Futurama and Philosophy

by Young, Shaun P. , Lewis, Courtland

  Since we all run the risk of being ignored or forgotten, we’re all in danger of being like Zoidberg. You might love Zoidberg (I do!), but no one really wants to be Zoidberg. He’s sad, no one remembers him, and if they sometimes do, they quickly try to forget. He so craves attention that he’s learned to thrive off of negative attention: when criticized he exclaims, “Hurray, people are paying attention to me!” (“Godfellas,” Season Three); or when interrogated and dissected, he views it as a sign of friendship (“Roswell that Ends Well,” Season Three).

  In light of the existential vulnerability of being forgotten, Futurama gives us a clear answer of how to avoid it, especially if we’re concerned with having a lasting impact on other people’s lives. The lesson is: Instead of building monuments to ourselves or forcing others to do our bidding, both of which we’ll see are doomed to fail, we should dedicate ourselves to promoting meaningful relationships of friendship, love, and family. By promoting these three types of relationships we best ensure our remembrance through becoming existentially intertwined with other persons, influencing who they are, and how they engage the world.

  Do the Bender

  Have you ever wondered what happens when you die? Not about whether you go to some place of eternal reward or punishment; but rather, what happens on Earth after you die? How long will it take before everyone you know is gone and everything you’ve done forgotten? If you haven’t thought of these things, take a moment and think about them now. It’s a scary thought, and it’s one that Bender considers in the Season Three episode “A Pharaoh to Remember.” Stricken in horror after being misidentified in a crime report, he considers the possibility of being forgotten and ultimately “doomed to obscurity.” After multiple attempts at becoming famous, including the crews’ attempt to honor him with a funeral, Bender resentfully goes back to work.

  During the crew’s next mission delivering a sandstone block to Osiris IV, they’re enslaved and put to work finishing Pharaoh Hamenthotep’s tomb. Bender is inspired by the Pharaoh’s methods, saying, “If you spend your whole life building a man’s toe, you don’t forget him.” So, he hatches a plan to become the next pharaoh, and upon doing so, puts everyone to work building “a statue of ridiculous proportion, 1 billion cubits in height; that I might be remembered for all eternity . . . and be quick about it!”

  Bender’s plan ultimately fails. First off, the only ones who might remember Bender are the few people on Osiris IV, but they’re presumably all destroyed when his statue explodes. Second, having an enormous tomb doesn’t guarantee you’ll be remembered, as Bender illustrates with the statement, “Pharaoh . . . what’s-his-name, he was the greatest of all.” We learn from Bender that no matter how hard we try to make our mark on this planet, whether by building a monument or forcing others to worship us, such efforts are doomed to fail.

  We may respond to Bender’s lesson in any number of ways. In The Myth of Sisyphus, Albert Camus responds to such a lesson by suggesting that life itself is ultimately meaningless. Camus claims that in the face of our meaningless existence we can choose to ignore it, seek our own destruction, or use our freedom to fill our lives with meaning. At the end of the episode, Bender appears to agree with Camus’s last option. As Bender explains to Leela and Fry, he doesn’t care about what happens after he dies, he just wants to see others remembering him.

  We might interpret Bender’s claim in two ways, as a desire to be worshiped or as a desire to have others recognize and remember him. The episode “Godfellas” shows he finds the first option sickening. After being shot out of the Planet Express ship and bombarded by asteroids, a civilization of beings known as the Shrimpkins come to live on his body and worship him as their “great metal lord.” Bender quickly accepts this new role and begins giving orders, but every time he sees the Shrimpkins worshiping him he becomes disgusted. Instead of blind or forced worship, which confounds him, Bender wants something deeper. He wants something that’s going to liven up his “endless tragic voyage.”

  We also see during the same episode that Fry encounters a similar tragic voyage. His results from the feelings he experiences over the loss of his best friend. His other friends try to get him to forget Bender by replacing him with Helper. However, instead of listening to his other friends, or accepting Helper as a replacement, Fry holds on to his memory of Bender and dedicates his life to finding his friend. Eventually, Fry’s dedication to his friend helps Bender make it home.

