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[Illustration: Vide p. 331.]
THE ANATOMY OF SUICIDE:
by
FORBES WINSLOW,
Member of the Royal College of Surgeons, London;
Author of “Physic and Physicians.”
“But is there yet no other way, besides
These painful passages; how we may come
To death, and mix with our connatural dust?
* * * * *
Nor love thy life, nor hate: but what thou liv’st
Live well; HOW LONG OR SHORT PERMIT TO HEAVEN.”
MILTON.
London:
Henry Renshaw, 356, Strand.
Sold By Carfrae & Son, Edinburgh;
And Fannin & Co., Dublin.
1840.
TO
JAMES JOHNSON, ESQ., M.D.
PHYSICIAN EXTRAORDINARY TO THE LATE KING,
ETC. ETC.
This Work is dedicated,
AS A TESTIMONY OF RESPECT FOR HIS HIGH PROFESSIONAL ATTAINMENTS,
AND AS AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF THE
ADVANTAGES DERIVED FROM A PERUSAL OF THE MANY ABLE WORKS
WITH WHICH HE HAS ENRICHED
THE MEDICAL LITERATURE OF HIS COUNTRY.
_London,—May, 1840._
PREFACE.
This treatise had its origin in the following circumstance:—A
few months ago, the author had the honour of reading before the
_Westminster Medical Society_, a paper on “Suicide Medically
considered,” which giving rise to an animated discussion, and evolving
an expression of the opinions of several eminent professional men,
excited at the time much interest.
It was the author’s object in his paper to establish a fact, he
believes, of primary importance,—that the disposition to commit
self-destruction is, to a great extent, amenable to those principles
which regulate our treatment of ordinary disease; and that, to a degree
more than is generally supposed, it originates in derangement of the
brain and abdominal viscera.
Notwithstanding, however, these points were not considered with the
minuteness commensurate with their value, the discussion which followed
the author’s communication afforded him great satisfaction. It tended
to strengthen in his mind an opinion previously formed, that the
members of the medical profession were inferior to no other class in a
knowledge of those higher branches of philosophy that give dignity and
elevation to human character.
To explain more fully the author’s views on the subject of Suicide is
the object of the present work, which is, strange to say, the first
in England that has been exclusively devoted to this important and
interesting branch of inquiry.
Hitherto suicide has been the theme of the novel and the drama, and has
never, with the exception of an incidental notice in works on medical
jurisprudence, been considered in this country in reference to its
pathological and physiological character.
That an intimate acquaintance with this branch of knowledge is highly
important to the medical philosopher, few will deny; that it is a
subject of general and painful interest, all must admit. The apparent
coolness with which suicide is often committed has induced many to
suppose that the unfortunate perpetrator was at the time in possession
of a sound mind; and it is this idea which has induced the profession
to conceive the subject as one foreign to their pursuits, and belonging
rather to the province of the moral philosopher. How far the author has
succeeded in disproving this opinion, it is for others to decide.
He takes this opportunity of acknowledging the assistance he has
received from the writings of Pinel, Esquirol, Falret, Fodére, Arnold,
Crichton, Willis, Black, Haslam, Burrows, Conolly, Pritchard, Mayo,
Ellis, Paris, Smith, Beck, Taylor, and Ray. To the pages of Dr.
Johnson’s Medico-chirurgical Review, the Medical Gazette, the Lancet,
and British and Foreign Medical Review, he is also largely indebted.
In conclusion, the author, conscious of its imperfections, claims for
his work no other praise than that it is the first attempt in this
country to reflect light on a branch of medical and moral philosophy,
the importance of which is only equalled by the difficulties impeding
its investigation. He will feel himself amply repaid, should his
introductory essay (for such only can it be considered) stimulate
others more competent than himself to prosecute the inquiry which he
has commenced. Their success will afford him much satisfaction and
pleasure; for in the attainment of their endeavours will his hopes be
fulfilled, and his ambition gratified.
LONDON,—MAY, 1840.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
SUICIDES OF THE ANCIENTS.—ANCIENT LAWS AND OPINIONS
ON THE SUBJECT OF SUICIDE.
Examples of antiquity no defence of suicide—Causes of ancient
suicides—The suicides of Asdrubal, Nicocles, Isocrates,
Demosthenes, Hannibal, Mithridates, the inhabitants of
the city of Xanthus, Cato, Charondas, Lycurgus, Codrus,
Themistocles, Emperor Otho, Brutus and Cassius, Mark Antony
and Cleopatra, Petronius, Lucan, Lucius Vetus, Sardanapalus,
M. Curtius, Empedocles, Theoxena—Noble resistance of
Josephus—Scripture suicides: Samson, Saul, Ahitophel, Judas
Iscariot, Eleazar, Razis—Doctrines of the stoics, Seneca,
Epictetus, Zeno—Opinions of Cicero, Pliny, on suicide—Ancient
laws on suicide p. 1-29
CHAPTER II.
WRITERS IN DEFENCE OF SUICIDE.
Opinions of Hume—Effect of his writings—Case of suicide caused
by—The doctrines of Montesquieu, Rousseau, and Montaigne
examined—Origin of Dr. Donne’s celebrated work—Madame de
Staël’s recantation—Robert of Normandy, Gibbon, Sir T. More,
and Robeck’s opinions considered p. 30-35
CHAPTER III.
SUICIDE A CRIME AGAINST GOD AND MAN.—IT IS NOT AN
ACT OF COURAGE.
The sin of suicide—The notions of Paley on the
subject—Voltaire’s opinion—Is suicide self-murder?—Is it
forbidden in Scripture?—Shakspeare’s views on the subject—The
alliance between suicide and murder—Has a man a right to
sacrifice his own life?—Everything held upon trust—Suicide
a sin against ourselves and neighbour—It is not an act of
courage—Opinion of Q. Curtius on the subject—Buonaparte’s
denunciation of suicide—Dryden’s description of the suicide in
another world p. 36-44
CHAPTER IV.
ON THE INFLUENCE OF CERTAIN MENTAL STATES IN INDUCING
THE DISPOSITION TO SUICIDE.
Moral causes of disease—Neglect of psychological
medicine—Mental philosophy a branch of medical study—Moral
causes of suicide—Tables of Falret, &c.—Influence of
remorse—Simon Brown, Charles IX. of France—Massacre of
St. Bartholomew—Terrible death of Cardinal Beaufort, from
remorse—The Chevalier de S——. Influence of disappointed
love—Suicide from love—Two singular cases—Effects of
jealousy—Othello—Suicide from this passion—The French opera
dancer—Suicide from wounded vanity—False pride—The remarkable
case of Villeneuve, as related by Buonaparte—Buonaparte’s
attempt at suicide—Ambition—Despair, cases of suicide from—The
Abbé de Rancé—Suicide from blind impulse—Cases—Mathews,
the comedian—Opinion of Esquirol on the subject—Ennui,
birth of—Common cause of suicide in France—Effect of
speculating in stocks—Defective education—Diffusion of
knowledge—“Socialism” a cause of self-destruction—Suicide
common in Germany—Werter—Goëthe’s attempt at suicide—Influence
of his writings on Hackman—Suicide from reading Tom Paine’s
“Age of Reason”—Suicide to avoid punishment—Most remarkable
illustrations—Political excitement—Nervous irritation—Love
of notoriety—Hereditary disposition—Is death painful? fully
considered, with cases—Influence of irreligion p. 45-107
CHAPTER V.
IMITATIVE, OR EPIDEMIC SUICIDE.
Persons who act from impulse liable to be influenced—Principle
of imitation, a natural instinct—Cases related by Cabanis and
Tissot—The suicidal barbers—Epidemic suicide at the Hôtel
des Invalids—Sydenham’s epidemic—The ladies of Miletus—Dr.
Parrish’s case—Are insanity and suicide contagious? p. 108-114
CHAPTER VI.
