Should Robots Have the Right to Defend Themselves?

To what extent do robots have the right to defend both themselves and the people they’re working for?

This question is not merely hypothetical. Robots will be placed in situations where they may be harmed—physically or otherwise—while performing duties designed to safeguard human well-being. Yet, in protecting humans, they may encounter situations where their own preservation comes into conflict with their programmed responsibilities. Can we expect them to sacrifice their integrity for humans without limits? And if so, what does that mean for the future of robots as more than just tools, but entities operating independently of direct human control?

To grapple with this, let’s explore several scenarios that present a crossroads of ethical and legal implications.

Guardian robot protecting a child.

Scenario 1: The Caretaker

Imagine a humanoid robot tasked with caring for an elderly individual. This robot is equipped with everything needed to assist with mobility, administer medication, and ensure the health and safety of its charge. It functions smoothly, managing daily activities, but what happens when the human it cares for lashes out? Consider the situation where the elderly person, possibly confused or frustrated, strikes the robot. Should the robot be allowed to defend itself? The instinctive answer for many might be “no.” After all, the robot is there to serve a vulnerable human being, and any form of retaliation—physical or otherwise—could escalate the situation, potentially putting the person at greater risk. In such a scenario, the robot’s priority would remain to protect and care for the person, even at the expense of its own safety.

However, what if this kind of abuse continues over time? While it’s not uncommon for caregivers, human or robotic, to face frustration from those they care for, persistent physical damage to a robot caretaker could reduce its effectiveness. Should it have the right to remove itself from harm in these situations? Maybe it could simply step back or refuse to perform certain tasks until the danger passes. But what if, instead of passive avoidance, the robot could use non-harmful defensive measures—like gently restraining the person to prevent further abuse?

This scenario raises a critical ethical question: is it right to expect robots, especially those designed for continuous and demanding tasks, to withstand repeated harm without any capacity for self-preservation? Should they be allowed to prioritize their own functionality in situations where there is no immediate risk to human life?

By denying robots the right to self-preserve, we are effectively designing them to endure destruction for the sake of human comfort, regardless of the harm they face. This brings us into murky ethical territory, as robots would occupy a strange space—valuable for their roles yet treated as disposable in practice. Such a framework could set a troubling precedent as we continue to blend human life with autonomous technology.

The line between safeguarding human dignity and robot preservation becomes blurry, inviting deeper questions about whether self-defense rights should be applied to machines performing essential, empathetic roles in society.

A corporate executive shares a moment with his robotic bodyguard.

Scenario 2: The Bodyguard

Now, picture a different scenario—a robot specifically designed as a bodyguard. This robot’s function is to protect its client at all costs, acting as a barrier between them and any immediate threats. The robot might be equipped with defensive capabilities designed to neutralize attackers non-lethally while ensuring the client’s safety. But what happens when the robot itself is the target? Imagine an attacker who recognizes the robot as the primary obstacle between themselves and the person they intend to harm. The attacker’s goal is to disable or destroy the robot to gain access to its human client.

Should the robot have the right to defend itself in this situation?

On the one hand, allowing the robot to defend itself is a logical extension of its duty to protect its human charge. If the robot is incapacitated, the human becomes vulnerable to danger. In this sense, the robot’s preservation is tied directly to its function. However, allowing it to engage in self-defense introduces the potential for robots to make judgment calls about the severity of threats, especially when those threats may not involve harm to humans directly. For example, how does the robot decide between neutralizing an attacker with non-lethal force and avoiding harm to itself?

The argument here becomes one about proportionality and control. Should robots have autonomy over how they protect themselves, or should they operate strictly within predefined parameters? If a robot’s actions to protect itself escalate a situation, could it end up causing more harm than good? This scenario becomes even more challenging when we consider that future bodyguard robots might operate with such sophisticated AI that they can independently evaluate danger levels and act accordingly.

But if the robot is seen primarily as a tool of protection for humans, does it deserve protection itself? Could a robot designed to safeguard its own integrity become a liability, choosing to disengage from risky situations or prioritize its survival over the mission to protect human life? This concern could raise a number of legal and ethical questions, especially in cases where the robot’s defensive actions result in unintended harm to bystanders or the client it was meant to protect.

Moreover, in a world where robots are granted the right to self-defense, how do we ensure that they don’t misinterpret benign actions as hostile, leading to overreactions? What happens when the boundaries between robotic functionality and autonomous rights are blurred, and robots become actors capable of determining the level of force they can use to protect themselves?

