LETTER CXIV.

                                  

                        To Lord B-------.

                                  

     YES, my Lord, I confess it; the weight of life is too heavy
for my soul. I have long endured it as a burden; I have lost every
thing which could make it dear to me, and nothing remains but
irksomeness and vexation. I am told, however, that I am not at
liberty to dispose of my life, without the permission of that Being
from whom I received it. I am sensible likewise that you have a
right over it by more titles than one. Your care has twice preserved
it, and your goodness is its constant security. I will never {68}
dispose of it, till I am certain that I may do it without a crime,
and till I have not the least hope of employing it for your service.

     You told me that I should be of use to you; why did you deceive
me? Since we have been in London, so far from thinking of employing
me in your concerns, you have been kind enough to make me your only
concern. How superfluous is your obliging solicitude! My lord, you
know I abhor a crime, even worse than I detest life; I adore the
supreme Being -- I owe every thing to you; I have an affection for
you; you are the only person on earth to whom I am attached.
Friendship and duty may chain a wretch to this earth: sophistry and
vain pretences will never detain him. Enlighten my understanding,
speak to my heart; I am ready to hear you, but remember, that
despair is not to be imposed upon.

     You would have me apply to the test of reason: I will; let us
reason. You desire me to deliberate in proportion to the importance
{69} of the question in debate; I agree to it. Let us investigate
truth with temper and moderation; let us discuss this general
proposition with the same indifference we should treat any other.
Roebeck wrote an apology for suicide before he put an end to his
life. I will not, after his example, write a book on the subject,
neither am I well satisfied with that which he has penned, but I
hope in this discussion at least to imitate his moderation.

     I have for a long time meditated on this awful subject. You
must be sensible that I have, for you know my destiny, and yet I am
alive. The more I reflect, the more I am convinced that the question
may be reduced to this fundamental proposition. Every man has a
right by nature to pursue what he thinks good, and avoid what he
thinks evil, in all respects which are not injurious to others. When
our life therefore becomes a misery to ourselves, and is of
advantage to no one, we are at liberty to put an end to our being.
If there is any such thing as a clear and self-evident {70}
principle, certainly this is one, and if this be subverted, there is
scarce an action in life which may not be made criminal.

     Let us hear what the philosophers say on this subject. First,
they consider life as something which is not our own, because we
hold it as a gift; but because it has been given to us, is it for
that reason our own? Has not God given these sophists two arms?
nevertheless, when they are under apprehensions of a mortification,
they do not scruple to amputate one, or both if there be occasion.
By a parity of reasoning, we may convince those who believe in the
immortality of the soul; for if I sacrifice my arm to the
preservation of something more precious, which is my body, I have
the same right to sacrifice my body to the preservation of something
more valuable, which is, the happiness of my existence. If all the
gifts which heaven has bestowed are naturally designed for our good,
they are certainly too apt to change their nature; and Providence
has endowed us with reason, that we may discern the difference. If
this rule {71} did not authorize us to chuse the one, and reject the
other, to what use would it serve among mankind?

     But they turn this weak objection into a thousand shapes. They
consider a man living upon earth as a soldier placed on duty. God,
say they, has fixed you in this world, why do you quit your station
without his leave? But you, who argue thus, has he not stationed you
in the town where you was born, why therefore do you quit it without
his leave? is not misery, of itself, a sufficient permission?
Whatever station Providence has assigned me, whether it be in a
regiment, or on the earth at large, he intended me to stay there
while I found my situation agreeable, and to leave it when it became
intolerable. This is the voice of nature, and the voice of God. I
agree that we must wait for an order; but when I die a natural
death, God does not order me to quit life, he takes it from me; it
is by rendering life insupportable, that he orders me to quit it. In
the first case, I resist with all my force; in the second, I have
the merit of obedience. {72}

     Can you conceive that there are some people so absurd as to
arraign suicide as a kind of rebellion against Providence, by an
attempt to fly from his laws? but we do not put an end to our being
in order to withdraw ourselves from his commands, but to execute
them. What! does the power of God extend no farther than to my body?
is there a spot in the universe, is there any being in the universe,
which is not subject to his power, and will that power have less
immediate influence over me when my being is refined, and thereby
becomes less compound, and of nearer resemblance to the divine
essence? no, his justice and goodness are the foundation of my
hopes; and if I thought that death would withdraw me from his power,
I would give up my resolution to die.

     This is one of the quibbles of the Phaedo, which, in other