Professor Shelly Kagan:
Last time we turned to questions
about the morality of suicide,
and I started with two
arguments that I called quick
and dirty arguments.
I suppose it would have been
fairer to say that they were
really theological arguments,
or they were moral arguments
that used, in part,
theological premises.
I suggested that,
at least if we look at them in
their quick and dirty versions,
they were inadequate,
and if we're going to make a
more careful argument about the
morality of suicide,
we need to turn to a more
systematic view about the
contents of morality.
We need to look at suicide in
terms of the basic moral
principles.
Now, that's not something we've
got the chance to do in detail,
but I think we can at least say
enough about a couple of basic
approaches to the contents of
morality,
or the basic moral rules,
to get the beginnings of an
understanding of what might
emerge about the morality of
suicide if we were to do that
more carefully.
So, holding off on suicide for
the moment, let's ask ourselves,
what is it that makes an action
morally acceptable or morally
forbidden?
This is, unsurprisingly,
something that different moral
theories disagree about.
But there's at least one factor
or one feature that all,
or almost all,
moral theories agree about.
And that is that the
consequences of your action
matter.
That is, we might or might not
think that consequences are the
only things that are
morally relevant when we think
about the morality of your
action,
but surely it is one
thing that's morally
relevant--what are the
consequences of your action
going to be.
So, let's think about the
morality of suicide with an eye
towards consequences,
bearing in mind that since
we're talking about a moral
point of view we need to take
into account the consequences as
they affect everybody.
Now, the person who,
of course, is most affected by
suicide is, of course,
the person who is killing
themself.
And at first glance it might
seem pretty clear that the
consequences of suicide are bad
for that person.
After all, the person was alive
and now they're dead,
and we normally would take
death to be a bad result.
If I were to tell you,
"Oh, here's a switch on the
wall.
If you were to flip the switch,
a thousand people who would
otherwise be alive would end up
dead,"
you would normally take that to
be a pretty compelling argument
against flipping the switch.
Why?
Because the result would be
bad.
Why?
Because a thousand people would
end up dead.
Well, one person ending up dead
isn't as bad as a thousand
people ending up dead,
but for all that shouldn't we
still say it's a bad
consequence?
And as a result of that,
shouldn't we say that however
far appeal to consequences goes
in terms of giving us our moral
theory,
don't we have to say in terms
of consequences,
or with regard to consequences,
suicide is immoral?
But not so quick!
Even though it's true that
normally death is a bad thing,
it's not always a bad thing.
This is the sort of thing that
we've learned by thinking about
what does the badness of death
consist in.
Typical cases are ones in which
the person's dying robs them of
a chunk of life that would've
been good for them overall,
and because of that dying then
is bad for them.
But in the kinds of cases that
we're thinking about,
cases where suicide would be
rationally acceptable,
and we're now asking whether or
not it's morally acceptable--in
those sorts of cases,
at least the kind of paradigm
examples that we've been focused
on, the person is better off
dead.
They're better off dead,
meaning that what life now
holds out for them--although
perhaps not negative through and
through--is negative on balance.
It's negative on balance;
they're not better off
continuing to live.
They're better off dying.
And that means,
of course, that dying isn't bad
for them, but rather good for
them,
and so their death is not a bad
consequence, but rather a good
consequence.
Provided that you're prepared
to accept the possibility of
cases in which somebody would be
better off if their life ended
sooner rather than later,
we're led to the conclusion
that--from the moral point of
view as far as focusing on
consequences goes--the
consequences might actually be
good rather than bad if the
person were to kill themself.
They will free themself,
let's suppose,
of the suffering they would
otherwise have to undergo.
Well, that's--first glance
said, consequences says
suicide's wrong.
Second glance says,
consequences says,
as least in certain
circumstances,
suicide's right.
Of course, third glance
suggests, we can't just focus on
consequences for the person who
is contemplating suicide.
Because from the point of view
of morality we have to look at
the consequences for everybody.
Who else might get affected by
the death or suicide of the
person?
Well, the most obvious people
for us to think about at that
point then are the family and
loved ones--the people who most
directly know about and care
about the person who is
contemplating suicide.
