ESTRAGON
You're sure it was this evening?
VLADIMIR
What?
ESTRAGON
That we were to wait.
VLADIMIR
He said Saturday. (Pause.) I think.
ESTRAGON
You think.
VLADIMIR
I must have made a note of it. (He fumbles in his pockets, bursting with miscellaneous rubbish.)
ESTRAGON
(very insidious) But what Saturday? And is it Saturday? Is it not rather Sunday? (Pause.) Or Monday? (Pause.) Or Friday?
VLADIMIR
(looking wildly about him, as though the date was inscribed in the landscape) It's not possible!
ESTRAGON
Or Thursday? (1.132-40)
Add this to the list of uncertainties surrounding the act of waiting for Godot. Not only are the men unsure of what day they are supposed to meet him, but even if they were, they couldn’t know what day it is anyway. Part of the problem here is that what should be objective truth—the name of this specific day—is actually arbitrary. If it’s Thursday, it’s because we choose to call it Thursday. Some existentialists argue that, actually, there is no such thing as objective truth, ever, so it’s possible that Beckett is getting at that claim.
ESTRAGON
If he came yesterday and we weren't here you may be sure he won't come again today. (1.142)
This threat hangs over much of the play; the men may already be damned (in the sense that they will never get to meet Godot) and just not know it. The problem there isn’t with being damned, but with the uncertainty over whether or not they are damned.
ESTRAGON
What exactly did we ask him for?
VLADIMIR
Were you not there?
ESTRAGON
I can't have been listening.
VLADIMIR
Oh . . . Nothing very definite.
ESTRAGON
And what did he reply?
VLADIMIR
That he'd see.
ESTRAGON
That he couldn't promise anything. (1.202-212)
Even Godot is unsure! If Godot is a real omniscient, omnipresent God, then none of these statements can be true. If he is a figment of the men’s imaginations, their security blanket figure of certainty and truth, why do they assign to him all these doubts?