During the COVID-19 pandemic, humanity endured unprecedented suffering and isolation, prompting the question: "Where is God?" This is not a new question; throughout history, the same question has always been raised in the face of wars and natural disasters that bring about horrific destruction: "Why is God silent?" In 18th-century Europe—following the Thirty Years' War—Deism emerged as a worldview driven by rationalism, influenced by the Enlightenment and the Scientific Revolution, both of which emphasized human reason and intellect. Deism is a religious perspective holding that while God created the world, He does not directly intervene in human affairs or the laws of nature thereafter. God is viewed as a master clockmaker who constructs the perfect timepiece—winds it up and then ceases to interfere with its operation.
Deism appeals to universal human reason by stripping away the element of mystery, a key characteristic of religion. However, even Adorno and Horkheimer—themselves Marxist materialists—critique the Enlightenment for turning against itself in *Dialectic of Enlightenment*, while simultaneously emphasizing the importance of the myth and mysticism that the Enlightenment had obscured. Didi and Gogo waiting for "Godot": Symbols of the absurdity of human existence amidst a meaningless wait. Even if God’s silence persists, one must cast off temptations and illusions to attain true resurrection and salvation. In *Waiting for Godot*—a world-renowned play representing 20th-century Theatre of the Absurd—Samuel Beckett portrays the significance of God’s absence and silence through the story of two protagonists endlessly waiting for a figure named Godot who never arrives.
While the play illustrates the unbridgeable absurdity of human existence—caught between the human quest for meaning and a cold, unresponsive world—it simultaneously and paradoxically hints at how God’s absence and silence can nonetheless be present and communicative within human life. Although the play consists of two acts, the setting and dialogue in both are strikingly similar. On a roadside featuring a single, barren tree, the two male protagonists—Vladimir (Didi) and Estragon (Gogo)—meet again at roughly the same time as the previous day. They wait for Godot, engaging in tedious, meaningless conversation. Near the end of each act, a boy appears to deliver news regarding Godot. Godot never actually appears in the play. It is not merely a case of simple physical absence; rather, his arrival is perpetually postponed. The situation is staged to suggest that he might arrive at any moment. In each act, the boy conveys Godot’s promise: he cannot come tonight but will certainly come tomorrow. The curtain falls as the two protagonists pin their hopes on the coming day. Although Godot never appears, he maintains a presence through language. He is referred to by name, his arrival is discussed, he is the object of their waiting, and his promises are conveyed via a boy. His absence permeates the entire discourse; most conversations ultimately circle back to Godot. Who is he? When will he arrive? What did he say? Godot’s absence generates meaning through its linguistic presence and serves as the driving force that sustains the characters' lives. Didi and Gogo’s waiting goes nowhere, consisting only of repetitive actions. “What if he doesn’t come?” / “We’ll come back tomorrow.” / “And the day after, too.” / “I suppose so.” / “And on and on.” They act not *despite* Godot’s absence, but *because* of it. Didi and Gogo shape and sustain their lives around the act of waiting. Were he to appear, their waiting would cease, and the play itself would come to a definitive end. The author transforms Godot’s non-arrival—his absence—into the central engine for generating meaning. Since desire is sustained not by possession but by the repeated experience of non-arrival, Godot’s absence shapes the very structure of desire. Thus, his absence becomes the anchor sustaining their lives, and waiting becomes their mode of existence. At the same time, Godot’s absence is not merely a personal matter; it becomes a communal condition. Waiting is not a solitary act but a shared one. Didi and Gogo share the language surrounding his absence, constantly reaffirming it through their dialogue. Gogo asks Didi, “Don’t leave me.” Didi remarks, “Amidst all this chaos, there is one certainty: we are waiting for Godot to arrive.” Even as Godot’s identity and the question of his arrival collapse into confusion, we affirm a communal certainty: the sure knowledge that we are waiting for Godot. A shared language regarding absence is a core element of the community. Godot’s identity remains unclear. While often interpreted as the Absolute or God, the author himself never specifically defines who—or what—he is; the figure remains open to interpretation. Nevertheless, in many respects, the two protagonists' act of waiting parallels the practice of Christian faith. In our daily lives, God—the Absolute—is not physically present. God often remains silent in the face of individual suffering or horrific societal events. Yet, this God of absence and silence dwells within us through the Word. That Word serves as the driving force that enables us to endure the day meaningfully. At the same time, the Christian community endures precisely because there are people who share and exchange that Word. However, there is a significant difference between the language of absence in Christianity and that in the play. Christianity possesses a narrative—grounded in the covenant with God and the mystery of the Incarnation—that guarantees the meaning of waiting. In contrast, the language of absence in the play offers only the repeated message that Godot will arrive tomorrow; there is no substance regarding the specific meaning of that wait—only the act of waiting itself. This waiting devoid of substance is laid bare through the fragility of the language of absence. Godot is revealed solely through language, yet the words spoken about him lack consistency. The message delivered by the boy keeps changing. Godot’s identity, as expressed through language, remains ambiguous. The protagonists' memories are unreliable. Because language itself cannot be trusted, Godot’s presence remains unstable. He exists through language, yet that very language renders reality unstable. Furthermore, his absence creates a unique temporal dynamic. Because his arrival is perpetually postponed, there is only repetition without progress. A state of waiting without arrival traps the narrative in stasis. The two characters experience cyclical time rather than linear time; they always find themselves in the same place at the same time, engaged in the same act of waiting and the same exchange of meaningless words. The two protagonists are essentially caught in the experience of Holy Saturday—the interval between death and resurrection. It is the Holy Saturday of Jesus’s cry from the cross—“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”—a time marked by God’s absence and silence, and a world brought to a standstill. In Christianity, Holy Saturday is a transitional phase that ultimately leads to the Resurrection. Yet, Gogo and Didi never attain the salvation of the Resurrection; instead, they endlessly repeat the experience of absence and silence that exists between death and rebirth. In this play, the author offers keen insight into the human condition—specifically, the existence of human beings who are waiting, or compelled to wait, for something. Moreover, the fact that Gogo and Didi repeatedly attempt suicide yet never manage to die underscores the idea that, in the face of the Absolute’s absence and silence, human life is defined by the very act of waiting. The crucial issue lies in the object of that waiting. Today, two millennia after the mystery of the Incarnation, rationalism, materialism, and scientific civilization hold immense sway. Perhaps even those who follow Jesus are waiting not for the God of the Incarnation, but—like Gogo and Didi—for something vague and undefined. Could it be that, despite the Resurrection having already occurred, they remain stuck in Holy Saturday?