And again--I'm running out of
glances, but at first glance you
might say, well,
there the consequences are
clearly bad.
When the person kills themself
that causes, typically,
a great deal of distress for
the family and friends of the
person who has killed themself.
Even if that's true,
we now have to ask,
how do the consequences weigh
out?
After all, we live in a world
in which no single act typically
has only good consequences,
or no single act has bad
consequences and only bad
consequences.
Often our choices are mixed
packages where we have to ask
whether the good that we can do
is greater than the bad that
we'd be doing with this act or
that act or some third act.
Even if there are,
then, negative consequences in
terms of distress to the family,
friends, and loved ones,
of the person who kills
themself, that might still be
outweighed by the benefit to the
person himself or herself,
if it was really the case that
he or she would be better off
dying.
But it's also worth bearing in
mind that insofar as we're
thinking about people who love
and care about the person who is
considering dying,
then they may actually overall,
on balance, be relieved that
the suffering of their loved one
has come to an end.
We will, of course,
all be horribly distressed that
nature, or the Fates,
or what have you,
has brought it about that this
person's choices are now reduced
to killing themself on the one
hand,
or continuing the terminal
stages of some illness where
they're incapacitated and in
pain.
We will, of course,
wish there was a serious
prospect of a cure,
some chance of recovery,
wish they'd never gotten ill in
the first place.
But given the limited choices,
continued suffering and pain,
on the one hand,
or having an end to that
suffering and pain,
if the person can rationally
assess their prospects and
reasonably come to believe
they're better off dead,
then that's a judgment their
loved ones can come to share as
well.
They may well regret the
fact--more than regret,
curse the fact--that
these are the only choices
they've got,
but still, given the limited
choices they may agree,
they may come to agree,
better to put an end to the
suffering.
And so when the person kills
themself, they may second that
choice.
They may say,
"At least they're not in pain
and agony anymore."
So, if we look at it from the
point of view of
consequences--in fact,
suppose we had a moral view
that said consequences aren't
just one thing that was morally
relevant in thinking about what
makes an action right or wrong.
Suppose we took the bold claim
that consequences are the only
thing that's morally relevant.
There are moral views that take
this position.
I suppose the best-known
example of this kind of
consequence-only approach to
morality is utilitarianism.
Utilitarianism is the moral
doctrine that says right and
wrong is a matter of producing
as much happiness for everybody
as possible,
counting everybody's happiness
equally.
And when you can't produce
happiness, then at least trying
to minimize the misery and
suffering, counting everybody's
misery and suffering equally.
So, suppose we accept this
utilitarian position.
What conclusions would we come
to then about the morality of
suicide?
I suppose the conclusion would
be a kind of moderate one.
On the one hand,
we'd be rejecting the extreme
that says suicide is never
morally acceptable,
because to say that,
you'd have to be claiming
suicide always has bad
consequences overall.
And that strikes me,
although it's an empirical
claim, it strikes me as a rather
implausible empirical claim.
It's, sadly enough,
not too difficult to describe
cases in which the results may
actually be better if the person
kills themself rather than
having their suffering continue.
It may be better for them and
better for their family.
On the other hand,
we certainly wouldn't want--if
we were utilitarians--we also
wouldn't want to go to the other
extreme and say suicide is
always morally acceptable,
because, of course,
to say that it's always morally
acceptable is to say that the
consequences are never bad when
you kill yourself.
And that's also pretty
obviously an implausible thing
to claim.
You guys are young,
you're healthy,
you've got a great future in
front of you.
If you were to kill yourself,
the results wouldn't be good.
The results would be worse
overall than if you had
refrained from killing yourself.
So, the utilitarian position is
in the middle.
It doesn't say suicide's never
acceptable, doesn't say suicide
is always acceptable.
It says, perhaps
unsurprisingly,
it's sometimes acceptable;
it depends on the facts.
It depends on the results.
It depends on comparing the
results of this action,
killing yourself,
to the alternatives open to
you.
We have to ask,
is your life worse than
nothing?
Is there some medical procedure
available to you that would cure
you?
