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Sarah Connor got to see the “borrowed time” of life after Armageddon, when John lives in a constant state of fear with his nagging sense of an unfulfilled destiny. The longer he lives under such pressure, the less clear his picture of what he’s fighting for will become in his memory. He will fight, has already been fighting, and has even died, for the survival of humanity. In such a world, the assumption seems to be that humans are united against the machines, that nationalism has been set aside, or even obliterated, along with the buildings and the people.
There is some cruel irony then if we consider that Skynet drives humans into something of a utopian situation. While the more optimistic
Star Trek
TV shows and movies skip the roughshod formative years of how Earth came together and formed the Federation, Cameron’s movies put the focus directly on what might be a transition period from limited nationalistic concerns to universally human concerns. Whether or not the war, and the warriors, will resolve matters with concern for peace and justice is a matter of pure speculation, at least until the next movie is released.
Star Trek
TV shows and movies skip the roughshod formative years of how Earth came together and formed the Federation, Cameron’s movies put the focus directly on what might be a transition period from limited nationalistic concerns to universally human concerns. Whether or not the war, and the warriors, will resolve matters with concern for peace and justice is a matter of pure speculation, at least until the next movie is released.
1
There are lots of places to find good summaries of the ideas contained in the just-war theory. A solid introductory essay is Mark Evans’s “Moral Theory and the Idea of a Just War,” which is the first chapter of a book he edited called
Just War Theory: A Reappraisal
(New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005). Two other recommended sources are Michael Walzer,
Just and Unjust Wars: A Moral Argument with Historical Illustrations
, 4th ed. (New York: Basic Books, 2006), and Andrew Fiala,
The Just War Myth: The Moral Illusions of War
(Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 2008).
There are lots of places to find good summaries of the ideas contained in the just-war theory. A solid introductory essay is Mark Evans’s “Moral Theory and the Idea of a Just War,” which is the first chapter of a book he edited called
Just War Theory: A Reappraisal
(New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005). Two other recommended sources are Michael Walzer,
Just and Unjust Wars: A Moral Argument with Historical Illustrations
, 4th ed. (New York: Basic Books, 2006), and Andrew Fiala,
The Just War Myth: The Moral Illusions of War
(Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 2008).
2
In
The Ethics of War: Classic and Contemporary Readings
, the editors provide excerpts from writings on war from early Christian thinkers who defend war as a just activity to defend against aggression. For example, Saint Augustine, Bishop of Hippo, provides an early defense of just war as a means to peace in his
City of God
, Book 4, chap. 15, when he writes, “Waging war and extending the empire by subduing peoples is therefore viewed as happiness by the wicked, but as a necessity by the good” (p. 72 in
The Ethics of War
, eds. Gregory M. Reichberg, Henrik Syse, and Endre Begby [Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2006]). Saint Thomas Aquinas, another important figure in the Catholic tradition, writes in his
Summa Theologiae
II-II, Question 40, that just wars require legitimate “authority,” a “just cause,” and a “rightful intention” (p. 177 in
The Ethics of War
).
In
The Ethics of War: Classic and Contemporary Readings
, the editors provide excerpts from writings on war from early Christian thinkers who defend war as a just activity to defend against aggression. For example, Saint Augustine, Bishop of Hippo, provides an early defense of just war as a means to peace in his
City of God
, Book 4, chap. 15, when he writes, “Waging war and extending the empire by subduing peoples is therefore viewed as happiness by the wicked, but as a necessity by the good” (p. 72 in
The Ethics of War
, eds. Gregory M. Reichberg, Henrik Syse, and Endre Begby [Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2006]). Saint Thomas Aquinas, another important figure in the Catholic tradition, writes in his
Summa Theologiae
II-II, Question 40, that just wars require legitimate “authority,” a “just cause,” and a “rightful intention” (p. 177 in
The Ethics of War
).
3
Sean French,
The Terminator
(London: BFI Publishing, 1996), 67.
