LETTER CXIV.
To Lord B—.

YES, my Lord, I confeſs it; the weight of life is too heavy for my ſoul. I have long endured it as a burden; I have loſt eve⯑ry thing which could make it dear to me, and nothing remains but irkſomeneſs and vexation. I am told, however, that I am not at liberty to diſpoſe of my life, without the permiſſion of that Being from whom I received it. I am ſenſible likewiſe that you have a right over it by more titles than one. Your care has twice preſerved it, and your goodneſs is its conſtant ſecurity. I will ne⯑ver [68] diſpoſe of it, till I am certain that I may do it without a crime, and till I have not the leaſt hope of employing it for your ſer⯑vice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is one of the quibbles of the Phaedo, which, in other reſpects, abounds with ſublime truths. If your ſlave deſtroys himſelf, ſays Socrates to Cebes, would you not puniſh him, for having unjuſtly deprived you of your pro⯑perty; [73] prithee, good Socrates, do we not be⯑long to God after we are dead? The caſe you put is not applicable; you ought to argue thus: if you incumber your ſlave with a habit which confines him from diſcharging his duty pro⯑perly, will you puniſh him for quitting it, in order to render you better ſervice? the grand error lies in making life of too great impor⯑tance; as if our exiſtence depended upon it, and that death was a total annihilation. Our life is of no conſequence in the ſight of God; it is of no importance in the eyes of reaſon, neither ought it to be of any in our ſight; when we quit our body, we only lay aſide an incon⯑venient habit. Is this circumſtance ſo pain⯑ful, to be the occaſion of ſo much diſturbance? my Lord, theſe declaimers are not in earneſt. Their arguments are abſurd and cruel, for they aggravate the ſuppoſed crime, as if it put a pe⯑riod to exiſtence, and they puniſh it, as if that exiſtence was eternal.

With reſpect to Plato's Phaedo, which has furniſhed them with the only ſpecious argu⯑ment that has ever been advanced, the queſtion [74] is diſcuſſed there in a very light and deſultory manner. Socrates being condemned, by an un⯑juſt judgment, to loſe his life in a few hours, had no occaſion to enter into an accurate enquiry whether he was at liberty to diſpoſe of it him⯑ſelf. Suppoſing him really to have been the author of thoſe diſcourſes which Plato aſcribes to him, yet believe me, my lord, he would have meditated with more attention on the ſub⯑ject, had he been in circumſtances which re⯑quired him to reduce his ſpeculations to prac⯑tice; and a ſtrong proof that no valid objec⯑tion can be drawn from that immortal work againſt the right of diſpoſing of our own lives, is, that Cato read it twice through the very night that he deſtroyed himſelf.

The ſame ſophiſters make it a queſtion whe⯑ther life can ever be an evil? but when we conſider the multitude of errors, torments, and vices, with which it abounds, one would ra⯑ther be inclined to doubt whether it can ever be a bleſſing. Guilt inceſſantly beſieges the moſt virtuous of mankind. Every moment he lives he is in danger of falling a prey to the wicked, or of being wicked himſelf. To [75] ſtruggle and to endure, is his lot in this world; that of the diſhoneſt man is to do evil, and to ſuffer. In every other particular they differ, and only agree in ſharing the mi⯑ſeries of life in common. If you required au⯑thorities and facts, I could recite you the ora⯑cles of old, the anſwers of the ſages, and pro⯑duce inſtances where acts of virtue have been recompenſed with death. But let us leave theſe conſiderations, my lord; it is to you whom I addreſs myſelf, and I aſk you what is the chief attention of a wiſe man in this life, except, if I may be allowed the expreſſion, to collect himſelf inwardly, and endeavour, e⯑ven while he lives, to be dead to every object of ſenſe? The only way by which wiſdom di⯑rects us to avoid the miſeries of human nature, is it not to detach ourſelves from all earthly objects, from every thing that is groſs in our compoſition, to retire within ourſelves, and to raiſe our thoughts to ſublime contemplations? If therefore our misfortunes are derived from our paſſions and errors, with what eagerneſs ſhould we wiſh for a ſtate which will deliver us both from the one and the other? What is [76] the fate of thoſe ſons of ſenſuality, who indiſ⯑creetly multiply their torments by their plea⯑ſures? they in fact deſtroy their exiſtence by extending their connections in this life; they increaſe the weight of their crimes by their nu⯑merous attachments; they reliſh no enjoy⯑ments, but what are ſucceeded by a thouſand bitter wants; the more lively their ſenſibi⯑lity, the more acute their ſufferings; the ſtron⯑ger they are attached to life, the more wretch⯑ed they become.