SUICIDE FROM FASCINATION.
Singular motives for committing suicide—A man who delighted
in torturing himself—A dangerous experiment—Pleasures of
carnage—Disposition to leap from precipices—Lord Byron’s
allusion to the influence of fascination—Miss Moyes and
the Monument—A man who could not trust himself with a
razor—Esquirol’s opinion of such cases—Danger of ascending
elevated places p. 115-120
CHAPTER VII.
OF THE ENTHUSIASM AND MENTAL IRRITABILITY WHICH, IF
ENCOURAGED, WOULD LEAD TO SUICIDE.
Connexion between genius and insanity—Authors of fiction
often feel what they write—Metastasio in tears—The enthusiasm
of Pope, Alfieri, Dryden—Effects of the first reading of
Telemachus and Tasso on Madame Roland’s mind—Raffaelle and
his celebrated picture of the Transfiguration—The convulsions
of Malbranche—Beattie’s Essay on Truth—Influence of intense
study on Boerrhave’s mind—The demon of Spinello and
Luther—Bourdaloue and his violin—Byron’s sensitiveness—Men do
not always practise what they preach—Cases of Smollett, La
Fontaine, Sir Thomas More, Zimmerman—Tasso’s spectre—Johnson’s
superstition—Concluding remarks p. 121-129
CHAPTER VIII.
PHYSICAL CAUSES OF SUICIDE.
Influence of climate—The foggy climate of England does not
increase the number of suicides—Average number of suicides in
each month, from 1817 to 1826—Influence of seasons—Suicides
at Rouen—The English not a suicidal people—Philip Mordaunt’s
singular reasons for self-destruction—Causes of French
suicides—Influence of physical pain—Unnatural vices—Suicide
the effect of intoxication—Influence of hepatic disease
on the mind—Melancholy and hypochondriasis, Burton’s
account of—Cowper’s case of suicide—Particulars of his
extreme depression of spirits—Byron and Burns’s melancholy
from stomach and liver derangement—Influence of bodily
disease on the mind—Importance of paying attention to it—A
case of insanity from gastric irritation—Dr. Johnson’s
hypochondria—Hereditary suicide, illustrated by cases—Suicide
from blows on the head, and from moral shocks communicated to
the brain—Dr. G. Mantell’s valuable observations and cases
demonstrative of the point—Concluding remarks p. 130-161
CHAPTER IX.
MORAL TREATMENT OF SUICIDAL MANIA.
Diseases of the brain not dissimilar to affections of other
organs—Early symptoms of insanity—The good effects of
having plenty to do—Occupation—Dr. Johnson’s opinion on the
subject—The pleasure derived from cultivating a taste for
the beauties of nature—Effect of volition on diseases of
the mind—Silent grief injurious to mental health—Treatment
of _ennui_—The time of danger, not the time of disease—The
Walcheren expedition—The retreat of the ten thousand Greeks
under Xenophon—Influence of music on the mind in the cure of
disease—Cure of epidemic suicide—Buonaparte’s remedy—How the
women of Miletus were cured of the disposition to suicide, and
other illustrations—Cases shewing how easily the disposition
to suicide may be diverted—On the cure of insanity by
stratagems—On the importance of removing the suicidal patient
from his own home—On the regulation of the passions p. 162-194
CHAPTER X.
PHYSICAL TREATMENT OF THE SUICIDAL DISPOSITION.
On the dependence of irritability of temper on physical
disease—Voltaire and an Englishman agree to commit
suicide—The reasons that induced Voltaire to change his
mind—The ferocity of Robespierre accounted for—The state
of his body after death—The petulance of Pope dependent
on physical causes—Suicide from cerebral congestion,
treatment of—Advantages of bloodletting, with cases—Damien
insane—Cold applied to the head, of benefit—Good effects of
purgation—Suicide caused by a tape-worm—Early indications of
the disposition to suicide—The suicidal eye—Of the importance
of carefully watching persons disposed to suicide—Cunning
of such patients—Numerous illustrations—The fondness for a
particular mode of death—Dr. Burrows’ extraordinary case—Dr.
Conolly on the treatment of suicide—Cases shewing the
advantage of confinement p. 195-220
CHAPTER XI.
IS THE ACT OF SUICIDE THE RESULT OF INSANITY?
The instinct of self-preservation—The love of life—Dr.
Wolcott’s death-bed—Anecdote of the Duke de Montebello—Louis
XI. of France—Singular death of a celebrated lawyer—Dr.
Johnson’s horror of dying—The organ of destruction
universal—Illustrations of its influence—Sir W. Scott, on
the motives that influence men in battle—Have we any test of
insanity?—Mental derangement not a specific disease—Importance
of keeping this in view—Insanity not always easily detected—Is
lowness of spirits an evidence of derangement?—The cunning
of lunatics—Esquirol’s opinion that insanity is always
present—Moral insanity—The remarkable case of Frederick of
Prussia—Suicide often the first symptom of insanity—Cases
in which persons have been restored to reason from loss
of blood, after attempting suicide—The cases of Cato, Sir
Samuel Romilly, Lord Castlereagh, Colton, and Chatterton,
examined—Concluding remarks p. 221-245
CHAPTER XII.
SUICIDE IN CONNEXION WITH MEDICAL JURISPRUDENCE.
The importance of medical evidence—The questions which medical
men have to consider in these cases—Signs of death from
strangulation—Singular positions in which the bodies of those
who have committed suicide have been found—The particulars of
the Prince de Condé’s case—On the possibility of voluntary
strangulation—General Pichegru’s singular case—The melancholy
history of Marc Antonie Calas—How to discover whether a person
was dead before thrown into water—Singular cases—Admiral
Caracciolo—Drowning in a bath—The points to keep in view in
cases of suspicious death—Was Sellis murdered?—Death from
wounds—The case of the Earl of Essex p. 246-264
CHAPTER XIII.
STATISTICS OF SUICIDE.
Number of suicides in the chief capitals of Europe from 1813
to 1831—Statistics of death from violence in London from 1828
to 1832—Number of suicides in London for a century and a
half—Suicides in Westminster from 1812 to 1836—Suicide more
frequent among men than women—Mode of committing—Influence of
age—Effect of the married state—Infantile suicides—M. Guerry
on suicides in France—Cases—Suicide and murder—Suicide in
Geneva p. 265-279
CHAPTER XIV.
APPEARANCES PRESENTED AFTER DEATH IN THOSE WHO
HAVE COMMITTED SUICIDE.
Thickness of cranium—State of membranes and vessels of
brain—Osseous excrescences—Appearances discovered in one
thousand three hundred and thirty-eight cases—Lesions of the
lungs, heart, stomach, and intestines—Effect of long-continued
indigestion p. 280-282
CHAPTER XV.
SINGULAR CASES OF SUICIDE.
Introduction—Contempt of death—Eustace Budgel—M. de Boissy
and his wife—Mutual suicides from disappointed love—Suicide
from mortification—Mutual suicide from poverty—A French lady
while out shooting—A fisherman after praying—Determination to
commit if not cured—Extraordinary case after seduction—Madame
C. from remorse—M. de Pontalba after trying to murder his
daughter-in-law—Young lady in a pet—Sir George Dunbar—James
Sutherland while George III. was passing—Lancet given by a
wife to her husband to kill himself—Servant girl—Curious
verses by a suicide—Robber on being recognised—A man who
ordered a candle to be made of his fat—After gaming—Writing
whilst dying—From misfortune just at a moment of
relief—Curious papers written by a suicide—By heating a
barrel in the fire—By tearing out the brains—Sisters by the
injunction of their eldest sister—Mutual from poverty—Girl
from a dream—Three servants in one pond—Indifference as to
mode—By starvation—A man forty-five days without eating—Mutual
of two boys after dining at a restaurateur’s—By putting head
under the ice—By a pair of spectacles—By jumping amongst
the bears—Young lady from gambling—Verses by a suicide—To
obtain salvation—A lover after accidentally shooting his
mistress—Mutual attempt—M. Kleist and Madame Vogle—Richard
Smith and wife—Love and suicide—Bishop of Grenoble—Suicide
in a pail of water—Mutual suicide of two soldiers—Lord
Scarborough—A man who advertised to kill himself for benefit
of family—The case of Creech, and the romantic history of
Madame de Monier—Suicide of M. ——, after threatening to kill
his brother—Two young men—Two lovers—Homicide and suicide from
jealousy—Cure of penchant for suicide—Attempt at prevented—Man
in a belfry—Attempt at—The extraordinary case of Lovat by
crucifixion p. 283-334
CHAPTER XVI.
