His liberating laughter is a window to the careless play of the gods, to the eternal round of life in which men die but Man lives, and death is dead. But for everyone else it is just a glimpse, just a momentary banishment of the dull ache of survival, or the sharp pain of being alive. In Miriam s life, neither one of these applies. She experiences the shock and exhaustion of losing her husband then seeing him resurrected, then the sheer fatigue of following and supporting this man whose mind is rooted beyond human care. But it is even worse for Tiberius and Caligula, trapped by their own terror.
Life is for each man a solitary cell whose walls are mirrors.
Lazarus urges Caligula, who hates men because he is afraid they will kill him, to understand his insignificance, to laugh, to dance. As dust you are eternal change, and everlasting growth, and a high note of laughter souring through chaos from the deep heart of God. For everyone in the play except the transported masses, including the Greeks who call Lazarus Dionysus, this is unbearable abstraction, insane removal, monomania. The laughter re-emerges as clear and confident as before. Certainly not a terrified weakling with a lot to lose, like Caligula.