But admitting it, in general, a benefit to man⯑kind to crawl upon the earth with gloomy ſad⯑neſs, I do not mean to intimate that the human race ought with one common conſent to de⯑ſtroy themſelves, and make the world one im⯑menſe grave. But there are miſerable beings, who are too much exalted to be governed by vulgar opinion; to them deſpair and grievous torments are the paſſports of nature. It would be as ridiculous to ſuppoſe that life can be a bleſſing to ſuch men, as it was abſurd in the ſophiſter Poſſidonius to deny that is was an [77] evil, at the ſame time that he endured all the torments of the gout. While life is agreeable to us, we earneſtly wiſh to prolong it, and no⯑thing but a ſenſe of extreme miſery can extin⯑guiſh the deſire of exiſtence; for we natural⯑ly conceive a violent dread of death, and this dread conceals the miſeries of human nature from our ſight. We drag a painful and me⯑lancholy life, for a long time before we can reſolve to quit it; but when once life becomes ſo inſupportable as to overcome the horror of death, then exiſtence is evidently a great evil, and we cannot diſengage ourſelves from it too ſoon. Therefore, though we cannot ex⯑actly aſcertain the point at which it ceaſes to be a bleſſing, yet at leaſt we are certain that it is an evil long before it appears to be ſuch, and with every ſenſible man the right of quit⯑ting life is, by a great deal, precedent to the temptation.

This is not all. After they have denied that life can be an evil, in order to bar our right of making away with ourſelves; they confeſs immediately afterwards that it is an [78] evil, by reproaching us with want of courage to ſupport it. According to them, it is cowar⯑dice to withdraw ourſelves from pain and trouble, and there are none but daſtards who deſtroy themſelves. O Rome, thou vic⯑trix of the world, what a race of cowards did thy empire produce! let Arria, Eponina, Lu⯑cretia, be of the number; they were women. But Brutus, Caſſius, and thou great and di⯑vine Cato, who didſt ſhare with the gods the adoration of an aſtoniſhed world, thou whoſe ſacred and auguſt preſence animated the Ro⯑mans with holy zeal, and made tyrants trem⯑ble, little did thy proud admirers imagine that paltry rhetoricians, immured in the duſty cor⯑ner of a college, would ever attempt to prove that thou wert a coward, for having preferred death to a ſhameful exiſtence.

O the dignity and energy of your modern writers! how ſublime, how intrepid are you with your pens? but tell me, thou great and valiant hero, who doſt ſo courageouſly decline the battle, in order to endure the pain of li⯑ving ſomewhat longer; when a ſpark of fire [79] lights upon your hand, why do you with⯑draw it in ſuch haſte? how? are you ſuch a coward that you dare not bear the ſcorching of fire? nothing, you ſay, can oblige you to endure the burning ſpark; and what obliges me to endure life? was the creation of a man of more difficulty to Providence, than that of a ſtraw? and is not both one and the other equally the work of his hands?

Without doubt, it is an evidence of great fortitude to bear with firmneſs the miſery which we cannot ſhun; none but a fool, how⯑ever, will voluntarily endure evils which he can avoid without a crime; and it is very often a great crime to ſuffer pain unneceſſarily. He who has not reſolution to deliver himſelf from a miſerable being by a ſpeedy death, is like one who would rather ſuffer a wound to mortify, than truſt to a ſurgeon's knife for his cure. Come, thou worthy—out off this leg, which endangers my life. I will ſee it done without ſhrinking, and will give that hero leave to call me coward, who ſuffers his leg to mortify, becauſe he dares not undergo the ſame operation.