  Bender wasn’t forgotten! Bender was such an important part of Fry’s life that his absence haunted Fry. Fry cared so deeply for his friend that he was willing to give up everything in his life to bring Bender home. Fry might not be the brightest star in the sky, but he takes the love of his friends seriously. So much so, he regularly sacrifices his own best interests in order to ensure their happiness and survival. It’s the type of friendship seen in “Godfellas” that creates true remembrance, a remembrance that is so powerful that nothing can stop it. It’s a remembrance of others where we take on characteristics of the other, and as we live our lives we share that remembrance with everyone we meet and with every task we undertake.

  Feeling Ways about Stuff

  Futurama challenges viewers to be better friends, lovers, and family members. We’ve already seen in “Godfellas” that friendship can conqueror any obstacle. “Godfellas” is not the exception, it’s the rule. In fact, I would say the remembrance that results from the characters’ friendships is the central theme of every episode. If you doubt me, I challenge you to watch them all and prove me wrong, which would be more memorable than me listing them. Nevertheless, there’s one episode I’d single out for distinction, and that’s the Season Four episode “Jurassic Bark.”

  In the episode Fry discovers the encrusted remains of his dog Seymour, which instantly brings on a flood of memories about the times they had, “walking on sunshine.” Of course, Fry’s remembering makes Bender jealous. He feels like Fry has forgotten their friendship and is toying with his emotions. To get back at Fry, Bender throws Seymour in a lava pit, in order to destroy the dog and restore their friendship.

  Bender is shocked at Fry’s reaction. It never occurs to him that Fry could “really” love an inferior being, and this makes Bender recognize that he too loves an inferior being, Fry. In other words, Fry’s remembrance of Seymour, which is part of who Fry is, influences his friendship with Bender, which then becomes part of who Bender is—at least for a short time. At the realization that Fry is his inferior being, Bender risks his life to save Seymour.

  Seymour is saved, but Fry’s lesson of remembrance has just begun. When Fry learns that Seymour lived for twelve more years in the twenty-first century, he decides not to revive him. Fry sacrifices his chance to have his friend back because he doesn’t want to diminish Seymour’s existence. For all Fry knows, Seymour went on to find a new home, get a one-eyed mate, and have lots of pups. So, Fry decides that the memories of his friend are enough. Seymour exists in Fry’s memories, and these memories influence his character, which in turn influence the friendships he shares with everyone else.

  For viewers, the real force of the story occurs when we see Seymour’s long life without Fry. Seymour’s remembrance of Fry was so strong that he never gave up hope that one day Fry would return. After failing to get Fry’s family to understand their son’s plight, he spent the rest of his life waiting patiently in front of Panucci’s Pizza, remembering and waiting for the day he might “walk on sunshine” with his friend again. If you’re not moved by this episode in some way, you might need to check your emotion circuits—you’re broken! If you’re emotionally inspired, as many people are by this episode, then there’s a good chance that the characteristics of friendship that Fry, Seymour, and Bender share are now a part of your life too.

  In addition to the role of remembrance in friendship, Futurama also teaches us about love—and I don’t just mean Robosexual love (“Proposition Infinity,” Season Six). The love story of Fry and Leela is meaningful on several
levels, and it’s through their continued interaction that they inspire each other to become better individual persons. In Bender’s Big Score we see how Fry’s love for Leela inspires him to live several lives, save a narwhal, and in the end, give his life—at least one of them—to save her. Fry does these things not just so he can get freaky with a one-eyed mutant, but because he cherishes their relationship. Leela is a part of who he is, and long after Leela is dead and gone, assuming Fry doesn’t die first, she’ll exist as part of Fry’s character. (It’s also important to note that during this episode Fry reunites with Seymour, which provides a happy ending for his ever-faithful friend.)

