“This is the only story of mine whose moral I know. I don’t think it’s a marvelous moral; I simply happen to know what it is: we are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”
That is Kurt Vonnegut in the introduction to Mother Night.
The story is about an American spy in Nazi Germany, who pretends to be a Nazi because, he is, after all, a spy, but the American government can’t acknowledge that he is working for the government because he is, after all, a spy, so everyone thinks he really is a Nazi.
His cover story is really good; you would never know he wasn’t a Nazi.
So, is he a Nazi or not?
Vonnegut is claiming that if it walks like a Nazi and talks like a Nazi and acts like a Nazi, then it is, in fact, a Nazi.
In other words, Perception is Reality.
Another way of putting this: Vonnegut seems to be some sort of modern day Berkeley in which the thing which exists actually exists only in a mind—there is no reality outside of perception—but Vonnegut is adding that there also is no individual outside others’ perception of that individual.
I exist in your mind. The “me” perceived by you is “me.” I am under a delusion if I think that there is some entity called “me” separate from your perception of “me.” “Know thyself” is simply a command to “find out what others think about you.”
At first glance, it is hard to think Vonnegut is serious here. Surely I exist separate from your perception of me. Really, I do. [Insert foot stomping.]
But, then I imagine: suppose we have a person who knows himself to be really kind and generous. Truly kind and generous; the most kind and generous person ever to exist. This person never has a thought which isn’t kind and generous.
But everyone thinks the person is mean and nasty and completely self-absorbed. Is that person kind and generous? It is hard to imagine an argument that self-perception trumps external perception in a case like that.
Ask the question another way: if I am kind in my heart and cruel in my actions, am I a kind or a cruel person? It works the other way too. I am a very cruel and mean person at heart, but everyone thinks I am really nice and wonderful and kind. What is the right way to describe me?
Identity is a tricky thing. If Vonnegut is right, I don’t get to define my own identity. Others define my identity.
But, if I think I am a Giant Squid, if I truly believe that I am a Giant Squid, am I a Giant Squid? I feel safe in assuming that we would all agree that any person who claims to be a Giant Squid is crazy. Crazy people don’t get to define their own identity. We, Enlightened Society, get to decide the identity of Crazy People. I am not Napoleon even if I think I am Napoleon.
But, am I Jim Hartley if I think I am Jim Hartley? Or am I only Jim Hartley if others think I am Jim Hartley? And before you hasten to say that my identity exists independent of your evaluation of my identity, remember as soon as you say that I am the one who determines my identity, then I am going to insist that I am a Giant Purple Squid named Qxxwzk. Will you then henceforth address me and think about me in terms appropriate to my true identity?
Here is where it gets troubling. Two weeks ago, in this space, I ruminated about Thompson’s The Killer Inside Me. That novel has a person whose interior life is evil and his exterior life is boring and nice. Reading that novel, there is no doubt that the character is really the evil person inside and not the nice person others perceive. Reading Vonnegut’s novel, however, the obvious conclusion is that the character is really the evil person others perceive and not the nice person inside.
Is there a way to reconcile these two novels? If not, which is right? They are both rather persuasive.
One possible reconciliation: in both cases, the conclusion is that the evil side is the real person and the nice side is the act. Is that true? Does evil trump goodness? You can’t be truly good unless there is no evil in you either externally or internally?
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