[80] I acknowledge that there are duties owing to others, the nature of which will not allow every man to diſpoſe of his life; but, in return, how many are there which give him a right to diſpoſe of it? let a magiſtrate on whom the welfare of a nation depends, let a father of a family who is bound to procure ſubſiſtence for his children, let a debtor who might ruin his creditors, let theſe at all events diſcharge their duty; ad⯑mitting a thouſand other civil and domeſtic relations to oblige an honeſt and unfortunate man to ſupport the miſery of life, to avoid the greater evil of doing injuſtice; is it, there⯑fore, under circumſtances totally different, in⯑cumbent on us to preſerve a life oppreſſed with a ſwarm of miſeries, when it can be of no ſervice but to him who has not courage to die? ‘"Kill me, my child,"’ ſays the decrepid ſavage to his ſon, who carries him on his ſhoulders, and bends under his weight; the ‘"enemy is at hand; go to battle with thy brethren; go and preſerve thy children, and do not ſuffer thy helpleſs father to fall [81] alive into the hands of thoſe whoſe relations he has mangled."’ Though hunger, ſick⯑neſs, and poverty, thoſe domeſtic plagues, more dreadful than ſavage enemies, may al⯑low a wretched cripple to conſume, in a ſick bed, the proviſions of a family which can ſcarce ſubſiſt itſelf, yet he who has no con⯑nections, whom heaven has reduced to the neceſſity of living alone, whoſe wretched ex⯑iſtence can produce no good, why ſhould not he, at leaſt, have the right of quitting a ſtati⯑on, where his complaints are troubleſome, and his ſufferings of no benefit?

Weigh theſe conſiderations, my lord; col⯑lect theſe arguments, and you will find that they may be reduced to the moſt ſimple of na⯑ture's rights, of which no man of ſenſe ever yet entertained a doubt. In fact, why ſhould we be allowed to cure ourſelves of the gout, and not to get rid of the miſery of life? do not both evils proceed from the ſame hand? to what purpoſe is it to ſay, that death is painful? are drugs agreeable to be taken? no, nature revolts againſt both. Let them prove there⯑fore [82] that it is more juſtifiable to cure a tranſi⯑ent diſorder by the application of remedies, than to free ourſelves from an incurable evil by putting an end to our life; and let them ſhew how it can be leſs criminal to uſe the bark for a fever, than to take opium for the ſtone. If we conſider the object in view, it is in both caſes to free ourſelves from painful ſenſations; if we regard the means, both one and the other are equally natural; if we conſider the repugnance of our nature, it ope⯑rates equally on both ſides; if we attend to the will of providence, can we ſtruggle againſt any evil of which it is not the author? can we deliver ourſelves from any torment which the hand of God has not inflicted? what are the bounds which limit his power, and when is reſiſtance lawful? are we then to make no alteration in the condition of things, becauſe every thing is in the ſtate he appointed? muſt we do nothing in this life, for fear of infring⯑ing his laws, or is it in our power to break them if we would? no, my lord, the occupa⯑tion of man is more great and noble. God did not give him life that he ſhould ſu⯑pinely [83] remain in a ſtate of conſtant inactivity. But he gave him freedom to act, conſcience to will, and reaſon to chooſe what is good. He has conſtituted him ſole judge of all his actions. He has engraved this precept in his heart, Do whatever you conceive to be for your own good, provided you thereby do no injury to others. If my ſenſations tell me that death is eligible, I reſiſt his orders by an obſtinate re⯑ſolution to live; for, by making death deſira⯑ble, he directs me to put an end to my be⯑ing.

My lord, I appeal to your wiſdom and can⯑dour; what more infallible maxims can rea⯑ſon deduce from religion, with reſpect to ſu⯑icide? If Chriſtians have adopted contrary te⯑nets, they are neither drawn from the prin⯑ciples of religion, nor from the only ſureguide, the Scriptures, but borrowed from the Pagan philoſophers. Lactantius and Auguſtine, the firſt who propagated this new doctrine, of which Jeſus Chriſt and his apoſtles take no notice, ground their arguments entirely on the reaſoning of Phaedo, which I have alrea⯑dy [84] controverted; ſo that the believers, who, in this reſpect, think they are ſupported by the authority of the Goſpel, are in fact only countenaced by the authority of Plato. In truth, where do we find, throughout the whole bible any law againſt ſuicide, or ſo much as a bare diſapprobation of it; and is it not very unaccountable, that among the inſtan⯑ces produced of perſons who devoted them⯑ſelves to death, we do not find the leaſt word of improbation againſt examples of this kind? nay, what is more, the inſtance of Samſon's voluntary death is authorized by a miracle, by which he revenges himſelf of his enemies. Would this miracle have been diſplayed to juſtify a crime; and would this man, who loſt his ſtrength by ſuffering himſelf to be ſeduced by the allurements of a woman, have recovered it to commit an authoriſed crime, as if God himſelf would practice deceit on men?