If there is,
and even if your life is worse
than nothing,
that still doesn't make it the
best choice in terms of the
consequences.
Getting medical help is a
preferable choice in terms of
the consequences.
We can even think of cases
where your life is worse than
nothing, you'd be better off
dead,
and there is no medical
alternative of a cure available
to you, but for all that,
it still isn't morally
legitimate to kill yourself in
terms of the utilitarian
outlook.
Because, as always,
we have to think about the
consequences for others.
And there may be others who'd
be so adversely affected by your
death that the harm to them
outweighs the cost to you of
keeping yourself alive.
Suppose, for example,
that you're the single parent
of young children.
You've got a kind of moral
obligation to look after them.
If you were to die,
they'd really have it horribly.
It's conceivable then,
in cases like that,
the suffering of your children,
were you to kill yourself,
would outweigh the suffering
that you'd have to undergo were
you to keep yourself alive for
the sake of your children.
So, it all depends on the facts.
Still, if we accept the
utilitarian position,
we do end up with a moderate
conclusion.
In certain circumstances
suicide will be morally
justified--roughly speaking,
in those cases where you're
better off dead and the effects
on others aren't so great as to
outweigh that.
Those will be the paradigm
cases in which suicide makes
sense or is legitimate,
morally speaking,
from the utilitarian
perspective.
But of course,
that doesn't mean that suicide
is indeed ever morally
legitimate.
Because we don't necessarily
want to embrace the utilitarian
theory of morality.
Utilitarianism is what you get,
roughly speaking,
when we say consequences matter
and they're all that
matters.
But most of us are inclined to
think that there's more to
morality than consequences.
Most of us are inclined to
think that there are cases in
which actions can have bad
results--rather,
actions can have good results
and yet, for all that,
be morally forbidden.
Or actions could have bad
results and yet,
for all that,
still be morally required.
That's not to say that
consequences don't matter
morally;
it's to claim,
rather, that consequences
aren't the only thing
that matters morally.
Consequences can be outweighed
by other morally relevant
factors.
Well, that's the position
that's held by the branch of
moral theory known as
deontology.
So deontologists say other
things matter morally besides
consequences.
In deciding whether your action
is right or wrong,
you have to pay attention to
the consequences,
but you have to pay attention
to other things as well.
What other things?
Well, unsurprisingly,
this is an area then in which
different deontologists will
disagree one to the next in
terms of what else they want to
add to the list of morally
relevant factors.
But there's one kind of
additional factor that most of
us in our deontological moods
would want to add to the list,
and that's this--so one,
at any rate,
that's relevant I think,
most directly relevant for
thinking about suicide.
That factor is the factor of
not just what was the upshot of
your action but how you
produced that upshot;
not just what the results were,
but what was your means
of getting those results and
more particularly still,
did you have to harm
anybody to produce the results?
Most of us are inclined to
think it's wrong to harm people,
or at least innocent people.
It's wrong to harm innocent
people even if the results of
doing that might be good.
Now, I threw in the
qualification about innocent
people because,
of course, it's also true that
most of us are inclined to think
that self-defense might be
justified.
Harming people who are
attacking you or your friends or
your fellow countrymen--that may
be legitimate.
And so it's not as though we
want to say it's never
legitimate to harm somebody.
But those people are guilty;
they're aggressors.
What most of us in our
deontological moods are inclined
to think is it's never
legitimate to harm an
innocent person.
And the crucial point is that's
true even if the results would
be better.
Look, there's no debate between
deontologists and utilitarians
about harming innocent people in
the normal case,
because normally of course--you
know, suppose I,
to make an example--to end the
class with a nice big bang,
right--I brought my Uzi
sub-machine gun.
I now take it and go
rat-a-tat-tat,
killing 15 of you.
Well, that would not be
something that would have good
results.
And so, clearly,
the utilitarian is going to
reject that as well as the
deontologist.
They're in agreement about that.
In the typical case,
killing an innocent person has
bad results, harms them.
It's wrong, full stop,
we're done.
But what should we say about
cases where killing an innocent
person has better results?
