suffering of Others
Yes, that’s right; we think Vladimir’s "don’t get too close to me" attitude has to do with his severe
reactions to watching others suffer. Just look at the way he flips out when Estragon wants to talk
about his "private nightmares":
ESTRAGON
(restored to the horror of his situation) I was asleep! (Despairingly) Why will you never let me sleep?
VLADIMIR
I felt lonely.
ESTRAGON
I had a dream.
VLADIMIR
Don't tell me!
ESTRAGON
I dreamt that—
VLADIMIR
DON'T TELL ME!
ESTRAGON
(gesture toward the universe) This one is enough for you? (Silence.) It's not nice of you, Didi. Who am
I to tell my private nightmares to if I can't tell them to you?
VLADIMIR
Let them remain private. You know I can't bear that. (1.146-153)
Yup, this exchange happens three times in Waiting for Godot.
On top of that, you’ve got Vladimir exploding at Pozzo for mistreating Lucky:
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VLADIMIR
(exploding) It's a scandal!
Silence. Flabbergasted, Estragon stops gnawing, looks at Pozzo and Vladimir in turn. Pozzo
outwardly calm. Vladimir embarrassed.
POZZO
(To Vladimir) Are you alluding to anything in particular?
VLADIMIR
(stutteringly resolute) To treat a man . . . (gesture towards Lucky) . . . like that . . . I think that . . . no . .
. a human being . . . no . . . it's a scandal!
ESTRAGON
(not to be outdone) A disgrace!
He resumes his gnawing. (1.386-9)
Shortly afterwards he’s berating Lucky for mistreating Pozzo, which suggests the problem isn’t so
much an aversion to slavery as it is an aversion to suffering of any kind. Vladimir doesn’t want to
witness it, hear it, or talk about it.
But wait… what does that have to do with Vladimir’s inability to have real friendships? Well, Waiting
for Godot presents suffering as the fundamental and constant state of being. All people are suffering
always. It follows, then, that a person who can’t deal with suffering can’t deal with people... at least
not for more than stretches of ten seconds or so while those other people are asleep. (Notice that
Vladimir is kindest to Estragon when he’s sleeping? Exactly.)
But look at Vladimir’s famous speech toward the close of Act 2:
VLADIMIR
Was I sleeping, while the others suffered? Am I sleeping now? Tomorrow, when I wake, or think I do,
what shall I say of today? That with Estragon my friend, at this place, until the fall of night, I waited for
Godot? That Pozzo passed, with his carrier, and that he spoke to us? Probably. But in all that what
truth will there be?(Estragon, having struggled with his boots in vain, is dozing off again. Vladimir
looks at him.) He'll know nothing. He'll tell me about the blows he received and I'll give him a
carrot. (Pause.) Astride of a grave and a difficult birth. Down in the hole, lingeringly, the grave digger
puts on the forceps. We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries.(He listens.) But habit is a
great deadener. (He looks again at Estragon.) At me too someone is looking, of me too someone is
saying, He is sleeping, he knows nothing, let him sleep on. (Pause.) I can't go on! (Pause.) What
have I said? (2.795)
Vladimir here comes the closest of any character to grappling with the difficulty of his and Estragon’s
predicament, and in fact comes closest to understanding the perpetual condition of human suffering.
Unfortunately, while he explores this cerebrally, he’s busy ignoring Pozzo’s cries of help from the
ground. While Vladimir may understand suffering intellectually, he certainly can’t get a handle on it
emotionally or practically, which is probably why hearing the pain of others is so difficult for him: it
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messes with his conception of reality. He can’t keep the idea of suffering abstract if he has to watch it
take place in front of his eyes.
What’s a Vladimir to do? This is the part where we talk about…
Vladimir’s Imitation of Humanity
This sounds way more profound than it is. All we’re getting at is that Vladimir’s solution to emotional
inadequacy is to mimic what he thinks a person should do. He doesn’t know how to be human, so he
fakes it:
VLADIMIR
Let us not waste our time in idle discourse! (Pause. Vehemently.) Let us do something, while we have
the chance! It is not every day that we are needed. Not indeed that we personally are needed. Others
would meet the case equally well, if not better. To all mankind they were addressed, those cries for
help still ringing in our ears! But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we
like it or not. (2.526)
Come to think of it, Vladimir isn’t the only guy around here trying to figure out how to be a person.