Thou ſhalt do no murder, ſays the deca⯑logue; what are we to infer from this? if this commandment is to be taken literally, we [85] muſt not deſtroy malefactors, nor our enemies: and Moſes, who put ſo many people to death, was a bad interpreter of his own precept. If there are any exceptions, certainly the firſt muſt be in favour of ſuicide, becauſe it is ex⯑empt from any degree of violence and injuſ⯑tice, the two only circumſtances which can make homicide criminal; and becauſe nature, moreover, has, in this reſpect, thrown ſuffici⯑ent obſtacles in the way.

But ſtill they tell us, we muſt patiently endure the evils which God inflicts, and make a merit of our ſufferings. This appli⯑cation however of the maxims of Chriſtianity, is very ill calculated to ſatisfy our judgment. Man is ſubject to a thouſand troubles, his life is a complication of evils, and he ſeems to have been born only to ſuffer. Reaſon di⯑rects him to ſhun as many of theſe evils as he can avoid; and religion, which is never in contradiction to reaſon, approves of his endea⯑vours. But how inconſiderable is the account of theſe evils, in compariſon with thoſe he is obliged to endure againſt his will? It is with [86] reſpect to theſe, that a merciful God allows man to claim the merit of reſiſtance; he receives the tribute he has been pleaſed to impoſe, as a voluntary homage, and he places our reſigna⯑tion in this life to our profit in the next. True repentance is derived from nature; if man endures whatever he is obliged to ſuffer, he does, in this reſpect, all that God requires of him; and if any one is ſo inflated with pride, as to attempt more, he is a madman, who ought to be confined, or an impoſtor, who ought to be puniſhed. Let us, therefore, with⯑out ſcruple, fly from all the evils we can a⯑void; there will ſtill be too many left for us to endure. Let us, without remorſe, quit life itſelf when it becomes a torment to us, ſince it is in our own power to do it, and that in ſo doing we neither offend God nor man. If we would offer a ſacrifice to the ſupreme Being, is it nothing to undergo death? let us devote to God that which he demands by the voice of reaſon, and into his hands let us peaceably ſurrender our ſouls.

Such are the liberal precepts which good [87] ſenſe dictates to every man, and which religi⯑on authoriſes^*. Let us apply theſe precepts to ourſelves. You have condeſcended to diſ⯑cloſe your mind to me; I am acquainted with your uneaſineſs; you do not endure leſs than myſelf; and your troubles, like mine, are incurable; and they are the more remedi⯑leſs, [88] as the laws of honour are more immuta⯑ble than thoſe of fortune. You bear them, I muſt confeſs, with fortitude. Virtue ſupports you; advance but one ſtep farther, and ſhe diſ⯑engages you. You intreat me to ſuffer; my lord, I dare importune you to put an end to your ſufferings; and I leave you to judge which of us is moſt dear to the other.

Why ſhould we delay doing that which we muſt do at laſt? ſhall we wait till old age and decrepid baſeneſs attach us to life, after they have robbed it of its charms, and till we are doomed to drag an infirm and decrepid body with labour, and ignominy, and pain? We are at an age when the ſoul has vigour to diſ⯑engage itſelf with eaſe from its ſhackles, and when a man knows how to die as he ought; when farther advanced in years, he ſuffers himſelf to be torn from life, which he quits with reluctance. Let us take advantage of this time, when the tedium of life makes death deſirable; and let us tremble for fear it ſhould come in all its horrors, at the mo⯑ment when we could wiſh to avoid it. I re⯑member [89] the time, when I prayed to heaven only for a ſingle hour of life, and when I ſhould have died in deſpair if it had not been granted. Ah! what a pain it is to burſt a⯑ſunder the ties which attach our hearts to this world, and how adviſable it is to quit life the moment the connection is broken! I am ſen⯑ſible, my lord, that we are both worthy of a purer manſion; virtue points it out, and deſtiny invites us to ſeek it. May the friend⯑ſhip which invites us preſerve our union to the lateſt hour! O what a pleaſure for two ſin⯑cere friends voluntary to end their days in each others arms, to intermingle their lateſt breath, and at the ſame inſtant to give up the ſoul which they ſhared in common! What pain, what regret can infect their laſt mo⯑ments? What do they quit by taking leave of the world? They go together; they quit no⯑thing.

