Introducing John: Yossarian as the Everyman
Tessa Rickart
Catch-22: Birss Lecture
December 8, 2010
In a 1962 interview, Joseph Heller described the protagonist of his novel Catch-22: “You
know, he’s not a perfect hero. There are certain things he does of which I don’t approve…I
certainly didn’t want him to become the ideal hero. He’s human…” Yossarian’s association with
the common man may not be immediately apparent, partially due to his poignantly ethnic last
name, by which he is almost exclusively referred to. However, he is an ‘everyman,’ and it is
through his actions and decisions that the ability to relate is first possible. Despite being the
obvious main character of Catch-22, Yossarian’s weak, and often questionably unethical
behaviors make it difficult to designate him as the novel’s protagonist, a role that usually
requires bravery and evokes admiration. But Yossarian’s choices and motivations are
characteristic of neither a coward nor a hero. Similar to most human beings, he cannot be
categorized into either of these narrow divisions. Yossarian is complex and thus relatable, a point
that is conspicuously made when we finally learn his first name—John.
“ What the hell kind of name is Yossarian?” (78)
It may initially seem odd that a blatantly American novel such as Catch-22 stars a
protagonist with such an ethnically charged surname by which he is primarily identified. Colonel
Cathcart comments on the uncommon name: “There were so many esses in it. It just had to be
subversive. It was like the word subversive itself. It was like seditious and insidious too, and like
socialist, suspicious, fascist and Communist. It was an odious, alien, distasteful name…” (210).
Heller expected readers to have a similar reaction to the obscurity of the name. It certainly is
foreign, and in a novel centered on an American battalion in World War II, the unfamiliar name
seems even more distant. The Colonel continues his criticism of Yossarian’s name and its unAmerican roots: “It was not at all like such clean, crisp, American names…” (210). Later on,
Cathcart is present when Yossarian’s stereotypically American first name is finally revealed. The
late inclusion of his first name, as well as his exotic surname, is by no means accidental. In sharp
contrast to the last name Yossarian, is his first name—John. The popularity of this name is not
lost on the reader. As one of the most common names in the United States, John represents our
own ability to empathize with the bombardier, therefore making him an ‘everyman.’
“ ‘What bombs?’ answered Yossarian” (30)
Perhaps most questionable is Yossarian’s concern for his own safety, a priority that
gradually becomes his chief concern: “Only a fraction of his countrymen would give up their
lives to win it, and it was not his ambition to be among them” (68). His commitment to selfpreservation may seem selfish, yet it is undeniably rational. The moral ambiguity rises from his
commitment as a solider to lay down his life for his country. Putting one’s self in a similar
position, however, his yearning to stay alive is understandable, even if it might be considered
cowardly. However, his extreme determination to live leads to some questionably unethical
decisions when he jeopardizes military missions. Yossarian goes as far as sabotaging missions:
“Something was terribly wrong if everything was all right and they had no excuse for turning
back…Yossarian took hold of the colored wires leading into the jack box of the intercom system
and tore them loose” (140). However, some of the missions themselves were unethical; one
required the men to blow up a small village whose only crime was poor location. At this point,
“Yossarian no longer gave a damn where his bombs fell…” (330).
“Someone had to do something sometime.” (405)
Eventually, Yossarian refuses to fly any more missions. The crew is faced with an everrising mission quota, and his protest is an attempt to “break the lousy chain of inherited habit that
was imperiling them all” (406). This moral stance requires courage. Even Colonel Korn
acknowledges this bravery when, addressing Yossarian he says, “You’re an intelligent person of
great moral character who has taken a very courageous stand” (423). Of course, in Korn’s view
this is a criticism. Yossarian’s valor does not escape the notice of his peers, who support and
admire him, though only in secret. “During the day, they avoided him,” but at night “people kept
popping up at him out of the darkness to ask him how he was doing, appealing to him for
confidential information with grey, troubled faces on the basis of some morbid clandestine
kinship he had not guessed existed” (402). Yossarian gives them “hope,” says Korn, admitting
that whether his flying boycott is motivated by self-protection or morality, Yossarian is
nonetheless benefiting the whole (421). In many ways, his refusal to fly is the bravest thing he
does and deserves the title of heroic, albeit in an unconventional sense.
