How I Met Your Mother and Philosophy (8 page)

If ethical egoism is more difficult to refute than psychological egoism, that does not mean that we should necessarily accept it. For, as we noticed earlier, it is not enough for a philosophical theory to be consistent. We must have some reason to believe it's true. This raises the thorny question of how in general we should argue for an ethical theory. Since ethical theories make claims about what should be the case, not what is the case, scientific methods that involve just looking at how the world actually is seem to be inadequate. Any argument for an ethical theory will have to begin with common-sense views about what's right and wrong. There is significant disagreement about the extent to which ethical egoism is compatible with common sense.

It may surprise you to learn that Plato was an egoist. Indeed a reasonable argument can be made that all the Ancient Greeks were. This doesn't mean that Plato approved of Gyges-like behavior. In fact he did not. He thought that virtuous action was always in the agent's interest. One reason for
this was that he believed that divine providence ensured that virtuous action was always rewarded, if not in this life then in the next, a view that is shared by adherents of most religions.

In these less religious times, divine reward has less universal appeal. We may feel, then, that ethical egoism diverges from common-sense morality more than the Ancient Greeks supposed. Consider an example dear to the hearts of all philosophers—saving a drowning ex-girlfriend from a lake. From an egoist standpoint, why should you dive in and get your best suit muddy? After all, ex-girlfriends are certainly not friends. If you just stand there on the bank and watch, some philosophers will hold you morally responsible for your ex's death, since they regard acts of omission as morally equivalent to acts of commission: failing to jump in the lake to save her is just the same as shooting her in the face.

In any case, if ethical egoism requires that you refuse to help, then it does go against common-sense views about what you ought to do. This might provide some ammunition for those who think it is not well-motivated. Also, you may feel that Barney is not really so hard-hearted as to stand by and watch anyone drown.

Fortunately, the egoist has a rejoinder. If he amends his egoism slightly, he can maintain that you ought to help the drowning ex. It may be that there are certain moral rules that the egoist is constrained to abide by in pursuing his egoism, for example that you should not kill the innocent (or even allow them to die). The existence of these rules need not threaten your egoism, for it is still the case that the only goal that the egoist seeks is his own good. Following the rules is not a goal; it is just something that it is not morally possible to avoid doing.

We can draw a comparison here with the game of chess. There are many reasons for playing chess: for a diverting pastime, for the intellectual benefits it can bring, or for the exquisite pleasure of watching your opponent squirm as you ram your passed pawn down her throat. However, once you're playing there is but one goal—checkmate. Of course there are lots of rules of chess. You can't achieve checkmate just by picking up your queen and placing it next to your opponent's king, if that move is not a legal move in the actual position. This does not mean that the chess player has some other goal than checkmate,
for instance checkmating in accordance with the rules. Checkmating when in breach of the rules is not checkmating at all, for then you are no longer playing chess. Similarly, the egoist will insist that obeying the rules and acting against his self interest does not mean that he is no longer an egoist. A concession has been made: what makes an action right is no longer determined wholly by self-interest, since you must also refer to the rules. However, your ultimate aim is still just to maximize your own good.

An egoism amended along these lines to incorporate some moral absolutes, and which expands the ego to include friends, is actually more in keeping with common sense than other ethical theories which insist that you should treat everyone the same, whether they are complete strangers, friends, or even yourself. Barney is a stickler for rules: as Ted puts it, “I'm sick of all the rules. There's too many of them: the Hot-Crazy Scale, the Lemon Law, the Platinum Rule. If everyone in the world followed every one of your rules, the human race would cease to exist” (“The Platinum Rule”). So Ted's not a fan; but there's every reason to think that Barney would find this version of ethical egoism appealing.

And the Moral of the Story Is . . .?

Our look at egoism has taught us something important about Barney. When we first meet him, he can come across as a bit of a jerk, entertaining when viewed from a distance, but hardly someone we would choose as a close friend. Early on, Ted admits that he had no idea why he hung out with him (“Sweet Taste of Liberty”). However, as the series progresses, he quickly develops into its breakout character. We end up sympathizing with him and liking him at least as much as any of the others (something the writers evidently grew to realize, as his story becomes ever more central).

Our burgeoning affection towards Barney is not due to a relaxation of his selfish principles. In fact, we'd be disappointed if he compromised. What does become apparent is that he is no run-of-the-mill egotistical merchant banker. Part of what's attractive about Barney is his intellectual consistency. Everything he does can be seen to flow from a system of principles for guidance in practical affairs, or what is colloquially
called a philosophy. And that philosophy is best captured by the sort of ethical egoism that we have described.

It's not just that a proper understanding of ethical egoism gives us a more profound insight into Barney's character. The reverse is also true. Barney is no moral monster. It is not merely his cleverness that makes him so likeable. If he were so alien to our own ethical world view, we might find him amusing, but we would not care about him. Barney's moral exemplar encourages us to revisit an ethical position that we might otherwise too quickly dismiss. Once we realize that egoism is consistent with treating the interests of friends as ends in themselves, and with recognising certain moral absolutes, the view immediately becomes more palatable.

