The Ultimate South Park and Philosophy (6 page)

To understand a final reason why uncritically accepting unsupported beliefs—however hopeful they might make us feel—is not such a good thing, we turn to Stan at his best. Again, from “The Biggest Douche in the Universe,” John Edward challenges Stan: “Everything I tell people is positive and gives them hope; how does that make me a douche?” Stan’s reply is brilliant: “Because the big questions in life are tough; why are we here, where are we from, where are we going? But if people believe in asshole douchy liars like you, we’re never going to find the real answers to those questions. You aren’t just lying, you’re slowing down the progress of all mankind, you douche.” He follows this up with another terrific speech, this time to the members of Edward’s believing audience:

You see, I learned something today. At first I thought you were all just stupid listening to this douche’s advice, but now I understand that you’re all here because you’re scared. You’re scared of death and he offers you some kind of understanding. You all want to believe in it so much, I know you do. You find comfort in the thought that your loved ones are floating around trying to talk to you, but think about it: is that really what you want? To just be floating around after you die having to talk to this asshole? We need to recognize this stuff for what it is: magic tricks. Because whatever is really going on in life and in death is much more amazing than this douche.

We can all learn something today from what Stan has said here. First, he realizes it’s wrong to dismiss someone with unsupported beliefs as being stupid. We want answers because we need comfort. Sometimes we rely more on emotion than reason to satisfy ourselves, but that doesn’t mean we lack intelligence. We poke fun, we often ridicule, but, even in
South Park
, it’s always better when we try to achieve some understanding.

Second, Stan reminds us of Clifford’s point that settling for easy answers not only weakens the mind, it prevents us from finding real answers. In science, philosophy, and every rational pursuit where we require answers to questions, the spirit of inquiry—combined with hard work—is what leads to progress. Settling for magical answers that make us feel good only slows us down.

And speaking of magic, Stan reminds us finally that there’s real magic, wonder, and beauty in the universe. As he says, whatever is really going on in life and in death is truly amazing. We don’t want to miss it, dude.

1
. See W.K. Clifford,
The Ethics of Belief and Other Essays
, ed. Timothy Madigan. (Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books, 1999). Epistemology is the area of philosophy concerned with justifying beliefs with evidence. Good introductory epistemology texts include Robert Audi,
Epistemology: A Contemporary Introduction
(London: Routledge, 2003) and Jack Crumley,
Introduction to Epistemology
(Columbus, OH: McGraw-Hill, 1998).

2
. See Blaise Pascal,
Pascal’s Pensées
, trans. W.F. Trotter (New York: PF Collier, 1910). For interesting discussions of the pros and cons of Pascal’s Wager, see Nicholas Rescher,
Pascal’s Wager: A Study of Practical Reasoning in Philosophical Theology
(Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1985) and Alan Hájek, “Waging War on Pascal’s Wager,”
Philosophical Review
112 (2003): 27–56.

Christopher C. Kirby

Ladies and gentlemen, I have dire news. Yesterday, at approximately 18:00 hours, terrorists successfully attacked … our imagination.

“Imaginationland” is an Emmy winning, three-part story from
South Park
’s eleventh season that was later reissued as a movie with all of the deleted scenes included. The story begins with the boys waiting in the woods for a leprechaun that Cartman claims to have seen. Kyle, ever the skeptic, has bet ten dollars against sucking Cartman’s balls that leprechauns aren’t real. When the boys finally trap one, to Kyle’s shock and dismay, it cryptically warns of a terrorist attack and ­disappears. That night at the dinner table Kyle asks his parents where leprechauns come from and why one would visit South Park to warn of a terrorist attack. They chide him for not knowing the difference between real and imaginary and he mutters, “I thought I did.” What ensues is pure
South Park
genius as we discover that, in fact,
nobody
seems to know what the difference is.