  In “The Devil’s Hands Are Idle Playthings,” Fry trades his hands, in order to learn how to play the holophonor. He then uses his new-found skill to not only show Leela how much he loves her, but also to show the entire world what Leela means to him. Due to the cruel fate dealt to us by the Futurama gods—yeah, I’m talking to you Matt Groening and David X. Cohen—Leela never receives the message. She’s deaf as a result of Bender’s desire to be more annoying. Regardless, Fry grows from the experience, and though the opera is a failure, Leela is moved by his thoughtful gesture.

  Love isn’t always easy nor does it conquer all things, but it inspires and gives hope for a future of togetherness and of being remembered. Even if the story doesn’t end with the smooch and sunset that we might expect, Fry’s love leaves an indelible mark on Leela, the opera audience, and the rest of the Planet Express crew. It also leaves a mark on us, the viewers.

  The final source that Futurama spends a considerable amount of time examining is the remembrance of family. Fry’s family is . . . let’s say, “interesting.” Not only is Fry his own grandpa, but he’s also the great (x30) uncle of his extremely well-aged boss, the Professor. I’ll leave the family psychology up to the followers of Oprah-ism, and instead focus on one particular episode, Season Three’s “The Luck of the Fryish.” The episode begins with a series of flashbacks showing how unlucky Fry is, in everything! His seven-leaf clover is the only thing that promises to end his streak of bad luck. He sets out to Old New York to find his LP of “The Breakfast Club Soundtrack,” where he hid the clover one thousand years ago. Instead of finding the clover, Fry discovers that his older brother Yancey stole it, along with his name and his place as the first human on Mars.

  Fry’s discovery brings on a torrent of mostly negative emotions. His memories become tainted by the thought of his brother Yancey stealing his clover and his life. In classic Futurama form, Fry’s certainty about his brother’s thievery is shattered when he discovers the man he thought to be his brother is in fact his nephew, who shares his namesake. Though Fry and Yancey were always competing with each other and never seemed to get along, Yancey never forgot his younger brother. Yancey’s remembrance of Fry was so strong that he named his first born son after him, and by giving little-Fry the lucky seven-leaf clover, he shared with him the hopes and dreams of the uncle he was named after.

  Brothers—and sisters—will often fight and compete with one another, but the relationship they share changes them forever. They become a part of each other, and though they might be separated by miles and millennia, they exist in the memory and character of the other. The remembrance of Fry serves as a catalyst for his nephew, little-Fry, which not only shapes the progress of big-Fry’s ancestors, all the way down to Professor Farnsworth, but also shapes the progression of the entire Futurama universe—and to an extent our own.

  The remembrance that comes from forming the loving relationships illustrated above is almost beyond comprehension. Many viewers are drawn to Futurama because of these complex character plots, but they’re also drawn to the show because they feel like part of the friendship, the love affair, and the family. They come to see what hijinks will occur, but they leave changed, as though they are part of the show.

  Lessons from the Holy Trek

  So, how should we remember Futurama and let it shape our relationships? Well, we shouldn’t go around annoying people with our incessant “knowing of the episodes.” As the Season Four episode “Where No Fan Has Gone Before” illustrates, overzealous fans aren’t fondly remembered with love and compassion. Instead, they’re rounded up and executed in the manner most befitting Trekkies—They’re all dead, Jim! Unless we wish to be the Zoidberg of our community, loathed, despised, and forgotten, then we must take a different approach than that of the Church of Trek.

  We should take our cue from Matt Groening, David X. Cohen, and the many other wonderful writers of Futurama. We should use lessons from the show to fill ours and others’ lives with meaning, inspire and be inspired to be better friends, lovers, and families, and of course, to fill everyone’s lives with laughter, even if it’s sometimes at our own expense. The show should give us hope for a future where difference is for the most part accepted. We should take stock in our own lives and cherish the relationships that enrich them, whether they’re with other persons or with a TV show. We must realize that new episodes of Futurama might not always be around, especially since it’s being cancelled again, and that Bender is right when he laments the loss of “another classic science fiction show cancelled before its time.”

  Nevertheless, as long as we remember and share with others the lessons we learn from the show, it’ll continue to exist as a part of us.