Sean French,
The Terminator
(London: BFI Publishing, 1996), 67.
14
SELF-TERMINATION: SUICIDE, SELF-SACRIFICE, AND THE TERMINATOR
Daniel P. Malloy
I cannot self-terminate.
—Terminator,
Terminator 2: Judgment Day
Terminator 2: Judgment Day
T2: Judgment Day
ends with a suicide. In the final scene, the T-101 determines that the only way to stop Skynet from rising, and thereby prevent the war between humans and machines, is to have itself terminated. Because its programming does not allow it to self-terminate, it hands the task to Sarah Connor. The Terminator then stands passively as it is lowered into a vat of molten steel, thereby destroying the chip that would have allowed Cyberdyne Systems to create Skynet. As we know from subsequent installments of the series, however, this attempt failed. The T-101 was indeed destroyed, but Skynet became self-aware and declared war on humans in spite of this sacrifice.
ends with a suicide. In the final scene, the T-101 determines that the only way to stop Skynet from rising, and thereby prevent the war between humans and machines, is to have itself terminated. Because its programming does not allow it to self-terminate, it hands the task to Sarah Connor. The Terminator then stands passively as it is lowered into a vat of molten steel, thereby destroying the chip that would have allowed Cyberdyne Systems to create Skynet. As we know from subsequent installments of the series, however, this attempt failed. The T-101 was indeed destroyed, but Skynet became self-aware and declared war on humans in spite of this sacrifice.
Existentialist philosopher Albert Camus (1913-1960) claimed that suicide is the only truly serious problem of philosophy—before we can contemplate anything else, we must decide whether or not life is worth living.
1
Indeed, the history of Western philosophy began with a suicide: the death of Socrates (469-399 BCE). Philosophers still dispute whether Socrates actually committed suicide. But the story is this: Socrates was tried before a court on a variety of charges, including corrupting the youth of Athens. He was found guilty and sentenced to death by drinking hemlock, a natural poison. When the time came for his execution, Socrates gladly took his poisoned cup and drank heartily. Now, is this suicide? He could have escaped this fate with ease—the fact that he didn’t makes it appear to be a suicide. Or perhaps his attitude made his act a suicide: Socrates was not simply executed, he happily cooperated. He took the poisoned cup; it was not forced on him. Supposing it is suicide: does that make it wrong? It is possible that Socrates, who spent his life trying to follow “the good” and persuading others to do likewise, committed a sin in his final act. If Socrates’ final act was not wrong, we face the problem of how the act is justified.
1
Indeed, the history of Western philosophy began with a suicide: the death of Socrates (469-399 BCE). Philosophers still dispute whether Socrates actually committed suicide. But the story is this: Socrates was tried before a court on a variety of charges, including corrupting the youth of Athens. He was found guilty and sentenced to death by drinking hemlock, a natural poison. When the time came for his execution, Socrates gladly took his poisoned cup and drank heartily. Now, is this suicide? He could have escaped this fate with ease—the fact that he didn’t makes it appear to be a suicide. Or perhaps his attitude made his act a suicide: Socrates was not simply executed, he happily cooperated. He took the poisoned cup; it was not forced on him. Supposing it is suicide: does that make it wrong? It is possible that Socrates, who spent his life trying to follow “the good” and persuading others to do likewise, committed a sin in his final act. If Socrates’ final act was not wrong, we face the problem of how the act is justified.
Just as with Socrates, the movie’s final act leading to the Terminator’s termination is ambiguous. The T-101 did not lower itself into the vat of molten lava anymore than Socrates decided to take the hemlock; similarly, the T-101 did not choose to accept Sarah and John Connor’s mission of destroying Cyberdyne Systems and forestalling the creation of Skynet any more than Socrates chose to be found guilty.
Before we explore the morality of the Terminator’s choices and ask what constitutes suicide and when, if ever, can suicide be justified, we have to tackle another question, one that simply does not arise in the case of Socrates.