As the story unfolds, it’s obvious no one will be safe. The episode offers send-ups of the US “war on terror,” the American legal system, Hollywood directors, the media, Christianity, the military, Kurt Russell, and Al Gore’s campaign against climate change (Manbearpig is real … I’m super cereal!) all the while reminding us that imagination is an essential feature of human life. Though much could be said about the metaphysics (philosophical questions concerned with reality) at the center of “Imaginationland,” this chapter looks instead at the connection between imagination and something philosophers like to call ­
critical thinking
—that is, being able to cut through the crap and see things clearly—something that seems to be in short supply these days, especially when it comes to thinking about terrorist threats.

Cutting through the crap is what the writers of
South Park
specialize in and this is one of the biggest reasons philosophers love the show. One of its most consistent themes is that creative imagination, even in its most outrageous and abrasive forms, is indispensable in combatting stupidity and small-mindedness. In this way,
South Park
captures a basic feature of philosophizing; thinking critically begins with thinking creatively, and that requires imagination. However, becoming a critical thinker doesn’t mean just finding fault in everything. After all, there’s a difference between being discerning and being a giant douche. Instead, critical thinking involves originality as well as the courage to challenge prevailing attitudes. This isn’t easy, though, especially when you’re surrounded by a bunch of “stupid ­assholes” with no imagination that seem to want “to ruin everything,” in the words of Cartman in “Imaginationland Episode III.”

But that’s how philosophy came into existence, because Socrates ­(469-399
BCE
), the guy credited with starting it all, found just such a situation in ancient Athens. As it turned out, the people of Athens didn’t like the way Socrates was questioning everyone and so they trumped up some criminal charges against him in an effort to make him stop. Socrates argued that he
had
to ask those questions because the gods had proclaimed him to be the wisest of all Athenians, and he didn’t see how that was possible, since he felt like he didn’t really know anything. Then it hit him. That’s what made him wiser than everyone else … because at least he
knew
that he
didn’t
know. (How’s that for irony?) So, he told the Athenians he would continue asking questions until they came to the same realization about themselves. Instead of facing their own uncertainty with creativity and imagination, the Athenians turned away from it and sentenced Socrates to death. One might say that their imaginations were held hostage, not by ­gun-toting terrorists, but by their own fear of risking the unknown. But why does this happen? Why do only a handful of people, when faced with ­puzzlement or wonder, set out on the path of questioning and investigation, while most others just want to nuke the hell out of it?

Many philosophers have asked that question (or something like it) and they’ve come up with a whole laundry-list of answers, including: selfishness, the emotions, the desire to fit in, laziness, the standards and habits of modern living, and plain old-fashioned fear. These last two are particularly interesting when considering the lack of critical thinking that has occurred since, and about, September 11, 2001. Why have Americans acted more like the Athenians and less like Socrates since that event? After that attack, even the most mundane parts of modern living, like flying the airlines, were suddenly filled with potentially life-threatening risk. And, if there’s something most philosophers can agree on, it’s that we human beings are not very good at assessing risk, often sacrificing long-term values in favor of short-term ones. Ulrich Beck has devoted most of his career to working out how risks (especially global ones like terrorism, climate change, and economic crises) affect the way we think in modern society. Beck works in an area of philosophy called “critical theory,” the goal of which is “the emancipation of human beings from the circumstances that enslave them.”
¹
He argues that with the rise of globalization and the computer age, we now live in a “world risk society,” a society whose risks no longer threaten isolated groups or geographical regions, but target the entire planet. If you think we humans aren’t very good at
personal
risk assessment, when it comes to assessing risk on that large of a scale, we really suck balls! But the news isn’t all bad. Just like the boys in “Imaginationland,” we might be able to turn it around with some imagination, critical thinking, and cooperation.

