How I Met Your Mother and Philosophy (24 page)

At the prom, Lily's world suddenly breaks down and anxiety rears its ugly head. She realizes all the things she could have been, all of the possibilities of who she is and could be that she has neglected. In Heideggerian terms, this is an anxiety borne out of our capacity for ‘projection' or ‘possibility', or freedom. Lily's freedom is at stake, which is why she bolts off to San Francisco. But was this the ‘authentic' thing to do? In being confronted by herself and her need for freedom, did she actually confront herself and be what she had to be, or run away from herself instead?

Marshall, on the other hand, is burdened by another kind of anxiety in choosing to work at Goliath National Bank. In Heideggerian terms, this anxiety is one that aligns itself with
the human side of being ‘thrown', or Marshall's sense of finding himself thrown into a situation he can't control. He is far too aware of the passive aspect of being human, of everything in his life—every circumstance in his life that he just didn't choose, of the situation he's ‘thrown' into . . . Lily's not earning enough, he has to provide for them both, the credit card bills, the rent . . . It all piles up. Marshall forgets about his freedom, and in his anxiety, settles for what the world is giving him. But then again, was this the ‘authentic' thing to do? In being confronted by himself and his burden of responsibility, did he actually confront himself and become what he had to be, or did he run away from himself instead?

After dabbling a bit in Heideggerian philosophy, we can digest what Lily and Marshall are going through perhaps a little better. And when we ask if their choices are ‘authentic', if they really are being who they truly are, we probably already know the answer, but it may seem hard to explain.

Before we can come to an answer though, we should be a bit weary of the fact that Heidegger's idea of being yourself is a little mysterious in terms of content. He doesn't really say what we're supposed to be in order to be ourselves. But in terms of form, I think he's more clear, framing being-yourself in terms of being absorbed in the world, and yet at the same time, also being a ‘thrown possibility' (p. 183), or a free being that finds itself in a particular situation it can't control. Given this frame, his advice, to my mind, is to walk forward in your freedom while still be responsible for the situation you find yourself in.

So even though Heidegger uses the term ‘authenticity', which may come across as meaning the one thing or being that you are and always will be, or some kind of essence, this idea is actually more fluid. The person you always already are is also a person that is free and not yet determined. So even though you find yourself in a certain situation, you always already are somebody with possibility (freedom in general), and possibilities (concrete things you could be). This means that being yourself, if you're to do so ‘authentically', must be some form of openness to your freedom and possibilities as well as to your responsibility. And yes, that means taking responsibility for everything that ties you down to the life you find yourself living, even though it's often a plethora of circumstances you can't actually control and didn't actually choose.

Commitment, the Hardest Thing in the World

This idea of authenticity is what Heidegger calls ‘anticipatory resoluteness'. It is probably the most difficult thing in the world. The task is to be yourself, as you are, in the present moment. But also, to commit to being yourself over and over and over again, always trying to remain in the present moment.

When Lily runs off to San Francisco, although she gets in touch with her freedom, she lets go of the responsibility she has towards herself. She says she's going off to find herself, but instead she violently displaces herself in order to not face the reality that she can't actually be and do everything she wants to be and do. Even her art teacher in San Francisco told her that her best work was the worst he had ever seen. The world can't give you all the freedom you would want.

And when Marshall drudges through life in Corporate America, he may say to himself that he's doing what's best for himself and Lily, but is that really the case? He's violently depriving himself of all that he could be as an environmental lawyer. The world is eating away at his bank account, but he also has more freedom than he's allowing himself. He has (much) more say in his life, even if the world seems to be indicating otherwise.

When Lily and Marshall snap back to their senses and out of their identity crises, they not only make a commitment to each other, but more importantly, to themselves. Of course, anything can happen, but they give it a shot anyways, and by doing so, they commit to an authentic being-themselves that is truly free.

What's Ti-i-ime Got to Do with It?

To my mind, Heidegger and Kierkegaard both see a certain idea of time as essential to being yourself. Kierkegaard captures the problem of time well when he writes in his
Journals
:

It is perfectly true, as the philosophers say, that life must be understood backwards. But they forget the other proposition, that it must be lived forwards. And if one thinks over that proposition it becomes more and more evident that life can never really be understood in time simply because at no particular moment can I find the necessary resting place from which to understand it—backwards.

In being yourself, you need to reflect—you need to look back to your past. But if you want to understand all of yourself at once, or want to be who you are all at once, it seems that you would have to see your entire past before you, completed, or as a whole. But this suggests that you can only be yourself when you're dying. This doesn't really make sense, because when you're dead, you aren't yourself anymore. On the other hand, as long as you're living, it seems you're never really completely that being which you are. You still have a future before you, and anything can happen. So trying to be yourself as you truly are, right now, seems to be out of the question.

What Kierkegaard and Heidegger point out is that our normal conception of time is not conducive to a theory of being ourselves as we are. If we're speaking in terms of ‘backwards' and ‘forwards', then we're assuming that time is limited to being linear, as if it followed a straight line moving from the past into the future. If that's the case, then indeed, we can't ever truly be ourselves. Everything's already decided, and we're not actually free—we're simply flowing from one point in the line to the next. . . . Or rather, being pushed from one circumstance to the next. This would mean that we wouldn't have a say in being ourselves, or living our own unique lives, or being free.

Have You Met Ted?

Speaking of not having much say in the matter, have you met Ted? Ted Mosby, the architect. Ted has horrible timing, and is really altogether lost when it comes to time. Ted goes from one extreme of waiting for things to happen, to trying to force things to happen. And nothing quite works, . . . well sometimes it does, but that seems to have more to do with fools' luck than with Ted.

