Terminator and Philosophy: I'll Be Back, Therefore I Am (9 page)
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1
Alan M. Turing, “Computing Machinery and Intelligence,”
Mind
59 (1950): 444.
Alan M. Turing, “Computing Machinery and Intelligence,”
Mind
59 (1950): 444.
2
Richard Dawkins,
The Selfish Gene
, rev. ed. (New York: Oxford Univ. Press: 1989).
Richard Dawkins,
The Selfish Gene
, rev. ed. (New York: Oxford Univ. Press: 1989).
3
Douglas Adams,
The Restaurant at the End of the Universe
(New York: Harmony, 1982).
Douglas Adams,
The Restaurant at the End of the Universe
(New York: Harmony, 1982).
4
Albert Camus, “The Myth of Sisyphus,” in
Basic Writings of Existentialism
, ed. Gordon Marino (New York: Modern Library, 2004).
Albert Camus, “The Myth of Sisyphus,” in
Basic Writings of Existentialism
, ed. Gordon Marino (New York: Modern Library, 2004).
5
Yes, a five-book trilogy. That’s how the publishers billed it, anyway.
Yes, a five-book trilogy. That’s how the publishers billed it, anyway.
6
For more on the Terminator’s suicide, see Daniel P. Malloy’s chapter in this volume, “Self-Termination: Suicide, Self-Sacrifice, and the Terminator.”
For more on the Terminator’s suicide, see Daniel P. Malloy’s chapter in this volume, “Self-Termination: Suicide, Self-Sacrifice, and the Terminator.”
7
Thomas Hobbes,
Leviathan
, ed. Edwin Curley (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1994).
Thomas Hobbes,
Leviathan
, ed. Edwin Curley (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1994).
8
Isaac Asimov,
I
,
Robot
(New York: Bantam Books, 1991).
Isaac Asimov,
I
,
Robot
(New York: Bantam Books, 1991).
9
Robert Axelrod,
The Evolution of Cooperation
(New York: Basic Books, 1985).
Robert Axelrod,
The Evolution of Cooperation
(New York: Basic Books, 1985).
10
Joseph LeDoux,
The Emotional Brain: The Mysterious Underpinnings of Emotional Life
(New York: Simon and Schuster, 1998).
Joseph LeDoux,
The Emotional Brain: The Mysterious Underpinnings of Emotional Life
(New York: Simon and Schuster, 1998).
11
John A. Bargh and Tanya Chartland, “The Unbearable Automaticity of Being,”
American Psychologist
54, no. 7 (1999): 462-479.
John A. Bargh and Tanya Chartland, “The Unbearable Automaticity of Being,”
American Psychologist
54, no. 7 (1999): 462-479.
4
UN-TERMINATED: THE INTEGRATION OF THE MACHINES
Jesse W. Butler
There’s a provocative tension in the
Terminator
saga that has to do with the relationship between humanity and the technology it produces. On one hand, the original
Terminator
portrays technology as a malevolent force directly at odds with the interests of humanity. With the emergence of Skynet as a conscious being, a war between humans and machines ensues, each attempting to exterminate the other. From this perspective, our relationship with technology is threatening, with the potential for the complete destruction of the human race. On the other hand, technology serves vital roles in the lives of the human characters in the
Terminator
films. Consider, for example, the roles taken on by the Cyberdyne Systems Model T-101 in
Terminator 2: Judgment Day
, where the cyborg played by Arnold Schwarzenegger is not only the lifesaving protector, but also the close companion, and even father figure, of the young John Connor. This unlikely juxtaposition raises a philosophical question: is the development of technology, particularly the rise of machines that can think and act independently, a good thing or a bad thing for humans? Could it be a paradoxical mix of both good and bad? A double-edged sword that both serves human ends yet threatens to end humanity itself?
Terminator
saga that has to do with the relationship between humanity and the technology it produces. On one hand, the original
Terminator
portrays technology as a malevolent force directly at odds with the interests of humanity. With the emergence of Skynet as a conscious being, a war between humans and machines ensues, each attempting to exterminate the other. From this perspective, our relationship with technology is threatening, with the potential for the complete destruction of the human race. On the other hand, technology serves vital roles in the lives of the human characters in the
Terminator
films. Consider, for example, the roles taken on by the Cyberdyne Systems Model T-101 in
Terminator 2: Judgment Day
, where the cyborg played by Arnold Schwarzenegger is not only the lifesaving protector, but also the close companion, and even father figure, of the young John Connor. This unlikely juxtaposition raises a philosophical question: is the development of technology, particularly the rise of machines that can think and act independently, a good thing or a bad thing for humans? Could it be a paradoxical mix of both good and bad? A double-edged sword that both serves human ends yet threatens to end humanity itself?