LETTER CXV.
ANSWER.

THOU art diſtracted, my friend, by a fatal paſſion; be more diſcreet; do not give counſel, whilſt thou ſtandeth ſo much in need of advice. I have known greater e⯑vils than yours. I am armed with fortitude of mind; I am an Engliſhman, and not afraid to die; but I know how to live and ſuffer as be⯑comes a man. I have ſeen death near at hand, and have viewed it with too much indifference to go in ſearch of it.

It is true, I thought you might be of uſe to me; my affection ſtood in need of yours: your endeavours might have been ſerviceable to me; your underſtanding might have en⯑lightened me in the moſt important concern of my life; if I do not avail myſelf of it, who are you to impute it to? Where is it? What [91] is become of it? What are your capable of? Of what uſe can you be in your preſent con⯑dition? What ſervice can I expect from you? A ſenſeleſs grief renders you ſtupid and un⯑concerned. Thou art no man; thou art no⯑thing; and if I did not conſider what thou mighteſt be, I cannot conceive any thing more abject.

There is need of no other proof than your letter itſelf. Formerly I could diſcover in you good ſenſe and truth. Your ſentiments were juſt, your reflections proper, and I liked you not only from judgment but choice; for I conſidered your influence as an additional motive to excite me to the ſtudy of wiſdom. But what do I perceive now in the arguments of your letter, with which you appear to be ſo highly ſatisfied? A wretched and perpetu⯑al ſophiſtry, which in the erroneous deviations of your reaſon ſhews the diſorder of your mind, and which I would not ſtoop to refute, if I did not commiſerate your delirium.

[92] To ſubvert all your reaſoning with one word, I would only aſk you a ſingle queſtion. You who believe in the exiſtence of a God, in the immortality of the ſoul, and in the free⯑will of man, you ſurely cannot ſuppoſe that an intelligent being is embodied, and ſtation⯑ed on the earth by accident only, to exiſt, to ſuffer, and to die. It is certainly moſt pro⯑bable that the life of man is not without ſome deſign, ſome end, ſome moral object. I in⯑treat you to give me a direct anſwer to this point; after which we will deliberately exa⯑mine your letter, and you will bluſh to have written it.

But let us wave all general maxims, about which we often hold violent diſputes, with⯑out adopting any of them in practice; for in their applications we always find ſome parti⯑cular circumſtances which makes ſuch an al⯑teration in the ſtate of things, that every one thinks himſelf diſpenſed from ſubmitting to the rules which he preſcribes to others; and it is well known, that every man who eſta⯑bliſhes [93] general principles deems them obliga⯑tory on all the world, himſelf excepted. Once more let us ſpeak to you in particular.

You believe that you have a right to put an end to your being. Your proof is of a very ſingular nature; ‘"becauſe I am diſpoſed to die, ſay you, I have a right to deſtroy my⯑ſelf."’ This is certainly a very convenient ar⯑gument for villains of all kinds: they ought to be very thankful to you for the arms with which you have furniſhed them; there can be no crimes, which, according to your argu⯑ments, may not be juſtified by the temptation to perpetrate them; and as ſoon as the im⯑petuoſity of paſſion ſhall prevail over the hor⯑ror of guilt, their diſpoſition to do evil will be conſidered as a right to commit it.

Is it lawful for you therefore to quit life? I ſhould be glad to know whether you have begun to live? what! was you placed here on earth to do nothing in this world? did not heaven when it gave you exiſtence give you ſome taſk or employment? If you have [94] accompliſhed your day's work before evening, reſt yourſelf for the remainder of the day; you have a right to do it; but let us ſee your work. What anſwer are you prepared to make the ſupreme Judge, when he demands an account of your time? Tell me, what can you ſay to him?—I have ſeduced a virtu⯑ous girl: I have forſaken a friend in diſ⯑treſs. Thou unhappy wretch! point out to me that juſt man who can boaſt that he has lived long enough; let me learn from him in what manner I ought to have ſpent my days to be at liberty to quit life.