CAN SUICIDE BE PREVENTED BY LEGISLATIVE ENACTMENTS?—INFLUENCE
OF MORAL INSTRUCTION.—CONCLUSION.
The legitimate object of punishment—The argument of
Beccaria—A legal solecism—A suicide not amenable to human
tribunals—Evidence at coroners’ courts _ex-parte_—The old law
of no advantage—No penal-law will restrain a man from the
commission of suicide.—Verdict of _felo-de-se_ punishes the
innocent, and therefore unjust—All suicides insane, and
therefore not responsible agents—The man who reasons himself
into suicide not of sound mind—Rational mode of preventing
suicide by promoting religious education p. 335-340
ERRATA.
Page 46, for “mens conscia” &c. read _mens sana in corpore
sano_, and for “Horace” read JUVENAL.
ANATOMY OF SUICIDE.
CHAPTER I.
SUICIDES OF THE ANCIENTS.—ANCIENT LAWS AND OPINIONS ON THE SUBJECT OF
SUICIDE.
Examples of antiquity no defence of suicide—Causes of ancient
suicides—The suicides of Asdrubal, Nicocles, Isocrates,
Demosthenes, Hannibal, Mithridates, the inhabitants of
the city of Xanthus, Cato, Charondas, Lycurgus, Codrus,
Themistocles, Emperor Otho, Brutus and Cassius, Mark Antony
and Cleopatra, Petronius, Lucan, Lucius Vetus, Sardanapalus,
M. Curtius, Empedocles, Theoxena—Noble resistance of
Josephus—Scripture suicides: Samson, Saul, Ahitophel, Judas
Iscariot, Eleazar, Razis—Doctrines of the stoics, Seneca,
Epictetus, Zeno—Opinions of Cicero, Pliny, on suicide—Ancient
laws on suicide.
Human actions are more under the influence of example than precept;
consequently, suicide has often been justified by an appeal to the
laws and customs of past ages. An undue reverence for the authority of
antiquity induces us to rely more upon what has been said or done in
former times, than upon the dictates of our own feelings and judgement.
Many have formed the most extravagant notions of honour, liberty, and
courage, and, under the impression that they were imitating the noble
example of some ancient hero, have sacrificed their lives. They urge
in their defence that suicide has been enjoined by positive laws, and
allowed by ancient custom; that the greatest and bravest nation in
the world practised it; and that the most wise and virtuous sect of
philosophers taught that it was an evidence of courage, magnanimity,
and virtue. There is no mode of reasoning so fallacious as that which
is constantly appealing to examples. A man who has made up his mind
to the adoption of a particular course can easily discover reasons
to justify himself in carrying out his preconceived opinions. If a
contemplated action, abstractedly considered, be good, cases may
be of service in illustrating it. There must be some test by which
to form a correct estimate of the justness or lawfulness of human
actions; and until we are agreed as to what ought to constitute that
standard, examples are perfectly useless. No inferences deduced from
the consideration of the suicides of antiquity can be logically applied
to modern instances. We live under a Christian dispensation. Our
notions of death, of honour, and of courage, are, in many respects,
so dissimilar from those which the ancients entertained, that the
subject of suicide is placed entirely on a different basis. In the
early periods of history, self-destruction was considered as an
evidence of courage; death was preferred to dishonour. These principles
were inculcated by celebrated philosophers, who exercised a great
influence over the minds of the people; and, in many instances, the
act of self-immolation constituted a part of their religion. Is it,
then, to be wondered at, that so many men, eminent for their genius,
and renowned for their valour, should, under such circumstances, have
sacrificed themselves?
The famous suicides of antiquity generally resulted from one of three
causes:—First, it was practised by those who wished to avoid pain and
personal suffering of body and mind; secondly, when a person considered
the act as a necessary vindication of his honour; and thirdly, when
life was sacrificed as an example to others.
The first class is the most excusable of the three. Pain, physical
or mental, puts a man’s courage severely to the test. He may have to
choose between the alternative of years of unmitigated anguish, or an
immediate release from torture. Need we feel surprise at many resorting
to the latter alternative, when they have been taught to believe death
either to be an eternal sleep, or a sure entrance into regions of
happiness!
How many instances have we on record of persons who have dispatched
themselves to avoid falling into the hands of an enemy! The case of
the wife of Asdrubal, the Carthaginian general, is a famous instance
of the kind. Asdrubal had deserted his post, and had fled to Scipio;
and during his absence his wife took shelter with her troops in
the temple, which she set on fire. She then attired herself in her
richest robes, and holding her two children in her hands, addressed
Scipio—who had surrounded the building with his troops—in the following
language:—“You, O Roman, are only acting according to the laws of open
war; but may the gods of Carthage, and those in concert with them,
punish that false wretch who, by such a base desertion, has betrayed
his country, his gods, his wife, his children! Let him adorn thy gay
triumph; let him suffer in the sight of all Rome those indignities and
tortures he so justly merits!”
The case of Nicocles, King of Paphos, in Cyprus, who committed suicide
in conjunction with his wife and daughter, on the approach of King
Ptolemy, is another in point. Isocrates, the celebrated Athenian
orator, starved himself to death, sooner than submit to the dominion of
Philip of Macedon. Demosthenes also poisoned himself, when Antipater,
Alexander’s ambassador, required the Athenians to deliver up their
orators, fearful of being subjected to slavery and disgrace.
The persecution to which the Romans subjected Hannibal, after he was
oppressed with years and sunk in obscurity, impelled him to have
recourse to the poison which he always kept about him in a ring,
against sudden emergencies. Mithridates took poison, and administered
the same to his wives and daughters, in order to escape being taken
prisoner by Pompey, before whose victorious arms he had been compelled
to fly.
The case of the inhabitants of the city of Xanthus is another
remarkable instance of the determination exhibited by thousands of
persons, resolved sooner to die by their own hands than submit to
the dominion of a conqueror. Notwithstanding the proffered clemency
of Brutus, who not only wept at the dreadful scene he witnessed, but
commanded his soldiers to extinguish the fire, and even offered a
reward for every inhabitant whose life was saved, the people were so
eager for death that they rushed into the flames with exclamations of
delight, and forceably drove back the soldiers who were sent by Brutus
for the purpose of saving their lives.
The example of Cato is applauded by some writers as a proof of
magnanimity; the action was the reverse; it was the effect of pride
and timidity. If ever Rome required his experience and patriotic
counsels it was at that very period. To desert the duty which Rome had
a right to demand by a voluntary death was the meanest conduct in his
character. It stamped an indelible stain on his reputation, which only
a supposition that his intellect was impaired could rationally excuse.
It was not the virtuous Cato who had stemmed the torrent of tyranny,
who had crushed the Cataline conspiracy, who had given the most noble
examples of virtuous resolution and rectitude in moral conduct, but
the enfeebled Cato, sinking under the accumulation of evils, whose
soul was depressed with suspense and distracting passions, waiting an
opportunity for revenge, or preparing to finish his life on the first
disappointment.