Here's the Ted who constantly waits for things to happen to him: Ted had to have Barney steal his identity for a night in order to make ‘Ted Mosby, the architect' a hot catchphrase. Ted kept missing an opportunity to kiss Robin because he was waiting for her to give him the signal (loud and clear). Ted expects the universe to throw the woman of his dreams at him. And every time it does, he doesn't meet the mother of his children because he's too busy messing up his dealings with time in the other way.

Here's the Ted that messes up in the other way with time, trying to force something to happen: Ted plans everything out, especially when it comes to Robin. He starts out by planning to ask her out (on a date) without actually asking her out, which earns him the name ‘Gatsby'. Every Halloween he goes up to the roof in search of the Slutty Pumpkin, trying to “get a second chance to make a first impression.” He surprises Robin with a blue orchestra and an apartment full of roses and chocolate, and then presents her with an ultimatum. To which she responds that she, unlike Ted, doesn't plan everything out.

Ted never seems to get it quite right. And even if he does, it's for the wrong thing, the wrong woman. . . . Ted is mostly not in tune with the moment, nor is he in tune with himself. Either he pushes for something too much, or lets go too easily. When will he figure out the recipe for a legend-wait-for-it-dary existence? He seems to be a victim of time, being pushed from one moment to the next in an inevitable movement towards his destiny.

Suit Up!

Barney, on the other hand, seems to have everything under control. His timing is almost (ridiculously) perfect.

He's always prepared for a moment that will be legen-wait-for-it-dary. He does his research (sure, he makes up a statistic or two), he lays his plans (The Playbook), he comes ready with a pocket full of magic tricks, and of course, he arrives on the scene in a suit.

At the same time, he understands that the universe can and
will
slap back. It was Barney who was the voice of reason when Ted was frantically doing a Rain Dance on the roof. Barney knows that you have to wait for an opportunity to present itself. Not everything is in his hands. He may go to the airport in order to pick up women, but he doesn't know whether or not he'll succeed. He does know, however, that if he plays his cards right, something legen-wait-for-it-dary can happen. He doesn't know what, nor does he expect much either (at least a six, let's hope), he just knows that something truly new and unexpected can happen. And whaddya know, he ends up licking the Liberty Bell. It's no wonder he's slept with half of the city. Barney understands the limits of uncertainty and certainty.

Really, Barney's the One Who's Getting It Right?

Perhaps that goes a bit too far. Barney is a class A Sleazeball. Endearing, but a sleazeball nonetheless.

At the same time, we should realize that Barney's version of time is all about newness. Unlike being pushed from one moment to the next, Barney is actually making choices. He may not choose what's going to happen that night, probably after 2:00
A.M
., but he's ready for something new nonetheless. He always suits up. He uses his freedom to choose to be prepared for whatever may come.

And yet, he's well aware of not being in control of the moment. Sure he's a schemer, but he'll accept almost anything that comes to him, or rather, any opportunity to find his way into the bed of any hot (enough) woman. As he always announces: “Challenge accepted!” And it is a ‘challenge' because he's knows that he can't control the situation that presents itself. So in a sense, Barney takes responsibility for the situation that he can't control.

Barney freely prepares, he walks forward into the moment, he lets an opportunity present itself, and then in a state of alertness, he grasps onto what's been given to him in the situation and makes it his own. In this version of time, something truly new can happen. It's not wholly based on the logic of cause and effect. Instead it's some kind of alertness and acceptance of uncertainty, which means preparing yourself to make a choice despite all the other choices out there, and committing yourself to it (if only for one night). Just like the definition of authentic freedom we talked about earlier in the case of Lily and Marshall.

Barney Is No Marshall—He's Not Even Marshall's Best Friend!

That's right, there's something still twisted about Barney. When asking the question is Barney really confronting himself and being himself? We intuitively respond with a resounding ‘No'.

He's just too manipulative. It's what Kierkegaard, in
Fear and Trembling
, referred to as the “demonic.” Even in explaining the concept, Kierkegaard talks about a Barney-like womanizer.

But in order to understand the ‘demonic' individual and where things get twisted, we should first understand what the opposite, not-twisted individual, would be like. Kierkegaard sees Abraham, from the Old Testament, as precisely the non-twisted type: an example of an authentic individual. Kierkegaard talks about how Abraham almost killed his son Isaac because he thought God had told him to. Abraham makes the leap of faith, offering himself to God, and yet gets himself (and his son) back. The leap of faith is a move tied to authenticity, here you become an individual by walking forward trustingly into the absurd unknown.

Abraham, when asked to kill his son in God's name, cannot communicate his worries to others, nor even begin to explain to others what he is about to do. Kierkegaard compares this to the Greek tragic hero, Agamemnon, who sacrifices his daughter. In that story, the audience can understand why Agamemnon is pushed to make the decision he makes. However, in this respect, the story of Abraham is terrifying. It almost seems like the story of a murderer; inexplicable to the masses. Abraham's wholehearted trust in God, in the absurd unknown that awaits him, goes beyond our normal conception of ethics. And yet, he is seen as an enlightened individual, not a murderer. Kierkegaard tries to show that this leap of faith that Abraham makes, into the absurd, beyond the realm of ethics, is one where Abraham really becomes himself. Through his complete trust in uncertainty, he becomes individualized to such an extent that he cannot even explain himself to others any longer. The result of this enlightened decision is that Abraham receives a new future, getting his son ‘back' and a new meaning to his individual life.

It's this kind of trust, where whatever happens, you trust you will become who you are meant to be, that being authentic entails. You don't set this enlightenment as a goal, you simply respond wholeheartedly to the task at hand, ready to give up the person you are or have become, in order to be the individual you are meant to be. You're prepared to carry yourself forth in becoming the new you. As I've tried to show, this decision is tied to a certain conception of time where anything is possible.