7 Psychological Aspects of Yozo Oba’s Character in No Longer Human

By Shigeru Tamura – (1948年刊), Public Domain,

If you’ve ever felt like life is one long, uninvited party where you’re stuck in the corner, holding a glass of something you didn’t order and silently praying for the sweet release of a blackout—well, you might relate to Yozo Oba.

The guy’s a walking, talking existential crisis wrapped in self-loathing and regret. But instead of just crying into his beer, Yozo decides to drag you through the muck of his psyche, showing you every raw corner of his tortured soul.

It’s messy. It’s dark. And honestly, it’s a hell of a ride. But before we dive into the twisted labyrinth of Yozo’s mind, let’s talk about the guy who created him.

Born in 1909, Osamu Dazai, a Japanese author, was a man who wore his inner demons like a second skin. Dazai’s works often reflect his own battles with depression, addiction, and feelings of alienation.

A master of the tortured soul genre, Dazai’s personal life mirrored his fiction, and No Longer Human is perhaps his most revealing work.

In fact, Yozo Oba is often considered Dazai’s literary alter ego—his mind exposed, raw and unfiltered.

Dazai was no stranger to tragedy. He tried to end his own life multiple times (successful the second time in 1948), and his struggles with mental health and self-worth seep through in his writing.

Set against a backdrop of post-war Japan, a time of cultural and personal upheaval, No Longer Human speaks to the disillusionment and sense of disconnection that Dazai himself felt during his lifetime.

Now, let’s delve into the mental workings of Yozo Oba—because let’s face it, he’s the guy who would make you feel sane by comparison.

1. Existential Despair: Yozo’s War with Himself

Yozo Oba is a walking war zone—only, it’s not the kind of battle you see with blood and fists. Nah, it’s a war fought inside his skull, where nothing’s ever settled.

It’s the constant, grinding fight between the part of him that wants to be normal—wants to put on the damn mask and pretend everything’s okay—and the other part of him, the one who knows deep down that he’s been kicked out of the human race.

The guy can’t even decide which side to fight for, so he just drifts, like a ragged balloon caught in a storm.

Most people have some kind of place in the world.

They know where they stand, what they’re doing, who they’re pretending to be.

But Yozo? He’s got nothing. He can’t find his feet on the ground, can’t find any solid foundation to stand on. He looks around, sees the world doing its thing, people laughing, talking, screwing up, but they all seem to have something he doesn’t—a grip on reality, maybe. Or hell, maybe it’s just that they’re good at lying to themselves.

But Yozo, he’s not good at lying. Not anymore. Maybe once, maybe when he was a kid, but now? Now, he knows the truth too well. He’s not just different—he’s like a misprint in a book, a guy who ended up in the wrong place. The wrong life. The wrong body.

“I don’t even know what it is to be human,” he says, as if the whole concept is something he’s been trying to figure out but the pieces just keep slipping out of his hands.

And honestly? That line hits you like a punch to the gut. Because, yeah, he’s right. What does it even mean to be human?

Is it just about breathing and bleeding and laughing at bad jokes? Or is it about fitting into some mold that no one ever really talks about but somehow everyone gets the memo on?

Yozo never got that memo, and by the time he figures out that he missed it, it’s too late. He’s already lost.

So he fights. Oh, he fights. He tries to be something he’s not, tries to fit into those roles, slip into the crowd, shake hands, smile when the smile is supposed to come.

But it’s all a goddamn charade. He stands in a room full of people, and every one of them feels like a stranger. And even when they pretend to care about him, even when they say nice things, all of it rings hollow.

Every word feels fake. Every gesture feels rehearsed. The whole damn world is one big play, and Yozo’s stuck behind the curtain, never able to make it onto the stage.

And in the silence of his own mind, in the moments when he’s left alone with the truth, that’s when the void creeps in. The kind of void that eats away at everything.

The kind of empty space where laughter’s just a sound, no better than the wind rustling through dead leaves. There’s no joy, no meaning, just that hollow ache. People talk about finding meaning in life, but for Yozo?

Meaning’s just a joke—one he’s never been able to get, no matter how hard he tried to laugh along.

Yozo’s war isn’t one of fists or guns. It’s the battle between being alive and realizing that you’ve never been truly alive at all.

He’s not part of the world; he’s just watching it pass him by, wondering what the hell it all means.

And that? That’s a kind of loneliness you can’t fix with another drink or another failed relationship.

AspectExample from No Longer HumanPsychological Insight
Alienation“I never understood people. They seemed to me like strangers.”Yozo’s belief that he doesn’t belong among people intensifies his isolation.
Self-Loathing“I am a disgrace to humanity, a demon that roams the earth.”His inability to forgive himself makes him feel unworthy of love or belonging.

2. The Mask of “Normalcy”

To blend in with society, Yozo wears a mask. But unlike the kind of masks you wear to a party, his is an exhausting, unrelenting act that he performs day in and day out.

He is keenly aware of his inability to understand social norms, yet he forces himself to mimic what he perceives as acceptable behavior.

It’s a facade that keeps him from truly connecting with others, as he hides behind a self-created persona that is as fragile as glass.

Yozo’s act is not just a defense mechanism—it’s a desperate attempt to stave off his feelings of inadequacy.

He’s acutely aware of his differences, but he also knows that the world judges him harshly. So, he wears the mask of a “normal” human, but it never quite fits.

AspectExample from No Longer HumanPsychological Insight
Feigning Normalcy“I’ve become so good at pretending to be normal that I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like not to.”Yozo uses a mask of normalcy to avoid judgment, but it further alienates him.
Social Anxiety“Every time I entered a room, I was terrified that everyone would see through me.”The fear of being exposed creates intense anxiety and a deep sense of insecurity.

