But what’s really so bad about killing someone? To most people, even asking this question may indicate sociopathic tendencies. But when, in
Terminator 2: Judgment Day
, John Connor encounters a Terminator that’s been programmed to protect him, he quickly realizes that he’d better come up with some sort of answer or he’ll have to face the fact that the price of his own survival may be a significant body count:
John: Jesus, you were gonna kill that guy.
T-101: Of course, I’m a Terminator.
John: Listen to me very carefully, okay. You’re not a Terminator anymore, all right? You got that? You just can’t go around killing people.
T-101: Why?
John: What do you mean “why?” ’Cause you can’t.
T-101: Why?
John: Because you just can’t, okay. Trust me on this.
A satisfactory answer isn’t easy to come by, especially since, from the Terminator’s perspective, nearly everyone he encounters in the late twentieth century will soon die in a fiery nuclear war.
Most of us share the commonsense moral belief that indiscriminately killing someone is always wrong—although deliberate killing in certain circumstances may be morally justified.
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Our belief presupposes that
death
is something that is itself bad and should be avoided when possible. Various philosophers have tried to explain why death is one of worst—if not
the
worst—events a person may ever experience. Thomas Aquinas (c. 1225-1274), for example, argues that since human beings are essentially living biological organisms, life is of fundamental value to us.
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He further claims that “the most fearful of all bodily evils is death, since it does away all bodily goods.”
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A number of other classical and contemporary philosophers argue, though, that we shouldn’t fear death because death isn’t really bad for the person who dies. If John is to give his “guardian angel” a sufficient explanation for why he shouldn’t kill anyone who poses a threat—or just an inconvenience—he’ll need the help of philosophers who argue that death
is
bad for the person who dies.
“You’ve Been Targeted for Termination”
The mission of the villainous Terminators in each film, as well as in
The Sarah Connor Chronicles
(
SCC
), is quite clear: kill John Connor. This is accomplished either by targeting John himself or his mother, Sarah, before he’s born—“a sort of retroactive abortion.”
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The wrongness of killing John or preventing his conception is also quite clear from a
utilitarian
moral perspective. Utilitarians believe that ethical decisions should be dictated by “the greatest good for the greatest number,” meaning that an action is right insofar as it tends to promote the most benefit for the most people, and wrong as it tends toward the contrary.
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Clearly, the world will be worse off without John Connor. Sarah muses in the pilot episode of
SCC
, “It is said that the death of one person is the death of the entire world,” and she notes that in the case of her son, this aphorism is literally true.
Often, a person’s death is understood in terms of what happens to
that individual
, but it’s also important to consider how that person’s death affects
others
. While showing Sarah pictures of the assault on the police station in 1984, a detective notes that the Terminator “killed seventeen police officers that night, men with families, with children.” It would’ve been bad enough if seventeen single, childless men had died; but the negative effects—emotional, economic, and otherwise—of their deaths on the lives of their families make the massacre all the more tragic. From a utilitarian perspective, the wrongness of a particular act of killing is compounded by the negative effects that emanate from it—like ripples from a stone splashing in a pond.
While the Terminator is emotionally incapable of appreciating the trauma he causes, he views the value of his own existence purely in terms of his
utility
, as he explains to John in
T2
:
John: Are you ever afraid?
T-101: No.
John: Not even of dying?
T-101: No.
John: You don’t feel any emotion about it one way or another.
T-101: No. I have to stay functional until my mission is complete. Then it doesn’t matter.
Another T-101 is equally glib about death in
Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines
when questioned by Kate Brewster:
Kate: If we get killed, does that mean anything to you?”
T-101: If you were to die, I will become useless. There will be no reason for me to exist.
In fact, the Terminator’s dedication to existing only to serve the greater good—as defined by his mission parameters—extends to his willing self-termination at the end of both
T2
and
T3
.
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“Cameron,” the Terminator portrayed by Summer Glau in
SCC
, also thinks like a utilitarian when she reacts to the death of Andy Goode, whose chess-playing computer has the potential to evolve into Skynet: “The world is safer without him” (
SCC
, “Queen’s Gambit”). Sarah, though, couldn’t bring herself to kill Andy earlier in “The Turk”—electing instead to burn down his house with the supercomputer inside—just as she ultimately stops herself from killing Miles Dyson in
T2
. The point, however, remains lost on the T-101 as he wonders why he and John are trying to stop her:
T-101: Killing Dyson might actually prevent the war.
John: I don’t care! Haven’t you learned anything, yet? Haven’t you figured out why you can’t kill people?
When Sarah realizes that John came to stop her from killing Dyson, she can’t contain her pride and love for him—it’s almost as if she has suddenly realized he
could
truly save the human race.