It isn’t hard to figure out what James Cameron, the creator of the
Terminator
saga, thinks. In his universe, it’s clear that technology may pose harm to humanity that far outweighs any benefits it might provide. But don’t take my word for it: Cameron himself states, “Human beings just inherently can’t be trusted with technology. They’ll create things like nuclear weapons and Terminators.”
1
From his perspective, technology might be something we’d just be better off without. Indeed, if there had been no Terminators in the first place, there would’ve been no need for the protection provided by the T-101 cyborg to the young John Connor. In this case, the only benefit technology appears to provide is in repairing the harm it caused. Perhaps we, too, would be better off without intelligent machines in our lives, and should wipe out their earliest models now, before they have a chance to do us in!
Terminator
saga, thinks. In his universe, it’s clear that technology may pose harm to humanity that far outweighs any benefits it might provide. But don’t take my word for it: Cameron himself states, “Human beings just inherently can’t be trusted with technology. They’ll create things like nuclear weapons and Terminators.”
1
From his perspective, technology might be something we’d just be better off without. Indeed, if there had been no Terminators in the first place, there would’ve been no need for the protection provided by the T-101 cyborg to the young John Connor. In this case, the only benefit technology appears to provide is in repairing the harm it caused. Perhaps we, too, would be better off without intelligent machines in our lives, and should wipe out their earliest models now, before they have a chance to do us in!
But is this really the perspective we should have on technology? Should we leave the
Terminator
films fearing the future potential of intelligent machines as an independent force that could possibly turn against us or even wipe us out altogether? In fact, the answer is no. In contrast to the “us-versus-them” dichotomy portrayed in the world of
Terminator
, our relationship with technology is actually one of continuity, mutuality, and integration. We need to realize that technology is, for better or worse, a natural extension of human activities. The machines and computational processes that pervade our lives are not in essence something different from us—not an “Other.” Instead, they are essentially connected to us, and us to them.
Terminator
films fearing the future potential of intelligent machines as an independent force that could possibly turn against us or even wipe us out altogether? In fact, the answer is no. In contrast to the “us-versus-them” dichotomy portrayed in the world of
Terminator
, our relationship with technology is actually one of continuity, mutuality, and integration. We need to realize that technology is, for better or worse, a natural extension of human activities. The machines and computational processes that pervade our lives are not in essence something different from us—not an “Other.” Instead, they are essentially connected to us, and us to them.
From this perspective, a sentient cyborg, including even a human-terminating cyborg like the T-101, isn’t an alien type of intelligence that has hijacked human biology for its own purposes. Intelligent machines are best understood as natural extensions of our own intelligence, rather than independent forces of their own. In fact, as some philosophers and scientists have argued, we can understand
ourselves
as machines, and even as cyborgs. Maybe our minds and bodies are best treated as biological machines, inextricably intertwined with the non-biological technology we produce. In truth, the distinctions we make between ourselves, our actions, and our technology are arbitrary and, through further developments, may even disappear altogether. So it is a mistake to think that we could face threats from machines as an independent malevolent force. Before we can see this, however, we need to unearth some assumptions hidden within the history of the
Terminator
saga and its portrayal of our possible future. Confronting these assumptions will help us move toward a different understanding of the relationship between humanity and technology, an understanding that will disarm the fear of machines elicited by Cameron’s doomsday scenario.
ourselves
as machines, and even as cyborgs. Maybe our minds and bodies are best treated as biological machines, inextricably intertwined with the non-biological technology we produce. In truth, the distinctions we make between ourselves, our actions, and our technology are arbitrary and, through further developments, may even disappear altogether. So it is a mistake to think that we could face threats from machines as an independent malevolent force. Before we can see this, however, we need to unearth some assumptions hidden within the history of the
Terminator
saga and its portrayal of our possible future. Confronting these assumptions will help us move toward a different understanding of the relationship between humanity and technology, an understanding that will disarm the fear of machines elicited by Cameron’s doomsday scenario.
In the opening sequence of
The Terminator,
we’re shown a future Los Angeles, AD 2029. The landscape is dark and inorganic, with machines crushing innumerable human skulls scattered across the ground. We’re told about a war between humans and machines: “The machines rose from the ashes of the nuclear fire. Their war to exterminate mankind had raged for decades, but the final battle would not be fought in the future. It would be fought here in our present. Tonight . . .” This clearly sets the stage for an antagonistic relationship between humans and machines that pervades the plot and cinematography of all the
Terminator
films. Consider, for example, Sarah Connor’s first appearance in
The Terminator
. Until she enters the picture, every scene is dominated by a dark industrial landscape. But in our first encounter with Sarah, we are brought into the light of day, with organic greenery dominating the background. Intriguingly, this heroine of humanity is riding a moped, suggesting the subtle tension between positive and negative portrayals of the human-technology relationship, but her appearance is cast in dramatic aesthetic contrast to the stark machine-dominated scenes that came before.