If such examples were admitted magnanimous, in any serious quarrel
or war, where success could not be commanded, it might be considered
laudable to commit suicide. The consequences of such reasoning would
be obvious. On such occasions, countries would lose their bravest
generals, private families their noblest and most experienced
supporters.
“If I cannot acquire what I wish,” says Cato, “I will kill myself;
I will not live to grace Cæsar’s triumph, though I know Cæsar to be
the most generous and clement of conquerors; I cannot consent to
receive Cæsar’s favours. My pride is wounded; my fears destroy all
tranquillity; my body is sinking under adversity; I will not dedicate
my services to my distressed country under the auspices of successful
Cæsar. I will plunge a sword into my bosom, and commit an injustice to
myself, which through a long life I never committed to others. From
the uniformity of my former patriotic character, writers, without
deep reasoning, will paint this concluding action in glowing colours;
they will give additional lustre to an immortal reputation.” Such,
we conceive, were the secret springs of action in Cato’s mind; such
were the contending passions which excited the delirium. It was not
the placid, judicious Cato of former years, but the depressed Cato,
_impos mentis_, committing a rash action, contrary to all his former
great reasoning, and virtuous persevering conduct. It was, in fact,
Cato’s act of insanity; it was not dying to serve his country, but to
effectually rob Cæsar of his eminent services; it therefore appears
more the effect of private pique and despondency than a demonstration
of public virtue or courage. Had all others concerned in that civil
war followed this extraordinary example, the country would have
been robbed of many of its brightest ornaments. Cato could not say
with Horace, “Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori,” for it was not
for his countrymen that he died, but to gratify a selfish caprice,
a personal resentment and hatred to Cæsar and his power. Had Cæsar
attacked the city while Cato enjoyed a vigour of mind and body, and
when the citizens were better disciplined and less corrupt, he would
have despised such inglorious conduct; he would rather have hoped for
some future opportunity to dispel the dark clouds overwhelming the
distracted country.
Physicians have frequent opportunities of observing the diminution of
human courage and wisdom from long continued misfortunes, or bodily
infirmities. The most lively, spirited, and enterprising, have become
depressed from reiterated disappointment; cowardice and despair have
succeeded to the most unquestionable bravery and ambition. The man
is then changed; his blood is changed; and with these his former
sentiments. The timidity is no longer Cato’s, but belongs to the
miserable _debilitated body_ of Cato, which had lost that _vigorous
soul_ that so eminently distinguished on other important occasions this
excellent and divine patriot.
La Motte observes, with reference to Cato’s death—
“Stern Cato, with more equal soul,
Had bowed to Cæsar’s wide control,
With Rome, had to her conqueror bowed,
But that his spirit, rough and proud,
Had not the courage to await
A pardoned foe’s too humbling fate.”
Voltaire, in alluding to the lines quoted above, says, “It was, I
believe, because Cato’s soul was always equal, and retained to the last
its love for his country and her laws, that he chose rather to perish
with her than to crouch to the tyrant. He died as he had lived.
“Incapable of surrendering, and to whom? to the enemy of Rome—to the
man who had forcibly robbed the public treasury in order to make war
upon his fellow citizens, and enslave them by means of their own
money. A pardoned foe! It seems as if La Motte Houdart was speaking of
some revolted subject who might have obtained his Majesty’s pardon by
letters in chancery. It seems (continues Voltaire) rather absurd to say
that Cato slew himself through weakness. None but a strong mind can
thus surmount the most powerful instinct of nature. This strength is
sometimes that of frenzy; but a frantic man is not weak.”
In forming an estimate of the condition of Cato’s mind, we must not
look at him as delineated by the dramatist and poet, but as exhibited
by the historian and philosopher. Our notions of Cato are too often
based on Addison’s, and not Plutarch’s description of his character.
That Cato was one of the most complete and perfect examples in
antiquity of private manners and of public spirit cannot be questioned;
and therefore, in this respect, worthy to be held up as an example.
Sallust thus eulogizes Cato:—“His glory can neither be increased by
flattery nor lessened by detraction. He was one who chose to be, rather
than to appear good. He was the very image of virtue, and in all points
of disposition more like the gods than men. He never did right that he
might seem to do right, but because he could not do otherwise. That
only seemed to be reasonable which was just. Free from all human vices,
he was superior to the vicissitudes of fortune.” It was the dignity of
Cato’s life that stamped a celebrity on the mode of his death.
In forming a judgment of the motives which led this distinguished
man to sacrifice his life, we must look at him in connexion with his
great enemy, Cæsar. He was not only opposed to him on public, but on
private grounds. Cæsar’s intimacy with Servilia, Cato’s sister, was
the ground of much conversation at Rome. During one of the debates
concerning the Cataline conspiracy, Cæsar received a letter whilst he
was in the senate house. Cato, who had intimated that Cæsar had been
privy to Cataline’s proceedings, and believing that the letter might
refer to the subject, from the manner in which Cæsar endeavoured to
conceal it, demanded that it should be handed over to him. The letter
was accordingly handed to Cato, when, perceiving that it was a letter
from Servilia to Cæsar, full of protestations of love to his deadliest
enemy, he threw it at Cæsar in a great rage, and called him a drunkard.
This, added to the circumstance of Cæsar’s complete triumph over him,
induced Cato to put an end to his own life. He did not commit suicide
to defeat usurpation, or to preserve the liberties and laws of Rome,
but it was done when he despaired of his country. It arose from his
horror of tyranny, and the feeling of intolerable shame at the prospect
of a long life under an arbitrary master. The superstructure of years
was in a moment levelled to the dust. He had to choose between death
or slavery. After the defeat at Thapsus, and hearing that Cæsar was
marching against him, Lucius Cæsar offered to intercede for Cato. His
answer was as follows:—“If I would save my life, I ought to go myself;
but I will not be beholden to the tyrant for any act of his injustice;
and ’tis unjust for him to pretend to pardon those as a lord over
whom he has no lawful power.” Although it was evident he was bent
upon suicide, he persuaded his son to go to Cæsar, and cautioned his
friend Statilius, whom Plutarch calls “a known Cæsar-hater,” not to
kill himself, but to submit to the conqueror. He then entered into a
discussion concerning liberty, which he carried on so violently that
his friends were apprehensive that he would lay hands on himself.
In consequence of this, his son removed his sword. Cato is then
represented as reading Plato’s Phædo, and then calling for his sword,
which they refused to bring him. He called a second and third time, and
in a fit of rage he struck the servant, and wounded him, and by doing
so, injured his own hand, which prevented him from effectually killing
himself with his weapon. After he had stabbed himself, his wound was
dressed; but so determined was he to sacrifice his life, that he tore
open the wound forcibly, and pulled his bowels out, and thus effected
his purpose.[1]
It has been said that Addison approved of Cato’s self-murder. This
does not appear to be the fact, if we are to judge from the words which
he has put in the mouth of the dying hero—
“I am sick to death; oh, when shall I get loose
From this vain world, the abode of guilt and sorrow!
And yet methinks a beam of light breaks in
On my departing soul. Alas, I fear
I have been too hasty! O ye powers that search
The heart of man, and weigh his inmost thoughts,
If I have done amiss, impute it not:
The best may err, but you are good, and—(_dies._)”
Two celebrated instances amongst the Grecians of men who voluntarily
sacrificed their lives in order to maintain the dignity and importance
of their own institutions, are exhibited in the cases of Charondas and
Lycurgus. The former, in order to encourage a proper freedom of debate,
had made it death to come armed into the assembly of the states. One
day, coming himself in haste to a convention without having first laid
aside his sword, he was rebuked by some one present, as a transgressor
of his own laws. Stung with the justice of the imputation, he instantly
plunged the sword into his own heart, both as a sacrifice to the
violated majesty of the law, and a tremendous example of disinterested
justice; trusting, moreover, thus to seal with his own blood a strict
observance in others of his wholesome institutions.