You enumerate the evils of human na⯑ture. You are not aſhamed to exhauſt com⯑mon-place topics, which have been hackney⯑ed over a hundred times; and you conclude that life is an evil. But ſearch, examine into the order of things, and ſee whether you can find any good which is not intermingled with evil. Does it therefore follow that there is no good in the univerſe, and can you confound what is in its own nature evil, with that which is only an evil accidentally? You have [95] confeſſed yourſelf, that the tranſitory and paſſive life of man is of no conſequence, and only bears reſpect to matter from which he will ſoon be diſencumbered; but his active and moral life, which ought to have moſt in⯑fluence over his nature, conſiſts in the exerciſe of free-will. Life is an evil to a wicked man in proſperity, and a bleſſing to an honeſt man in diſtreſs: for it is not its caſual modificati⯑on, but its relation to ſome final object which makes it either good or bad. After all, what are theſe cruel torments which force you to abandon life? do you imagine, that under your affected impartiality in the enumeration of the evils of this life, I did not diſcover that you was aſhamed to ſpeak of your own? Truſt me, and do not at once abandon every virtue. Preſerve at leaſt your wonted ſincerity, and ſpeak thus openly to you friend; ‘"I have loſt all hope of ſeducing a modeſt woman, I am oliged therefore to be a man of virtue; I had much rather die."’

You are weary of living; and you tell me, that life is an evil. Sooner or later you will [96] receive conſolation, and then you will ſay life is a bleſſing. You will ſpeak with more truth, though not with better reaſon; for nothing will have altered but yourſelf. Begin the al⯑teration then from this day; and, ſince all the evil you lament is in the diſpoſition of your mind, correct your irregular appetites, and do not ſet your houſe on fire to avoid the trou⯑ble of putting it in order.

I endure miſery, ſay you: Is it in my pow⯑er to avoid ſuffering? But this is changing the ſtate of the queſtion: for the ſubject of enquiry is, not whether you ſuffer, but whe⯑ther your life is an evil? Let us proceed. You are wretched, you naturally endea⯑vour to extricate yourſelf from miſery. Let us ſee whether, for that purpoſe, it is neceſſary to die.

Let us for a moment examine the natural tendency of the afflictions of the mind, as in direct oppoſition to the evils of the body, the two ſubſtances being of contrary nature. The latter become worſe and more inveterate the [97] longer they continue, and at length utterly deſtroy this mortal machine. The former, on the contrary, being only external and tranſito⯑ry modifications of an immortal and uncom⯑pounded eſſence, are inſenſibly effaced, and leave the mind in its original form, which is not ſuſceptible of alteration. Grief, diſquie⯑tude, regret, and deſpair, are evils of ſhort du⯑ration, which never take root in the mind; and experience always falſifies that bitter re⯑flection, which makes us imagine our miſery will have no end. I will go farther; I can⯑not imagine that the vices which contaminate us, are more inherent in our nature than the troubles we endure; I not only believe that they periſh with the body which gives them birth, but I think, beyond all doubt, that a lon⯑ger life would be ſufficient to reform mankind, and that many ages of youth would teach us that nothing is preferable to virtue.

However this may be, as the greateſt part of our phyſical evils are inceſſantly encreaſing, the acute pains of the body, when they are in⯑curable, may juſtify a man's deſtroying him⯑ſelf; [98] for all his faculties being diſtracted with pain, and the evil being without remedy, he has no longer any uſe either of his will or of his reaſon; he ceaſes to be a man before he is dead, and does nothing more in taking a⯑way his life, than quit a body which incum⯑bers him, and in which his ſoul is no longer reſident.