Estragon, with no notion of how to act, resorts to the same play-acting. "Let’s abuse each other," he
offers. "Let’s make it up," or have an argument, or ask questions, etc. It doesn’t get much more
explicit than Estragon’s suggestion that they literally pretend to be Lucky and Pozzo, two men who
also, incidentally, pick up on cues of how to act from those around them.
What distinguishes Vladimir, though, is his complete lack of awareness at his own state of pretend.
Estragon is quite aware ("We always find something […] to give us the impression we exist" (2.293)),
and Pozzo is more than willing to admit that most of what he does is pointless ("To-morrow I won’t
remember having met you to-day" (2.751)), but Vladimir hasn’t stepped outside his own dissemblance
to realize that he’s just faking it. Look at his exchange his Estragon, in which he commands him to
say he is happy "even if it’s not true." It may be that Vladimir is satisfied with the illusion of being
human, which is some ways would mean he’s actually the worst off of all these guys.
Yet still, amazingly, if we had to pick one character with whom we most identify, it would be
Vladimir—although the competition isn’t exactly stiff. Nowhere is this more true than at the end of Act
2, when Vladimir is at his most lucid and logical. Conversing with the Boy, Vladimir realizes that the
kid will come back tomorrow having forgotten this interaction. He will likely report that Godot can’t
make it, just as he has done day after day in the past.
For at least this one moment, Vladimir grasps the magnitude of his predicament and, in a rush of
genuine, human emotion, lunges at the Boy. He’s not faking it here. Of course, he goes right back to
his old self moments later ("We have to come back tomorrow […] to wait for Godot," he tells
Estragon), but at this one instant of clarity, Vladimir represents ourlogical frustration and anger.
Vladimir and Godot, Life, and Other Loose Ends
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Of course, the fact that we can, at least at times, identify with Vladimir is what makes his and
Estragon’s predicament so disturbing. (If they were a pair of bananas running around, it probably
wouldn’t be so poignant.) Even more frustrating for us to watch is the fact that, actually, all Vladimir’s
problems are Vladimir’s fault. He lives in a hell of his own making. According to Vladimir, the act of
waiting for Godot prevents him from choosing another action.
Estragon wants to know why they can’t leave: because they’re waiting for Godot. Why do they have
to come back tomorrow? Because they’re waiting for Godot. Why can’t they live their lives instead of
partaking in endless and fruitless banality? Because of… global warming? No, because they’re
waiting for Godot.
But what Vladimir fails to realize is that the act of waiting for Godot is a choice in itself. If he is
restricted by his waiting, it’s because he chooses to wait and therefore chooses to be restricted.
Notice that he is the character—not Estragon—who insists that they stay put. His rationale is that,
once the appointment is made, he has to keep it; but as we see twice through his interaction with the
Boy, Vladimir always chooses to renew his appointment with Godot. In this way he is self-damning;
he ends every day of waiting by committing to do the same the next day.
Estragon
Estragon is also called "Gogo" and, in one odd moment, "Adam."
Estragon, the "Other" Guy
At first it seems like Estragon is around to play second fiddle to Vladimir. He comes off as inferior to
Vladimir; he has a chronically poor memory, struggles ineptly with his boots, needs to be told what to
do (and perhaps even craves such instruction), and spends most of his time trying to fall asleep,
unless he’s sleeping already... in which case our guess is he’s trying desperately not to wake up.
To make a long story short, he comes across as a simpleton.
Estragon, the Wicked Smart Guy
Except Estragon isn’t actually a simpleton at all. Sure, he may be lacking in, shall we say, intellectual
fortitude (he folds under his own questioning), but he has this habit of tossing out unbelievably
profound comments as though they were nothing. But you probably want specifics. To start, look at
the "let’s hang ourselves!" exchange in Act 1. Estragon realizes right away that the bough might not
support Vladimir. Though he asks Vladimir to "use [his] intelligence," he still ends up having to explain
the situation to his friend:
ESTRAGON
Let's hang ourselves immediately!
