Detachment seems to be the theme of the hour in this morally vexing installment. In a world where the people you love could be snatched away from you at any moment and in the most horrific of ways, detachment is not without its curb appeal. Lori admits to Tyreese that she simply does not worry about Rick anymore whenever he heads outside the prison walls. He always comes back after all, so why put so much energy into worrying? This ability to detach so completely from such powerful emotions as fear and worry is a defense mechanism that is easier said than done in the fully functioning society we live in. However, the undeniable reality of the zombie apocalypse is that it continually offers one plenty of practice in the art of detachment. On second thought, art may not be the right word for it. Art implies luxury, and detachment is more often than not a necessity for those who wish to keep surviving a little bit longer. If Lori kept freaking out every time Rick left her sight, she would go insane in no time. But by detaching from all that worry, she is able to function better for both herself and those around her (and inside her womb).

However, such detachment—while useful and even essential—exacts a heavy toll. Rick Grimes has undergone a detachment of his own over the course of his arc in the series so far. The first few deaths he took (Thomas and Dexter) did not leave him unshaken. He never doubted (nor honestly do I doubt) that their deaths were likely necessary given all other options. However, those deaths tore him up inside. How is it now then that he is able to mow down a fleeing Martinez so easily? Many factors are involved. For starters, Woodbury changed everything for the survivors who were incarcerated there. The trust in humanity it shattered for Rick and company will take a very long time to restore—if it even can be restored. Also worth consideration is that ever-present reality for Rick that his wife is entering her ninth month of pregnancy, and he is simply unwilling to take anymore risks. Martinez—whatever his intentions were concerning the prison—posed a massive risk to its security, and therefore Rick utilized the full weight of the RV to do a little risk management.

Regardless of whether one thinks he was in the right or wrong with his handling of Martinez, all but the most hardened of psychopaths (Governor, I’m looking at you) would find his brutally honest admission to Lori quite chilling. He admits that murder has become very easy for him. He is at a point where he can now kill anyone—even hypothetically members of his group—if he thinks it will play some part in keeping his family safe. Perhaps his darkest admission is that he sometimes categorizes certain people above others in his head, quietly mulling over who he would be willing to sacrifice more than another if he had no choice. Clearly, as Rick demonstrates here, there are dangers lurking in Detachment’s shadow. If one should become too detached and too numb to taking the life of another human being (no matter how justified such a murder may seem), then he or she could become little different than the zombies he or she works so hard to put down. It’s much harder to put down a zombie that is in one’s own head.

Rick’s saving grace, however, is the reality that his detachment to killing seems to weigh so heavily upon him. By posing the question to Lori asking if she thought his detachment to killing made him evil, there lies his hope of maintaining his humanity. Truly morally detached individuals care little about whether what they do is good or evil. They just do what they want to do when they want to do it and never pause to consider whether any semblance of their soul is still intact. Rick, however, is pausing. Rick is still considering the state of his soul. He will do what he has to do to protect those in his orbit, but the heaviness will always plague him after each questionable act. That heaviness is like an anchor to human morality, however. Without it, one can become an unhinged monster like the Governor. And Rick is no Governor. Not yet anyway . . . more