But it is otherwiſe with the afflictions of the mind, which, let them be ever ſo acute, always carry their remedy with them. In fact, what is it that makes any evil intolerable? Nothing but its duration. The operations of ſurgery are generally much more painful than the diſorders they cure; but the pain occaſion⯑ed by the latter is laſting, that of the operati⯑on is momentary, and therefore preferable. What occaſion is there therefore for any ope⯑ration to remove troubles which die of courſe by their duration, the only circumſtance which could render them inſupportable? Is it reaſonable to apply ſuch deſperate reme⯑dies to evils which expire of themſelves? To a man who values himſelf on his fortitude, [99] and who eſtimates years at their real value, of two ways by which he may extricate himſelf from the ſame troubles, which will appear preferable, death or time? Have patience, and you will be cured. What would you deſire more?

Oh! you will ſay, it doubles my afflictions to reflect that they will ceaſe at laſt! This is the vain ſophiſtry of grief! an apoph⯑thegm void of reaſon, of propriety, and per⯑haps of ſincerity. What an abſurd mo⯑tive of deſpair is the hope of terminating mi⯑ſery^*! Even allowing this fantaſtical reflec⯑tion, who would not chuſe to encreaſe the pre⯑ſent pain for a moment, under the aſſurance of putting an end to it, as we ſcarify a wound in order to heal it? and admitting any charm in grief, to make us in love with ſuf⯑fering, [100] when we releaſe ourſelves from it by putting an end to our being, do we not at that inſtant incur all that we apprehend here⯑after?

Reflect thoroughly, young man; what are ten, twenty, thirty years, in competition with immortality? Pain and pleaſure paſs like a ſhadow; life ſlides away in an inſtant; it is nothing of itſelf; its value depends on the uſe we make of it. The good that we have done is all that remains, and it is that alone which marks its importance.

Therefore do not ſay any more that your exiſtence is an evil, ſince it depends upon yourſelf to make it a bleſſing; and if it be an evil to have lived, this is an additional reaſon for prolonging life. Do not pretend neither to ſay any more that you are at liberty to die; for it is as much as to ſay that you have pow⯑er to alter your nature, that you have a right to revolt againſt the author of your being, and to fruſtrate the end of your exiſtence. But when you add, that your death does injury to [101] no one, do you recollect that you make this declaration to your friend?

Your death does injury to no one? I un⯑derſtand you! You think the loſs I ſhall ſuſ⯑tain by your death of no importance; you deem my affliction of no conſequence. I will urge to you no more the rights of friendſhip, which you deſpiſe; but are there not obliga⯑tions ſtill more dear^*, which ought to in⯑duce you to preſerve your life? If there be a perſon in the world who loved you to that de⯑gree as to be unwilling to ſurvive you, and whoſe happineſs depends on yours, do you think that you have no obligations to her? Will not the execution of your wicked deſign diſturb the peace of a mind, which has been with ſuch difficulty reſtored to its former in⯑nocence? Are not you afraid to add freſh tor⯑ments to a heart of ſuch ſenſibility? Are not you apprehenſive left your death ſhould be at⯑tended [102] with a loſs more fatal, which would deprive the world and virtue itſelf of its bright⯑eſt ornament? And if ſhe ſhould ſurvive you, are not you afraid to rouſe up remorſe in her boſom, which is more grievous to ſupport than life itſelf? Thou ungrateful friend! thou indelicate lover! wilt thou always be taken up wholly with thyſelf? Wilt thou al⯑ways think on thy own troubles alone? Haſt thou no regard for the happineſs of one who was ſo dear to thee? and cannot thou reſolve to live for her who was willing to die with thee?

You talk of the duties of a magiſtrate, and of a father of a family; and becauſe you are not under thoſe circumſtances, you think your⯑ſelf abſolutely free. And are you then under no obligations to ſociety, to whom you are indebted for your preſervation, your talents, your underſtanding? do you owe nothing to your native country, and to thoſe unhappy people who may need your exiſtence! O what an accurate calculation you make! a⯑mong the obligations you have enumerated, [103] you have only omitted thoſe of a man and of a citizen. Where is the virtuous patriot, who refuſed to enliſt under a foreign prince, becauſe his blood ought not to be ſpilt but in the ſervice of his country; and who now, in a fit of deſpair, is ready to ſhed it againſt the ex⯑preſs prohibition of the laws? The laws, the laws, young man! did any wiſe man ever deſpiſe them? Socrates, though innocent, out of regard to them refuſed to quit his pri⯑ſon. You do not ſcruple to violate them by quitting life unjuſtly; and you aſk, what in⯑jury do I?

