Chapter 6
DO WE NEED A ROOMMATE AGREEMENT?: PLEASURE, SELFISHNESS, AND VIRTUE IN THE BIG BANG THEORY
What is the good life? What is the right thing to do? What kind of person should I become? Despite their shared interests in science and comic books, Howard, Sheldon, and Leonard exemplify very different answers to these big questions. By putting our favorite nerds under the philosophical microscope, we’ll consider whether the life of pleasure, selfishness, or virtue is best. As a bonus, we’ll be in a better position to determine whether the gang “ruined Dennis Kim’s life.”
One answer to the question of the good life immediately presents itself: hedonism, the life of pleasure. The philosopher Jeremy Bentham (1748–1832) provided a classical expression of hedonism: “Nature has placed mankind under the governance of two sovereign masters, pain and pleasure. It is for them alone to point out what we ought to do, as well as to determine what we shall do.”1 The hedonist, then, interprets the good life to consist of successfully pursuing the life of pleasure and avoiding pain.
Howard Wolowitz exemplifies hedonism. He will go to great lengths in trying to obtain pleasure—just think of all of the work he put into finding the various “future Mrs. Wolowitzes” living in America’s Top Model house. And he seeks pleasure in unusual ways. Recall his announcement from “The Work Song Nanocluster”: “Hey! You know what’d be a great idea: we get some girls over here and play laser-obstacle-strip-chess.” Persistent in his pursuit, in “The Gothowitz Deviation” Howard dons fake tattoo sleeves to scam Goth girls, and in “The Adhesive Duck Deficiency” he scours the desert to hook up with “not unattractive middle school teachers who reek of desperation.”
Howard is drawn to loose women as Sheldon is to new comic books. Never mind the actual prostitute from “The Las Vegas Renormalization.” Instead, consider Penny’s friend Christy—the “whore of Omaha.” In “The Dumpling Paradox,” after a morning session of “exfoliating Christy’s brains out,” Howard triumphantly enters Leonard and Sheldon’s apartment, declaring, “When they perfect cloning, I’m gonna order twelve of those”—that is, Christies. When Leonard cautions him about getting used, Howard replies, “Who cares? Last night she pulled off her blouse and I wept.” But Penny warns, “Howard, I know her. She’ll have sex with anyone as long as they keep buying her things.” Howard: “Yay! If you’ll excuse me, I have some bar mitzvah bonds to cash.”
Aristippus (435–356 BCE), a lesser-known follower of Socrates (470–399 BCE), effectively captures Howard’s brand of sensual hedonism. Aristippus practiced immediate sensual gratification without regard to social standards. When rebuked for sleeping with a courtesan, he argued that there was no important difference between “sailing on a ship in which many people have sailed and none.” Anticipating the Wolowitzian school of thought, he concluded, “It likewise makes no difference whether the woman you sleep with has been with many people or none.”2
Yet it seems implausible to hold that Wolowitz’s brand of hedonism is sufficient for leading the good life. This sort of naïve hedonism looks like a doctrine “worthy only of swine,” to paraphrase the classic objection. Penny seems to agree; in “The Robot Instability,” she calls Howard “a pig” and warns that he will “grow old and die alone” if he doesn’t change his ways. John Stuart Mill (1806–1873), a student of Bentham, tried to defend hedonism against “piggish” objections leveled against it by distinguishing between higher and lower pleasures. The higher pleasures are associated with our intellectual abilities: listening to classical music, writing poetry, and doing philosophy (and presumably physics, of course). The lower pleasures are associated with our baser, animalistic drives—our desires for food, drink, and sex. Mill argued that the happiness derived from the higher pleasures is more valuable than happiness derived from lower pleasures.
Wolowitz, of course, is not solely devoted to sensual pleasure. He values his mother’s affections, still sleeping in the room where his bassinet was kept. In some sordid and contrived way, he must gain a kind of satisfaction from living under his mother’s smothering care. Yet this kind of satisfaction still seems infantile. His aspirations toward a more adult relationship with Bernadette are more appropriate, but he continues to struggle with convoluted priorities. After Bernadette welcomes him with open arms in “The Cohabitation Formulation,” proclaiming her love for him, he reciprocates but promptly asks, “So, what’s for dinner?” After she admits that her cupboards are bare, he suggests that they go fool around in the bedroom but states, “And then you can go shopping.” Bernadette rightly refuses to be Howard’s mother, pandering to his every infantile need, so Howard is quickly back on his mother’s porch, explaining to her that he’s not a sex criminal trying to break in.
