Catch-22

Chaplain Tappman is one of the most moral characters in Catch-22. He actively tries to help others, and, though he is meek and ridden with anxieties, he tries to stand up to his domineering superiors in defense of those most at risk. The chaplain rarely succeeds, but his desire to help distinguishes him from the self-interested men who make up the squadron. The chaplain’s crisis of faith represents his struggles. Throughout the novel, the chaplain is put in a difficult position: His role demands that he speak about God with the men, but his own faith begins to waver, and he doubts he can provide religious counsel when he is uncertain of a benevolent God. The war’s absurdity and violence are enough to undermine religious faith, but the novel’s institutions and structures—depersonalizing as they are—cannot accommodate something as individualistic as a crisis of faith. The chaplain is also caught in a paradoxical dilemma: A “godly” man would encourage others’ faith during the hardship of war—but, at the same time, if that man believed in a good God, he could not look at the horrific state of the world and say that it reflected anything but God’s absence. The chaplain’s own Catch-22, and his own existential crisis, shows that the absurdity of war transcends bureaucracy to affect something so personal and individual as faith. The chaplain questions not only his faith in God but his faith in the bureaucratic institutions that administer the war.

The chaplain’s relationship with Yossarian helps him to navigate his crisis of faith. They meet in the hospital at the beginning of the novel and again in the hospital at the end of the novel. This chiastic structure illustrates how much has changed over the narrative. When the chaplain first met Yossarian, he felt trapped and alone. Listening to Yossarian’s complaints reveals to the chaplain that other men feel similarly trapped by wartime bureaucracies. This is a rare and paradoxical moment of two characters finding communion because of their alienation. When Tappman works on his new friend’s behalf and complains to Cathcart about the mission quota, the confrontation resolves nothing, but—buoyed by his friendship with Yossarian—the chaplain demonstrates a singular altruism. Though he may not admit it, Tappman finds Yossarian’s bleak nihilism inspiring because he sympathizes with the absurdity of Yossarian’s situation. At the end of the novel, when the chaplain encourages Yossarian to flee the Army, he facilitates not only Yossarian’s freedom but also his own. He feels renewed and revitalized, given an altruistic purpose in his life that he previously lacked. He resolves his crisis of faith through his friendship with Yossarian and his rejection of the hideous bureaucracy.

If the chaplain represents a moral interrogation of the war and of wartime institutions, the opportunistic Milo Minderbinder represents rampant capitalism. Whereas other characters look at the war and fear for their lives, Milo arrives on the base and immediately sees his own prospects. He justifies his profiteering by quoting snippets of free-market ideology, insisting that the right to profit should be supremely elevated and that any infringement on his business is, essentially, immoral. Milo cloaks this egoistic predation in socialist language that suggests he understands the conflict between the individual and the collective. He insists that every person on the base has a share in his syndicate, but as is eventually revealed, these shares mean nothing. There is nothing socialist about Milo’s enterprise, other than his promises—and even these are empty and only distract from his profiteering. He is thoroughly individualistic and concerned only with personal gain, to the point where he organizes a bombing raid against his own base because he sees an opportunity for profit. Milo’s language, falsely socialistic, represents the nature of war: For all the talk of collectives and nations, most military orchestrations are acquisitive and self-interested.

The irony of Milo’s immorality is that he is one of the few characters whose logic, however superficially nonsensical, is materially effective. Milo bombs his own base, but he does so to make money. He travels everywhere and abandons his friends without a second thought, but only when he stands to profit. He sells eggs for less than he buys them but still manages to make money—somehow, ludicrously, surmounting even the sacred capitalistic commandment to “buy low, sell high.” Milo’s actions may seem absurd, but they are directed and have actual utility: to make money. Among all the characters, Milo thus has the greatest self-understanding. He is honest about his desire to profit, and, despite his obfuscating language, he reliably pursues this goal. While many of the characters in Catch-22 are lost, confused, and unsure why they act the way they do, Milo is distinct in the clarity of his desires, and he honors those desires regardless of their moral cost. He is a money-making machine who has entirely internalized the core tenet of capitalism: Anything is permitted, so long as money can be made. Milo transcends nation, ideology, or moral system. He has no patriotism. He has only the pressing capitalist drive to make money at any expense.