Let’s begin by stating the blindingly obvious: machines are not alive. Therefore they cannot die. So it makes no sense to call the T-101’s termination a death at all, much less to specify it as a suicide. We may say that certain machines “die” metaphorically—computers, cell phones, batteries, etc.—but what kind of “death” is this? A cell phone dropped off a bridge may be “dead” afterward, but it hasn’t committed suicide or been murdered. It has just been destroyed. In the same way, the T-101 was simply destroyed by Sarah Connor. The Terminator did not “die”; it simply ceased to function, just like every computer I’ve ever owned.
But there is a difference between the Terminator and my defunct computers—the Terminator at least appeared to be self-aware. It asked to be destroyed; it volunteered for termination. So perhaps we can see suicide as something more than just self-incurred
biological
death. In a very real and pressing sense, the T-101 did “die,” and so its actions could be considered a suicide. But is there, perhaps, another sense of “life” and “death”?
biological
death. In a very real and pressing sense, the T-101 did “die,” and so its actions could be considered a suicide. But is there, perhaps, another sense of “life” and “death”?
To help understand this possibility, let’s call on the thought of one of the most influential philosophers of the twentieth century, Martin Heidegger (1889-1976). In his book
Being and Time
, Heidegger proposed that human beings experience death differently from other animals. Human beings are essentially temporal beings—we live in and through time. Part of that temporality is living toward the future. Because of our keen awareness of time’s passage and of our finitude, humans are always “being-toward-death” (
Sein zum Tod
).
2
Death, to Heidegger, is not simply a biological concept; that is, if I see death as just my body ceasing to function, then I have misunderstood what death
means
to a human being. Death is much more than that; it is the
end of possibility
. Being-toward-death means understanding that the future is finite: there will come a time for each of us when the future has run out. There will be no more possibilities, no more plans to make, no more projects to see through—all of that will be over. It is
this
sense of death that applies to the Terminator.
Being and Time
, Heidegger proposed that human beings experience death differently from other animals. Human beings are essentially temporal beings—we live in and through time. Part of that temporality is living toward the future. Because of our keen awareness of time’s passage and of our finitude, humans are always “being-toward-death” (
Sein zum Tod
).
2
Death, to Heidegger, is not simply a biological concept; that is, if I see death as just my body ceasing to function, then I have misunderstood what death
means
to a human being. Death is much more than that; it is the
end of possibility
. Being-toward-death means understanding that the future is finite: there will come a time for each of us when the future has run out. There will be no more possibilities, no more plans to make, no more projects to see through—all of that will be over. It is
this
sense of death that applies to the Terminator.
To test this idea, let’s compare the destruction of the T-101 in the first movie to the death of the “good” T-101 in
T2
. Call to mind the final scene of
The Terminator
. Watch the steely skeleton, already half smashed and missing its lower limbs, crawl and scrape its way toward Sarah Connor. To me this has always been the most frightening scene in the
Terminator
films. The T-101 is beaten, nearly destroyed, and yet it keeps coming—right to its doom. The first T-101 lacked self-awareness, and so its “death” was only a “death” in the same metaphorical sense that batteries die. The first Terminator did not die; it was merely destroyed. It had no possibilities, no projects, no future. That T-101 only had a program. What would have happened to it, we might wonder, if it had carried out its mission successfully? Would it have simply shut down, its mission complete, and waited for reprogramming? Or were there other, secondary targets programmed in? The point is moot, of course, but it strongly emphasizes the difference between the first and the second T-101s. Even as the second one was being lowered to its fate, young John Connor was pleading for it to stay and continue serving as a sort of surrogate father. The first T-101 was little more than a puppet, while the second had a future filled with possibilities—and yet it gave them up.