Of course, I would never encourage anyone else to become an egoist. However, the next time you're considering faking a heart attack to get an ambulance to take you across town (“Subway Wars”), maybe it's something you'll bear in mind.

¹
Paradise Lost
, Book IV, line 110.

²
Nicomachean Ethics
, Book IX, Chapter 4, lines 1166a31–2; Chapter 9, lines 1170b6–7.

³
Republic
, Book II, lines 359c7–360d9.

4

The Most Amazing, Strong, Independent Woman Barney Has Ever Banged

A
MANDA
Y
PMA

K
ids, you're familiar with Dreamhouse Barbie and Career Barbie. Those are the images of women children have been presented with for generations. To this day, you can ask any seven-year-old girl and she'll tell you the difference.

Dreamhouse Barbie is a wife and mother. She's caring and warm, and her home and family are the number one priorities in her life. Career Barbie is all about the workplace. She business-suits up, and her career always comes first. She's childless and single. If she does have a Ken in her life he's a low priority, more of an afterthought really, because she doesn't need him anyway.

Just like with toys, the rest of pop culture follows suit. Movies and television almost always give audiences these same two options, and at first glance it appears
How I Met Your Mother
is doing the same with its two lead female characters. Lily is the traditional, nurturing wife and mother. She met her husband at eighteen, has only had one sexual relationship, and just for good measure she's also a kindergarten teacher with a shopping addiction. In other words, she could have been pulled straight from any romantic comedy. Then there's Robin. On the surface, particularly when we first meet her, she seems like the typical feminist career women who doesn't need a man and turns her nose up at love, but with Robin the writers throw us a curveball because the viewer soon discovers she can't be so easily defined.

“I wish you hadn't taught me how to hunt and fish and smoke cigars and drink scotch because that's not what girls do.
And, you know, the reason I throw like a girl, Dad, is because I am a girl,” Robin laments in “Happily Ever After,” and that in a nutshell is the inner struggle facing her character. What is expected of her as a woman? Can she be free to live however she wants without the need to stick to any pre-set path? Or, as ethical psychologist Carol Gilligan contends in her book
In a Different Voice
, are there certain traits all women fundamentally share and therefore certain rules they all must inherently follow?
¹

Without completely Tedding-out, a ‘no' answer to the last question in philosophy is known as non-essentialism. Non-essentialist feminists like legal ethics professors Deborah Rhode, author of
Justice and Gender
,
²
and Drucilla Cornell, author of
Beyond Accommodation
, believe that women—including former Canadian pop stars turned journalists—cannot be boxed into one set of defining characteristics because all women and their experiences are unique and no two women's paths in life need to look the same.
³

Since television lives in stereotypes, the playground of essentialism, we're virtually never shown this concept. Women are either traditional—pick a solid husband, get married, have kids—or they are classic feminists, focusing on their career while maintaining their single status. We're rarely shown the middle ground, but that is where Robin Scherbatsky lives. She's a woman, like many of us real women watching at home, who's torn between the two worlds. She feels the need to be strong and hide her emotions and live for her career, but at the same time she's lonely and yearns for love and companionship. She requires both sides of the coin to truly satisfy her yet she's told it must be one or the other. That's what causes Robin's series-long struggle that only ends when she learns the lesson of non-essentialism. That same lesson is there for the audience too simply by going along on Robin's journey from a career-obsessed woman who didn't believe in marriage and couldn't even use the term ‘we'
to a successful journalist on a major international network who also happens to be the bride of one of the biggest womanizers in television history.

Am I Wired Wrong or Something?

When we're first introduced to her, Robin views a woman's future as taking one of two paths, and she adamantly sees herself taking Path B, that of a career woman—or in her words “a serious journalist.” She doesn't want children and she doesn't want marriage, end of story.

Even after entering into her first ever long-term relationship, episodes like “Brunch,” “Moving Day,” and “Something Blue” make it clear that Robin's views have not changed. She still wants to maintain her independence. Above all else, she still wants to take that career path. She still wants to travel the world and have adventures that do not include children or a husband who wants her to stay at home and raise them. She may be open to dating but not at the expense of compromising her own unique identity.

But while it's clear that Robin does not want to travel Path A that Lily has taken, her feminist side is constantly pressured to bend to these traditional things. This is illustrated best in the episode “Slutty Pumpkin” where Robin openly wonders if there's something deeply wrong with her because she doesn't want that world of lovey-dovey, picture perfect couples for herself.

Calling Slut

Robin may be preprogrammed to be Career Barbie, but the writers very purposefully place her into a group of close-knit, co-dependent friends, three of the four of whom staunchly believe in that fairy tale, Rom-Com, Dreamhouse Barbie ending and therefore push Robin towards it in addition to the coercion she already feels from society as a whole.

As early as Season One's “Nothing Good Happens After 2
A.M
.,” Robin feels the stigma of remaining single and choosing her career and independence over love and tradition. When she attends Career Day at Lily's kindergarten class the children mock her for having no fiancé or husband and compare her to a lonely old cat lady. One child even questions her sexuality. It's
a vivid example of the pressure Robin feels to bow to that conventional lifestyle.