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The Great Question of Suicide

To Be or Not To Be

By Little WandererPublished 6 years ago 5 min read
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It was Albert Camus who first brilliantly framed for us perhaps the most monumental question man might ever decide. For hundreds upon hundreds of years the great thinkers had been arguing over how we came to know anything, where the concept of beauty came from, and how we ought to live; all these questions presupposing the most intimately personal decision of all, whether to go on living or to not.

“There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy.”

For now, are we not all philosophers in our own regard? Are we not all searching for some sort of meaning in this blistering and confusing world of ours? Lost and scrambling in a world that can feel so cruel and dark at times; just a semblance of something explaining why we are here, why we happen to walk the earth at all, any sort of meaning for our existence at all.

These are questions I’m sure we’ve all pondered at least once, even if it were during a haze of intoxication. Humans are naturally inquisitive animals, of course, we should wonder over the greatest question of our lives… I just wonder why it took until Mr. Camus for, what I think to be, the most fundamental question of human existence to be asked.

And here society seems to have already determined the answer to such a question for us. In society's eyes, there isn’t anything difficult or deep or profound at all in deciding whether life is worth living. In society's eyes, you are born, and so, therefore, you have the duty to maintain your life; until the bitter end. None of the details matter. None of the trials or tribulations change anything. From the time we are born we are, either directly or indirectly through covert conditioning, led to believe that taking our own lives is nothing less than a crime. If not a judicial one than at least a moral one. Never once in my 21 years have I ever heard one word of understanding or empathy in the face of someone committing suicide. That person’s memory is forever darkened because it is believed that they took the easy way out, or that they were selfish and cowardly.

I’m not sure how many of you have ever seriously grappled with depression, with suicidal ideation. But let me tell you, even the consideration of ceasing to exist is a horrific one. We really don’t want to die, we just want the pain to end. At the end of the day, I think we all want to live, we really do; or, on the really hard days, we want to want to live. We never want to leave our friends and family to try and make sense of our deaths. It isn’t an easy choice. Honestly, it’s not much of a choice at all.

After years upon years of grappling with the crazy ups and downs, the soaring highs and the desolate debilitating lows, I had my suspicions confirmed with a diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. Me being who I am, I set out to educate myself about what this now means for me. The results have been somewhat terrifying to tell you the truth. I discovered that suicide is, and forever will be, a very real reality for me. 25-50 percent of individuals living with Bipolar Disorder will attempt suicide at least once in their life. I don’t think that I shall ever be able to solidly and totally arrive at a concrete conclusion to the question of suicide. My relationship with that most fundamental question of philosophy shall never be resolved… And I do not believe myself to be the only one locked in such a relationship with suicide.

So now it’s my time to ask, why do I feel, why have I always felt, as if this question has already been decided for me? Why do I feel like there is a set right and wrong here? I mean yes, I totally respect the mindset that depression is a disease and that it can be treated. That people can recover from suicidal depression. Absolutely, 100 percent. But, just like any another disease, I’m not totally convinced that every single person can be cured. After the first, the second, the third person around me made the "wrong" decision to the question of suicide I’m just not so certain that we can all be saved.

Just like with any other disease, sometimes people succumb. Sometimes people are defeated. Sometimes the depression is just too deep, the suffering too extreme, the psychosis too terrifying.

Now, don’t get me wrong here, this is not my advocating for suicide. (Although I certainly believe that it is, at the end of the day, our right to decide for ourselves) This is my questioning whether society's stance towards suicide is the right one. For I don’t believe that it is a matter of a character flaw or a crime against humanity. I don’t even believe that it’s much of a choice sometimes.

Here we speak of the mortality rate of cancer, addiction, HIV/AIDS; we speak of car crash victims being defeated by speed or alcohol; of extreme sports athletes perishing in the face of their chosen activity. All of this is out in the open. Sure there’s ample sadness, but there is no shame. The shame is reserved for those who "choose" their ends. But again, it’s not much of a choice sometimes. Not really. It’s a defeat, surrender, an absorption into darkness. We don’t choose our illnesses and we don’t choose our deaths. For, you see, our extreme sport is life itself. Sometimes we manage to see it through to the end. And sometimes we don’t. We are forever skirting the line between life and death; life and madness. That’s just that. We don’t choose to be swallowed by the darkness.

If you haven’t guessed, I’m an active student of philosophy. I’ve read most of the texts of the great thinkers of today and yesterday. I’ve pondered the arguments regarding a priori knowledge, objective ethics, the permissibility of lying, and the conceptualization of beauty. I’ve read the likes of Sartre, Aristotle, Thoreau, Russell, Rand, Kierkegaard, and so many more. And never, not once in all my readings, have I come across so poignantly raw a question as what Camus framed for us. Everything else is just a presupposition upon the foundation of this one basic question of philosophy; of the very essence of the human condition. And I, for one, do not think that we, as a society, have done a sufficient job in answering it.

humanity
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About the Creator

Little Wanderer

Independent scholar & world traveller

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