The final words spoken in the final episode of the series 24 belonged to the endearingly cantankerous Chloe O'Brian, the best friend Jack Bauer ever had.
"Shut it down," she said. And with that Jack did what no one does as well as he. He went dark.
Every Monday night for the past eight television seasons, Jack has been for us what after last night he'll never be again: the ultimate man of the hour.
Jack Bauer is a lot like Santa Claus: both men work only one day per year. And what they each accomplish in their day of work is positively astonishing. Of course, Santa, with his jolly chuckle and big red sack, brings people joy by leaving them presents; Jack, with his menacing growl and satchel of doom, brings people pain by leaving them dented sternums and missing digits. When Santa drops down your chimney, it's best to lie in your bed, close your eyes, and hope he thinks you're asleep. When Jack crashes through your front door, it's best to lie on your floor, break your own arm, and hope he thinks you're dead.
If you've done bad, that is.
And you probably have. If you're in Jack's world, you might not have done wrong yet. But if you live long enough, chances are good you will. And you'll probably do whatever bad you do for reasons that are perfectly good.
And in a nutshell, that's the terrible, intoxicating alchemy of 24: It takes what should be good -- what we know is right, fair, principled and honorable -- and, step by step (or, shockingly, all at once) turns it bad.
Stopping terrorists from killing innocent people? Good. Getting terrorist suspects to talk through means so traumatizing that, in real life, the dean of West Point met with the producers of 24 to ask them if they could have Jack do a little less (and a little less creative) torturing? Bad.
Peace in the Middle East? Good. Heads of state committing and/or covering up murder (as happened in the final season of 24) in order to secure peace in the Middle East?
You tell me.
Most of us believe that morals exists as absolutes, that their qualities aren't subject to variation based on context. We tend to accept as reasonable the paradigm of the purely good and the unquestionably evil: that right is right, wrong is wrong, and never the twain shall meet. The clarity of that model naturally appeals to us. It's the Ten Commandments -- not The Nine Commandments, Plus Maybe One More, Depending. It's not The Eight Commandments, With Two Possible Alternates. It's ten, period. Thou shalt do this; though shalt not do that. No ambiguity. No waffling. We react to a halo over Satan's head as we might to fur on a fish: it doesn't make sense. More than that: it's wrong.
What makes Jack Bauer such a compelling figure isn't that he's brave, canine loyal, makes lightening-quick decisions, is a natural leader, doesn't need sustenance, and is so awesomely resourceful he could probably make a cell phone out of a rock and a coat hanger. What keeps us so engrossed by Jack is that, in the starkest and largest possible terms, he is living out the exact same dynamic that so often keeps us so riveted by the drama of our own lives.
Jack is trying to do good -- he is doing good. And yet, somehow, the results of his efforts continue to transmogrify into something that he can't quite feel proud of.
And though in our puritan heart of hearts we are almost certain to resist admitting it to ourselves, we are each of us nonetheless aware of how readily what we mean to be good becomes, seemingly (but never quite) of its own accord, bad. We know how quickly our strengths become our weaknesses; how often our resolve dissolves. Like Jack, we, too, are forever intending to serve a good higher than ourselves, and yet in so doing coming up against the worst of ourselves.
Meaning to cleave to the high road, we yet find ourselves trudging through the mud and the muck.
In order to get what we want, we too often do what we shouldn't.
We are devils with halos. And (God knows) we know it.
And there is Jack, the everyman's hero, living out for us what that feels and looks like, twenty-four times a year. Jack's life is our own writ large.
What in the end proved most true for Jack is the same thing that in the end we all hope (and many of us trust) will prove most true for us. Yes, our way is difficult. Yes, in our drive to achieve our goals we cause and endure unimaginable amounts of pain. Yes, time and again we find ourselves isolated and helpless, done in by the unceasing intensity of our own fury. But, for all of Chloe's tears, the ending of 24 was a happy one. Ultimately, what saved and redeemed Jack is the only thing that can save and redeem any of us. As we ourselves must be, Jack, our hero, was saved by love.
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I also wrote "Man Purses are Sexy, and 9 Other Lessons I Learned from 24."