Howard redoubles his efforts to leave his baser and infantile desires behind in “The Herb Garden Germination,” when he proposes to Bernadette. Because of his relationship with Bernadette, Howard is becoming less creepy and more admirable. It may not be as funny, but it would be better for him to outgrow his childish dependence on his mother’s care and his adolescent obsession with carnal pleasure.
Hedonism is a theory of the good, which is consistent with various theories of what we ought to do. As a utilitarian, Mill argued that we should take everyone’s good into account before deciding to act; actions are morally right insofar as they produce the most happiness for everyone involved. By contrast, an ethical egoist would argue that only the agent’s happiness matters.
The rudiments of ethical egoism go back at least as far as Plato’s (428–348 BCE) Republic, in which the character Glaucon serves as the mouthpiece for an egoistic approach to ethics. Glaucon argues that people act justly only when it is in their best interests. Acting unjustly often has too many negative side effects, especially given the likelihood of getting caught.
Yet what if the negative side effects could be removed? Glaucon argues that if anyone had the magic ring of Gyges, which turns its wearer invisible, he or she would immediately act unjustly: “No man would keep his hands off what was not his own when he could safely take what he liked out of the market, or go into houses and lie with any one at his pleasure, or kill or release from prison whom he would, and in all respects be like a god among men. . . . For all men believe in their hearts that injustice is far more profitable to the individual than justice.”3 One can only imagine what Howard would do with Gyges’s ring.
Moral theories spell out what agents ought to do. You ought to drive your injured neighbor to the hospital but not sneak into her apartment while she sleeps. Regardless of exactly what you ought or ought not to do, any such imperative must be grounded in good reasons for keeping it. If you ought to do something, then there are sufficiently good reasons for doing it—you have good reasons for upholding the obligation. Yet if you have good reasons for doing something, then doing it thereby serves (or satisfies) your personal interests. Therefore, if you morally ought to do something, then doing it thereby serves your interests.4 This is what the ethical egoist believes. According to ethical egoism, you are morally required to engage only in those behaviors that serve your best interest.
Ethical egoists may choose to help others, but they are morally required to do so only if it’s in their own best interest. Howard again serves as a vivid example. He enjoys the time he spends with the guys, but he often takes an egoistic approach to his friendships, thinking primarily of himself. Recall the exchange in “The Pirate Solution” when it appears that Raj will be deported to India:
Howard: I’m really going to miss you.
Raj: Will you come visit me in India?
Howard: Gee, that’s like a seventeen hour flight. How about I meet you halfway?
Raj: Halfway is 600 miles off the coast of Japan.
Howard: “Tell you what—we’ll Skype.”
The future of their relationship hinges on how it benefits or inconveniences Howard. Because the inconvenience of traveling to India is considerable, Howard decides to curtail the relationship. If curtailing the relationship is in Howard’s best interests, then, according to egoism, this is what he is morally obligated to do.
Ethical egoism doesn’t have a wide following among philosophers because it’s difficult to defend the view that only the agent’s interests matter. Furthermore, if someone is your friend merely because of what he or she gets out of the deal, he or she is no real friend. It is difficult to have an intimate relationship with anyone if the interests of only one of the partners matter. Why do Howard’s interests matter over Raj’s (or Bernadette’s)? What if Howard’s and Raj’s interests collide? What should they do? Are there any nonarbitrary ways to answer these questions? If not, ethical egoism remains theoretically dubious.
The Social Contract Instability
The philosopher Thomas Hobbes (1588–1679) was a proponent of psychological egoism, according to which it is psychologically impossible for a person to act contrary to his or her (perceived) best interest. No matter what people decide to do, it is necessarily done out of self-interested motives. Psychological egoism is a descriptive theory, not prescriptive. It asserts something about how human beings do (necessarily) act, not how we ought to act. The psychological egoist affirms that all human action is done either to gain some personal benefit or to avoid some personal harm.