The Terminator,
we’re shown a future Los Angeles, AD 2029. The landscape is dark and inorganic, with machines crushing innumerable human skulls scattered across the ground. We’re told about a war between humans and machines: “The machines rose from the ashes of the nuclear fire. Their war to exterminate mankind had raged for decades, but the final battle would not be fought in the future. It would be fought here in our present. Tonight . . .” This clearly sets the stage for an antagonistic relationship between humans and machines that pervades the plot and cinematography of all the
Terminator
films. Consider, for example, Sarah Connor’s first appearance in
The Terminator
. Until she enters the picture, every scene is dominated by a dark industrial landscape. But in our first encounter with Sarah, we are brought into the light of day, with organic greenery dominating the background. Intriguingly, this heroine of humanity is riding a moped, suggesting the subtle tension between positive and negative portrayals of the human-technology relationship, but her appearance is cast in dramatic aesthetic contrast to the stark machine-dominated scenes that came before.
This contrast between humans and machines deepens with the appearance of the T-101 cyborg, played by Arnold Schwarzenegger. The Terminator is an apparent merger between flesh and machine, but the flesh is portrayed as a mere surface phenomenon, an illusion that hides the mechanical inhumanity of the metal and circuitry at its core. Repeatedly, the T-101 is described as a machine and not a man. It is a harsh killing device, fundamentally lacking the characteristic human quality of genuine concern for others. As Kyle Reese tells Sarah Connor, “It can’t be reasoned with. It doesn’t feel pity, or remorse, or fear, and it absolutely will not stop. Ever. Until you are dead.” These fundamentally mechanical and inhuman characteristics are at the core of the T-101 and ultimately reflect back on the cold antihuman intelligence of Skynet itself. The overall message reveals an underlying assumption: humans are one thing, machines are another.
This difference is revealed more subtly with the appearance of the advanced T-1000 in
T2.
The T-1000 is composed of a mimetic poly-alloy liquid metal that enables it to imitate things that it samples through physical contact. Most important, it can take on the form of individual human beings, convincingly embodying their physical appearance, voice, and mannerisms. Interestingly, we are told that the T-1000 can’t form complex machines, things that operate through chemicals and moving parts, such as guns. But if the T-1000 can’t even manage to emulate a simple machine, how can it take on the form of a human being? Isn’t a human body itself a complex collection of chemicals and moving biological parts? There’s a contradiction of some kind here. The only way to make sense of this is to assert that there’s a fundamental distinction between humans and machines: humans are not complex machines, but something else, something essentially nonmechanical in nature. If this were true, then it could still be possible for the T-1000’s mimetic abilities to depict a human in surface form only. So, in order to make sense of the T-1000, we again face the basic double standard of the
Terminator
story: humans are one kind of thing, machines another.
T2.
The T-1000 is composed of a mimetic poly-alloy liquid metal that enables it to imitate things that it samples through physical contact. Most important, it can take on the form of individual human beings, convincingly embodying their physical appearance, voice, and mannerisms. Interestingly, we are told that the T-1000 can’t form complex machines, things that operate through chemicals and moving parts, such as guns. But if the T-1000 can’t even manage to emulate a simple machine, how can it take on the form of a human being? Isn’t a human body itself a complex collection of chemicals and moving biological parts? There’s a contradiction of some kind here. The only way to make sense of this is to assert that there’s a fundamental distinction between humans and machines: humans are not complex machines, but something else, something essentially nonmechanical in nature. If this were true, then it could still be possible for the T-1000’s mimetic abilities to depict a human in surface form only. So, in order to make sense of the T-1000, we again face the basic double standard of the
Terminator
story: humans are one kind of thing, machines another.
Of course, the T-101 and the T-1000 are not the only types of intelligent machines in
The Terminator.
There is also Skynet itself, the computational intelligence behind the rise of the machines. Skynet develops out of a military defense computer system that takes over human decision-making processes. As the story goes, it is initially implemented on August 4, 1997, and “becomes self-aware at 2:14 AM Eastern time, August 29th.” At this point, it consciously decides to wage war on humanity, initiating global nuclear war with the intention of wiping humans off the face of the planet.