[…]
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ESTRAGON
After you.
[…]
VLADIMIR
You're lighter than I am.
ESTRAGON
Just so!
VLADIMIR
I don't understand.
ESTRAGON
Use your intelligence, can't you?
Vladimir uses his intelligence.
VLADIMIR
(finally) I remain in the dark.
[…]
VLADIMIR
You're my only hope.
ESTRAGON
(with effort) Gogo light—bough not break—Gogo dead. Didi heavy—bough break—Didi alone.
Whereas—
VLADIMIR
I hadn't thought of that. (1.174-189)
More interesting than his foresight, however, is his understanding of the emotional significance of
such a consequence: Vladimir would be worse off left alone than he would be dead.
In Act 2 Estragon wows us with the "We’re all born mad; some remain so" (2.536), and he displays
his own unique reasoning when he asks Pozzo if, having gone blind, he can now see into the future
(traits commonly linked in mythology).
But Estragon totally takes the cake when he answers one of our biggest questions about Waiting for
Godot: why do he and Vladimir fill their time with silly activities and play-acting? Check it out:
ESTRAGON
We don't manage too badly, eh Didi, between the two of us?
VLADIMIR
Yes yes. Come on, we'll try the left first.
ESTRAGON
We always find something, eh Didi, to give us the impression we exist?
VLADIMIR
(impatiently) Yes yes, we're magicians. (2.292-4)
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One more time, because it's an awesome quote: "We always find something, eh Didi, to give us the
impression we exist?"
On top of these moments of profundity, Estragon gets credit for what we think of as the three
encapsulating lines of Waiting for Godot. As far as we’re concerned, all the play’s action could be
condensed in the following way: 1) "Nothing to be done" (1.1) (also the opening line of the play), 2)
"Nothing is certain" (1.125), and 3) "Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it’s awful!" (By
the way, is it coincidence that all three of these start with "Nothing?")
Estragon’s Predicament
And while we’re on the topic, there’s one more interesting "nothing" line to look at, also courtesy of
Estragon:
"Don’t let’s do anything. It’s safer." (1.195)
The point is, thematically, this is one of the most important lines in the play. Estragon’s line justifies
his and Vladimir’s inability to choose to act by claiming that doing nothing at all is safer. If you never
act, you can never act wrong, and if you never choose, you can never choose incorrectly. The
problem is, as a very wise and famous person once said, we choose even when we do not choose;
we choose by not choosing. Doing nothing is as unsafe as doing something. And that’s bad news for
Estragon.
Estragon, Godot, and Religion
Did you notice that Vladimir seems to be the connection to Godot, whereas Estragon is along for the
ride? Gogo has to be constantly reminded that they’re waiting for Godot, and he has to ask
repeatedly who Godot is, what he looks like, etc. It could be that, again, the man is cerebrally
challenged. He doesn’t have the intellectual capacity to think about Godot or religion the way that
Vladimir does.
But the other possibility is that he has the same profundity when it comes to religion that we’ve seen
elsewhere in the play. Just look at his comment on the Bible in response to Vladimir’s inquiry. On the
one hand, Estragon looked at the pictures rather than reading the gospels (child-like simplicity). On
the other hand, he speaks of "the Holy Land" with a deep emotional understanding of what awaits him
in a heaven-like afterlife:
ESTRAGON
I remember the maps of the Holy Land. Coloured they were. Very pretty. The Dead Sea was pale
blue. The very look of it made me thirsty. That's where we'll go, I used to say, that's where we'll go for
our honeymoon. We'll swim. We'll be happy. (1.50-3)
Yup. This "simpleton" concludes that religion—as well as its geographical stand-in, the Holy Land—is
full of happiness and (bonus!) some swimming.
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Pozzo: God or Not?
Pozzo is tyrannical, cruel, focused only on himself, and seems to possess some sort of mystical
watch. But one thing at a time—we’ll get to the weird watch in a minute. The first thing that happens
when Pozzo comes on stage is that Estragon mistakes him for Godot. A lot. The name mix-up that
follows practically begs us to compare Pozzo and Godot, which we will gladly do.