3. The Struggle for Identity

Yozo’s identity crisis is one of the key psychological aspects of his character. Throughout the novel, he wrestles with who he is, who he wants to be, and how he is perceived by others.

The constant feeling of being an outsider forces Yozo to take refuge in various personas—none of which bring him any closer to understanding his true self.

At different points, Yozo tries to assume multiple roles: the charming playboy, the sensitive artist, the self-destructive alcoholic.

But no matter what mask he dons, he is still haunted by the feeling that none of them truly capture who he is.

4. Depression and Despair: The Unseen Battle

Yozo’s no stranger to depression. It’s not the kind that you can just shrug off with a walk in the park or a couple of hours of sleep.

No, this thing—this goddamn darkness—gets into the bones. It sinks its claws in deep, digs and twists like it owns you.

You can’t run from it, can’t bury it under some flimsy notion of self-help or some bullshit pep talk from a stranger on the street. This depression, it doesn’t give a damn about your plans or your attempts to pull yourself together.

It’s the kind that weighs you down like a thousand-pound sack of bricks tied to your chest, suffocating you with its invisible hands.

Every breath is a fight, each second feels like a war you’re not going to win. His depression doesn’t just touch his mind, it infects his bones, his skin, his thoughts, and it leeches into every goddamn corner of his life.

It’s there when he wakes up in the morning, still tangled in the sheets, and it’s there when he drags himself out of bed, trying to make sense of a world that’s lost all color.

Yozo stumbles through it, watching life pass him by, each moment a blur of pointless faces and shallow conversations. He doesn’t believe in anything anymore. Doesn’t even believe in himself. It’s hard to see the point when your insides are empty, when every effort to find meaning feels like an insult to the misery you’re stuck in.

Life is a cruel joke, a brutal game with no rules, no end. Yozo can feel that now, that gnawing sense that he’s just waiting for it all to burn out, waiting for the inevitable collapse.

His heart doesn’t flutter with hope or desire anymore; it beats in rhythm with nothing—just a reminder that he’s still here, even though he’d rather not be.

There are days when the thought of just disappearing feels like the only escape, the only release from the weight of it all.

He’s tried to scream, tried to make noise, tried to fight back, but all that comes out is a quiet resignation—a defeated whisper to the abyss, because that’s all he knows now.

Depression doesn’t let you be loud; it makes you small, it makes you crawl in the dark corners of your mind where nothing is real except the pain.

And in those moments, Yozo can’t see any way out. It’s a constant cycle of dread and numbness, spinning him around until he’s dizzy with the thought that it will never end. It’s not just some phase. It’s a part of him now, rooted so deep he can’t remember what life was like before.

5. Addiction and Self-Destruction

Yozo’s path of self-destruction is paved with addictions: alcohol, promiscuity, and the endless pursuit of numbness.

Each vice becomes a temporary escape, but none provide him with relief from his internal torment. His addiction to alcohol is particularly telling—it’s not about pleasure, but about finding a way to disconnect from the unbearable weight of his thoughts.

His life spirals as his addictions take over, and he falls deeper into despair. Yet, even as he self-destructs, Yozo shows an almost resigned awareness of the inevitable outcome. It’s as though he’s walking toward his own death, but he’s too tired to turn around.

6. Relationship Struggles: The Inability to Connect

Yozo’s inability to form meaningful relationships is both tragic and telling. His relationships with women, friends, and even family members are shallow and fleeting. He cannot connect with others on a genuine level because he can’t even connect with himself.

His interactions are characterized by a sense of distance and detachment. Even when he desires closeness, he sabotages himself—unwilling to let others see the full extent of his emotional turmoil. His fear of being exposed keeps him at arm’s length, and he constantly pushes people away before they can truly get close.

7. The Desire for Liberation

In the end, Yozo’s greatest desire is to be freed from the suffocating chains of his own mind. He yearns for release—from his depression, his alienation, and his overwhelming sense of being trapped in a life he never truly understood. He’s not looking for redemption; he’s simply looking for escape.

Concluding…

Yozo Oba is a tragic figure, an embodiment of the darkness. His psychological struggles—alienation, self-loathing, depression, addiction, and the inability to connect—create a character that is as haunting as he is relatable.

In No Longer Human, Osamu Dazai gives us not just a portrait of a man on the edge, but a mirror into the darker corners of the human psyche.

And while Yozo’s story is filled with despair, it also serves as a chilling reminder of the importance of self-awareness and connection—before we, too, disappear into nothingness.

Show Up, Even When You Don’t Know Why

But here’s the thing: we’ve gotta fight. No matter how tired you get, no matter how much it seems like the universe is laughing at your struggle, you can’t give up.

Yozo’s battle wasn’t just with his mind, but with the idea that nothing mattered. And maybe, in a way, nothing does. But that doesn’t mean you lay down and die, waiting for the end to come.

Life’s absurd, sure. Everything about it—our desires, our hopes, our failures—feels like an incomprehensible joke. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe it’s not about finding the answers. Maybe it’s about being here, showing up, dragging your weary ass through the dirt and the fog and the silence of your own mind.

You don’t need to know the truth, because no one does.

But if you keep showing up? If you keep moving forward even when it all feels like a bad movie you didn’t sign up for?

You’ve got something. You’ve got that warrior in your brain that tells you to keep going, even when the world’s burning.

Sure, we’re all going to fade away one day, become little specks of dust in the wind. And yeah, maybe that’s the scariest thing you’ll ever realize.

But isn’t it also the most freeing? When you know that it’s all just a big, insane ride? So fuck it. Enjoy it. Embrace the mess. Hold your head high, laugh at the absurdity of it all, and keep pushing forward.

Because in the end, maybe that’s all you really can do—just keep showing up. And that, my friend, is the only victory that matters.

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