The Big Lebowski and Philosophy

Keeping Your Mind Limber with Abiding Wisdom

Peter S. Fosl, William Irwin

• Publisher: Wiley
• Year: 2012
• Print ISBN: 9781118074565
• eBook ISBN: 9781118180990
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Philosophy
• Subtopic: Philosophy History & Theory

Celebrate the Dude with an abiding look at the philosophy behind The Big Lebowski

Is the Dude a bowling-loving stoner or a philosophical genius living the good life? Naturally, it's the latter, and The Big Lebowski and Philosophy explains why. Enlisting the help of great thinkers like Plato and Nietzsche, the book explores the movie's hidden philosophical layers, cultural reflection, and political commentary. It also answers key questions, including: The Dude abides, but is abiding a virtue? Is the Dude an Americanized version of the Taoist way of life? How does The Big Lebowski illustrate the Just War Theory? How does bowling help Donny, Walter, and the Dude oppose nihilism? Yes, the Dude is deep, and so is this book. Don't watch the movie—or go to Lebowski Fest—without it.

• Explores many of The Big Lebowski 's key themes, such as nihilism, war and politics, money and materialism, idealism and morality, history, and more
• Gives you new perspective on the movie's characters—the Dude, the Big Lebowski, Walter Sobchak, Donny, Maude Lebowski, Bunny Lebowski, and others
• Helps you appreciate the Coen Brothers classic even more with the insights of Aristotle, Epicurus, Kant, Derrida, and other philosophical heavyweights

PART ONE

FIRST ROUND ROBIN: TYING IT ALL TOGETHER, OR NOT

Chapter 1

WHAT WOULD THE DUDE DO?

Deconstructing the Dude

Joseph A. Zeccardi and Hilda H. Ma

From the opening scene in Ralphs supermarket to his final commiseration with the Stranger at the bowling alley bar, we feel a strong affinity for the Dude. Of course, as the victim of various beatings, mistaken identity, and circumstances beyond his control, the Dude engenders sympathy pretty easily. Indeed, it’s easy to feel sorry for him as Jackie Treehorn’s goons micturate on the wrong Lebowski’s rug and jam his head into the john. Beyond feeling bad for him, however, we find ourselves feeling a somewhat surprising admiration and a certainly stupefying respect for el Duderino. As the feller says, “I like your style, Dude.”

Consider, for example, how he calmly but firmly counters the crude brutality of the carpet-pissers with simple toilet-seat logic. The Dude doesn’t answer violence with violence, as the hotheaded Walter probably would. Neither does he merely lie or cower meekly on the bathroom floor, as the diffident Donny might. Instead, he patiently points out inconsistencies between the reasonable (but false) assumption that he is the wealthy husband of Bunny Lebowski, on the one hand, and the reality of his aging hippie bachelor pad, on the other. This is not to suggest that the Dude is a hero (because what’s a hero?), but insofar as the carpet-pissers are swayed by his logic and depart relatively peacefully, the scene demonstrates that the Dude’s pacifistic, deliberative demeanor helps him navigate morally challenging and treacherous situations such as this. As we confront our own carpet-pissers, then, we would do well to ask, “What would the Dude do?”

In this chapter, we pursue an answer to this question through a deconstructive analysis of the film that presents the Dude as a virtuous alternative to the extreme ethical views represented by Walter’s obsession with rules, on the one hand, and Dieter’s nihilist credo that “Zere ARE no ROOLZ,” on zee ozzer. Turns out that the Dude exhibits a Goldilocks combination of principles and virtues that serves him better than the extremes of either Walter’s strictly rule-based ethic or Dieter’s exhausting nihilism.