T2
. Call to mind the final scene of
The Terminator
. Watch the steely skeleton, already half smashed and missing its lower limbs, crawl and scrape its way toward Sarah Connor. To me this has always been the most frightening scene in the
Terminator
films. The T-101 is beaten, nearly destroyed, and yet it keeps coming—right to its doom. The first T-101 lacked self-awareness, and so its “death” was only a “death” in the same metaphorical sense that batteries die. The first Terminator did not die; it was merely destroyed. It had no possibilities, no projects, no future. That T-101 only had a program. What would have happened to it, we might wonder, if it had carried out its mission successfully? Would it have simply shut down, its mission complete, and waited for reprogramming? Or were there other, secondary targets programmed in? The point is moot, of course, but it strongly emphasizes the difference between the first and the second T-101s. Even as the second one was being lowered to its fate, young John Connor was pleading for it to stay and continue serving as a sort of surrogate father. The first T-101 was little more than a puppet, while the second had a future filled with possibilities—and yet it gave them up.
Why? The answer can be found in another aspect of Heidegger’s being-toward-death—the question of authenticity. For Heidegger, to approach death authentically is to accept it as the
impossibility of possibility
. We avoid facing our own death, the impossibility of our possibilities, in various ways.
3
Typically, for instance, we comfort ourselves that “everybody dies,” secretly denying that we are one of those everybodies. In
Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines
, the T-101 is self-aware in Heidegger’s sense of “life,” just like the one in
T2
. Both choose to die, but in
T3
self-termination is chosen as a last-ditch effort to destroy the newest model. Before this final act in
T3
, it says to John Connor, “We’ll meet again.” It seems that this T-101’s approach to death is not authentic. In one sense, what it says comes true—in the future, John Connor will program this T-101 and send it back in time to protect his younger self. However, the T-101 that John Connor programs and sends back will not have the same experiences or memories as this one, and so, in a very real sense, it will not be the same “person.” This T-101 dies in an inauthentic way because it refuses to acknowledge death as the end of possibility—
this
Terminator will live again, it believes in vain. The T-101 in
T2
, on the other hand, does accept that its death is the end of its possibilities: indeed, the whole point of its sacrifice is that there will never be a Skynet or Terminators.
impossibility of possibility
. We avoid facing our own death, the impossibility of our possibilities, in various ways.
3
Typically, for instance, we comfort ourselves that “everybody dies,” secretly denying that we are one of those everybodies. In
Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines
, the T-101 is self-aware in Heidegger’s sense of “life,” just like the one in
T2
. Both choose to die, but in
T3
self-termination is chosen as a last-ditch effort to destroy the newest model. Before this final act in
T3
, it says to John Connor, “We’ll meet again.” It seems that this T-101’s approach to death is not authentic. In one sense, what it says comes true—in the future, John Connor will program this T-101 and send it back in time to protect his younger self. However, the T-101 that John Connor programs and sends back will not have the same experiences or memories as this one, and so, in a very real sense, it will not be the same “person.” This T-101 dies in an inauthentic way because it refuses to acknowledge death as the end of possibility—
this
Terminator will live again, it believes in vain. The T-101 in
T2
, on the other hand, does accept that its death is the end of its possibilities: indeed, the whole point of its sacrifice is that there will never be a Skynet or Terminators.
So, while it is fair to say of most machines that they cannot die, the case is different with the Terminator. Since it is aware of itself, its surroundings, and its movement through time, the T-101 is an example of what Heidegger calls
Da-sein
(“there-being”), his term for human existence. The Terminator exists in a completely different way than a toaster or a microwave does. And because of this special existence, it can be said in truth that the T-101 is capable of dying.
Da-sein
(“there-being”), his term for human existence. The Terminator exists in a completely different way than a toaster or a microwave does. And because of this special existence, it can be said in truth that the T-101 is capable of dying.
