56 pages 1 hour read

Mother Night

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 1961

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Themes

The Limits of Morality

Vonnegut’s declaration at the outset of his 1966 Introduction—“This is the only story of mine whose moral I know” (v)—positions Mother Night as an exploration of morals, and in particular as Vonnegut’s most pointed look at the question of moral responsibility. At the heart of the novel lies Campbell’s decision to broadcast antisemitic propaganda for the Nazis as a cover for the spy work he was doing for the US government. Campbell’s relatively quick decision to broadcast for the Nazis appears both flippant and deeply embedded within his character. He maintains a psychic distance from his actions, convincing himself that he is merely an actor playing a role. In this way he keeps his “true” self remote from the consequences of his “performance.” This coping method leads him to develop what he calls “schizophrenia”—not an actual mental health diagnosis in this case, but his way of describing the compartmentalization that allows him to live with himself. Campbell views himself as composed of several selves, and he is able to separate the self he thinks of as primary—the writer of the autobiography—from the other selves who created and disseminated such vitriolic hate, thus distancing himself from moral evaluation. Campbell’s major narrative arc occurs as, by writing his Confessions, he gradually learns to accept moral responsibility for his actions.

Mother Night questions how we can confront such moral and ethical failures within ourselves. Several characters in the novel are spies, who present an interesting case-study in this manner, as their work effectively requires divided loyalty and fragmented identity. Resi’s spy work, for example, requires her to pretend to love Campbell, but on the other hand she really does love Campbell, and in the end it’s her role as a spy that is revealed as false. Wirtanen's suggestion that “espionage offers each spy an opportunity to go crazy in a way he finds irresistible” (191) is reinforced by Kraft, Resi, and Campbell himself. In Campbell’s case, while Wirtanen suspects the spying will appeal to the idealistic, Romantic part of Campbell (39), it in fact appeals to his sense of ego and craftsmanship. Campbell, when confronted with the moral quandary of perpetuating hate for the ostensible ‘good’ of transmitting information to the Americans, is not troubled by patriotism or nationalistic feeling—murky, again, as he has been a citizen of Germany longer than an American one—nor is he perturbed by the subject matter of his messaging. In fact, in recounting his recruitment by Wirtanen, Campbell offers no impression of a moral calculation, and seems to go along unquestioningly with what is required of him. This is similar to prison guard Bernard Mengel’s description of the wartime state in Chapter 4, in which people simply perform the tasks in front of them, indifferent to the consequences (16). Moral critique, in this novel, only occurs in retrospect.

After his experiences with the American Fascists, the white supremacists, and his final interaction with Bernard O’Hare, Campbell decides that the larger moral evil is wanting to hate without reservation, to hate with a moral righteousness (251). Campbell, of course, facilitated the spread of this hate, but he does not seem to have accepted it himself, congratulating himself for knowing better than to thoughtlessly accept such ridiculous notions (225). This may suggest that Campbell is shifting the responsibility for the consequences of his propaganda to its audience, particularly as he constantly positions himself as separate from these people. However, Campbell’s suicide—effectively a death sentence he has passed on himself—signals his acceptance of the moral responsibility he has avoided for so long. In the end, Campbell’s final decision emphasizes the moral truth he cannot bring himself to utter—that if we do not hold ourselves morally responsible for the consequences of our actions, great evils will be unleashed. Fabricating reality is distorting reality, which is the truth-constant that ties together societies; if an entire society allows itself unquestioning moral absolution, there is little chance of averting future catastrophes against humanity.

At the end of his manuscript Campbell blasts away the murkiness of his personal morality and underscores the central proposition of Vonnegut’s novel: The universe, whether indifferent matter or God-ruled, offers no concrete moral conclusion, and neither do human systems of justice. The limit and scope of each person’s morality can only be defined by themselves, and it is to themselves that they must be finally held accountable.