Deconstruction, Dichotomies, and the Dude

So, what would the Dude do? One way to answer this question is to ask another question about the reasons that underlie the Dude’s actions. After all, if we knew why the Dude does what he does, then we would be in a better position to decide what the Dude would do in any given situation. For example, if he follows strict ethical principles, then we can understand his actions in terms of general reasons. Figuring out what the Dude would do, then, would be a matter of applying the principles of the Dude. Such dedication to principles is characteristic of ethical generalism, the thesis that moral reasons must be general reasons, or reasons that admit generalization into principles. On the other hand, if we cannot consistently explain his actions in terms of general reasons, then the Dude must rely on his judgment, character, or intuition to guide him, rather than on any principles. This rejection of moral principles is characteristic of ethical particularism, which holds that moral reasons need not be general.1

At first glance, the generalist approach does not seem too promising as far as the Dude is concerned, because he appears to be an opportunistic, nonconformist ne’er-do-very-well who rejects the societal conventions and rules (that is, the principles) exemplified and championed by the Big Lebowski (who consequently labels him a “bum”). Indeed, his proclivity for impaired driving and illicit drug use suggests that the Dude is not too concerned with rules of any kind, moral or otherwise. Despite his leisurely lifestyle, freewheeling sex life, and slow career, however, the Dude is a rigorously disciplined pacifist (who consistently refuses to fight even when the nihilists threaten to cut off his johnson). In addition, he is an author (who steadfastly refuses to accept revisions to the second, watered-down draft of the Port Huron Statement), a detective (who persistently follows a strict drug regimen to keep his mind limber), and a dipsomaniac (who unyieldingly refuses to drink anything apart from Caucasians and oat sodas). So, the Dude has certain rules, man, principles that he follows without exception, even if that means danger, dismemberment, or death. This suggests that the Dude is a generalist whose practical wisdom or moral decision making consists of the scrupulous application of these and other principles.

Even Walter—who plainly, loudly, and repeatedly expresses his affection for rules—recognizes the Dude’s dedication to principles. After Walter pulls his piece out on the lanes, we find him and the Dude in the Dude’s car outside the bowling alley, as each tries to calm the other down:

Dude: Just, just take it easy, Walter.

Walter: That’s your answer to everything, Dude . . . pacifism is not something to hide behind.

Walter’s claim that taking it easy is the Dude’s “answer for everything” indicates that he applies this principle consistently and even to a foolish extreme, as in situations that call for action, when taking it easy is not the best or the right thing to do. The idea that the Dude “hides behind” his pacifistic principles also suggests that his dedication to generalism is so strong that it can overrule his own judgment or intuition and lead him to act in ways that even he finds morally lacking or otherwise inappropriate.

Indeed, soon after this exchange, it appears that the Dude’s principles are leading him toward a significant and very un-Dude moral lapse. In the bowling alley, soon after entering into the employ of the Big Lebowski, he assures his teammates that any calls from Bunny’s kidnappers will not distract him from bowling in the next round robin:

Dude: They gave Dude a beeper, so whenever these guys call—

Walter: What if it’s during a game?

Dude: I told him if it was during league play—[Here, the Dude makes a dismissive gesture indicating his intention to ignore any calls during league play and, in effect, suggesting that his obligation to the bowling team trumps his obligations to the Big Lebowski and/or Bunny.]

This beeper dilemma sets up a series of potentially problematic moral conflicts for the Dude, conflicts that illustrate the limitations of generalism and threaten to undermine our confidence in the Dude’s moral decision making. As a member of the bowling team and a friend to Walter and Donny, he has an obligation to bowl in the tournament. As an employee of the Big Lebowski and a moral role model deserving of our respect and admiration, however, he has an obligation to answer the call from the kidnappers who have threatened Bunny’s life, which, after all, is in his hands. If the kidnappers call during the tournament, then the Dude will be forced to choose between these apparently inconsistent obligations. Furthermore, if he chooses to keep bowling, even though he believes that this choice could result in Bunny’s injury or death—that is, if his obligation to the bowling team trumps his obligation to Bunny’s life—well, then the Dude is in serious danger of losing his credibility as a moral role model and a good person deserving of our respect and admiration.