If the Terminator can die in a real sense, then it’s possible that it can commit suicide. The simplest definition of suicide is “the act of killing oneself ”—but philosophers are rarely satisfied with simple definitions. After all, there are lots of ways to kill yourself—drinking antifreeze, abusing drugs, smoking tobacco, eating a poor diet, autoerotic asphyxiation—but none of these qualify as suicide. There is more to suicide than this, and what’s missing is the intention behind the act. More accurately, suicide is the
intentional
taking of one’s own life. Further, in order for an act to be considered suicide, the subject must
freely
choose to die. Accidents aren’t suicides. And, generally, an action is considered suicide only if it
directly
results in death. Let’s first deal with this issue of free choice: did the Terminator freely choose to die?
intentional
taking of one’s own life. Further, in order for an act to be considered suicide, the subject must
freely
choose to die. Accidents aren’t suicides. And, generally, an action is considered suicide only if it
directly
results in death. Let’s first deal with this issue of free choice: did the Terminator freely choose to die?
It’s doubtful that the T-101 could
freely
choose anything. As its successor in
T3
tells us, “Desire is irrelevant. I am a machine.” Machines are not free. Even a sophisticated machine like the Terminator has a program that it must carry out. The computer I’m using to write this chapter can’t suddenly decide that it needs a break or that my words and ideas aren’t up to snuff and shut itself down (though it certainly seems that way at times). On the face of it, then, the T-101’s act was not a suicide because it wasn’t freely chosen. That is, provided that it was programmed to allow self-destruction within mission objectives, the T-101 was not free. Perhaps the Terminator wasn’t following its program when it asked to be lowered into that vat. It said just before handing Sarah Connor the controls, “I cannot self-terminate,” but it arranges for its own death. So T-101’s final act at least might have been freely chosen.
freely
choose anything. As its successor in
T3
tells us, “Desire is irrelevant. I am a machine.” Machines are not free. Even a sophisticated machine like the Terminator has a program that it must carry out. The computer I’m using to write this chapter can’t suddenly decide that it needs a break or that my words and ideas aren’t up to snuff and shut itself down (though it certainly seems that way at times). On the face of it, then, the T-101’s act was not a suicide because it wasn’t freely chosen. That is, provided that it was programmed to allow self-destruction within mission objectives, the T-101 was not free. Perhaps the Terminator wasn’t following its program when it asked to be lowered into that vat. It said just before handing Sarah Connor the controls, “I cannot self-terminate,” but it arranges for its own death. So T-101’s final act at least might have been freely chosen.
But maybe in order to complete its mission of destroying Skynet, the Terminator
had
to destroy itself—that, after all, is the justification the T-101 gives. And while this is true, the destruction of Skynet was not the T-101’s programmed mission, which was simply to protect John Connor. With the destruction of the T-1000, that mission was complete, and with that accomplished, the T-101 had no mission, no program to speak of. This is the very essence of freedom—the absence of commands or directives, the presence of nothing but possibilities. It is precisely this plethora of possibilities that constitutes freedom. Right now, of the range of possibilities open to me, including watching
The Terminator,
playing video games based on the
Terminator
films, or coming up with mindless puns akin to “Governator” to describe Arnold Schwarzenegger’s current role,
4
I am writing a chapter. I have freely decided to “actualize” writing this chapter about the
Terminator
. In a strange way, the T-101’s self-destruction, its suicide, was really its only free act. It had a variety of options for the first time, instead of a program to follow—and it chose to die.
had
to destroy itself—that, after all, is the justification the T-101 gives. And while this is true, the destruction of Skynet was not the T-101’s programmed mission, which was simply to protect John Connor. With the destruction of the T-1000, that mission was complete, and with that accomplished, the T-101 had no mission, no program to speak of. This is the very essence of freedom—the absence of commands or directives, the presence of nothing but possibilities. It is precisely this plethora of possibilities that constitutes freedom. Right now, of the range of possibilities open to me, including watching
The Terminator,
playing video games based on the
Terminator
films, or coming up with mindless puns akin to “Governator” to describe Arnold Schwarzenegger’s current role,
4
I am writing a chapter. I have freely decided to “actualize” writing this chapter about the
Terminator
. In a strange way, the T-101’s self-destruction, its suicide, was really its only free act. It had a variety of options for the first time, instead of a program to follow—and it chose to die.
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