Hobbes asked us to envision a time before governments kept societies stable. In those conditions, how do psychological egoists behave? What happens when egoists compete for the same good? Hobbes answered, “If any two men desire the same thing, which nevertheless they cannot both enjoy, they become enemies; and in the way to their end . . . endeavor to destroy, or subdue one another.”5 We laugh when Sheldon employs Darth Vader’s “Force-choke” or tries to make Leonard’s head explode, as on Scanners. Yet Hobbes was quite serious. He called our pregovernmental egoistic existence the “state of nature.”
In the state of nature, there is competition for limited resources, pitting one person against another in a state of war, in which the two, if necessary, will fight to the death. This kind of life is bleak. Hobbes wrote:
In such a condition, there is no place for industry; because the fruit thereof is uncertain: and consequently no culture of the earth . . .; no commodious [suitable] building . . .; no knowledge of the face of the earth; no account of time; no arts; no letters; no society, and which is worst of all, continual fear and danger of violent death; and the life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.6
Hobbes thought that rational persons would naturally want to avoid such a state of nature, exactly because we seek our own best interests. Eventually, then, we make agreements with one another to avoid threatening behaviors in exchange for peace and prosperity.
The contractual agreements we make with other peace-seekers are the beginnings of moral rules. Once a government is established that is powerful enough to suppress violating the rules, Hobbes believed that the contracts we make are morally binding. It is wrong to break a contract. This is Hobbes’s version of social contract theory.
As we know, Sheldon Cooper is very concerned about social contracts. In “The Classified Materials Turbulence,” Stuart phones Leonard. Because Leonard believes Stuart is looking for advice about dating Penny, he doesn’t answer and allows the call to go to voice mail. When Leonard doesn’t promptly check his messages, Sheldon becomes unnerved, declaring, “You have to check your messages!” Sheldon elaborates, “Leaving a message is one half of a social contract, which is completed by the checking of the message. If that contract breaks down, then all social contracts break down. And we descend into anarchy.” Hobbes would probably have smiled.
No wonder, then, that Sheldon requires Leonard to sign an extensive contract-based roommate agreement before they begin cohabitating. In “The Vartabedian Conundrum,” we learn just how detailed the agreement is. Once Leonard and Dr. Stephanie become serious, Sheldon invokes “Article One, Section Three,” of their roommate agreement to call an emergency meeting. (Leonard moves that the meeting not occur, but because no one seconds it, his motion fails.) Sheldon congratulates Leonard on his relationship with Dr. Stephanie but goes on to enact the “cohabitation rider” of the roommate agreement because Leonard and Stephanie are now living together. Confused, Leonard replies, “We’re not living together.” Sheldon disagrees and reads from the agreement, “A girlfriend shall be deemed, quote, ‘living with’ Leonard ‘when she has stayed over A) ten consecutive nights or B) more than nine nights in a three week period, or C) all the weekends of a given month plus three weeknights.’” Leonard: “That’s absurd.” Sheldon: “Really? You initialed it. See?” In protest, Leonard explains, “And I initialed another clause naming you my sidekick if I get superpowers.”
Sheldon’s provisos don’t stop at defining girlfriends and sidekicks. They include more mundane regulations: for example, at what temperature to set the thermostat (72 degrees), the times at which the apartment may be vacuumed, and what television shows will be watched on which nights (Firefly on Fridays).
It seems that no matter what the circumstances, Sheldon can appeal to the roommate agreement. In “The Cooper-Nowitzki Theorem,” Sheldon gets his ego stroked by a perky young grad student named Ramona Nowitzki, who soon commandeers his life to keep him focused on work. When he has to give up Halo night and paintball weekends, Sheldon quickly and literally cries out to Leonard for help.
Sheldon: I’m invoking the Skynet Clause . . .
Leonard: That only applies if you need me to destroy an artificial intelligence you created that’s taking over the Earth.
Sheldon: Come on, don’t nitpick.
Leonard: Good night!
Sheldon: Alright, I’m invoking our body snatcher’s clause.
Leonard: The body snatcher’s clause requires me to help you destroy someone we know who’s been replaced with an alien pod.