Of course, this potential moral conflict never comes to its crisis in the film, and the Dude immediately explains why he believes that Bunny has kidnapped herself (and hence is likely to be in no real danger). Still, he doesn’t know that the kidnapping is a scam, and the idea that the Dude would put bowling before Bunny’s life, based on a hunch, is initially unsettling, nonetheless, particularly insofar as old Duder is an otherwise redeemable, even admirable, character. There are good reasons, however, to believe that el Duderino would do the right thing here, transcend his moral principles, and restore our justifiable faith in the Dude as a moral role model and a paragon of virtue. In fact, by deconstructing the traditional generalist-versus-particularist debate over moral deliberation, the film presents the Dude as a virtuous compromise between the extremes of Walter’s rule-obsessed generalism and the exhausting particularism of the nihilists.

Arguing that language is arbitrary and, hence, that meaning is unstable, shifting, and delayed, the deconstruction theorist Jacques Derrida (1930–2004) held that the author “writes in a language and in a logic whose proper system, laws, and life his discourse by definition cannot dominate absolutely. He uses them only by letting himself, after a fashion and up to a point, be governed by the system.”2 In other words—drawing from the structuralist and poststructuralist theories that give rise to deconstruction—the relationship between “signifier” and “signified” in language is arbitrary; there is no direct correspondence between a signifier and what it points to, the signified.3 Anyone who speaks more than one language is confronted with the very arbitrariness of it when, for example, we find that certain concepts can be clearly articulated in one language and not so clearly in the other. Consider that speakers of Spanish will find the masculine overtones of “el Duderino” built into the phrase in ways that have no analogue in English. In this way, the language we use participates in creating a logic or a system of structuring and understanding the world. This allows for unintended and unseen contradictions within a discourse, contradictions that can turn a text against itself—in other words, new shit that may come to light.

Jonathan Culler notes that to “deconstruct a discourse is to show how it undermines the philosophy it asserts, or the hierarchical oppositions on which it relies.”4 Deconstructive analysis begins by identifying tensions, oppositions, and dichotomies within a discourse, a theory, a work of art, literature, or any object of analysis. Along this line, the film is rife with dichotomies: the Dude’s near-poverty, as opposed to the Big Lebowski’s apparent wealth; the Dude’s notorious laziness, as opposed to the Big Lebowski’s (purported) über-achievement; Smokey’s pacifism, as opposed to Walter’s militancy; and what have you. These binaries are not only opposed, however, but are also hierarchical. As far as the Big Lebowski is concerned, he’s not just different from the Dude—he’s better. As Walter sees it, Smokey isn’t only different—he has problems (beyond pacifism) that make him a lesser man. In this way, the film not only sets up oppositions, it defines winners and losers, urban achievers and bums.

Deconstructive analysis undermines these hierarchies by revealing the ways in which the film actually decenters and disrupts the very philosophy it seems to privilege and, as a result, destabilizes its own apparent structure.5 Thus, deconstructive analysis identifies a conventional, or classical, interpretation of the film in order to show its own deviation from it. While the role of the critic is to find these self-contradictions, this discussion does not intend to suggest any shortcoming on the film’s behalf. Rather, as Robert Gorsch explains in his assessment of a deconstructive approach, “the existence of a limit to the writer’s mastery—will be approached not as an embarrassing failure on the part of an ‘author,’ but rather as evidence of the stubborn complexity of his or her relation to the discourse in which he or she participates.” Gorsch proposes that the “author must employ, and at the same time struggle against, the vocabulary of the tradition in which he or she chooses to speak.”6 As we shall see, the film itself is a deconstruction of the traditional hierar...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Contents
• Title
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Acknowledgments
• Introduction
• Part One: First Round Robin: Tying it All Together, or Not
• Part Two: Second Round Robin: Thousands of Years of Philosophical Tradition, or from Socrates to Sandy Koufax
• Part Three: Third Round Robin: Over The Line!
• Part Four: Fourth Round Robin: Nothing to be Afraid of
• Part Five: Fifth Round Robin: What Makes A Dude?
• Part Six: Sixth Round Robin: Mark it Zero!
• Part Seven: Seventh Round Robin: Livin’ in The Past
• Contributors
• Index