Follow John Shore on Twitter: www.twitter.com/johnshore
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Sutherland is a Ninny.
"Anyone would do whatever it took to try to get at the truth in that fantasy situation. The moral point is, would you take the same, complete, public responsibility if you were successful and correct, if you failed, and/or if you were wrong. People will forgive you if you were right, but you must take responsibility even if you were wrong and tortured a person for nothing."
While Jack Bauer always had his reasons, the Bush administration failed that test.
Start with "do no harm". Stay true to your morals in all things big and small, and the world will be better.
The Jack Bauer fantasy situation occurs a vanishingly small number of times in the real world. If we keep doing things we need to be forgiven for - even with good intended ends - we'll end up with a mess.
Jack Bauer's greatest strength is that he always seems to have a clear vision of what must be done to solve otherwise impossible dilemmas, and isn't this a prominent factor that occurs within governments and law enforcement agencies? In real life, the idea that someone can do something illegal and possibly immoral and stop an imminent rocket attack that might kill hundreds of thousands of people is really far-fetched. Again, this is fiction. The difference between real life and fiction is that fiction has to make sense.
So Jack is the perfect hero - his clear vision saves the day while he is put into the position of a criminal and is sometimes fraught with guilt, knowing that he'd do the same thing again if necessary.
But what has Jack learned? Has he learned that there's always a way to accomplish things without having to resort to criminal acts? Apparently not. Has he learned to protect or hide himself, disconnect himself from the act so that he appears blameless? Nope. Perhaps when the movie is written, it will contain some sort of reward and redemption for Jack as well as some sort of progress in learning how to handle things more practically. One can hope.
There has been a lot of angst over the antics of Jack Bauer. We just can't decide whether we like him or abhor his methods. How can what he's doing be moral? After all, it's usually illegal.
Perhaps we have a difficult time separating fiction from reality, or even from a moral play, which fiction often is. Does the end ever justify the means? But a fiction writer knows, or should, that the protagonist is always different from everyone around them, otherwise why would there even be a story. And the fiction writer knows, or should, that the story is about how the protagonist is changed by the events that they encounter in the story. And that, perhaps, is Jack Bauer's worst failing.
Early on, he kills a gangster and cuts off his head with a hacksaw in the presence of other law enforcement people. Of course, that's over the top, but it is important that this is fiction, and although we'd be appalled by this act if we knew that such a thing were done in real life it serves as a shock and, more importantly, a definition of Jack Bauer's character.
Anyways, It has been a long time I read an article so beautifully written. Funny, witty and touching.....Bravo !
That is the problem right there. Morality is not absolute and shuld not be thought as being so. Morality needs to be understood as being an emotional response, not an objective one.
Most people have the belief that morals can be extended beyond themselves. "I feel this way about this situation, so everone else should too." That is not good and leads to all kinds of issues (which is why we invented the concept of law).
There are people who do "bad" things and realize how "bad" they are after (watching "The First 48" provides all kinds of examples of killers who break down after contemplating their actions), but there are those who are almost amoral. People who can act in "evil" ways without it bothering them. It goes beyond something being morally justifiable and becoming "good" (again, on "The First 48" there are those who kill and have no emotional response to the situation). Is one more right that the other? Not really. Society does not really care that much either (there is some leniency given to those who are remorseful and can recognize "good" and "bad" actions).
Is this the old "the ends justify the means" canard that old-time Christians used to be so contemptuous of?
Or does this attitude go to the heart of what is so dangerous and ultimately evil about self-righteous fanaticism -- that it is willing to overlook or condone all manner of evil for the sake of The Cause? Splattered all over HP posts about religion are comments about the sordid and violent history of religious establishments. The writers are usually saying that this or that religious institution is evil, as shown by the atrocities that its leaders and members committed in the past. We might look at the same argument in another light -- the ability of true believers to justify evil committed by their heroes and themselves.
Which is why morality can be dangerous. The vigilante who goes around killing prostitutes for their "sin" is in his or her own mind doing "good." Just like the person killing abortionists is also doing something "good." That young person who blows up a bus did something that they view as "good." It may not be "good" to everyone, but everyone does not matter. When we make a moral decision we are not considering anything but our own response (and possibly the law).