Sheldon: Yes, she’s in the living room. Go. I’ll wait here.7
The agreement is surprisingly detailed, including provisions for outlandish eventualities, but it’s all in the hopes of avoiding “apartment anarchy,” where the roommates suffer a “nasty, brutish, and short” existence.
Hobbes believed that powerful governmental control—in the form of a sovereign—must oversee all contracts if they are to be binding. Only then do the terms just and unjust truly apply. Yet note that the roommate agreement lacks a Hobbesian sovereign. What forces compliance? Sheldon can be unpleasant to live with if Leonard fails to abide by his agreements, but he falls short of being a Hobbesian sovereign. Furthermore, what if Leonard invents time travel, but his first stop isn’t their original agreement-signing meeting?
Consider “The Staircase Implementation.” After a squabble about watching Babylon 5, Sheldon invokes the “all ties will be settled by me” proviso of the roommate agreement. Leonard reminds him, “But I said no to that.” Sheldon quickly replies, “And I said yes. And I settle all ties.” This smacks of a kind of arbitrariness that Hobbes wanted to avoid. Perhaps the sovereign was supposed to “settle all ties” in his system. Yet it does raise an interesting question: in the absence of a Hobbesian-type sovereign, what should we do in the case of contractual disagreement? In turn, this makes us wonder whether all of ethics can simply be a matter of making agreements with others. After all, how detailed would a Sheldon-like roommate agreement have to be to cover any and every situation that may arise? Even a brainiac such as Sheldon may fail to anticipate one of the roommates coming to own a full-scale replica of a time machine.8 The pending worry here only intensifies as we try to imagine what kind of agreement would be necessary for all of us to live by.
The problem with social contract theory, in general, is that it offers a rather thin conception of ethics. There is more to living well than just following a set of rules. Consider a football example: To be an excellent football player, you need to know and follow the rules of the game, but this is not sufficient for being an excellent player. You also need to have talent, to train, and to show judgment on the field. In the same way, being a good person requires more than simply rule following; to be excellent at life, you must have the virtues of the good life.
The Aristotelian Virtue Vortex
According to Aristotle (384–322 BCE), the good life is attained only through a life of virtue, a well-balanced life that avoids the extremes of “too little” and “too much.” For example, a person who has the virtue of courage is one who is neither cowardly nor rash but one who hits on the middle ground, the mean between both extremes.
Acting virtuously requires practical wisdom. By this, Aristotle meant something different than, or perhaps in addition to, intelligence. Sheldon is incredibly intelligent, but he doesn’t know what to do in an astounding number of situations. Aristotle said that morally appropriate behavior was “as a man of practical wisdom would determine it.”9 A person of practical wisdom is someone who is a moral role model, someone we want to emulate because he knows the right thing to do and he acts for the right reasons. The virtuous person also has the appropriate emotions. Aristotle explained that a virtuous person feels the emotions “at the right times, with reference to the right objects, towards the right people, with the right motive, and in the right way . . . and this is characteristic of virtue.”10
Aristotle would have faulted Howard for overemphasizing sensual pleasures. Aristotle wasn’t a prude, but he did advocate temperance. He called those who overemphasized pleasurable experiences “vulgar,” being slavishly led by their appetites like “grazing animals.” Aristotle wasn’t sure how to characterize those at the other extreme, those who are “deficient in pleasures.” He claimed that people who “enjoy them less than is right are not often found.”11 Sheldon, though, comes uncomfortably close to being the kind of person who underemphasizes pleasurable experiences. In any event, Aristotle would have us aim somewhere between Howard and Sheldon regarding attitudes toward pleasure.
In “The Justice League Recombination,” Sheldon repeatedly insists on authenticity in the group’s costumed portrayal of the various members of the comic book team the Justice League of America. For example, as soon as he dons the Flash costume, he speeds up his ordinary routine, saying, “This is how the Flash paces.” Likewise, he criticizes Penny: “I’m sorry. But in what universe is Wonder Woman blonde?” Sheldon’s call for authenticity omits the Justice League’s most important quality, however: justice. After happening upon a group of guys breaking into a car, does the team step in and save the day? No. Sheldon says, “We’re the Justice League of America. There’s only one thing we can do. Turn around and slowly walk away.” The obvious disconnect here is evidence that Sheldon knows what the Justice League would do, but he cannot bring himself to follow their example. At the very least, Sheldon-dressed-as-the-Flash should have the courage to call the police, but he seems overcome with fear. Sheldon’s flaws here are nicely contrasted with the virtues of his heroes. We should act more like Flash and less like Sheldon-as-Flash.