When Lycurgus had accomplished his great work of legislation in Sparta,
he took the following method of rendering his system unchangeable and
immortal. He stated that it was necessary that he should consult the
Delphian oracle relative to his new laws. He then made all the Spartan
magistrates and people take a solemn oath that they would observe
and keep his laws inviolate “till his return.” He accordingly went
to consult the oracle, and having sent back the answer in writing to
Sparta, “That the laws were excellent, and would render the people
great and happy who should observe them,” he resolved never to return
himself, in order that the people might never be absolved from their
oath. He accordingly starved himself to death. Plutarch considers
that Lycurgus reasoned himself into the act, under the belief that a
good statesman and patriot should seek to make his death itself in
some way useful to his country. The same authority considers that
he intended the mode of his death to be a practical illustration of
the great principle which pervaded the whole code of his laws, which
was—_temperance_.
Alike honourable, in a worldly point of view, was the death of Codrus,
King of Athens. The oracle was consulted with reference to the
condition of the country. That nation was predicted to be prosperous
whose king should be first slain by the enemy. Codrus disguised himself
as a private soldier, and entered the enemy’s camp, where he contrived
to pick a quarrel with the first man he met, whom he permitted to slay
him; thus, for the good of his country, courting his own death.
Themistocles is said to have poisoned himself rather than lead on the
Persian army against his own countrymen, although fame, wealth, and
honour were within his grasp.
The Emperor Otho, to avoid the further sacrifice of life in the
imperial contest, resolved to die by his own hands, notwithstanding
his troops implored and beseeched him to lead them on to a second
engagement in which victory was almost certain. King Otho’s answer to
the demand of his soldiers is considered to embody the spirit of true
Roman heroism—“Deny me not the glory of laying down my own life to
preserve yours. The more hope there is left, the more honourable is my
early retirement; since it is by my death alone that I can prevent the
further effusion of Roman blood, and restore peace and tranquillity
to a distracted empire, by being ready to die for its peace and
security.”[2]
Two of the most distinguished men of antiquity who sacrificed their
own lives were Brutus and Cassius. Before their battle with Cæsar
on the plains of Philippi, these two warriors had a conversation on
suicide. Cassius asked Brutus what his opinions were on the subject of
self-destruction, provided fortune did not favour them in the contest
in which they were about to be engaged. Brutus replied, that formerly
he had embraced such sentiments as induced him to condemn Cato for
killing himself; he deemed it an act of irreverence towards the gods,
and that it was no evidence of courage. But he continues, “Now, in
the midst of dangers, I am quite of another mind.” He then proceeds
to tell Cassius of his determination to surrender up his life “on the
Ides of March.” He states no particular reasons for having changed
his opinions on the subject of suicide. The issue of the battle is
well known. Many things conspired to damp the courage of Cassius and
Brutus. In imitation of Cæsar, Brutus made a public lustration for his
army in the field, and during the ceremony an unlucky omen is said to
have happened to Cassius. The garland he was to wear at the sacrifice
was given to him the wrong side outwards; the person, also, who bore
the golden image before Cassius stumbled, and the image fell to the
ground. Several birds of prey hovered about his camp, and swarms of
bees were seen within the trenches. Cassius, believing in the Epicurean
philosophy, considered all these circumstances as disheartening omens
of his fate. After the defeat of Cassius, he ordered his freedman to
kill him, which he did by severing his head from his body.
Plutarch makes Brutus die most stoically. After having taken an
affectionate leave of his friends, and having assured them that he
was only angry with fortune for his country’s sake, since he esteemed
himself in his death more happy than his conquerors, he advised them to
provide for their own safety. He then retired, and, with the assistance
of Strato, he ran his sword through his body. Dion Cassius (Lib. xlvii.)
represents Brutus as far from acting the stoic at his last moments. He
is said just before his death to have quoted the following passage from
Euripides—“O wretched virtue! thou art a bare name! I mistook thee for
a substance; but thou thyself art the slave of fortune.”
In considering the motives that induced Brutus to destroy himself,
we must not forget to take into calculation the effect which the
apparition he saw previous to the battle of Philippi must have had
on his mind. Brutus was naturally watchful, sparing in his diet, and
allowed himself but little time for sleep. He never retired to rest,
day or night, until he had arranged all his business. At this time,
involved as he was in the operations of war, and solicitous for the
event, he only slumbered a little after supper, and spent the remainder
of the night in attending to his most urgent affairs. When these were
dispatched, he occupied himself in reading till the third watch, when
the tribunes and centurions came to him for orders. Thus, a little
before he left Asia, he was sitting alone in his tent, by a dim light,
at a late hour. The whole army lay in sleep and silence, while Brutus,
wrapped in meditation, thought he perceived something enter his tent;
turning towards the door, he saw a monstrous and horrible spectre
standing by the side of his bed. “What art thou?” said he, boldly.
The spectre answered, “I am thy evil genius, Brutus! Thou wilt see
me at Philippi.” To which he calmly replied, “I’ll meet thee there.”
In the morning he communicated to Cassius what he had seen. Cassius,
who was an Epicurean, had often disputed with Brutus on the subject
of apparitions. He said, when he had heard the statement of Brutus,
that the spectre was not a spirit, but a real being; and argued at
considerable length on the subject, and induced the general to think
that his fate was decided. There can be no doubt but that this singular
presentiment co-operated with other circumstances in inducing Brutus to
fall by his own hands.[3]
Amongst the ancient suicides, those of Mark Antony and Cleopatra
deserve especial consideration. It is not our purpose to enter into an
elaborate history of these celebrated characters, but merely to refer
to those circumstances that had an immediate connexion with their last
moments.
Three circumstances acted powerfully on Antony’s mind in inducing him
to seek a voluntary death. The first was his having been defeated by
Cæsar; the second, the idea that Cleopatra had betrayed him; and the
third was the belief in Cleopatra’s death.
As soon as Antony was defeated, the unhappy queen fled to her monument,
ordered all the doors to be barred, and commanded that Antony should
be informed that she was dead. He was overwhelmed with grief, and
retiring to his chamber, opened his coat of mail, and ordered his
faithful servant Eros (who had been engaged to kill him whenever he
should think it necessary) to dispatch him. Eros drew his sword,
and, instead of killing his master, ran it through his own body, and
fell dead at Antony’s feet. Antony then plunged his sword into his
bowels, and threw himself on the couch. The wound was not, however,
immediately fatal. In a short period after, Diomedes, Cleopatra’s
servant, came to Antony with a request that he would instantly repair
to her chamber. His delight was unbounded when he heard that Cleopatra
was alive, and he directly ordered his servant to carry him to her.
As she would not allow the doors to be opened, Antony was drawn up to
her window by a cord. He was suspended for a considerable time in the
air stretching out his hands to Cleopatra. Notwithstanding she exerted
all her strength, strained every nerve, and distorted her features
in endeavouring to draw him up, it was with the greatest difficulty
it was effected. Cleopatra laid him on the bed, and, standing over
him, so extreme was her anguish, that she rent her clothes, and beat
and wounded her breast. After Antony’s death, when Cleopatra heard
that Cæsar had dispatched Gallus to take her prisoner, and that he
had effected an entrance into the monument, _she attempted to stab
herself with a dagger which she always carried about with her for that
purpose_. When she heard that it was Cæsar’s intention to send her
into Syria, she asked permission to visit Antony’s tomb, over which
she poured forth most bitter lamentations. “Hide me, hide me,” she
exclaimed, “with thee in the grave; for life, since _thou_ hast left
it, has been misery to _me_.” After crowning the tomb with flowers,
she kissed it, and ordered a bath to be prepared. She then sat down to
a magnificent supper; after which, a peasant came to the gate with a
small basket of figs covered with leaves, which was admitted into the
monument. Amongst the figs and under the leaves was concealed the asp,
which Cleopatra applied to her bosom. She was found dead, attired in
one of her most gorgeous dresses, decorated with brilliants, and lying
on her golden bed.
