Kyu

We’re all searching for meaning in life; there’s no doubt about that. Whether we’re trying to run from a “despair inherent to life itself” or yearning for a “bright world”, we’re all desperate for a shred of meaning. What if I told you that there’s no point in your search? That “[you] can’t find anything in the end.” Well, that’s exactly what the masterfully crafted character of Osamu Dazai is imploring you to understand.

It’s clear from the beginning that Dazai experiences a profound, existential boredom. He joins the Port Mafia at age 14, thinking that he’ll find his reason to live. And yet, all he does is “force himself into an even darker place.”

Thus, he loses sight of his goal. He starts killing for killing’s sake, pretending he never believed in meaning in the first place, and openly abusing Akutagawa. His nihilism is displayed in a striking manner when he’s confronted with an enemy. He walks up to the enemy and encourages him to shoot him, suggesting with a peaceful smile that he’d like to wake from this “oxidizing world of a dream.” But beneath his extravagantly nihilistic facade, it’s clear that some part of him, deep inside, still yearns for meaning. It’s why he holds so tightly to Oda’s friendship, why he laments that “everything worth having is lost the moment [he] obtains it.”

“Nothing in this world can fill the hole that is your loneliness. You will wander the darkness for eternity.” It seems that Dazai is doomed forever, and that he will never experience happiness or meaning. Except, maybe not. Despite all odds, he chooses to “be on the side that saves people.” And for the first time, he finds a little bit of fulfillment. His cheerful front isn’t just a mask (this isn’t to say that he’s suddenly overcome his depression and loneliness, only that he now chooses a brighter life despite it). And it’s not because he suddenly, fortuitously finds meaning; in fact, he doesn’t – “nothing beyond [his] own expectations” happens. He simply chooses what his meaning is, and that he wants to go after it. For the first time, Dazai doesn’t wait for life to come knocking on his front door. He stands up, gets out that door, and chases after it himself.

In the end, meaning is simply what we define it to be. And Dazai begins to realize that as long as he relies on external circumstance for meaning, he will never find it. Because meaning isn’t found. It’s created. And once Dazai realizes that, he’s taking the first step down a long, arduous, and fiercely rewarding path. So, to you, the reader: what will you do? Will you take that step?

Gojo and Geto idealized each other to the point that their bond was… kind of structurally poisoned even before their split. Geto sees Gojo as a pillar of inner strength, purity, and unwavering conviction — things that Geto lacks. Geto is sensitive, can be swayed by his emotions, and cracks under extreme pressure (not to mention the dark/almost evil streak we see in him even before he cracks). Gojo sees Geto as this lovely, beautiful, sentimental idealist, and is swept off his feet by this perception of him. He’s consistently impressed by the way Geto sticks to his kind ideals (and the fact that Geto ends up not sticking to his kind ideals absolutely ruins Gojo — it ruins him even more than their split). Gojo (sort of) lacks these qualities, as he’s isolated and forced to live coldly, not afforded the luxury to care about love, feelings, or ideals. That’s a huge reason why their split is so monumental for the both of them, especially Gojo — they realize that neither was the idealized figure they imagined, and that makes them lose a part of themselves. But it’s also a huge driver of change for Gojo, and it’s why he decides to live with love and sentimental ideals, trying to create a better world for the youth and for everyone around him.

Geto is like a glass vase full of fragrant roses. Pleasant, pretty, and lovely (I keep coming back to the word “lovely” when describing him… is that telling of my interpretation? lol), but the roses will inevitably wilt, and the glass will shatter if dropped. The roses don’t wilt despite being roses, and the glass doesn’t shatter despite being glass. The roses wilt because they are roses, and the glass shatters because it is glass. Not to be excessively deterministic, but Geto carried the seeds of his own downfall — his kind, disciplined morality comes from the way he so ardently fought his own dark streak. But that fight against his predisposition, coupled with his trauma, breaks him in the end.

In contrast, Gojo actually has a strong predisposition for moral and philosophical thought; he just never got a chance to let it flourish. That’s why he’s so attracted to Geto, at least in part. Gojo has a strong intuitive grasp of Geto’s principles, but Geto is the one who can put it into words. And I think, when Gojo gives his rebuttals about how the strong should be able to live disregarding the weak, it’s more like he’s being a teenage dick, playing the devil’s advocate, and, in some strange way, trying to challenge the ideas about strength and power that he grew up with by trying to argue them ad absurdum.

And ultimately, Gojo does not crumble when Geto leaves. He easily could have — I mean, after Geto leaves, he’s left to deal with the fallout of that all by himself. And many others would have collapsed at that point, but Gojo doesn’t; he chooses the right path. In the end, Gojo's strength comes from within. Not from his power, and not from Geto.