“There were no more beautiful days.” (345)
The motivations behind many of Yossarian’s supposedly weak actions (or inactions)
often lay in the images of war that burden him. He is fragile; he is haunted; and he is broken. The
honesty of his emotions makes them relatable; their depth makes them believable. Looking back
on his past actions, Yossarian feels a responsibility for the deaths of his peers: “Yossarian killed
Kraft and his crew by taking his flight of six plane in over the target a second time. Yossarian
came in carefully on his second bomb run because he was brave then” (136). Yossarian
comments as if he lost his courage, but he is tormented by his decisions and can’t bear to be the
cause of more despair. All the deaths he has seen make a tremendous impact and plague him
constantly: “At night when he was trying to sleep, Yossarian would call the roll of all the men,
women, and children he had ever known who were now dead” (345). But of all the deaths and
flashbacks, the most vivid are those of Snowden, “freezing to death in the rear section of the
plane” as Yossarian “finished sterilizing and bandaging the wrong wound on his leg” (345). In
many ways, Yossarian displays the typical symptoms of what we now call Post-Traumatic Stress
Disorder, or PTSD. His frailty makes him more human.
“Your conscious will never let your rest.’
‘Yossarian laughed. ‘I wouldn’t want to live without strong misgivings.’” (452)
The ultimate argument of Yossarian’s cowardice lies in final decision to desert the army.
However, the more closely the situation is examined, the more Yossarian is redeemed. Having
originally accepted a deal from Korn and Cathcart, a decision he admits to making “in a moment
of weakness,” Yossarian is left with few options (441). Taking the deal would be an act of
selfishness and cowardice. When discussing his options, Danby notes Yossarian’s courage in
comparison to what his own actions would be: “Of course I’d let them send me home! But I’m
such a terrible coward I couldn’t really be in your place” (447). Yossarian refuses to sacrifice his
morals for the easy way out, a decision that is not always easy to make. A reader can certainly
understand the dilemma with which Yossarian is struggling; by staying but refusing to fly he is
sure to be court-martialed and jailed. Orr’s escape gives Yossarian new hope, and he decides to
desert. This is possibly the only route left without compromising his beliefs: “Desert. Take off. I
can turn my back on the whole damned mess and start running” (444). The novel does make a
point of the war being mostly over, lessening the ethical dilemma. As Yossarian states, if he
stayed he wouldn’t be risking his life for his country, but for Cathcart and Korn (446).
Yossarian’s fight for self-preservation appeals to readers’ emotions. His choices and morals are a
reflection of what our own choices and morals might be in such a situation, or at least the ones
we would hope ourselves capable of.
Whether Yossarian is a brave fool or a smart coward, readers are able to relate to the
reality of his emotions, decisions, and values. Many of the stands he takes are incredibly
courageous, qualifying him as hero, albeit an unconventional one. Some of his actions may seem
unethical, but they are mostly justifiable and, more importantly, understandable. With his exotic
surname, Yossarian may not initially seem like the type of character created to be identified with,
but Heller knew readers would be able to connect nonetheless. When Heller finally reveals his
protagonists first name—John—there is initial surprise at such a traditional moniker. However,
as Heller went on to say in his interview, the decision to state Yossarian’s first name at nearly the
end of the novel “just puts him right back where he belongs.” And John Yossarian belongs as a
symbol of the everyday hero, and the everyday coward, with whom we can all relate and whose
actions we all understand.
Work Cited
Heller, Joseph. The Realist Interview. Issue No. 39, Nov. 1962. Page 23. Print. 23 Nov 2010.
Heller, Joseph. Catch-22. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1999.