In real life,
it's hard to think of cases
like that, but we can at least
go "science-fictiony" and tell
an example.
So, here is one of my favorite
examples in moral philosophy.
Suppose that we have five
patients in a hospital who are
going to die because of organ
failures of one sort or another.
One of them needs a heart
transplant, one of them needs a
kidney transplant,
one of them needs a liver
transplant, and so forth and so
on.
Unfortunately,
because of tissue
incompatibilities,
even as they begin to die we
can't use the organs from the
ones that have died to save the
others.
Meanwhile, here in the hospital
for a routine check-up is John.
John's perfectly healthy.
And as you're doing your exams
on him you discover that he's
exactly suitable to be an organ
donor for all five of the
patients.
And it occurs to you that if
you were to find some way to
kill him, but cover up the cause
of death so it looked like he
died of some unexpected freak
seizure,
you could then use his organs
to save the five.
This one gets the kidney,
that one gets the other kidney,
that one gets the heart,
that one gets the liver,
and that one gets the lungs.
So your choice,
roughly, is this.
Just give John his routine
medical exam,
in which case the five other
patients die,
or chop up John,
kill him and chop him up,
using his organs to save the
five patients.
Well, what should we say is the
right thing to do the organ
transplant case?
In terms of consequences it
looks as though,
if we tell the story right at
least, the results would be
better if we chop up John.
After all, it's one versus five.
And although the death of John
is a horrible bad result,
the death of the five is a
horrible bad result.
And so the results would be
better if we were to kill
innocent John.
Well, if we had more time we
could argue about are the
results really going to be
better,
is that a realistic story--what
have you--are there other
long-term effects on the
healthcare profession that we
haven't taken into account?
But we don't have time to
really pursue this story in
detail.
Let's just suppose we could
eventually get the details
right;
the results really would be
better if we chopped up John.
Is that the right thing to do?
Well, maybe utilitarianism says
it's the right thing to do,
but it's precisely for that
reason that most of us would
then say,
you know, there's more to
morality than what
utilitarianism says.
Now, whether that objection is
a good one is a very,
very complicated question,
and if you want--if you'd like
to pursue it--if you want to
pursue it--then I invite you to
take an introductory class in
moral philosophy.
For our purposes,
let's just suppose that most of
us are on board with the
deontologists when they say
there's more to morality than
what the utilitarian has,
and this example brings it out.
It's wrong to kill somebody who
is innocent even though by
hypothesis the results would be
better--it's five to one.
People have a right to life,
a right not to be killed.
And that right weighs in when
we're deciding what to do
morally, so that it's wrong to
kill an innocent person even if
the results really would be
better.
All right, let's suppose we
agree with that--accept that.
Again, in a fuller class on
moral philosophy we'd have to
ask ourselves what is the basis
of that right,
what other deontological rights
do people have,
what exactly are the contours
of that right?
But here we can just ask,
suppose we accept a right like
that, what are the implications
of that for the morality of
suicide?
And now, it seems what we have
to say is, suicide is wrong.
Suicide is morally unacceptable.
Because when I kill myself,
well, I'm killing somebody.
And didn't we just say as
deontologists that killing an
innocent person--and I'm an
innocent person--killing an
innocent person is morally
wrong?
Well, I'm a person.
So, killing me is
morally wrong.
And it's not really any help to
come back and say,
but look, we've stipulated that
this is a case where the person
is better off dead.
The results will really be
better overall if he kills
himself.
Yeah, that's right.
Maybe that is right.
It doesn't matter--because as
deontologists we said the right
to life is so powerful it
outweighs consequences.
Just as it was wrong to chop up
John, even though the results
would be better--five versus
one--it's wrong to kill
yourself,
 even if the results would
be better.
Even if that's the only way to
put yourself out of pain,
and those are good results,
it doesn't matter.
The right to life outweighs the
appeal to consequences.
So as deontologists,
it seems, we have to say
suicide is forbidden--full stop.
Well, as usual in philosophy,
it's not quite as simple as
that.
One possible response somebody
might make is,
but look, morality is only
about how I treat others.
It's not about how I treat
myself.
And if we were to accept that
claim, then we could say the
right to life only covers how I
treat others.
In particular,
it rules out my killing other
people even when the results
would be good.
But it doesn't have any
implications for how I treat
myself.
And in particular then,
if the right to life doesn't
exclude self-killing,
well then, suicide is
acceptable.
That's a possible moral view,
but I find it rather
implausible.
If we were to start to explain
what it is about you that
explains why it's wrong for me
to kill you,
we'd start saying things about
how, well, you're a person and,
as such, you've got all these
plans and so forth and so on.
And as a person,
you've got certain rights,
certain things that shouldn't
be done to you.
You're not just,
--This is the thought that lies
behind much deontological
thinking, right?
People aren't objects.
We can't just destroy them for
the sake of better results.
Well, that's right;
people aren't objects.
But of course, I'm a person too.
And so when I contemplate
killing myself,
I'm contemplating destroying a
person.
So, it's at least difficult to
see why we would accept the
claim that morality only governs
how I treat other people.
It seems--although the issue is
a complicated one,
which we don't have time to
pursue further today--it seems
to me more plausible to say
morality includes rules not only
governing how I treat others but
also how I treat myself.
Yet, if that's right,
and if among the moral rules
are a right to life,
a prohibition against harming
people,
then don't we have to say,
look, it's wrong from the
deontological perspective to
kill yourself.
Well, of course,
the natural response to this
line of thought is to say,
but look,
when I kill myself--unlike the
case of chopping up John to save
five others--when I kill myself,
I'm doing it for my own
sake.
I'm harming myself for my
own sake.
That seems highly relevant in
thinking about the morality of
suicide.
It does seem relevant,
though it's not 100 % clear
what to do with that thought.
Here are two possible
interpretations of that thought.
First of all,
you might think that the
relevance of saying that I'm
harming myself for my own sake
is this.
If I'm harming myself for my
own sake, what I'm saying is,
despite the fact that I'm
harming myself,
I'm better off.
After all, we stipulated that
we were focusing on cases in
which suicide was rational.
So, the person is better off
dead.
If they're better off dead,
then although it's certainly
true that there's a sense in
which they're harming
themself--I mean killing
yourself is doing harm to
yourself--still it's not harm
overall.
The bottom line,
we were imagining,
is positive when you kill
yourself.
And so, although,
unlike the case of John where
you've harmed him and benefited
others--so you have harmed him
overall--in the case of suicide,
when I harm myself to avoid the
suffering I would otherwise go
through, I'm not really,
as we might say,
harming myself overall.
So, perhaps the deontological
prohibition against harm is
really a prohibition against
harming people overall.
Look, you've got some sort of a
disease in your--infection in
your leg that has now spread and
it's going to kill you unless we
amputate your leg.
So, you go into surgery and the
surgeon chops off your leg.
Has he done something immoral?
It doesn't seem as though he
has.
But after all,
he chopped off your leg!
He harmed you!
You used to have a leg and now
you don't have one.
Well, what we want to say is he
didn't harm you overall.
He harmed you in such a way
that it was the only way to
leave you better off bottom
line, and that's not a violation
of the rule against harming.
At least, that's a possible
thing to say.
And if that's the right thing
to say, then maybe that's what
we should say about the suicide
case yet again.
Yeah, there's a deontological
prohibition against harming
innocent people,
but what it's really a
prohibition against,
is leaving them worse off
overall.
And when I kill myself,
I'm not leaving myself worse
off overall.
And if that's right,
then even from the
deontological perspective
suicide may be morally
legitimate.
Well, that's at least one
possible way to carry out the
deontological stand,
one possible way of
interpreting the remark,
"But look, when I kill myself,
I'm doing it for my own
benefit."
Here's another possible way of
interpreting that thought.
When I kill myself,
given that I'm doing it for my
own benefit, I've obviously got
my own agreement.
I can't kill myself against my
will.
Suicide is something you do to
yourself.
And so, I have my own consent
to what I'm doing.
That seems pretty important.
Notice how different it is from
the case of John.
When I chopped up John,
I imagine I don't have John's
approval.