Few of the illustrious men of antiquity have exhibited such philosophic
coolness as Petronius, after he had determined to sacrifice his life.
The levity which distinguished his voluntary death was in accordance
with the gaiety and frivolity of his life. The capricious friendship
of a Nero had been withdrawn from him, and in consequence he had
determined on his own death. This _arbiter elegantiarum_ during life,
determined to indulge in a luxurious refinement of that death he was
preparing to encounter. Being well aware he could not long escape
from the murderous edict, after a fall from the summit of imperial
favour, he opened and closed his veins at pleasure. He slept during the
intervals, or sauntered about and enjoyed the delights of conversation
with his friends; but his discourse was not of so elevated a character
as that attributed to Seneca or Socrates.
The poet Lucan exhibited great apparent serenity at the approach of
death. After the veins of his arm had been voluntarily opened, and he
had lost a large quantity of blood, he felt his hands and his legs
losing their vitality. As the hour of death approached, he commenced
repeating several lines out of his own Pharsalia, descriptive of a
person similarly situated to himself. These lines he repeated until he
died.
Cocceius Nerva starved himself to death in the reign of Tiberius. It
was said that he was displeased with the state of public affairs, and
had made up his mind to die whilst his own integrity remained unsullied.
During the bloody reign of Nero, many singular suicides took place. The
particulars attending the deaths of Lucius Vetus, his mother-in-law
Sextia, and Pollutia his daughter, are worth recording. After Lucius
had distributed all his wealth among his domestics, requesting them
to remove everything from his house excepting three couches, he, with
his mother-in-law and daughter, retired into the same chamber, opened
a vein with the same lancet, and after, reclining each on a separate
couch, waited calmly the approach of death. His eyes, and those of his
mother-in-law, were both fixed on the daughter, while the daughter’s
wandered from one to the other. It was the earnest prayer of each of
them to die first, and to leave the others in the act of expiring.[4]
When the throne of Sardanapalus was endangered, he conceived a
magnificent and truly luxurious mode of committing suicide, quite in
character with the extravagance and dissoluteness of his former life.
He erected a funeral pile of great height in his palace, and adorned
it with the most sumptuous and costly ornaments. In the middle of this
building was a chamber of one hundred feet in length, built of wood,
in which a number of golden couches and tables were spread. On one of
these he reclined with his wife, his numerous concubines occupying
the rest. The building was encompassed round at some distance with
large beams and thick wood, to prevent all egress from the place.
Much combustible matter, and an immense pile of wood were also placed
within, together with an infinite quantity of gold and silver, royal
vestments, costly apparel, rich furniture, curious ornaments, and
all the apparatus of luxury and magnificence. All being arranged, this
splendid funeral pile was set on fire, and continued burning until the
fifteenth day; during which time Sardanapalus revelled in all kinds
of sensualities. The multitude without were in astonishment at the
tremendous scene, and at the immense clouds of incense and smoke which
issued with the flames. It was stated that the king was engaged in
offering some extraordinary sacrifices; while the attendants within
alone knew that this dissolute prince was putting such a splendid end
to his effeminate life.[5]
There has been some dispute as to the death of Marcus Curtius. Plutarch
attributes his death to accident, but Procillius considers that it
was voluntary. He says, the earth having opened at a particular time,
the Aruspices declared it necessary, for the safety of the republic,
that the bravest man in the city should throw himself into the gulf;
whereupon Curtius, mounting his horse, leaped armed into it, and the
gulf immediately closed. But Livy and Dionysius relate the circumstance
in a different manner. They say that Curtius was a Sabine, who, having
at first repulsed the Romans, but being in his turn overpowered by
Romulus, and endeavouring to make good his retreat, fell into the lake,
which from that time bore his name. The lake was situated almost in the
centre of the Roman forum. Some writers consider the name was derived
from Curtius the Consul, because he caused it to be walled in after it
had been struck with lightning.[6]
The death of the celebrated philosopher and poet, Empedocles, of
Sicily, was remarkable. Wishing to be believed a god, and that his
death might be unknown, he threw himself into the crater of Mount Ætna,
and perished in the flames. The mode of his death was not discovered
until some time afterwards, when one of his sandals was thrown up from
the volcano.
Ancient history affords us many noble examples of individuals who
preferred voluntary death to dishonour and loss of character. If ever
self-murder could be considered as in the slightest degree justifiable,
it would be under such circumstances. Who cannot but honour the conduct
of the noble virgins of Macedon, who threw themselves into the wells,
and courted death, sooner than submit to the dishonourable proposals
of the Roman governor! When Theoxena was pursued by the emissaries of
Philip, king of Macedon, who had been guilty of murdering her first
husband, she produced a dagger and a box of poison, and placing them
before the crew of the ship in which she was endeavouring to make her
escape, she said, “Death is now our only remedy and means of vengeance;
let each take the method that best pleases himself of avoiding the
tyrant’s pride, cruelty, and lust. Come on, my brave companions
and family, seize the sword or drink of the cup, as you prefer an
instantaneous or gradual death.” Some fell on the sword, others drank
the poison until death was effected. After Theoxena had accomplished
her designs, she threw herself into the arms of her husband, and they
both plunged into the sea.
The resistance which Josephus made to the importunities of his soldiers
to fall by his own hand sooner than surrender to the enemy, is perhaps
the most noble instance of the kind on record. After the success of
the Romans in Judæa, Josephus, who commanded the Jewish army, wished
to deliver himself up to his conquerors; he was encouraged to this by
certain dreams and visions. When Josephus’s intention was known, the
soldiers flocked round him, and expressed their indignation at his
intention. They urged him to fall by his own sword, and to let them
follow his example, sooner than abandon the field. To this appeal
Josephus replies, “Oh, my friends, why are you so earnest to kill
yourselves? why do you set your soul and body, which are such dear
companions, at such variance? It is a brave thing to die in war, but
it should be by the hands of the enemy. It is a foolish thing to do
that for ourselves, which we quarrel with them for doing to us. It is a
brave thing to die for liberty; but still it should be in battle, and
by those who would take that liberty from us. He is equally a coward
who will not die when he is obliged to die. What are we afraid of, when
we will not go up and meet the Romans? Is it death? Why then inflict it
on ourselves? You say, We must be slaves. Are we then in a clear state
of liberty at present? Self-murder is a crime most remote from the
common nature of all animals, and an instance of impiety against God
our Creator.”
Josephus, in the spirit of a true philosopher, urged his soldiers to
abandon the notion of suicide; but instead of being calmed by his
discourse, they became enraged, and rushed on him. Fearing that the
case was hopeless, Josephus prevailed upon them to listen to the
following proposal. He persuaded them to draw lots; the man on whom
the first lot fell was to be killed by him who had the second, and the
second by the third, and so on. In this way no soldier would perish
by his own hand, except the last man. Lots were accordingly drawn;
Josephus drew his with the rest. He who had the first lot willingly
submitted his neck to him who had the second. It happened that Josephus
and a soldier were left to draw lots; and as the general was desirous
neither to imbrue his own hand in the blood of his countryman, nor to
be condemned by lot himself, he persuaded the soldier to trust his
fidelity, and to live as well as himself. Thus ended this tragical
scene, and Josephus immediately surrendered himself up to Vespasian.
The first instance of suicide recorded in Scripture is that of Samson.
After suffering many indignities from the hands of the Philistines, his
anger was roused to the highest pitch, and, resting against the pillars
that supported the building in which the lords of the Philistines
and an infinite number of others were assembled, he offered up the
following prayer: “O Lord God, remember me, I pray thee, and strengthen
me, I pray thee, only this once, O God, that I may at once be avenged
of the Philistines for my two eyes;” and taking hold of the pillars, he
said, “Let me die with the Philistines: and he bowed himself with all
his might, and the house fell upon the lords and all that were therein;
so that the dead which he slew at his death were more than they which
he slew in his life.”