Godot, as we talk about in his character analysis, is an absent deity. Pozzo, too, seems sort of like a
God: he has complete control over Lucky, he tells the men the land is his, laughs at the thought that
they are the same species as himself, and even outright says that he is "not particularly human." But
if Pozzo is a god, we have to reconcile that with his being—what was it? Oh, yes, "tyrannical, cruel,
and focused only on himself."
This is a very different kind of god than we imagine Godot (Godot, get it?) being. One popular
scholarly belief is that Godot is the Christian God—he’s omniscient, uninvolved, and without human
form or characteristics. Pozzo, on the other hand, is like something out of Greek mythology. He is
subject to the same emotions as people are, has the same character flaws, and is motivated by
selfish concerns. The only difference between him and a mere mortal is his power. What do you
think—does that sound reasonable?
But if Pozzo has divine power, it is certainly limited. His memory is defective, he’s helpless, needs to
be asked to sit down, can’t rise to his feet without assistance, and is dependent on the presence of
others for any sort of function ("I cannot go long without the society of my likes" (1.336), he says). He
even credits Lucky with having taught him all he knows. Pozzo may be a god, but if so, he sure is an
imperfect one.
Pozzo O'Clock
And for a powerful being, Pozzo is incredibly bogged down in the same inane trivialities as Vladimir
and Estragon. His vaporizer plays the same role as Estragon’s boots: an everyday object that
occupies an absurd amount of his time and without which he cannot function. Losing his watch
devastates Pozzo and may even have something to do with his going blind.
What? Losing the watch makes Pozzo go blind?
Sure does. Observe:
1) Pozzo is a strict believer in his ability to understand and measure time. He asks how old Vladimir
is, he consults his watch to determine how many years have passed (sixty) since he supposedly
stopped being trivial, he rhapsodizes on twilight (a temporal grey area between day and night), he
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functions by a "schedule," and he tells Vladimir to believe whatever he likesexcept the notion that
time has stopped.
2) Pozzo loses his watch. He thinks he hears it ticking, but discovers that is in fact only the human
heartbeat. Time isn’t controllable anymore because he’s now forced to measure it in terms of human
life—the counting down of a pumping heart. This is a terrifying thought (and Pozzo even cries out
"Damnation!"). A pumping human heart can only mean one thing: that heart will, at one point in time,
stop pumping.
3) In fact, this thought is so terrifying that Pozzo decides to become blind.
Yes, that’s right: he decides to go blind. Vladimir points out at the end of Act 2 that Pozzo may have
been faking... and from what we’ve seen, we know that suffering in Waiting for Godot is self-imposed.
We have no trouble, then, convincing ourselves that Pozzo has caused his own blindness. He has
chosen to be blind because he doesn’t want to face the fact of his own ticking heart.
Does this seem like a long-shot? A stretch, perhaps? Does it seem like time has nothing to do with
sight? Look at Pozzo’s violent outbursts in response to Vladimir’s questioning of when he went blind:
POZZO
(violently) Don't question me! The blind have no notion of time. The things of time are hidden from
them too. (2.702)
Pozzo himself makes the explicit connection between his going blind and his refusal to deal with
time—what has become for him a ticking clock measuring out the remainder of his own life. He
chooses to be blind because it means he can stop thinking about time (and, consequently, his own
inevitable death). The same goes for Lucky becoming mute; the only time Lucky speaks in the entire
play is when Pozzo commands him to speak. We have little to reason to believe that Lucky lost his
ability to vocalize—if he is a mute, it is because Pozzo chooses not to hear him speak (perhaps
because he’ll end up talking about time again).
Pozzo even goes so far as to blame time for the meaninglessness of life. Vladimir will disagree with
him and blame habit ("the great deadener"), but Pozzo is quite adamant that the fleeting, transient
nature of one man’s existence makes it impossible for that man to have any purpose:
POZZO
(suddenly furious) Have you not done tormenting me with your accursed time! It's abominable! When!