Leonard has more practical wisdom than Howard or Sheldon has. When compared to Howard’s hedonistic ways, Leonard’s quest to find a true romantic mate is almost saintly. He doesn’t yearn for a merely physical fling but instead seeks out solid relationships that will benefit him emotionally, as well as physically. In the pilot episode, Leonard immediately falls for Penny and shows the early signs of infatuation. Sheldon assumes that this interest in the new neighbor is strictly carnal, but Leonard assures him that his interest in Penny is neighborly, even though thoughts of it being more aren’t completely out of the question.
Leonard: That’s not to say that if a carnal relationship were to develop that I wouldn’t participate. However briefly.
Sheldon: Do you think this possibility will be helped or hindered when she discovers your Luke Skywalker no-more-tears shampoo?
Leonard: It’s Darth Vader shampoo. Luke Skywalker’s the conditioner.
Although his relationship with Penny will grow into something more in the coming seasons, Leonard respects her boundaries and doesn’t overtly pursue his interest in her. This action alone is decidedly un-Howard-like.
Of course, Leonard does have some hedonistic tendencies. Take his liaison with Leslie Winkle in the first season. In “The Hamburger Postulate,” Leslie invites Leonard to practice his cello with her string quartet. Immediately afterward, she comes on to him, and they quickly find themselves in the throes of passion, signaling their escapade with the standard necktie around a doorknob. Although Leonard starts to develop feelings for Leslie (no doubt, this is naturally a side effect of coitus), she quickly quashes those feelings and insists that it must be nothing more than physical. At first, he’s put off by the idea of casual sex, but he doesn’t seem too upset when Leslie offers it up once again in the second season’s “The Codpiece Topology.”
Leonard’s ability to deal appropriately in trying situations, including those involving Sheldon, is aptly displayed in “The Terminator Decoupling.” Recall the TiVo conundrum.
Sheldon: Stop. We can’t do this; it’s not right.
Raj: Sheldon, you have two choices. Either you let him put a bigger hard drive in the TiVo, or you delete stuff before we go out of town.
Sheldon: But once you open the box, you’ve voided the warranty. The warranty is a sacred covenant we’ve entered into with the manufacturer. He offers to stand by his equipment, and we in return agree not to violate the integrity of the internal hardware. This little orange sticker is all that stands between us and anarchy.
Leonard: Okay, then we won’t touch the hard drive. We’ll just erase the first season of Battlestar.
Sheldon (ripping off sticker): There. We’re outlaws.
We’ve already seen Sheldon’s propensity to seek social contracts, be they implicit or explicit. Yet here again, we see how trying to shape one’s life completely around them seems implausible. As Howard is slavish about his hedonism, Sheldon is slavish about his rules. Leonard, on the other hand, lives on the basis of discernment and judgment. It’s not that rules or agreements don’t matter, but that one must approach and apply them in thoughtful ways.
Leonard, despite his flaws, is the most well-balanced character on the show and, hence, the closest thing to a person of practical wisdom. In fact, he is a leader. As Amy Farrah Fowler explains in “The Toast Derivation”: “Sheldon . . . I think it’s time to face the fact that Leonard is the nucleus of your social group. Where he goes, the group goes. . . . Your group is Leonard-centric. If it were a town, it would be Leonardville. If it were an Islamic nation—Leonardstan. If it were the birthplace of motion pictures, we’d all be singing, ‘Hurray for Leonardwood!’”
Towards the end of the fourth season, Leonard seems to have reached his ideal good-life scenario. He’s found love with Raj’s sister Priya and moved on from his relationship with Penny (though he still shows some feelings for her). He’s become more confident in his day-to-day interactions. It’s as if his relationship with Priya (the addition of that final social aspect of the good life that he was missing) has instilled in him a confidence that he’s never had before. He’s changing his image, standing up to bullies, and more vociferously challenging Sheldon’s roommate agreement. Although he and Priya are on the rocks at the end of season 4, Leonard has come a long way from being the nerd whose pants were stolen by Penny’s ex in the pilot episode.