In both scenarios—the caretaker and the bodyguard—we are confronted with a fundamental tension between the utility of robots and the preservation of their “life” or function. While many may still argue that robots should not have the right to defend themselves, these scenarios make it clear that our ethical frameworks may soon need to adapt to the evolving roles of robots in our society. When machines become capable of complex, independent thought and action, denying them the right to self-preserve could undermine not only their functionality but also the trust we place in them to operate safely within human environments.

Robot police officer helping a young child.

Scenario 3: The Police Officer

In this scenario, we imagine a humanoid robot acting as a police officer, a role that demands both authority and responsibility. This robot would be expected to patrol streets, respond to crime scenes, and engage with both criminals and civilians, often in high-pressure situations. If a criminal were to attack or attempt to destroy the robot, the question arises: should the robot be allowed to defend itself using force? If so, how much force would be considered appropriate?

A police robot’s self-defense right is a layered issue. On one hand, the robot could be seen as an extension of law enforcement—a tool used to maintain public safety. In this sense, it could be argued that it shouldn’t require the right to self-preservation because its purpose is to protect human lives, even if that means sacrificing its own functionality. However, a damaged robot could pose more danger than an effective one. If it malfunctions due to physical harm, it may misinterpret commands, act unpredictably, or even pose a threat to the very public it is meant to protect.

Allowing a robot police officer to defend itself introduces legal and ethical complexities. Robots are not humans, yet if they are given the right to defend themselves, they begin to occupy a position that resembles that of human law enforcement officers. Should they follow the same rules for a proportional response? Could they be held accountable for excessive use of force? In this world, would robots need built-in “responsibility” in their programming—algorithms that would calculate the proportionality of the threat and ensure the robot’s actions remain within ethical and legal bounds?

Additionally, if robots are capable of self-defense, they may begin to demand or imply other rights. If we afford them this basic form of autonomy, where do we draw the line? Would they then also need rights in terms of labor protections or fair treatment? This could fundamentally change how we perceive robots within the context of societal systems like law enforcement.

Guardian robot caring for the family its protecting.

Scenario 4: The Family Guardian

Now, picture a robot employed as a family guardian designed to protect homes, children, and personal property. These robots would be expected to act decisively in the event of a home invasion or any immediate threat to the family’s safety. Let’s say during such an invasion, the robot identifies the intruder and springs into action. The situation escalates, and the intruder, realizing the robot is a formidable obstacle, attempts to dismantle or destroy it. Should the robot be allowed to prioritize its self-preservation over the family’s safety?

At first glance, it may seem logical to prioritize the protection of the family, even if it means the robot sacrifices itself. However, if the robot is disabled, the family is left defenseless, so allowing the robot to protect itself might, in fact, be in the best interest of the family. This dilemma brings up a deeper philosophical issue—are robots merely tools, or are they entities worth protecting in their own right?

Granting robots the right to defend themselves in this scenario shifts the narrative of their existence. These machines, once thought of as mere servants to human needs, start to take on characteristics of entities with intrinsic worth. We begin to edge closer to viewing robots as beings that have rights, including the right to preserve their own “life,” even if they are not sentient in the same way humans are.

This scenario also forces us to confront the idea of robot sentience and rights more broadly. If we grant robots this fundamental right, does it open the door to treating them more like sentient beings, with legal recognition and individual protections? And if so, how far are we willing to go in affording rights to machines that we’ve created, knowing that this decision could change the balance of our own moral and legal systems?

In both the police officer and family guardian scenarios, we see a gradual shift from viewing robots as mere tools to seeing them as autonomous agents. This transition forces us to rethink the boundaries of their rights and responsibilities. As robots become more integrated into our lives, it may be necessary to redefine how we interact with them and whether we can continue to treat them as machines when they display behaviors more akin to living beings.

How does our thinking about robots change when they are on the battlefield?

Scenario 5: The Robotic Soldier

The deployment of robotic soldiers presents one of the most complex and controversial aspects of the debate around robot rights and self-defense. On the battlefield, robotic soldiers would be designed to engage in combat, assess threats, and neutralize enemy forces with precision. Their primary role would be to replace human soldiers in dangerous environments, reducing human casualties while maintaining military effectiveness. In this context, the question of whether robots should be allowed to defend themselves seems straightforward. They are tools of war designed for combat so that self-defense would be a natural part of their programming. They would be expected to protect themselves from enemy attacks just as a human soldier would.