Consent seems to be present in
the case of suicide but not in
the case of chopping up John.
Maybe that's morally relevant
as well.
Now, to accept that view is,
of course, to say we need to
add yet another factor into our
deontological theory.
We have consequences,
we have harm doing,
but we also have the factor of
consent.
And so we need to think about
the moral relevance of having
the consent of the victim.
And once we start thinking
about that, I think most of us
would be inclined to accept the
conclusion that consent can make
it acceptable to do to someone
what would normally be wrong in
the absence of their consent.
By the by, you'll notice that
that seems to be one of the
things that's relevant in
thinking about the surgery case,
not the organ transplant case
but the performing the
amputation of the leg,
to save the person who would
otherwise die.
Surely it seems relevant that
the patient has given you
permission to operate on them.
Here's another example that
shows you the relevance of
consent.
It would not be okay--it would
not be morally acceptable for me
to go up and hit you in the
nose.
Just like it wouldn't be okay
for you to go up and hit me in
the face or the gut.
And yet, boxing matches are,
I suppose, morally acceptable.
Why is that?
Because from a deontological
perspective the answer is,
when people are boxing they've
agreed to it.
I give you permission to hit
me, or at least to try to hit
me, in exchange for your giving
me permission to hit you,
or at least to try to hit you.
And it's the presence of that
consent that makes it
permissible for you to harm me,
assuming that you're a better
boxer than I am,
which I'm confident would have
to be the case.
So, consent makes it legitimate
to harm people,
even though in the absence of
consent it wouldn't be
legitimate.
All right, if that's right,
then bring that thought home to
thinking about the case of
suicide.
Suicide might be wrong,
because after all I'm a person,
at first glance.
But since I'm killing myself,
I've given myself permission.
I've given myself consent to
harm myself.
And if consent makes it
permissible to do what would
normally be forbidden,
then consent makes it
permissible for me to kill
myself.
And so, now we're led again to
the conclusion that from a more
fully developed deontological
perspective we ought to say
suicide is permissible,
at least if we're prepared to
throw in this kind of factor of
consent and think that it can
just wipe out the protections
that would otherwise normally be
in place.
Indeed, if we think that,
we're going to be led to a
rather bold and extreme
conclusion about the morality of
suicide.
The person has killed himself,
so he's clearly consented,
and so in every case
what he's done is acceptable.
Well, maybe that's right--if
we're prepared to go that far
with the principle of consent.
But maybe we shouldn't go that
far with the principle of
consent.
Suppose we're talking after
class and you say to me,
"Shelly, you've got my
permission to kill me."
And so I get out my gun and I
shoot you to death.
It doesn't seem morally
acceptable, even though you gave
me your permission,
especially--Think of even
weirder cases.
Suppose that you are feeling
like you want to killed because
you're overcome with guilt
because you believe you killed
John Smith.
But you're crazy.
You didn't kill John Smith.
John Smith's not even dead.
But in your insanity you think
you did do it,
and so you say,
"Shelly, please kill me."
And I know that you're insane,
but hey, you know,
consent's consent,
and so I kill you.
Well, that clearly isn't
acceptable.
Or suppose you're playing with
your three-year-old nephew.
He says, "Oh yeah,
I don't really like being
alive.
Kill me."
Well, that clearly doesn't make
it acceptable to kill him or
her--well, nephew,
it's a him.
So, if we start accepting this
consent principle,
we're led to some pretty
implausible conclusions.
So, maybe we should throw it
out.
Maybe we should say,
no, consent really doesn't have
the kind of power that a minute
ago it looked like it did.
But I'm inclined to think we
shouldn't go that far and throw
away the consent principle
altogether.
Because if we do throw out the
consent principle,
we're going to find ourselves
unable to say some things that I
think it's pretty important to
us to say.
Consider the following example.
Suppose that we're in war and
we're in the foxhole and a hand
grenade has been thrown into the
foxhole.
And unless something happens
quick, the hand grenade is going
to blow up and it will kill my
five buddies who are near the
hand grenade.
Unfortunately,
because they're playing cards
or whatever, they don't see it.