The Psychological Struggle With Guilt

Throughout most of the novel, Campbell doesn’t seem to experience guilt for his role in the Third Reich. He never directly considers the consequences of his actions—the violence that takes place because of his words, but at a physical and temporal remove from the studio where he does his work. Outwardly, Campbell appears to feel guilt, as the prison guard in Chapter 4 imagines him the only person with “a bad conscience about what he did in the war” (15), suggesting that his guilt lies buried in his unconscious, inaccessible to him on a deliberate level. However, Campbell admits that he doesn’t dream of any of the figures from the war, but rather, he dreams of Helga and Resi (21), his “bad conscience” stemming instead from their loss.

Campbell’s psychological survival tactic throughout the narrative is to acknowledge his part in the creation and distribution of hate, but to look no further than his own contribution to the process. He rarely acknowledges the pain or suffering his broadcasts may have caused, instead focusing on how they bolstered his rise through the Nazi party. He initially seems to disavow responsibility by insisting that he doesn’t believe in what he is broadcasting, or, by justifying it as being necessary to the Americans. He also rationalizes his betrayal of the German people by absolving himself of the messages he passes to the Americans, claiming to be unaware their contents, even when he is delivering news of Helga’s disappearance (184).

Campbell admits his primary reason for becoming an American agent is that he is “a ham,” wanting to “fool everyone with my brilliant interpretation of a Nazi, inside and out” (39). Campbell never directly identifies as a Nazi, believing instead that he is simply playing a Nazi, as though the insincerity of his position ameliorates any of the consequences of that position. The novel sets this belief against an entire cast of other characters who are utterly convinced of his validity as a Nazi. Yet Campbell approaches his Nazism with the same view to his antisemitism: he considers them both lies, simple functions of performance or statements so ludicrously untrue as to not be accepted, and this alters his relationship to them. The novel’s Nazis and white supremacists, however, consider Campbell’s proclamations truth, facts that must be acted upon. They are too obviously agents of his own guilt, though, and Campbell separates himself from these people by despising them, eventually concluding that unquestioning faith is the vilest virtue any human can have (160), and later depicting the mechanism of this ability as “a cuckoo clock in Hell” (224). In this way, throughout much of the text, Campbell locates his guilt outside himself, putting the onus on the receiver of his messages for too readily accepting such absurdity.

Campbell’s efforts to rationalize his guilt have the paradoxical effect of causing him greater psychological suffering than the guilt itself. He uses the term “schizophrenia” to refer not to a specific mental illness but to the fragmented nature of his identity. He is both the performer and the performance—both the man spewing hate on German radio and the critically engaged intellectual who knows how ridiculous and wrong the radio man’s pronouncements are. Campbell applies the term “schizophrenic” to other spies in his life as well, particularly Kraft (53, 229), suggesting a common need for this mental apparatus amidst those who are “pretending” their identities. Ultimately, this fragmented identity is not sustainable. Released from arrest in Chapter 40, he stands on the street unable to move,  trying to determine what emotion has paralyzed him in this way. He catalogues possible emotions—guilt, loss, heartbreak (231)—then denies each as something he taught himself not to feel. It is a striking moment, displaying the system of repression Campbell has enforced upon himself in order to continue forward in full knowledge of his crimes. His sense of guilt, the first of the emotions he examines, has caused a wholesale oppression of human emotion.

The reintegration of Campbell’s self occurs when Epstein’s grandmother calls him “Kahm-Boo.” Campbell immediately recognizes this mispronunciation of his name  as naming a deeper truth, pointing to “the undiluted evil in me, the evil that had its effect on millions” (225). This emergence is driven by Campbell’s sudden decision to turn himself in to Israeli authorities, casting Kahm-Boo as a psychological actualization of Campbell’s conscious acceptance of his guilt. He can then do nothing more than submit to the Israeli authorities, and when it becomes clear that not even their process will bring him the resolution he seeks, he accepts responsibility for his own guilt and ends his life.