In “Imaginationland Episode I,” Stan, Kyle, Kenny, Butters, and Jimmy are all whisked away by a man looking for the leprechaun and claiming to be the Mayor of Imaginationland. Just as the boys are about to share the leprechaun’s message with the citizens of Imaginationland the terrorists attack. Fortunately, the boys are able to quickly make their escape with the help of a Sean Connery-voiced dragon. In the confusion, however, Butters gets left behind. The rest of the boys awake in South Park and assume it’s all been a dream until Butters’ parents show up looking for their son.

The scene cuts to a debriefing room at the Pentagon where we get our first glimpse of unimaginative leadership:

SPECIALIST:
The imaginary attack appears to have been in the works for years. The effects of the attack are so far … unimaginable.

GENERAL:
We’ve intercepted this videotape the terrorists made for broadcast. Luckily we’ve kept it from being broadcast to the public. [
Clicks on a remote control, and the video appears on screen. The Fanciful Mayor is on the ground with a blindfold on. A Care Bear sits to his right with a blindfold on as well. The terrorist starts speaking then backs up to shoot a Care Bear in the head
.]

MAYOR:
No! It’s just a Care Bear! [
A terrorist knocks him down with the butt of his gun. A fairy godmother walks up to check on him
.]

SPECIALIST 2:
Oh my God!

GENERAL:
[
Fast forwards the tape
…] Later in the video we can see another imaginary hostage; this one reading a forced statement.

BUTTERS:
[
Reading the statement at gunpoint
…] Praise to the mighty Allah. His divine grace a-and will have brought forth this day. [
A terrorist brings forth a severed bear head to show the viewers
.] Oh jeez! [
The terrorist ­withdraws
.] Uhhh, now see, your safety is at our whim. This is the price you pay, America! You have defiled Allah, and now we will turn your imagination against you! Death to the infidels! [
There’s no more to read
.] Can I go now? [
Two terrorists come up and drag him away. The one wearing a vest takes the statement away from Butters
.] Stan! Kyle! Could you could you get me out of here?! [
The tape is stopped
.]

GENERAL:
Gentlemen, the terrorists appear to have complete ­control of our imagination. It’s only a matter of time before … our imaginations start running wild (“Imaginationland, Episode I”).

It seems the US leaders’ imaginations are being held hostage … literally! And this mirrors the collective loss the American public felt immediately following the 9/11 attacks. As Beck wrote one year after those events,

Ever since that moment, we’ve been living and thinking and acting using concepts that are incapable of grasping what happened then … No one has yet offered a satisfying answer to the simple question of what really happened. The implosion of the Twin Towers has been followed by an explosion of silence. If we don’t have the right concepts it might seem that silence is appropriate. But it isn’t.
²

One way to break this silence and free our imagination from its captive bonds, is to take a page out of Socrates’ playbook. Whenever he spoke to the Athenians about philosophical matters, such as justice or courage, he would start by asking them to define the basic concept under discussion. When they tried to answer, he would remind them that just giving examples wouldn’t suffice. Instead, he insisted they search for the common features that
any
just or courageous act would have. It might be helpful to do the same thing when thinking about terrorism.

So, what exactly
is
terrorism? We might be able to think of many instances of terrorism, but it may be more insightful, and more ­difficult, to identify the elements that must be present in order for
any
act to be called an act of terror. Then, once the basics have been addressed, we might be able to move on to tougher questions, like: “How do terrorist acts differ from guerilla warfare?” “From national liberation movements?” Or even: “What makes a terrorist act immoral?” “Is it possible for war to be waged on an idea (‘terror’)?” These are important and complex issues that we won’t have time to discuss fully here, but we can’t even hope to answer them unless we’ve first thought critically about the basics.

If we consider the origins of the word terrorism, we may start to get an idea about what it means. “Terrorism” is derived from the Latin
terrere
, which means “to frighten,” and it was used initially to refer to state or government repression of its citizens. The French “Reign of Terror” of Robespierre is one example of this early usage. In more recent times, the use of the term has broadened. However, in his book,
Inside Ter­rorism
, Bruce Hoffman has identified several elements common among terrorist acts, as they are thought of today: