Like this:

‘They are Man’s,’ said the Spirit, looking down upon
them. ‘And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers.
This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both,
and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy,
for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the
writing be erased. Deny it.’ cried the Spirit, stretching out
its hand towards the city. ‘Slander those who tell it ye.
Admit it for your factious purposes, and make it worse.
And abide the end.’
 
‘Have they no refuge or resource.’ cried Scrooge.
 
‘Are there no prisons.’ said the Spirit, turning on him
for the last time with his own words. ‘Are there no workhouses.’”

So I was watching The National tonight when a story came on about euthanasia. I include the above quotation because, as I was thinking this over, it occured to me that at one time we knew when something was Wrong – in 1843, the world was a much simpler place. Our duties were clear - we didn’t try to soften it, couldn’t deny it, didn’t try to complicate it and acknowledged our responsibility to care and comfort the afflicted.

The world has changed a little since then, I suppose.

I know. I know. I’m sorry. Usually I’m a lot more fun. But a girl just can’t let stuff like this sail by her without saying something.

I found the newspaper story where this article appeared and from whence, I’ll wager, the CBC got the initial impetus for the issue.

Gazette

If you read through the article – and you should, it’s a lot more balanced than the CBC report was – you’ll find that there are a couple of people in there who are all like, “whoa!” On one side we have folks who appear to be saying, “It’s already going on, we need parameters to make this work properly” and on the other we’ve got people who say “Never no-way, no-how.”

A couple of points to consider:

If it’s already happening ‘under the radar’, won’t tacit legal consent make it even more common? If, when there are no regulations – when in fact, it’s entirely illegal with a hefty penalty – it’s being carried out, when the barriers are removed, how will you then stem the tide?

We used to think that God alone determined when someone was born and when they died. Now that we’ve taken that power into our own hands – for good and for ill – who decides when life is no longer tenable? Who is that wise, that faithful to principle and has that much personal integrity and honour that they would never abuse that power? You’re asking for infallibility! Human gods. Happy hunting – I can’t be trusted with a plate of cookies, who would you choose to be in charge of the scissors and thread? I know there are those who would say, “it’s up to the patient.” Humbug. Anyone who has been 14 knows there are days when one truly wishes they could die. Which conditions would be acceptable terminal illnesses and which would not? Would persistent depression make the list? I have friends – dear dear friends – who might not be here were that to be the case. People who live productive lives – lives that they fought for and came at considerable cost. If they had been permitted to end their lives, they might very well have made that choice – but it would have been a choice that came out of the mouth of their disease. 

Lastly, suicide is a terrible thing. I’ve lived long enough to see how this kind of death affects the survivors. Suicide is not like losing a loved one in a car accident. Suicide is a choice to die and that is a crippling thing for the people left behind to live with. There isn’t any way I can speak to you about this that would make any sense – if you’ve been through it, you know.

So let’s have that discussion. Let’s talk about who gets to choose to die, who will do the killing (you can gussy it up by calling it euthanasia but here, I’m going to call it what it is), what qualifies as a good reason to die and what restricitions you could use to try and make it all palatable to a sleeping public.

In A Christmas Carol, Dickens juxtaposed Cratchit – with his little disabled, non-productive son – and Scrooge, wealthy and succesful. One with the means but mean, the other limited and limitless. We are becoming a small, mean society if we will take it upon ourselves to decide when one is no longer ‘useful’ – in our stunted, uneven interpretation of the word. Even if it’s the wish of the patient, choosing to die should never be an option. Productive humanity is not quantifiable. It’s limitless, even among the limited. The single act of being human is enough – entirely enough - to make a life worthwhile. Whether you would believe it or not. And taking that life, snuffing it out like a cigarette under foot, does something irrevocable and horrific to the one who has perpetrated the offence.

Let’s talk about it. From a genuinely humane point of view.

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