But I see it.
But I don't have time to warn
them.
By the time I tell them what's
going on, they won't have time
to react.
Really, it's do nothing,
let them get killed but I
probably won't be hurt very
much,
or throw myself on the hand
grenade, my body absorbs the
blow, saves my buddies,
kills me.
Imagine what happens is that I
throw myself on the hand
grenade.
I've sacrificed myself for them.
I've done something amazing.
Few of us would have it within
ourselves to do this,
but amazingly enough some
people do.
And we admire and praise these
people.
They've committed--they've
undertaken an incredible act of
heroic self-sacrifice--morally
commendable,
above and beyond the call of
duty we want to say,
praiseworthy.
But wait a minute,
how could it be praiseworthy?
The person threw himself on a
hand grenade,
knowing the result of this was
that he was going to die.
And so he killed a person,
thereby, apparently,
violating the deontological
right not to have innocent
people be killed.
Don't talk about "the results
are better."
Yeah, of course,
five buddies saved;
the results are better.
But that doesn't seem enough to
use in our deontological moods.
After all, suppose that I see
the hand grenade,
and so what I do is I take
Jones and throw him on the
grenade.
Well, that's not okay,
even though the results are the
same.
What makes the difference?
Why is it morally legitimate
for Jones to throw himself on
the grenade?
The only answer that I can see
is, because he agrees to it.
He did it to himself;
he volunteered,
it has his consent.
If we throw away the consent
principle, we're forced to say
what Jones did isn't morally
admirable.
It's morally appalling,
it's morally forbidden.
I can't believe that.
So, we need a consent principle.
But on the other hand,
we don't want to go with such a
strong consent principle that we
say,
oh, it's okay to kill crazy
people, or kill children,
just because they say,
"Oh, kill me."
So we need something--a more
moderate form of the consent
principle.
We need to say consent can do
its thing, but only under
certain conditions.
What exactly are the relevant
conditions?
Well, this is,
of course, one more topic open
for debate.
We might insist that,
look, the permission has got to
be given freely.
It's got to be given knowing
what the upshots are going to
be.
It's got to be given by
somebody who is sane,
who is rational,
who is competent,
who's--and that may deal with
the child case as well,
who is not yet competent to
make this sort of decision.
There's room for disagreement
about what exactly are the
relevant conditions to put into
a proper version of the consent
principle.
We might also want to throw in
some requirement that the person
have good reasons for his giving
you permission.
That might deal with the case
where you just come up to me
after class and say,
"Kill me."
I mean you're not insane.
Well, at least you might not be
insane.
You know what's going to happen.
In some sense,
you've reached the age of
competence, but you don't have
any good reasons for it.
Maybe that's enough to
undermine the force of consent.
Well, suppose we've got some
kind of modified consent
principle.
What should we say about
suicide then?
Well, it seems to me what we're
led to is, once again,
a modest view about suicide.
The mere fact that the person
killed themself won't show that
it was morally legitimate
because,
of course, even though they've
given themself permission,
they may not have had,
for example,
good reason,
or they might be insane.
But for all that,
if we can have cases--and I
take it we can have
cases--where somebody rationally
assesses their situation,
sees that they're better off
dead, thinks the case through,
doesn't rush into it,
makes an informed and voluntary
decision, with good reason
behind it--in a situation like
that it seems to me the consent
principle might well come into
play,
in which case consent will
trump or nullify the force of
the deontological prohibition
against harming innocent people.
So, suicide will again be
acceptable in some cases,
though not in all.
And that's the conclusion that
seems to me to be the right one,
whether we accept the
utilitarian position or one of
these deontological positions.
Suicide isn't always
legitimate, but it's
sometimes legitimate.
It still leaves the question,
what should we do when we see,
when we come across,
somebody trying to kill
themself?"
And there I think there is good
reason to ask yourself,
are you confident that the
person has satisfied the
conditions on the consent
principle?
Perhaps we should err on the
side of caution,
and assume that the person may
be acting under distress,
not thinking clearly,
not informed,
not altogether competent,
not acting for good reasons.
