With still greater reason will suicide be condemned in cases where shame, if there is any, can make reparation. Let us, for example, suppose the case of a merchant obliged to suspend payments. This suspension may be caused by overwhelming circumstances, as, for example, unforeseen physical catastrophes, or negligence, imprudence, or even dishonesty on the part of the merchant. In the first case, the merchant is obviously innocent,[92] and, as we have already remarked, it is an outward and not a real shame. Instead of giving way before a misfortune, he should, on the contrary, strive against it and find in himself the means to repair the damage. If, on the contrary, it is through his own fault, through dissipation, laziness, etc., that the trouble was brought about, he is all the more obliged to make honorable amends, and by his courage and energy rehabilitate himself. If, finally, the evil is still graver, if he failed through lack of honor, he owes it to himself to expiate his fault, for in trying by suicide to escape a merited shame, he only eschews a well-deserved punishment.
Modern conscience refuses even to admire without reserve, the noblest and most generous of suicides, those, namely, occasioned by the grief over a great cause lost: I mean Cato’s suicide. The capital error of this kind of suicides (laying aside the reasons already pointed out), is to think that a cause can be lost. On the one hand, there is never any reason strong enough to persuade any one that what is lost to-day, is definitively lost; and if each of those who belong to that cause should kill himself, he would only contribute his share toward the loss of that cause. Besides, even supposing a cause to be definitively and absolutely lost, the honor of humanity requires none the less that the cause be faithfully and inviolably represented to the end by its adherents: for if they do not serve thereby their own cause, they serve at least that of loyalty, fidelity, and honor, which is the highest of all. Certainly an act as impressive as was Cato’s, shows how far man can carry the devotion to a creed, and such heroism elevates the soul: thus may we admire it as an individual act, but not as an example to be followed. For, although it presents itself to us under a heroic form, it is, after all, nothing but an escape from responsibility.
136. Suicide and sacrifice.—One should not confound with suicide, the voluntary death—that is to say, the death dared and even sought after for the sake of humanity, the family, country, truth. For instance, Eustache de Saint Pierre and his companions, Curtius, d’Assas, voluntarily sought or accepted death when they could have avoided it. Are these suicides? If we carried the matter as far as that, all devotion would have to be suppressed altogether. For the height of devotion is to brave death; and one would have to condemn even the man who exposes himself to a simple peril, since he has no assurance that this peril may not lead him to death. But it is evident that the suicide deserving condemnation is that which has for its source either selfishness, or fear, or a false sense of honor. To carry the subject further would be sacrificing other more important duties, and giving to selfishness itself the appearance and prestige of virtue.
137. Mutilations and mortifications.—Care of one’s health.—One of the obvious consequences of the duty of self-preservation, is to avoid voluntary mutilations. For example, those who mutilate themselves to escape military service, fail first in their duty to their country, and next in their duty to themselves. For, the body being the instrument of the soul, it is forbidden to destroy any part of it without necessity. This is partial suicide.
Must we count among the number of voluntary mutilations, the religious mortifications or macerations by which the devout manifest their piety? If it can be proved that such practices are injurious to health, it is certain that they should be condemned from a moral point of view. But if they are nothing more than self-imposed privations of pleasure, no one can disapprove of them. For man is always permitted to give up this or that pleasure. Thus abstention from animal-flesh which the school of Pythagoras taught its adepts, can not be considered contrary to the duty of self-preservation, as long as it cannot be demonstrated that this diet is unfavorable to health.
Besides, this duty not to injure one’s health, must itself be understood in a large and general sense. Otherwise, taken too strictly, it would become a narrow and selfish preoccupation, unworthy of man. One should select and regularly observe such diet as, from general or personal experience, would seem most suitable to the preservation of health; but, this principle once established, precautions too minute and circumspect lower man in the estimation of others, and, if nothing more, give him a tinge of the ridiculous, which he ought to avoid. One should therefore not take as a model the Italian Cornaro, who had a pair of scales at his meals to weigh his food and drink, although this method, it is said, prolonged his life to a hundred years. The learned Kant himself, although he was very high-minded, carried the rules he had laid down for his health to extravagant minuteness. For example, in order to spare his chest, he had made it a rule, never to breathe through his mouth when in the street, and, to faithfully observe this rule, he always walked alone, so as not to be obliged to speak. Care carried to such minute details falls into a sort of littleness very unbecoming a being destined for higher thoughts than mere physical self-preservation. One may say of such exaggerated prudence what Rousseau, though most inappropriately, said of medicine: “It prevents illness less than it inspires us with the fear of it; it does not so much ward off death as it gives us beforehand a taste of it; it wears life out instead of prolonging it; and even if it did prolong it, it would still be to the prejudice of the race, since it takes us away from society by the cares it lays upon us, and from our duties by the fear it inspires us with.”[93]
But, if too minute attention to health is not to be recommended, one cannot be too observant, within a reasonable measure, of course, of the obligation to follow a sensible and moderate diet, which is as favorable to the mind as it is to the body. Hygiene, in this respect, forms no inconsiderable part of morals.
To avoid sitting up late; to avoid too long or too rich repasts; to make an even distribution of one’s time; to get up early; to dress moderately warm: are measures recommended by prudence; this, however, does not exclude the liberty of doing away with these rules when more important ones are necessary. The principle consists in not granting the body too much, which is the best means of strengthening it.
The ancients attached a vast importance to the strength and beauty of the body; and for this reason they encouraged gymnastics; these were an essential part of their education. This taste for physical exercise seems to be reviving at the present day; it enters more and more into our public education, and its good results are already felt. Men should, as much as possible, reserve some time and leisure for such exercises; for they not only impart strength, health, and skill to the body, but they accustom the soul to courage, preparing it by degrees to encounter more serious perils; the same may be said of military exercises.
138. Cleanliness.—Among the virtues belonging to the duty of self-preservation, there is one which a philosopher of the XVIII. century considered the first and the mother of all the others, namely, cleanliness. This is saying much; and it may be thought that Volney, in his moral catechism, exaggerated somewhat this virtue. It is, however, one of very great importance, for its opposite is especially repugnant. Cleanliness, moreover, in addition to the part it plays, as we know, in the preservation of health, is often indicative of other virtues of a higher order. Cleanliness presupposes order, a certain delicacy of habits, a certain dignity; it is really the first condition of civilization; wherever we meet with it, it announces that higher wants than those of mere animality have been or are soon to be felt; wherever it is wanting, we may be certain that civilization is only apparent, and that it has yet many deficiencies to supply.