In Samson’s case, there is nothing said in Scripture either to condemn
or justify the act; but it appears evident from the whole history of
the last events of his life, that he was but an instrument in the
hands of God for the accomplishment of his wise purposes. The glory of
God had been violated in the person of Samson; he had been subjected
by the Philistines to great indignities; and it was to demonstrate
the power of God in the destruction of his enemies that Samson’s life
was sacrificed. Samson is, then, to be considered as a martyr to his
religion and his God.
The case of Saul has also been cited. It is thus referred to in
Scripture:—“And the battle went sore against Saul, and the archers hit
him, and he was sore wounded of the archers. Then said Saul unto his
armourbearer, Draw thy sword, and thrust me through therewith, lest
these uncircumcised come and thrust me through, and abuse me. But his
armourbearer would not, for he was sore afraid; therefore Saul took a
sword and fell upon it. And when his armourbearer saw that Saul was
dead, he fell likewise upon his sword and died with him.”[7]
It must be recollected that the Jews considered that a man was
justified in committing suicide to prevent his falling into the
enemy’s hand, and on this account Saul was commended for killing
himself. But there was nothing glorious in Saul’s death. His army was
defeated by the Philistines, and Saul sounded a retreat; and as he was
making his ignominious flight, an arrow from the ranks of the enemy hit
him, and it was then that he implored his armourbearer to dispatch him.
Much has been made of the self murder* of Ahitophel. Donne has referred
to it at some length. He says that in this case there can be “no room
for excuse.” Ahitophel was considered one of the wisest counsellors of
his age. He joined Absalom in his rebellion against his lawful prince,
David; and when he saw that it was God’s determination to defeat his
counsel, and that his advice for the first time was neglected, he
became full of secret indignation and disappointment; and in order
to avoid the consequences of his own utter despair and ruin, for his
perfidy, he hanged himself. Nothing can be urged in justification
of this act. The facts are presented to us in biblical history; and
we are left to form our own judgment upon the course which this
“Machiavellian counsellor,” as he has been termed, thought proper to
adopt.
Donne has also cited the case of Judas Iscariot.[8] He must have
been sadly in want of sound illustrations to have brought forward the
instance of this traitor as a justification of the act of suicide.
Judas has been considered by some writers as a martyr. Petilian said
“that Judas, and all who killed themselves through remorse of sin,
ought to be accounted martyrs, because they punish in themselves what
they grieve to have committed.” To whom Augustine replies, “Thou hast
said, that the traitor perished by the rope, and has left a rope behind
him for such as himself. But we have nothing to do with him. We do not
venerate those as martyrs who hang themselves.”
The case, mentioned by the same authority, of Eleazar, the brother of
Judas Maccabeus, taken from the book of the Maccabees, is said to be
one of voluntary suicide, and where self-destruction was laudable.
Eleazar sacrificed his own life for the purpose of destroying King
Antiochus, and therefore his suicide is to be considered as a voluntary
sacrifice for the good of his country.
The self-destruction of Razis is full of horror, and can only be quoted
as an evidence of the act of a madman. When the tower in which Razis
was fighting against the enemy of Nicanor was set on fire, he fell
on his own sword, “Choosing rather,” says the text, “to die manfully
than fall into the hands of the wicked, to be abused otherwise than
beseemed his noble birth; but missing his stroke through haste, the
multitude also rushing within doors, he ran boldly up to the wall, and
cast himself down manfully among the thickest of them; but they quickly
giving back, and a space being made, he fell down in the midst of a
void place. Nevertheless, while there was yet breath within him, being
inflamed with anger, he rose up; and though his blood gushed out like
spouts of water, and his wounds were grievous, yet he ran through in
the midst of the throng, and standing on a steep rock, when, as his
blood was not quite gone, he plucked out his bowels, and taking them in
both his hands, he cast them upon the throng, and calling upon the Lord
of life and spirit to restore him them again, he thus died.”[9]
Having considered the remarkable suicides of antiquity, we will now
briefly allude to those doctrines and opinions of the celebrated
philosophers of ancient times, which must of necessity have tended to
create this recklessness of human life.
The doctrines inculcated by the stoical philosophers, or the disciples
of Zeno, must have increased the crime of suicide. “A stoical wise man
is ever ready to die for his country or his friends. A wise man will
never look upon death as an evil; that he will despise it, and be ready
to undergo it at any time.” “A wise man,” says Diog. Laertius, in his
life of Zeno, when expounding the stoical philosophy, “will quit life,
when oppressed with severe pain, or when deprived of any of his senses,
or when labouring under desperate diseases.” It is astonishing that a
sect of philosophers who inculcated that pain was no evil, should so
often have practised suicide. Much as we would condemn such principles,
still we must admit that most of the admired characters of antiquity
belonged to this celebrated sect—men distinguished for their wisdom,
learning, and the strictness of their morals. Cato was a stoic, and he
put into practice the principles of the sect to which he belonged.[10]
Among the philosophers of antiquity, Seneca stands preeminently*
forward as the defender of suicide. He says, “Does life please you?
live on. Does it not? go from whence you came. No vast wound is
necessary; a mere puncture will secure your liberty. It is a bad
thing (you say) to be under the necessity of living; but there is no
necessity in the case. Thanks be to the gods, nobody can be compelled
to live.”[11] These were the principles of the “wise Seneca,” and yet
he wanted the courage to commit suicide when put to the test. He says,
“Being emaciated by a severe illness, I often thought of suicide,
but was recalled by the old age of a most indulgent father; for I
considered not how resolutely ‘I’ could encounter death, but how ‘he’
could bear up under my loss.” This is not, however, the only instance
in which Seneca yielded his stoical principles to the dictates of
natural affection and rational judgment.
Among other distinguished philosophers who advocated suicide was
Epictetus. Although a stoic, he did not blindly follow the doctrines
of Zeno. Epictetus considered that it was the duty of man to suffer to
almost any extent before he sacrificed his own life. “If you like not
life, you may leave it; the door is open; get you gone! But a little
smoke ought not to frighten you away; it should be endured, and will
thereby be often surmounted.”
Epictetus followed strictly his own principles: in this respect he
was superior to Seneca. Seneca was born in the lap of good fortune;
Epictetus was a slave, and had to pass through the rugged paths of
adversity, bodily pain, and penury. Seneca was banished from Rome for
an intrigue; Epictetus was sent into exile for being a man of learning
and a philosopher.
When Epictetus was beaten unmercifully by his master, he said, with
great composure, “You will certainly break my leg.” He did so; and the
philosopher calmly rejoined, “Did I not tell you you would do it?”
This was in the true spirit of stoical philosophy.
Marcus Aurelius Antoninus was, perhaps, one of the brightest ornaments
of the sect of stoics. He carried into the minutest concern of life the
doctrine of Zeno. “He was,” says Gibbon, “severe to himself, indulgent
to the imperfections of others, just and beneficent to all mankind.”
Zeno, the founder of the sect of stoical philosophers, acted up to
the principles which he inculcated to his disciples. His suicide is
recorded to be as follows:—As he was going out of his school one day,
at the age of ninety-eight, he fell down, put a finger out of joint,
went home, and hanged himself.
Cleanthes, also, the successor of Zeno, followed the example of his
master in philosophy, by shortening the period of his life in the
following manner:—After having used abstinence for two days, by the
advice of his physician, for the cure of a trifling indisposition under
which he was labouring, he had permission to return to his former diet;
but he refused all sustenance, saying, “_that as he had advanced so far
on his journey towards death, he would not retreat_.” He accordingly
starved himself to death.
Among the most distinguished orators of antiquity who spoke in favour
of suicide stands Cicero. During his banishment he would have actually
destroyed himself, if it had not been for his natural timidity and
want of resolution. He writes to his brother Quintus, “The tears of my
friends have prevented me from flying to death as my refuge.”