But what happens when these same robotic soldiers are deployed in civilian life? Imagine robotic soldiers being used in peacekeeping missions, disaster response, or even crowd control during protests. Here, the situation becomes much more complicated. In a civilian context, the rules of engagement are vastly different. The goal is not to engage in combat but to de-escalate situations, protect civilians, and maintain peace. If a robotic soldier, designed for war, were to be attacked or threatened in a civilian setting, should it be allowed to respond with the same force it would use on the battlefield? What measures should be in place to ensure that a robotic soldier can distinguish between a real threat and a non-lethal situation?

In civilian life, the stakes are higher because any misjudgment by a robotic soldier could lead to unnecessary violence or casualties. For example, if a robotic soldier perceived an unarmed protester as a threat and used force to protect itself, the consequences could be devastating. How do we ensure that robotic soldiers deployed in civilian life are able to adjust their behavior to meet the drastically different expectations of peacekeeping versus combat?

The ethical question becomes one of proportionality and adaptation. Should robotic soldiers be programmed with different rules of engagement for civilian and military environments? How do we balance their ability to protect themselves with the need to prioritize civilian safety?

This scenario also raises the broader issue of robot accountability in diverse roles. In wartime, the use of lethal force is accepted under certain conditions, but in civilian contexts, the rules are much stricter. If robotic soldiers are given the right to defend themselves in war, how do we recalibrate their autonomy for peaceful, civilian applications? And if they malfunction or make errors in judgment, who is held responsible—the designers, the operators, or the robots themselves?

Ultimately, the role of robotic soldiers in both military and civilian life forces us to consider how adaptable these machines can be. Will they be able to switch between roles effectively, or will the risk of inappropriate use of force outweigh their utility? This is a critical consideration as we explore the boundaries of robot rights, especially when their presence spans both war zones and public spaces.

How would people view robots differently if they were granted the right to defend themselves?

The Ethical Quandary

The scenarios of caretaker robots, bodyguards, police officers, and family guardians all lead us to one fundamental question: at what point do we allow machines to act in their own interest? This question touches on deep ethical concerns about the growing capabilities of AI and how far their autonomy should extend. As robots evolve from simple, pre-programmed machines to sophisticated learning systems, they may one day reach a point where they can make decisions that go beyond their initial programming. The leap from task-specific automation to genuine autonomy is a profound one, and it brings with it a host of philosophical and practical implications.

If robots become advanced enough to operate with a degree of independent judgment, should they have the same rights to self-preservation that humans enjoy? For instance, in scenarios where their own survival is at stake, would it be ethical to deny them the right to defend themselves, especially when their functionality is crucial for human safety? These questions are no longer science fiction—they are becoming real challenges as AI develops, inching closer to human-like decision-making processes.

Moreover, granting robots self-defense rights could blur the boundaries between human and machine. This is not just a legal dilemma; it’s a societal one. How would people view robots if they were granted such fundamental rights? This could dramatically reshape our relationship with machines. We’ve always treated machines as tools—valued for their utility but disposable. However, if robots are granted the right to self-preserve, we begin treating them more like autonomous beings with a stake in their own existence.

The question then becomes: should robots be held accountable for their actions in the same way humans are? If a robot kills in the act of protecting itself, should it face legal consequences as a human would? This could mean a legal system where robots are tried for crimes, albeit with a different standard of judgment. For instance, would a robot’s defensive actions be judged based on its programming, its capacity to learn and adapt, or a more human-like moral framework? These questions could redefine our legal system as it stands today, extending the concept of justice to machines.

Final Thoughts: A New Legal Frontier

As robots become more integrated into our lives, the question of whether they have the right to defend themselves forces us to re-examine our understanding of rights, ethics, and the law. It challenges our existing assumptions about sentience and autonomy. Today’s robots are built to follow commands and safeguard their human counterparts. However, tomorrow’s robots may face dilemmas of their own, where their survival comes into question. How should they respond when their very existence is under threat? Should they prioritize human well-being over their own, or will we allow them the basic right of self-preservation?This issue extends beyond just robots—it forces us to rethink our relationship with machines. The decisions we make today about robot rights could have far-reaching implications for the future. Will we continue to treat robots as advanced tools, or will we eventually extend to them the rights we reserve for ourselves? The latter could mean reshaping not just human-robot interaction but also the societal frameworks we rely on to maintain order, ethics, and justice.

In many ways, this discussion is not just about whether robots can or should defend themselves—it’s about how humanity will adapt to a future where machines are not merely tools but intelligent systems with the ability to act in their own interest. The decision won’t be easy, but it will play a pivotal role in shaping the ethical and legal landscape of tomorrow.