The Nature of Evil

Mother Night is populated with characters—Nazis, white supremacists, enslavers, Russian double-agents—who are typically viewed as morally corrupt, yet the text, written from the perspective of a Nazi war criminal, remains ambiguous in its denunciations of what is nominally thought of as evil. Campbell reserves his deepest vitriol for Jones and his white supremacist associates, which seems a straightforward upholding of progressive American virtues, but he also turns the same amount of vitriol toward Bernard O’Hare, an American serviceman whose worst ostensible crimes are wanting to bring a war criminal to justice and elevating the conflict between himself and Campbell to the level of Good versus Evil. In so doing, Vonnegut asks his readers to re-evaluate their own conceptions of the nature of evil.

Initially, Campbell’s conception of evil has more in common with Adolf Eichmann’s “just following orders” defense than he would like to admit. He has close interactions with high-ranking members of the Nazi government, and he does not appear to regard them with the moral revulsion readers might expect. The names Goebbels, Hoess, Göring, and Eichmann would have been instantly familiar to readers, and would have evoked the dizzying evil of the Nazi apparatus. Campbell, however, sees these men simply as colleagues, and he admits that, “Only in retrospect can I think of them trailing slime behind” (36), otherwise, they are simply “people” (36) no different than any other.

It is not until Campbell arrives in America that his personal disgust is raised by the Nazi-funded efforts of Dr. Jones, whom he describes as “a race-baiter who is ignorant and insane” (69). The difference is that Jones is neither carrying out orders nor playing a role: He genuinely and fervently believes in the racist ideology he espouses. For Campbell, Jones’s lack of self-analysis, particularly in terms of his racist beliefs, is what sets him apart. For Campbell, the inner beliefs that motivate one’s actions have greater moral weight than the outward consequences of those actions. At this point in the text, the reader can see what Campbell cannot—that his moral philosophy is built on self-deception and that he will not be able to sustain it forever. Though even Jones, much in the same approach to the Nazis, is not portrayed as an unabashedly evil character, just one who is acting on information and belief systems that are faulty. This is the truer portrait of Evil, one Campbell compares to a cuckoo clock in Hell (224), a willful evil, not one widespread, but one refined by each and every person. This, Campbell suggests, is the insidious evil that translates to mass travesty.

Vonnegut further refines his analysis of Evil’s true face, in Campbell’s final interaction with O’Hare. O’Hare represents the typical Western approach to notions of Good and Evil, in particular the prominent myth that the American military stood as a force of Good against the Nazi Evil. O’Hare, after a mediocre and disappointing life, needs for Campbell to be “pure evil” (249) in order to take action, to find that his life has meaning, all his actions have direction. This motivating aspect of Evil, as judged against a known Good, becomes a dangerous ideology in Campbell’s vision, and obliterates the moral ambiguity that makes up so much of life. This known existence of Evil, and the drive to stamp it out, becomes the organizing factor for O’Hare’s whole existence. It is obvious it is a projection, but to O’Hare, who is desperate for a direction, it is as concrete as anything else.

By casting O’Hare in this manner, Vonnegut underscores the fact that hate is not bounded by national borders or distinct thought patterns of specific groups of people. Vonnegut is reacting against perceptions that World War II was a ‘good war,’ and in particular that by defeating the German people, such incidents of hate a fascism can also be defeated. The wide cast of American Fascists and white supremacists makes clear that such an obliterative action is simple ideological fancy, an unwillingness to accept the facts, and thus a perpetuation of the cuckoo clock in Hell mentality that allows for unquestioned hate to perpetuate.

And this, according to Campbell, is the true definition of Evil (251). It is not aligned under an ideological side, it is in fact a deficit of human nature that is not adequately analyzed, a result of a lacking introspection, a willingness to blind oneself, rather than experience life for the confusing multiplicity it is. Evil is separating the mass of interrelated humanity into camps of good and bad. This, Campbell asserts, is the poisonous thinking “that punishes and vilifies and makes war gladly” (251). It is the Evil that haunts human minds, and, if unchecked, will continue to unleash atrocity after atrocity.

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