The profound comedy asks us what we owe to each other.                                                                  

By Claire Ferris ’21

Widely welcomed as a reprieve from the arduous adventures that school brings, trimester break provides each upper school student with their own definition of relaxation (that is, in theory). For me, that definition manifested itself in the form of sitcom bingeing; my first trimester break consisted of a few college visits, but was primarily defined by Leslie Knope’s optimism, Captain Holt’s selflessness, and Jessica Day’s crafting skills. After exhausting my endurance for these particular sitcoms (they’re ubiquitous and well-loved in my home), I turned to an unfamiliar one. Reluctantly, at the persistent suggestion of two friends, I turned on my television, opened Netflix, and headed straight for The Good Place.

The show itself centers around four humans — Eleanor, Chidi, Tahani, and Jason — who, in the first episode, learn that they’ve just died and are now in the afterlife. They also learn that, based on the virtue of their actions on Earth, they earned a spot in the good place, where they can live in eternal comfort. There are many twists and turns within the story — including season one’s big reveal that they’ve actually been existing in a neighborhood of the bad place designed to look like the good place, and that their neighborhood’s architect, Michael, is actually a demon.

I was initially hesitant to watch The Good Place primarily because I’ve always had my reservations about shows that are set in the afterlife — who wants to watch a show about death, after all? I’d also heard my friends describe it as philosophical — a term that I worried would impede my ability to understand the more lighthearted aspects of the show, or even its plot. Fortunately, my notions proved drastically incorrect. In fact, the show’s basis in philosophical ideas ended up being the reason it enthralled me. The characters all believe they don’t deserve to be in the Good Place in the beginning, largely because of the deep flaws they see within themselves. As they learn more about the afterlife, though, the characters start to come together to understand the flaws with a system that judges humans based on how “good” they were on Earth, and then immediately and eternally sends them to a place where they’re either tortured for eternity or comfortable for eternity. Their mission becomes simple: to design a system that allows humans not only to be fairly judged before they die, but also to improve themselves and their morals after their death.

Important philosophical questions develop from this mission as the characters examine what it means to be human and the different versions of moral codes that humans can follow. When Eleanor realizes she doesn’t belong in the Good Place, she asks Chidi — a moral philosophy professor — to teach her how to be a good person. After a few lessons, he gives her What We Owe to Each Other — a book by T.M. Scanlon — hoping it will serve as helpful study material. The book centers on a philosophical concept of contractualism, which suggests that morality is actually a contract between the individuals of a society, and that to be “moral” is to be regarded as moral by those around you. The concept’s emphasis on doing good for the sake of a society manifests itself within The Good Place. At a turning point in Eleanor’s moral journey when she feels completely lost and hopeless, she asks Michael — acting as her bartender — what she owes him; Michael reminds her of this concept, telling her “the real question, Eleanor, is what do we owe to each other?” (Ep: 2.12 “Somewhere Else”). This scene and a scene in the finale — which I won’t specify for the sake of preventing spoilers — were arguably the most poignant of the whole series, and they got me thinking: what do CA students owe to each other?

I don’t pose this question in an academic, athletic, or even social matter, but rather in a moral way; so much of our time is spent thinking about how we’re going to be individually successful, but will this success truly mean anything if it doesn’t include concern for others? CA students are inherently empathetic and genuinely want to make positive change in the world, supportive friendships are ubiquitous around campus, and it is never difficult to find a group that will let you rant about that ~frustrating~ grade you got on your math test. Even though there are so many examples of moral support around campus, it seems as though when times get difficult, we can lose sight of the bigger picture and what we owe to each other as devoted members of a community, instead focusing on our own short-term success. It is not an easy feat to keep this concept in mind and act upon it, but we can start by asking ourselves: what do I, personally, owe to the wonderful, deserving people at Cary Academy?

Your answer could identify you as having a similar role to Eleanor‘s or Tahani’s or even Janet’s (objectively, the best character), but chances are, it will be unique — frankly, that’s the best way to be. After all, unique ideas and unique, complex characters are what make The Good Place such a powerful, touching, personal series.

 

Feature image from The Good Place promo.