  Morbo Says It’s Time to End!

  Well, since we don’t want to upset Morbo any more than we have to, let me end by offering the following. Since time immemorial, people have passed their important stories and cultural histories to the next generation through song. In a similar vein, I offer the following ode to the remembrance of Futurama.1

  Good news everyone, we’re now at the end;

  Go forth, drink Slurm, and hang with your friends.

  Let no headache with pictures or slug in your head;

  No alien, mutant, or toad make you dread.

  In thousands of years, no matter how far;

  We shall meet again, with our heads all in jars.

  Whenever you’re down, and life gives you sass,

  Futurama’s the cure, “Bite My Shiny, Metal, Ass!!!”

  1 I would like to remember Kevin McCain for his invaluable comments, the folks at J. Clyde in Birmingham, Alabama, for their inspiration and dedication to service, and Shannon Walls for her ever-willingness to read things over.

  8

  Can There Be a Fate Worse than Death?

  HEATHER SALAZAR

  In “Teenage Mutant Leela’s Hurdles” (Season Four), the Planet Express crew decides that Professor Farnsworth is too old at 161, and they take him against his will to the Bubbling Geezer Hot Spring Spa. An accident in the tar bath occurs and they all end up bathed in a tar that radically transforms them into younger versions of themselves. The Professor, now at an astonishing age 53, uses special microbes in an attempt to restore the crew to their previous older ages. However, he soon discovers that the microbes actually make them “younger by the minute!” They all find this incredibly frightening, and Professor Farnsworth proclaims: “We’ll all keep getting younger and younger until we suffer a fate worse than death: pre-life! Then death.”

  Please Select Mode of Death

  Can there be “a fate worse than death”? Attempting to effectively answer this question reveals a host of philosophical problems that have been the focus of great debates since the times of ancient Greece. Asking whether there’s anything worse than death assumes that death is intrinsically bad—it’s bad aside from the clearly negative circumstantial features that often accompany death, such as pain, fear of the unknown, and a bad afterlife.

  On the one hand, death seems like it’s as bad as it gets. Everything good in our lives depends on us actually living, doesn’t it? In that sense, life is a necessary prerequisite for the enjoyment of any good. But if death is the worst possible thing there is, then there can’t be a “fate worse than death.” The Professor’s statement would be false and simply hyperbole. His statem
ent that pre-life is worse than death may seem humorously tongue-in-cheek to the audience, primarily for that reason.

  On the other hand, the ancient Greek philosopher Epicurus astutely argued that death isn’t, and in fact can’t be, bad in itself. He claimed that death’s supposed badness and the subsequent fear of death among the living are founded on the erroneous thought that someone who doesn’t exist can have an experience of badness. He famously states in his “Letter to Menoeceus,” “Death is nothing to us, since when we are, death has not come, and when death has come, we are not.”

  All of the negative associations people have with death rely on them being experienced by someone. However, death is never experienced by anyone, because once death actually takes hold, the person is gone, along with the consciousness that once allowed experiences of goodness and badness to occur within that person. It’s therefore simply impossible for death to be bad in itself, and the fear of it is irrational, since it’s based upon an illusion. If Epicurus is right, then the Professor’s statement still can’t be true because it doesn’t make sense to say that something is worse than death, if death has no value (or disvalue). If these are the only two choices, then there can’t be a fate worse than death—Professor Farnsworth’s statement can’t get off the ground.

  I’d like to consider a third possibility—one that affirms the Professor’s statement as true and analyzes it within the context of the lives of the characters in Futurama: death is bad, but we can imagine worse. In fact, we can imagine a whole host of situations in which living is worse than death. First, a life filled with (or contributing to) unending torturous pain might be worse than death. Second, it might be better to die than to be torn apart from one’s most treasured values and sense of identity. “Give me Liberty or Give me Death!” Patrick Henry shouted in the American Revolutionary War, expressing that death is better than being alive, yet a prisoner to someone else’s wishes or ideology. It’s therefore possible that the pre-life the Professor imagines can indeed be a “fate worse than death.”