it happened to be, and when Hitler was making the laws, Eichmann simply carried them out.5 In the words of Arendt, Eichmann was an unreflective person, unable to think for himself and definitely unable “to think from the standpoint of somebody else.”6 What was really monstrous about Eichmann was not his vicious cruelty, but rather the way that he was not that different from so many Germans who, under Hitler, accepted and supported laws that were obviously evil and believed that they were doing what was right. Eichmann's banality – the fact that there is nothing distinctive or exceptional about him – is precisely what makes him evil. He was one of the “crowd” who didn't walk to the beat of a different drummer and didn't rock the boat. He embodied complicit citizenship under a dictatorship, which speaks for its subjects and, thus, cuts off their reflective and critical thought.
Thoughtlessness leads to evil, as Arendt says, because it doesn't let us see things from others' perspectives. By blindly following orders, Eichmann didn't think about what his actions were doing to others, or even what they were doing to himself. By saying he was “following the law” and “doing his duty,” he ignored how his actions sent millions to their deaths and, despite his protests, made him a murderer. Thinking, according to Arendt, requires taking another's standpoint, reflecting on how you might be harming others, and asking if you can live with what you are doing.
While the adults in South Park blindly follow the latest fad, or what they are told, it is the children who bring out the absurdity and potential harm that lurks in such thoughtlessness. To be more accurate, it's usually Kyle and Stan who are the reflective ones, while Cartman's mind is as empty as the Cheesy Poofs he devours daily. He is often sadistic, cruel, and evil. Like Eichmann, Cartman is probably evil because, when it comes to “authoritah,” he lacks reflection and critical analysis. (And like Eichmann, he has a Nazi uniform that he has sported on occasion). Cartman sings the Cheesy Poofs song so well because all he can do is imitate what he hears on television. His evil is an imitation of the evil characters of our culture, as prepackaged as his afternoon snacks. Cartman consumes evil and imitates it as blindly and thoughtlessly as Eichmann – even when feeding Scott Tenorman his own parents (like Medea), trying to kill Kyle and Stan on a lake (like Fredo), or torturing Muslims with his farts (like Jack Bauer) to find the “snuke.” Most importantly, because of this thoughtlessness, Cartman is unable to see things from anyone else's viewpoint (as illustrated most clearly in his manipulation of his mother). As Arendt says, such thoughtlessness is precisely what allows evil to emerge in modern society, and Cartman's mindless consumption is as thoughtless as it gets.
Friendship Kicks Ass! The Dialogues of Kyle and Stan
Part of what makes South Park philosophically interesting is the contrast between Cartman's evil stupidity and the nonconformist, reflective virtue of Kyle and Stan. Philosophers like Plato and Aristotle (384–322 BCE) have noted the importance of how critical reflection leads to harmony or balance and helps us to avoid extremes. After all, the “extremes” of thinking and acting often lead to mistaken beliefs and harmful behavior. In fact, following Plato's lead, Aristotle put forward the idea that virtue is concerned with striking a balance or hitting the mark between two extreme viewpoints, ideas, beliefs, emotions, or actions.7 South Park addresses moral issues through a discussion and criticism of established “moral” positions, both conservative and liberal, which are found to be inadequate. Kyle and Stan come to a virtuous position, in part, by negotiating and listening to these views before reaching their own conclusion through questioning and reason. Frequently, their conclusion recognizes that there is some truth to each position, but that its limited perspective is still dangerous. For example, it's true that hybrid cars are more environmentally responsible than gas‐guzzling SUVs. But when an air of moral superiority clouds one's judgment, this “smug cloud” creates hostility and pollutes society in other ways.
How Stan and Kyle reach their conclusions is more significant than the conclusions themselves. Think of how they discuss whether it's wrong to kill Stan's grandpa, who he wants to die. They, like Socrates, question those around them, seeking to know if the people are as wise as they believe. Their parents, Mr. Garrison, and Jesus won't discuss or touch this issue “with a 60‐foot pole.” What Kyle and Stan ultimately realize – with the help of Stan's great‐great‐grandfather's ghost – is that they shouldn't kill his grandfather, because the action would change and harm them. As it turns out, Stan's grandfather is wrong in asking them to do this vicious action. Note that the boys reach this conclusion through living with each other, recognizing their differences, and engaging in debate. Stan and Kyle – unlike Eichmann and Cartman – learn to see things from others' perspectives, through their ongoing conversation.
In the Apology Socrates makes the claim that a good person cannot be harmed by the actions of others. This seems false. After all, aside from being a cartoon character, what could prevent Cartman from punching out the Dalai Lama? But what Socrates means by “good” is something different than we often realize. Goodness means reflectively thinking about one's actions and being able to live with what one has done. Despite any physical harm – torture, imprisonment, exile, or death – that may come that person's way, no one could “hurt” a virtuous person by making them do something bad. Cartman, for example, couldn't make the Dalai Lama punch him. Socrates, for his part, refused to execute an innocent person, or to try generals for “crimes” beyond the laws of the city. And, significantly, Socrates would rather die than give up the thinking and questioning that he sees as central to philosophy:
Perhaps someone might say: But Socrates, if you leave us will you not be able to live quietly, without talking? Now this is the most difficult point on which to convince some of you. If I say that it is impossible for me to keep quiet because that means disobeying the god, you will not believe me … On the other hand, if I say that it is the greatest good for a man to discuss virtue every day and those other things about which you hear me conversing and testing myself and others, for the unexamined live is not worth living for man, you will believe me even less.8
Arendt has a similar conception of goodness. Ethics, for those (unlike Eichmann) who resisted the Nazis, was being able to look back on one's life without shame, rather than adhering to a set of rules. Her description deserves quoting:
Their criterion [for goodness], I think, was a different one; they asked themselves to what extent they would still be able to live in peace with themselves after having committed certain deeds; and they decided that it would be better to do nothing, not because the world would then be changed for the better, but simply because only on this condition could they go on living with themselves at all. Hence, they also chose to die when they were forced to participate. To put it crudely, they refused to murder … because they were unwilling to live together with a murderer – themselves. The precondition for this kind of judging is not a highly developed intelligence or sophistication in moral matters, but rather the disposition to live together explicitly with oneself, to have intercourse with oneself, that is, to be engaged in that silent dialogue between me and myself which, since Socrates and Plato, we usually call thinking.9
Thinking, for Arendt, is a twofold process: it involves seeing things through another's eyes, in dialogue and reflection, as well as asking what you can live with for yourself. It is, then, both an internal and an external dialogue, and it is only through this dialogue that critical reflection and goodness become possible. Whereas Eichmann and Cartman do not critically reflect upon the consequences of actions, nor put themselves in another's shoes, thoughtful dialogue makes us attentive to others around us, lets us live with them, and helps us attend to our own goodness. Such dialogue allows us to live with ourselves – even when, like Socrates or those who resisted the Nazis, this means we must die.
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