When! One day, is that not enough for you, one day he went dumb, one day I went blind, one day
we'll go deaf, one day we were born, one day we shall die, the same day, the same second, is that
not enough for you? (Calmer.) They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's
night once more. (He jerks the rope.) On! (2.773)
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Pozzo envisions a baby being born into the air above a grave; his life is the amount of time that
passes during his fall from the birth canal into the ground below him. Ugh. That's grim. But it also
reminds us that life is too short to not eat that pint of Ben and Jerry's in the freezer.
Plucky Lucky
Lucky is basically Pozzo’s slave. He is abused physically and verbally, made to work to the point of
exhaustion, and denied any opportunity to act of his own accord.
Sounds bad, right? Actually, Lucky’s position is painted as enviable inWaiting for Godot—just
consider his name. Sure, you could make the argument that "Lucky" is an ironic term, but it’s also
likely that this character really is fortunate—at least compared to everyone else. The fact that the life
of a slave is to be desired is a testament to how bad off everyone else is. But it’s also a reminder of
the importance of consciousness and certainty—two big problems for Vladimir and Estragon
throughout these two acts.
Consciousness and certainty are exactly the reasons Lucky is lucky—he doesn’t have to worry what
to do, when to do it, whether he ought to, what the consequence will be, and whether or not he’s
happy. He has someone telling him what to do and when. He has in Pozzo much of the certainty Didi
and Gogo desire from Godot. He has been saved from responsibility and the agony of choice.
That takes care of the "certainty" bit; the "consciousness" part has to do with the fact that Lucky is
fully aware of his position as a slave. Estragon and Vladimir are equally enslaved to their concept of
Godot, which is why they "can’t leave," but they believe themselves to be free—they "give
[themselves] the illusion that [they] exist." How are they to break the bonds of their servitude if they
refuse to even admit such bonds exist? At least Lucky can see the rope around his neck. Vladimir
and Estragon can’t.
(Un)Lucky
Still, there are some downsides for Pozzo’s slave (y'think?). First of all, even Lucky can’t be entirely
certain that his position as a servant is permanent. At the least, he has to worry that he will lose his
occupation (using the term loosely). On top of that is the thought that, if he does have uncertainties,
he can’t do anything about it. Lucky can only speak when commanded to—compare his silence to the
endless stream of questions coming from Vladimir and Estragon. Lucky can’t ask questions. You
could say his suffering is worse because he is forced to do it in silence.
Hmm, it looks like we just argued for his name being ironic after all. Well, there you have it: "Lucky" is
both a genuine and ironic term. Look, more duality!
Clucky Lucky
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Of course, we can’t talk about Lucky without talking about Lucky’s big speech in Act 1. After all, this is
the only time he speaks in the play. At first glance, Lucky is simply piling absurdity on top of absurdity.
His speech is full of oddly truncated phrases repeated ad nauseum with no general purpose or
design. It’s easy to dismiss these lines as gibberish.
But based on what we’ve seen from Beckett, very little of his play is accidental. We think the speech
warranted a closer look, so we went diving in this heap of words and came back with this metaphor.
See if you agree:
LUCKY
Given the existence as uttered forth in the public works of Puncher and Wattmann of a personal God
quaquaquaqua with white beard quaquaquaqua outside time without extension who from the heights
of divine apathia divine athambia divine aphasia loves us dearly with some exceptions for reasons
unknown but time will tell […]. (1.639)
First of all, look at the seemingly random phrases that Lucky chooses to repeat: "for reasons
unknown" crops up ten times, "time will tell" is repeated four times, and we get four renditions of "what
is more." You’ve also got a fair sprinkling of "the facts are these," "beyond a doubt," and "I resume."
We don’t know about you, but we see themes of time, perpetuity, uncertainty, and false imitations of
truth—not to mention the overarching idea of repetition and banality. And in fact, we claim in Godot’s
character analysis that Lucky draws one of the most profound and vital conclusions in all of Waiting
for Godot during this very speech. But that’s another story.