But to accept that is not to
accept the stronger conclusion
that we must never permit
somebody to kill themself.
If we become convinced that
they have thought it through,
that they do have good reason,
that they are informed,
that they are acting
voluntarily, in some such cases
it may be legitimate for them to
kill themself,
and for us to let them.
All right, almost out of time.
So, let me shift gears for the
very last time,
and take a quick look at where
we've been.
At the start of the semester,
I invited you to think hard
about the nature of death or the
facts about life and death.
Most of us try very hard to not
think hard about death.
It seems to be an unpleasant
topic, and we put it out of our
mind.
We don't think about it,
even when there's a sense in
which it's staring us in the
face.
Every single class of this
semester, every single day of
this semester,
you've come into this building
and have walked past a cemetery
right across the street.
How many times did you notice
it?
How many times did you stop to
think about the complete visual
reminder that we are on this
Earth for a while,
and then we're not anymore?
Most of us just don't think
about it.
Well, of course you are,
in some sense,
the exceptions.
You've spent a semester
thinking about it,
and I'll be largely content if
you've taken the opportunity
this semester to take a hard
look at the things you believe.
Whether or not you ended up
agreeing with me,
about the various claims that
I've put forward,
is less important than that
you've taken the chance to take
a hard look at your beliefs and
asked yourself not just what you
hoped or wished or kind of
believed was true,
but what you could actually
defend.
Still, having said that,
it would be disingenuous of me
to pretend that I don't also
hope that you've come around--if
you didn't start out believing
what I believe--that you've come
around to believing what I
believe.
As I pointed out on the first
day, most people accept a great
deal of this package of beliefs
about the nature of life and
death,
that--They believe we have a
soul, that there's something
more to us than our bodies.
And they believe that because
they think, given the existence
of a soul, we'll have the
possibility of living forever.
Immortality is a possibility,
and we all hope for and crave
the possibility that we will
live forever because death is,
and must be,
horrible.
It's so horrible that we try
not to think about it.
It's so horrible that when we
do think about it we're filled
with dread, terror and fear.
And it's just obvious that
that's the only sensible
reaction to the facts about life
and death.
Life is so incredible that
under no circumstances could it
ever make sense to be glad that
it had come to an end.
Immortality would be desirable;
suicide could never be a
reasonable response.
Over the course of this
semester, I've argued that that
package of beliefs,
common as it may be,
is mistaken,
virtually from start to finish.
There is no soul,
we are just machines.
We're not just any old machine;
we are amazing machines.
We are machines capable of
loving, capable of dreaming,
capable of being creative,
capable of making plans and
sharing them with others.
We are people.
But we're just machines anyway.
And when the machine breaks,
that's the end.
Death is not some big mystery
which we can't get our heads
around.
Death is in some sense no more
mysterious than the fact that
your lamp can break,
or your computer can break,
or any other machine will
eventually fail.
I never meant to claim that
it's not regrettable that we die
the way we do.
As I argued when talking about
immortality, better still would
be if only we had the prospect
of living as long as life still
had something left to offer us.
As long as life would be good
overall, death is bad,
and I think for most of us
death comes too soon.
But having said that,
it doesn't follow that
immortality would be a good
thing.
On the contrary,
immortality would be a bad
thing.
The reaction that makes sense
in thinking about the facts of
death is not to find it as some
great mystery too dreadful to
think about,
too overwhelming.
But rather, fear,
far from being the rationally
appropriate response I think,
is an inappropriate
response.
Although we can be sad that we
die too soon,
that perhaps should be balanced
by the fact of--the recognition
of--just how incredibly lucky we
all are to have been alive at
all.
Yet, at the same time,
recognizing that sense of luck
and being fortunate doesn't mean
that we're always lucky to be
remaining alive.
For some of us the time will
come in which that's no longer
true, and when that happens life
is not something to be held
onto,
come what may,
under any and all
circumstances.
The time could come for some of
us in which it's time to let go.
What I then invited you to do,
over the course of the
semester, is not only to think
for yourself about the facts of
life and death,
but I invite you all to come to
face death without fear and
without illusion.
Thanks very much [applause].
