 
                         20051204.00

     So far as suicide is concerned, I haven't the literary
reference in my mind to identify the source of the wisdom, it
may have been Socrates, that all of life may be, and perhaps
should be understood as a process of dying.  Certainly the
biologist will tell you that certain bodily functions begin
to decay as soon as they reach their zenith, and some seem to
reach their zenith at birth or soon thereafter.  My
(ophthalmologist's) example is the ability of the lens of the
human eye to focus at near, which is maximal in infancy or
early childhood, and diminishes thereafter year by year until
at age 65 it has entirely disappeared.  Suicide then might be
understood as an acceleration or anticipation (Vorausnahme)
of a natural process.

     We survive by taking protective and preventive measures
against death.  We buckle our seat belts.  We take aspirin to
inhibit platelet adhesion.  We observe the speed limit on the
highways.  We have annual colonoscopies.  We chlorinate our
drinking water.  We boil food that might be contaminated with
clostridia.  We avoid rabid skunks.  The list could go on an
on.

     Arguably neglecting any such preventive or protective
measures, might lead to a death that might have been
prevented, if one had cared to do so, a death that might
accordingly be considered suicidal.  Indeed, reckless
behavior in any sphere of activity must be recognized
potentially to have its roots in the wish to die.  From this
perspective, suicide appears as an integral part of life.

     With respect to suicide as a form of death, I am
reminded of Rilkes account in Malte Laurids Brigge of ones
own death, "der eigene Tod".  One needs to die ones own death
just as one needs to live ones own life.  It is interesting
that however obvious the implications, Rilke did not, so far
as I know, interpret suicide as the expression of that need.

     With respect to the report about the woman who did not
hug her children, one can only conclude that she did not do
so, because she was unable to.  One stops blaming her, one
starts to feel sorry for her, as soon as one disabuses
oneself of the erroneous notion that she acted by choice,
that she had it in her power to hug her children and decided
not to do so.  The life and death of her family look entirely
different if one acknowledges the possibility that she was
unable to hug her children, as might have been the case, for
example, if she had had a birth injury to the brachial
plexus, if she had developed amyotrophic lateral sclerosis,
or multiple sclerosis, for example.  In all those
circumstances one would accept her inability to hug her
children as "fate", and one would stop blaming her.  It is
significant that if she had been unable to hug her children
in the context of a mental disorder such as schizophrenia or
depression, some people would exonerate her, while some would
persist in blaming her, arguing that she could have hugged
them if she had really wanted to.  Those are the people who
think that mental illness is just a form of naughtiness.  If
she couldn't hug her children, she couldn't hug her husband
either, - for it is the same arms with which she would have
hugged her children that she would have hugged her husband.
Husbands are, after all, grown up children who need to be
hugged.  Some husbands who are not hugged commit suicide.


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Copyright 2005, Ernst Jochen Meyer