But there’s more. That Lucky uses such academic jargon is a lesson in artifice and deception; he
sounds authoritative and intelligent, but in fact lacks any actual substance underneath. Now to us this
comes across as a critique of "ivory-tower b.s.," meaning that Beckett is poking fun at the academic
jargon used by a lot of intellectuals (who live in an "ivory tower"). This speech is potentially a great
explanation for why Waiting for Godot takes the form of a dramatic work rather than a philosophical
treatise.
God + D'oh! = Godot
Okay, so Godot isn’t really a character. Or, at least, we can’t be sure if he’s a character or not. But
he’s in the title, and talking about him seems to be everyone’s favorite pastime, so here we go.
The place to start is that Godot’s name has a G-O-D in it. Depending on your pronunciation, this is
either mildly or screamingly obvious. (Beckett said we should pronounce it with the emphasis on the
first syllable, GOD-oh, but a lot of people say God-OH.)
So there’s something god-like about Godot. Vladimir and Estragon wait in the hopes that he will
"save" them. They worry that, if angered, he might "punish" them. They’ve made a "prayer" to him in
the past. They can’t be sure if he exists. He’s perpetually absent, but human representatives speak of
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him in veiled terms. Yup—sure sounds like a god to us. As we discuss inPozzo’s character analysis,
this all makes Godot a very different kind of deity than the cruel, self-centered, potentially divine
Pozzo.
The problem is, these differences are precisely the reason Godot can’t ever really show up. The type
of god Godot seems to be is omniscient and omnipresent, a personal god without extension who
exists outside the boundaries of time. It is therefore impossible for him to take physical form and exist
at any given moment to interact with Vladimir and Estragon. If Godot ever did show up, it would mean
he wasn’t Godot—at least not as Vladimir and Estragon define him.
This renders all the waiting, the non-action, and the banality of Vladimir and Estragon’s lives
completely useless.
Lucky Nails It
Wait a minute… "a personal god"… that is "without extension"… who exists "outside time"… that
sounds strangely familiar. Indeed, yes, one character in Waiting for Godot does realize this
fundamental predicament and makes what is perhaps some sort of attempt to communicate (word
used loosely) it to the others: Lucky. We’re not kidding—check out the first five or so lines of his
speech in Act 1:
LUCKY
Given the existence as uttered forth in the public works of Puncher and Wattmann of a personal God
quaquaquaqua with white beard quaquaquaqua outside time without extension who from the heights
of divine apathia divine athambia divine aphasia loves us dearly with some exceptions for reasons
unknown but time will tell […]. (1.639)
Unfortunately for the all of mankind that Vladimir and Estragon represent, everyone misses this
delightfully useful piece of information. But Didi does manage to gain something from Lucky’s
rambling: the fact that Godot has a white beard. Give the man a cookie. He passed on "God is without
extension and outside time," but he went with "God has a white beard." Super. While this serves
absolutely no purpose for Vladimir other than to terrify him in Act 2 by confirming Godot’s divine
status, it provides for us—the reader/audience watching—another hint that Godot is the god Vladimir
has in mind.
So the fact that Godot can never show up is pretty depressing. But there is an alternative explanation
that provides some possibility of redemption and doesn’t contradict the notion of Godot as
omnipresent and without extension.
Okay here it is: Godot has already arrived. He’s just part of the characters on the stage. Hear us out
for a minute. Pozzo clearly has divine attributes (as we talked about for far too long in his character
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analysis, so look there for more if you’re interested), and there’s the phonetic confusion of his name
(POT-so) with that of GOD-oh.
Estragon’s confusion seems silly, but he might be getting at something bigger. Then there are the
nicknames of Estragon and Vladimir—Gogo and Didi—which together are reminiscent of the name in
question. Even Lucky becomes a Christ figure when we take a closer look; he is abused and made to
suffer while he bears this sort of "crucifixion" in silence. All we know of Godot’s appearance is that he
has a white beard, and Lucky himself has long, white hair.
Godot could be any of these men, or he could be all of them—that certainly fits with the idea of God
as omnipresent and without concrete form, but it throws one heck of a wrench into the idea of waiting
for Godot to arrive.
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