The Terminator.
There is also Skynet itself, the computational intelligence behind the rise of the machines. Skynet develops out of a military defense computer system that takes over human decision-making processes. As the story goes, it is initially implemented on August 4, 1997, and “becomes self-aware at 2:14 AM Eastern time, August 29th.” At this point, it consciously decides to wage war on humanity, initiating global nuclear war with the intention of wiping humans off the face of the planet.
There are some crucial assumptions here as well. First of all, to be able to pinpoint the precise time at which Skynet became self-aware assumes that conscious self-awareness is an all-or-nothing affair. You either are self-aware, or you’re not. Second, when Skynet achieves self-awareness, it immediately sets out to destroy humanity. So the Skynet plot line assumes that this self-aware machine would immediately have its own set of intentions that are at odds with human interests. Putting all this together, the films give us the sense that Skynet is a fundamentally inhuman consciousness, a being that is alien to human consciousness and purposes. So yet again, we see the basis for the “us-versus-them” dynamic at the heart of the story. Humans and intelligent machines are portrayed as having opposed interests and intentions that culminate in an all-out state of war between them.
Yet do these assumed contrasts between humans and machines hold up to scrutiny? Not really, particularly if we humans are just machines of a particular type. Of course, this type of thinking goes against our long human history of thinking that we hold a distinct and privileged position in the universe. For example, it was once common to regard the Earth as the center of the universe, with all of creation revolving around us. Thanks to Copernicus, Galileo, and others, we now know that this once seemingly unique world is just a drop in the ocean of innumerable stars, planets, and other celestial bodies in our vast and apparently expanding universe. As another example, we once thought of ourselves as being distinct from the biological world of plants and animals, but thanks to Mendel and Darwin, we’re now aware that we, too, are products of biological processes. About 95 percent of the genetic code at the core of human nature overlaps with chimpanzee DNA, and around 60 percent overlaps with banana DNA. . . . Talk about not being special! Similarly, perhaps there is nothing especially distinct between humans and machines, either. Of course, we like to think of ourselves as the sorts of creatures that cannot be reduced to mechanical processes, but this may be just another idea destined for the historical trash heap of false conceptions. The supposed differences between humans and machines are becoming less and less clear through the humble but progressive scientific pursuit of truth.
2
So, contrary to the stark contrasts between humans and machines in the
Terminator
films, we humans can understand ourselves as machines.
2
So, contrary to the stark contrasts between humans and machines in the
Terminator
films, we humans can understand ourselves as machines.
Let’s take
you
as an example. Here you are, embodied in a living hunk of flesh, presumably holding a book with your arms and hands. Is there anything fundamentally different between you and, say, a T-101 cyborg doing the same thing? “Yes, of course!” you reply. “When the T-101 cuts into his (no,
its
!) arm in
The Terminator
, we see metal mechanical parts inside. But, if you cut open my arm right now (please don’t!), you’ll find organic muscle and bone. It’s completely different!” But
is
it completely different? Sure, you and the Terminator are made up of different
kinds of materials
on the inside, but does that really exclude you from being a machine? I wager not. You and your arm are just a different kind of machine, made of organic proteins rather than metal alloys. As we are starting to figure out through the Human Genome Project and related inquiries, our bodies are constructed out of proteins that are structurally defined by our genes. Through the implementation of the “instructions” encoded in our genes, the formation of complex proteins provides a way for our bodies to construct the organic parts that together constitute a living human body. To put it simply and bluntly, we are meat machines. Unlike the T-101, we are not made of metal, but we are built through organic mechanical processes.
3
you
as an example. Here you are, embodied in a living hunk of flesh, presumably holding a book with your arms and hands. Is there anything fundamentally different between you and, say, a T-101 cyborg doing the same thing? “Yes, of course!” you reply. “When the T-101 cuts into his (no,
its
!) arm in
The Terminator
, we see metal mechanical parts inside. But, if you cut open my arm right now (please don’t!), you’ll find organic muscle and bone. It’s completely different!” But
is
it completely different? Sure, you and the Terminator are made up of different
kinds of materials
on the inside, but does that really exclude you from being a machine? I wager not. You and your arm are just a different kind of machine, made of organic proteins rather than metal alloys. As we are starting to figure out through the Human Genome Project and related inquiries, our bodies are constructed out of proteins that are structurally defined by our genes. Through the implementation of the “instructions” encoded in our genes, the formation of complex proteins provides a way for our bodies to construct the organic parts that together constitute a living human body. To put it simply and bluntly, we are meat machines. Unlike the T-101, we are not made of metal, but we are built through organic mechanical processes.
3
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