While utilitarianism would justify killing Goode and Dyson, Immanuel Kant (1724-1804) would not. Kant argues that human beings—as rational, autonomous persons—have a
dignity
that must be respected at all costs. Terminators, by contrast (un-Kantian in the extreme), utterly disregard human life. Think of the opening image in
The Terminator
in which an H-K (“Hunter-Killer”) tank crushes a multitude of charred human skulls left scattered about after the nuclear holocaust. Kyle Reese tells Sarah that as soon as Skynet became self-aware, it “decided our fate in a microsecond: extermination.” Skynet has no trouble calculating the worth of human survival compared with its own. We see plenty of evidence of the Terminators’ indifference to human life throughout each film, including Cameron in
SCC
as she shows John and the others the body of a man she’d killed because “he was a threat to us.” When asked if she was able to extract any information from him, Cameron tells them, “He said very little. And then he was quiet” (
SCC
, “What He Beheld”).
Kyle Reese, on the other hand, is also on a desperate mission with the fate of the human race on his shoulders. Yet, while one of his first acts in 1984 is to rob a homeless man of his clothes, he doesn’t kill him or anyone else as he fights to protect Sarah. And his son John’ s respect for human life extends even to his foster parents, for whom he clearly has no respect otherwise: “Todd and Janelle are dicks, but I gotta warn them [about the T-1000].” Even the unreformed Terminators sometimes refrain from killing—warning truck drivers and helicopter pilots to “get out” before they commandeer their vehicles—but then minutes later casually kill others who get in their way. Ironically, the T-101, before he has started his “not-killing lessons” with John in
T2
, doesn’t kill the bar owner despite the fact that the owner is prepared to use lethal force to stop him from taking someone else’s motorcycle. Who has their moral priorities straight here?
“Humans Inevitably Die”
The classic utilitarian and Kantian ethical formulas are by no means the only grounds for an argument that killing someone indiscriminately is wrong. Don Marquis, in a well-known article arguing against the moral permissibility of abortion, makes this claim:
What primarily makes killing wrong is neither its effect on the murderer nor its effect on the victim’s friends and relatives, but its effect on the victim. The loss of one’s life is one of the greatest losses one can suffer. The loss of one’s life deprives one of all the experiences, activities, projects, and enjoyments that would otherwise have constituted one’s future. Therefore, killing someone is wrong, primarily because the killing inflicts (one of) the greatest possible losses to the victim.
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Marquis is basically saying that killing someone indiscriminately is wrong because it deprives her of the benefits of continued life, of her valuable future.
This view presumes, however, that the victim has a valuable future ahead of her and that death truly
deprives
her of it. But the future that lies ahead for humans toward the end of the twentieth century—or the beginning of the twenty-first, once the timing of Judgment Day is changed at the end of
T2
—is not particularly valuable: fiery death for billions, others suffering radiation burns and sickness before dying; the rest living in squalor and fighting for their lives against Skynet. As Sarah tells Dr. Silberman in her ever-so-gentle, motherly way, “God, you think you’re safe and alive. You’re already dead.
Everybody, him, you, you’re dead already! This whole place, everything you see is gone!” Later, she’s able to use this line of reasoning to convince Silberman—whom she’s holding at syringe point—that her level of regard for human life is only slightly above the Terminator’s:
Silberman: It won’t work, Sarah. You’re no killer. I don’t believe you’ll do it.
Sarah: You’re already dead, Silberman. Everybody dies. You know I believe it, so don’t FUCK WITH ME!!
But maybe it doesn’t matter that life absolutely sucks in the future. Perhaps simply being
alive
is sufficiently worthwhile.
If so, then death must be bad for the person who dies just because she’ll no longer have any experiences of any kind—pleasant or painful. Such absolute existential
nothingness
disturbs Sarah as she contemplates whether human beings have a “soul,” something that makes us different from the machines—something that lives on after death. Ultimately, though, reflecting on Andy Goode’s death as well as that of a T-888, she concludes in the negative: “There’s nothing left of either [Andy or the Terminator]. Nothing that told the story of who or what they were. Gone is gone. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust” (
SCC
, “The Demon Hand”).
This same concept of death’s absolute nothingness, however, allows some philosophers to argue that we shouldn’t fear death. If death is just absolute nothingness, then it won’t be bad at all for the one who dies. The ancient Greek philosopher Epicurus (341-271 BCE) exhorts his readers:
Become accustomed to the belief that death is nothing to us. For all good and evil consists in sensation, but death is deprivation of sensation. . . . So death, the most terrifying of ills, is nothing to us, since so long as we exist, death is not with us; but when death comes, then we do not exist.
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We have no reason to fear death, since something can be bad for us only if we can
experience
it; but death deprives us of the ability to experience anything—either good or bad. What’s more, we won’t even be
present
at our death, since its very definition is the end of one’s existence.
This argument finds voice in another ancient philosopher, Lucretius (c. 100-c. 55 BCE):
If the future holds travail and anguish in store, the self must be in existence, when that time comes, in order to experience it. But from this fate we are redeemed by death, which denies existence to the self that might have suffered these tribulations. Rest assured, therefore, that we have nothing to fear in death. One who no longer is cannot suffer, or differ in any way from one who has never been born, when once this mortal life has been usurped by death the immortal.
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