In “The Jerusalem Duality,” Dr. Gablehauser introduces fifteen year-old Dennis Kim to Sheldon and Leonard, informing them that Dennis is a “highly sought-after doctoral candidate” touring the university. Sheldon is impressed, sharing with Dennis that he started graduate school at fourteen. Dennis politely explains, “Well, I lost a year while my family was tunneling out of North Korea.” Gablehauser hopes that Sheldon and Leonard will show Dennis around, letting him see that they’re the best physics research facility in the country. Dennis not so politely explains that he already knows they’re not but nevertheless ultimately accepts Gablehauser’s invitation to attend the university.
Sheldon immediately senses “a disturbance in the Force.” Dennis is the youngest winner of the prestigious Stevenson Award, supplanting Sheldon by six months. Dennis calls Sheldon’s research a “dead end” and begins to explain why. Sheldon calls Dennis “The One” and asks him if he can see the Matrix. He was certain that the next person to be smarter than he is would be a cyborg. Sheldon’s despair makes him unbearable (just imagine) and the rest of the gang miserable.
Leonard, Raj, and Howard agree to take action. Raj asks, “What if something were to happen to [Dennis] so he was no longer a threat to Sheldon?” Howard: “Then our problem would be solved.” Leonard cautions, “Hang on, are we talking about murdering Dennis Kim? [beat] I’m not saying no.” Howard: “We don’t have to go that far. There are other means available.” Raj promptly complains that they can’t send him back to North Korea (“he knows how to get out”). Instead, they concoct a plan to get Dennis a girlfriend and thus distract him from physics. Marching over to Penny’s apartment, they lament, “We need a hot fifteen year old Asian girl with a thing for smart guys.” She slams the door on them.
When the department has a welcome reception for Dennis, the guys arrange a phony bring your (fourteen to sixteen) year-old daughter to work day. Dennis meets Emma, and he promptly leaves so that he can go to the mall with her. We next see Dennis, with Emma, drinking cheap wine from a paper bag in the park. Raj admits, “I kind of feel bad about what we did to him.” Dennis and Emma start making out. Leonard, more than a little sarcastically, “Yeah, we really ruined his life.” Sheldon: “Screw him. He was weak.”
Did the gang ruin Dennis’s life? Did the gang act selfishly, considering only their interests and not Dennis’s? Did they break some social contract? Did Dennis ruin his own life? Is a life spent pursuing carnal pleasures less desirable than one dedicated to unlocking secrets of the universe? Beyond the comedy and the cosmology, these are the big questions The Big Bang Theory leaves us to ponder.
NOTES
1. Jeremy Bentham, An Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation, ed. J. H. Burns and H. L. A. Hart (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1970), 11.
2. Tim O’Keefe, “Hedonism,” Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy, www.iep.utm.edu/aristip/.
3. Plato, Republic, Book 2 (Mineola, NY: Dover, 2000), 32–33.
4. This argument is adapted from Russ Shafer-Landau, The Fundamentals of Ethics (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 106–108.
5. We have modernized the spelling in this quote from Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan (New York: E. P. Dutton and Company, 1950), chap. 13, 102.
6. Ibid., 104.
7. Our thanks to the webmaster at http://bigbangtrans.wordpress.com for episode dialogue.
8. Also, the agreement itself seems to cause only discord in their relationship, culminating in the situation that arises in “The Agreement Dissection,” where Priya almost successfully nullifies the contract through legal arguments. Only through Sheldon’s blackmailing of her is he allowed to keep the agreement with updated amendments that remove loopholes.
9. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, trans. W. D. Ross, in Richard McKeon, ed., The Basic Works of Aristotle (New York: Random House, 1941), 959. References to Aristotle hereafter will be given by margin number signaled by “NE.” The current quote can be found at 1107a1–1107a2.
10. NE, 1106b21.
11. See NE, 1095b14–1095b 22 and 1119a1–1119a20.