Out-of-body Existentialism in No Longer Human
Mine has been a life of much shame. I can’t even guess myself what it must be to live the life of a human being.
To an existentialist, No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai reads as an external representation of the numb terror growing frantically inside; that which blames both society and oneself for the tragedy of alienation, self-deterioration, and a hatred towards humanity. Yet, throughout the novel, an internal deadlock is expressed, chaining the desire to perish, with the desire to feel human at the same time.
Written with autobiographical essence amidst post-war Japan, No Longer Human articulates several themes of existentialism, in which protagonist Oba Yozo struggles with ‘failing as a human being’. Unlike other novels however, we see beyond the simple portrayals of loneliness and misrepresentation. Challenged by his ‘socially constructed identity’, Yozo’s life is sparked by immense hatred, fear, and of a complete exit from a ‘horrific existence’ which many see as average. Spit into three notebooks acting as reflections of Yozo’s life—from childhood, highschool, to rotting post-college in an insane asylum—, a brief synopsis on the first notebook will be presented in this article, highlighting early components of misanthropy, escapism, and portrayals of unequivocal existential dread.
The first thing isolating Yozo in his society is his retelling of his childhood imagination. Recounting his first train ride, Yozo explains to have always believed bridges and underground transport served, not as a utilitarian device of deplacement, rather as a means of amusement. When he realized the true purpose of trains, Yozo lost interest immediately. This phenomenon can be tied to our lives, occurring when a young person’s imagination is squashed by hard-hitting reality. If one doesn’t then conform to expectations of normality, society often punishes them with isolation. In that society’s framework itself mandates the loss of imagination for some narrative of reality, we must question what is actually truth and what is constructed reality. Existential nihilism, confronting the absurdity of life and death itself, appears even in the first passages of this novel, when Yozos is anguished that he’s the only one to interpret the world as colorful. In our own worlds, children as young as five may experience their first sense of meaningfulness when they realize they aren’t immortal. In the same way hearts and minds are broken at the introduction of the grim real world, we must question if it’s really that absurd for children to fear a world that is so unintuitive to their own imaginations.
The reflections of No Longer Human drift quickly into skepticism, where Yozo develops to fear human beings to the extent of an incomprehensible horror. Hiding his agitations, he goes to combat his horror in keeping the role of the farcical eccentric. Employing a mask of normality to disguise a meaningless existence, this reflects what many modern existentialists tend to do, when all inner aspirations are swallowed up amidst a fear of complete humiliation and rejection.
This is how Yozo goes to invent what he calls his “Clowning”. Unable to properly renounce society, he then turns to conformity, tricking, deceiving and winning respect amidst a cage of hungry schoolmates and family members. Playing the role of a mischievous imp, submitting doleful stories, sketching funny cartoons; such methods of coping reflected only what others expected Yozo to feel. Only deepening the hatred he had towards humanity, clowning can also generally be depicted in our present lives. Representing the way young people—especially teenagers—self-adjust to fit a mold that ultimately leaves them with a deeper sense of existential humiliation, the need for conformity is another thing existentialists fight in modern society.
All in all, the first notebook of No Longer Human depicts a child of tragedy, shunned by himself and shunned by society. Amidst being pulled from the clouds to utilitarian reality, Yozo represents the punishment for questioning the legitimacy of societal principals. Dazai argues that many of our actions derive from an internal, subordinate fear of humanity; a fear that haunts Yozo, questioning not just the true meaning of his life, but why others are so happy with theirs. It is a fear of never being happy and being happy at the same time, a lack of aptitude to understanding norms amidst a desire to disguise oneself within them.
The message of existentialism in No Longer Human continues to tell the tragic story many don’t have the guts to tell today; we shall thank Dazai for creating such meaning even in the first 30 pages of such a timeless tragedy.