You endeavour to juſtify yourſelf by ex⯑ample. You preſume to mention the Romans: you talk of the Romans! it becomes you indeed to cite thoſe illuſtrious names. Tell me, did Brutus die a lover in deſpair, and did Cato plunge the dagger in his breaſt for his miſtreſs? Thou weak and abject man! what reſemblance is there between Cato and thee? Shew me the common ſtandard be⯑tween that ſublime ſoul and thine. Ah vain wretch! hold thy peace: I am afraid to pro⯑fane [104] his name by a vindication of his conduct. At that auguſt and ſacred name every friend to virtue ſhold bow to the ground, and honour the memory of the greateſt hero in ſilence.

How ill you have ſelected your examples, and how meanly you judge of the Romans, if you imagine that they thought themſelves at liberty to quit life ſo ſoon as it became a bur⯑den to them. Recur to the excellent days of that republic, and ſee whether you will find a ſingle citizen of virtue, who thus freed him⯑ſelf from the diſcharge of his duty even after the moſt cruel misfortunes. When Regulus was on his return to Carthage, did he prevent the torments which he knew were preparing for him by deſtroying himſelf? What would not Poſthumus have given, when obliged to paſs under the yoke at Caudium, had this re⯑ſource been juſtifiable? How much did e⯑ven the ſenate admire that effort of courage, which enabled the conſul Varro to ſurvive his defeat? For what reaſon did ſo many gene⯑rals voluntary ſurrender themſelves to their e⯑nemies, they to whom ignominy was ſo dread⯑ful, [105] and who were ſo little afraid of dying? It was becauſe they conſidered their blood, their life, and their lateſt breath, as devoted to their country; and neither ſhame nor misfortune could diſ⯑ſuade them from this ſacred duty. But when the laws were ſubverted, and the ſtate became a prey to tyranny, the citizens reſumed their natural liberty, and the right they had over their own lives. When Rome was no more, it was lawful for the Romans to give up their lives; they had diſcharged their duties on earth, they had no longer any country to defend, they were therefore at liberty to diſpoſe of their lives, and to obtain that freedom for them⯑ſelves which they could not recover for their country. After having ſpent their days in the ſervice of expiring Rome, and in fight⯑ing for the defence of its laws, they died great and virtuous as they had lived, and their death was an additional tribute to the glory of the Roman name, ſince none of them beheld a ſight above all others moſt diſhonourable, that of a true citizen ſtooping to an uſurper.

[106] But thou, what art thou? what haſt thou done? doſt thou think to excuſe thyſelf on ac⯑count of thy obſcurity? does thy weakneſs exempt thee from thy duty, and becauſe thou haſt neither rank nor diſtinction in thy coun⯑try, art thou leſs ſubject to the laws? It becomes you vaſtly to preſume to talk of dy⯑ing, while you owe the ſervice of your life to your equals. Know, that a death, ſuch as you meditate, is ſhameful and ſurreptitious. It is a theft committed on mankind in general. Before you quit life, return the benefits you have received from every individual. But, ſay you, I have no attachments; I am uſeleſs in the world. O thou young philoſopher! art thou ignorant that thou canſt not move a ſingle ſtep without finding ſome duty to ful⯑fil; and that every man is uſeful to ſociety, even by means of his exiſtence alone?

Hear me, thou raſh young man! thou art dear to me. I commiſerate thy errors. If the leaſt ſenſe of virtue ſtill remains in thy breaſt, attend, and let me teach thee to be re⯑conciled [107] to life. Whenever thou art temp⯑ted to quit it, ſay to thyſelf—‘"Let me do at leaſt one good action before I die."’ Then go in ſearch for one in a ſtate of indi⯑gence, whom thou mayeſt relieve; for one un⯑der misfortunes, whom thou mayeſt comfort; for one under oppreſſion, whom thou mayeſt defend. Introduce to me thoſe unhappy wretches whom my rank keeps at a diſtance. Do not be afraid of miſuſing my parle, or my credit: make free with them; diſtribute my fortune; make me rich. If this conſidera⯑tion reſtrains you to-day, it will reſtrain you to-morrow; if to morrow, it will reſtrain you all your life. If it has no power to reſtrain you, die! you are below my care.