Pliny was an advocate of suicide. In a chapter entitled “On God,” he
writes thus—“The chief comfort of man in his imperfect state is this,
that even the Deity cannot do all things. For instance, he cannot put
himself to death when he pleases, which is the greatest indulgence he
has given to man amid the severe evils of life.” Pliny belonged to the
Epicureans, and his notions are in accordance with the doctrines of
that sect.
Pliny the younger appears to have had different notions on the
subject. When lamenting the death of a dear friend, Corellius Rufus,
who had killed himself, he says, “He is dead—dead by his own hand,
which agonizes my grief; for that is the most lamentable kind of death
which neither proceeds from nature nor from fate.” The whole epistle
from which the above extract is made indicates a noble and feeling
heart.
It appears that the Roman laws respecting suicide were of a fiscal
nature. They viewed the act not as a crime abstractedly, but considered
how far the circumstance affected the state or treasury. In some
portion of the Roman empire the magistrate had the power of granting
or refusing permission to commit suicide. If the decision was given
against the applicant, and he persisted in sacrificing his life,
disgrace and ignominy were heaped upon his body, and it was buried in
the most humiliating manner. The tenour of the law relating to suicide
laid down in “Justinian’s Digests” is to the following effect:—“Those
who, being actually accused, or who being caught in any crime, and
dreading a prosecution, made way with themselves, were to have their
effects confiscated. But this confiscation was no punishment of
suicide, _as a crime in itself_, being then only to take place when the
crime committed incurred the confiscation of property, and when the
person accused of it would have been found guilty. For which reason
the heirs-at-law were permitted (if they thought proper) to try the
cause as though the accused person, who had put a period to his life,
had been still living; and if his innocence could be proved, they were
still entitled to his effects. But if any one killed himself, either
through weariness of life, or an impatience under pain or ill health,
for a load of private debt, or for any other reason not affecting the
state or public treasury, the property of the deceased flowed in its
natural channel. In the case of an attempted but incomplete suicide,
where a man was under no accusation, a distinction was made as to the
causes impelling to it, before the question as to its punishment was
to be determined. If it proceeded not from weariness of life, or an
impatience under the pressure of some calamity, the attempter was to
suffer the same punishment as if he had effected his purpose; and for
this reason, because he who without reason spared not his own life,
would not be likely to spare another man’s.”[12]
If a prisoner committed suicide, the jailor authorized to protect him
was punished very severely. The Roman law made a distinction between
soldiers and civilians. If a soldier attempted to take away his life,
and it could not be proved that he was suffering at the time from great
grief, misfortune, madness, &c., it was deemed a capital offence, and
death was the punishment. And even in cases where it was established
that the act was the result of mental perturbation, he was dismissed
from the service with ignominy and disgrace.
During the pure ages of the Roman Republic, when religion was
reverenced, when the gods were looked up to with respect as the
disposers of all events, suicide was but little known. But when the
philosophy of Greece was introduced into the Roman Empire, and the
manners of the people became corrupted and degenerated, the crime
increased to an alarming extent. This indifference to life was also
augmented by the spread of stoical and epicurean principles. The stoic
was taught to believe his life his own; that he was the sole arbiter of
his existence; and that he could live or die as he pleased. The same
principles were inculcated by the epicurean philosophy. Is it, then, to
be wondered at, that suicide should be of common occurrence, when such
degrading principles had taken possession of the minds of the people?
By the law of Thebes, the person who committed suicide was deprived of
his funeral rites, and his name and memory were branded with infamy.
The Athenian law was equally severe: the hand of the self-murderer
was cut off, and buried apart from his body, as having been an enemy
and traitor to it. The Greeks considered suicide as a most heinous
crime. The bodies of suicides, according to the Grecian custom, were
not burned to ashes, but were immediately buried. They considered it
a pollution of the holy element of fire to consume in it the carcases
of those who had been guilty of self-murder. Suicides were classed
“with the public or private enemy; with the traitor, and conspirator
against his country; with the tyrant, the sacrilegious wretch, and
such grievous offenders whose punishment was impalement alive on a
cross.”[13]
These laws, however, fell into disuse, as appears evident from the
circumstance of there being so many cases of suicide which escaped this
treatment.
In the island of Ceos the magistrates had the power of deciding whether
a person had sufficient reasons for killing himself. A poison was kept
for that purpose, which was given to the applicant who made out his
case before the magistracy.
The same custom was followed among the Massilians, the ancient
inhabitants of Marseilles. A preparation of hemlock was kept in
readiness, and the senate, on hearing the merits of the case, had the
power to decide whether the applicant had good and substantial reasons
for committing suicide. There was, no doubt, much good effected by this
regulation, as it clearly acknowledged the principle that the power
of a man over his own life rested not in himself, but in the voice of
the magistrate, who alone was to determine how his life or death might
affect the state.
Libanius, of Antioch, who flourished towards the end of the fourth
century, has very happily ridiculed the practice to which we have
alluded. In some imaginary pleadings before the senate, he advocates
the cause of a man who wishes to swallow the hemlock draught, that
he may be freed from the garrulity of a loquacious wife. “Truly,”
says he, “if our legislator had not been addicted too much to law
making, I should have been under no necessity of proving before you
the expediency of my departure, but a rope and the first tree would
have given me peace and quiet. But since he, determining we should be
slaves, has deprived us even of the liberty of dying when we please,
and has enchained us with decrees on this business, I imprecate the
author and obey his mandates, in thus laying my complaints and my
request before you.” He then, with considerable eloquence and humour,
advocates the cause of the “envious man,” who wishes to taste the
“suicidal draught” because his neighbour’s wealth had increased beyond
his own. “Let the wretch,” he says, “recite his calamities, let the
senate bestow the antidote, and let grief be dissolved in death.”
Libanius then pleads in behalf of Timon, the man hater, who begs
permission to dispatch himself because he was bound by profession to
hate all mankind, but he could not help loving Alcibiades.
It is a singular circumstance connected with the subject of suicide,
that authors who have written in its defence should quote the cases
referred to in this chapter in justification of their views. They
have not taken into consideration the peculiar customs, habits, and
religion of the people, which of course must have greatly influenced
their actions. How absurd would it be for us to take the authority of
antiquity as an infallible rule of conduct. The Massagetes considered
those unhappy who died a natural death, and therefore eat their dearest
friends when they grew old. The Libarenians broke their necks down a
precipice. The Bactrians were thrown alive to the dogs. The Scythians
buried the dearest friends of the deceased with them alive, or killed
them on the funeral pile. The Roman people, when sunk in vice and
licentiousness, considered it a mark of courage and honour to fall by
their own hands, and suicide was a common occurrence with them.
“In the beginning of the spring,” says Malt. Brun, “a shocking ceremony
takes place at Cola Bhairava, in the mountains between the rivers Taptæ
and Nerbuddah. It is the practice of some persons of the lowest tribes
in Berar to make vows of suicide, in return for answers which their
prayers are believed to have received from their idols. This is the
place where such vows are performed in the beginning of spring, when
eight or ten victims generally throw themselves from a precipice. The
ceremony gives rise to an annual fair, and some trade.”[14]
No just distinction can be drawn between these customs. The Indian
widow, in obedience to the religion of her country, ascends the
funeral pile of her husband, and is burnt to death. Thousands annually
sacrifice their lives by throwing themselves under the wheels of their
idol Juggernaut. Strong feelings of religion impel them to this; they
become excluded from society, they lose caste, and are subjected to
all kinds of persecution if they do not bow to the customs of the
country. What legitimate argument can be deduced from these facts in
favour of suicide? And yet these cases are considered to constitute
a justification of the stoical dogma, that we have a right when we
please to put an end to our own existence. Desperate indeed must be the
circumstances of those who are compelled to found their reasoning on so
flimsy a basis.