![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivkaMore of my argument about assisted suicide follows. This part is really long, so I'm putting it behind a cut tag. This is also the part that needs the most work, [N.B.: Michael says no, it's the last section (not posted yet) that needs the most work. So watch for something worse than this.] because I'm not used to making religious arguments - there are so few contexts in which they are appropriate. (Of course, a sermon would be one of them.)
Opinions and argument continue to be welcome.
Why is physical decline considered so different from other negative events that we consider setting it apart as the only acceptable justification for suicide? I have some ideas.
We live in a society that values independence so much that parents of month-old babies are cautioned not to let them get too dependent on their mothers. A society that finds dependence so humiliating a condition that "Depends" is the name of an adult diaper. We live in – we are raised in – we continually breathe the air of a society in which our worth is fundamentally seen as coming from what we do. "What do you do? When are you going to do something with your life? What contributions can you make to society?" Our abilities and our actions are the most important things about us... right?
So that when we cannot do, when our capabilities become disabilities, when we can no longer preserve the rugged independence that is the American ideal… we may not know anymore what we have left.
Or perhaps we don’t put much stock in the abilities of our bodies, but we feel that our primary value lies in our minds, our intellects. I might be able to accept the idea of using a wheelchair, but feel that if I could no longer put together an incisive argument, or read The New York Times, or balance my checkbook, my worth as a person would be degraded.
We may fall into this way of thinking - which some call ablism or disablism – about ourselves. And more gravely: when other people can no longer do, when they are not capable, when they face increasing dependency as they age or become disabled... it may seem to us, through the lens of our independence-and-action-prizing culture, as if it would be perfectly rational for them to conclude that their life is not worth living. A conclusion we would never accept from a physically healthy person.
Where do our UU values lead us, on these issues? That’s a complicated question to answer, and it is clear that where assisted suicide is concerned different members of our congregation have looked within themselves and found very different answers. We may also perceive conflict between different UU values. Our Unitarian forebears were Puritans; from them we may have inherited a sense that our works are what give us value. Unitarians have long prized intellect and rationality; excellent values, but ones which may leave us vulnerable to losing our sense of worth if our intellect fades.
More generally, our Unitarian emphasis on rationality may mean that when someone presents an apparently rational argument that their life is not worth living, it is difficult for us to look deeper beneath the surface of that rational argument, to test the assumptions on which it rests.
And as religious liberals, we may shy away from a position on assisted suicide which would appear to put us on the same side as the right-to-life movement and the Catholic Church. If they’re opposed to assisted suicide on religious grounds, doesn’t that automatically mean that we ought to favor it?
No. I want to call for us to re-examine this issue, approaching it with Universalist hearts as well as Unitarian minds. The First Principle reminds us that we have inherent worth. "We affirm the inherent worth and dignity of all people." Not because of their actions or capabilities, but as an integral part of their very being. Our UU values tell us that we do not have to do to have worth. We simply have to be. Our UU values direct us to honor the lives of people who are disabled, frail, depressed, mentally incapacitated, to the same extent that we value the lives of people who are healthy, vital, confident, intelligent.
To me, the First Principle unequivocally says that when someone tells me that their life is worthless, I cannot agree with them. I must find a way to support and affirm their worth.
The Second Principle guides us toward justice, equity, and compassion in human relations. I want to spend time talking about this, because assisted suicide is often framed as the "compassionate" answer to suffering at the end of life. So let’s consider those problems in greater depth, and the solutions to which the Second Principle may lead us.
So far I’ve focused on the emotional and existential challenges of people facing death or severe disability: a sense of meaninglessness, hopelessness, loss of personal value. We know those are far from the only challenges. People struggle with pain, which is often inadequately controlled. They fear that they will be a care burden for relatives and friends, or that they will have to give up their freedom for the restrictions of a nursing home. They fear that they will be poorly treated when they are helpless. They fear leaving their spouse with tremendous medical debt, or wiping out the estate they hoped to leave to their children. These are not irrational fears. They are often very real. They may seem overwhelming when we, or our loved ones, are facing them.
What, then, is the just, equitable, and compassionate response to someone who says that "the circumstances of my life are intolerable"?
When I look back at UU history, I see that we have faced that question again and again. Our UU forebears have answered that question with their social action work for abolition, for civil rights, for women’s rights, for immigrants, for lesbian, gay, and transgendered people, for oppressed people all over the world. We have fought to relieve suffering and increase freedom and improve living conditions in the most desperate and hopeless of circumstances.
Only with this issue, as far as I can tell, have UUs been encouraged to come to the conclusion that when the conditions of someone’s life are intolerable, the just and compassionate response is to kill them.
That doesn’t make sense to me. To me that is a profound rejection of our responsibilities under the First and Second Principles, and a profound rejection of our denominational history as agents of transformative social change. I don’t know how we got here, except that – as Aaron Beck warned us – on this issue we’ve gotten sucked into agreeing with helpless, demoralized, and oppressed people that their situation is truly hopeless.
I say to you that it is not. When faced with the suffering of people who are disabled or dying, we have options beyond reframing "compassion" and "dignity" to mean fatal overdoses for those who lose hope.
(Then I have stuff about what we need to do to support people who are dying and transform end-of-life care, which I'll break off into a fourth sermon prep post.)
Opinions and argument continue to be welcome.
Why is physical decline considered so different from other negative events that we consider setting it apart as the only acceptable justification for suicide? I have some ideas.
We live in a society that values independence so much that parents of month-old babies are cautioned not to let them get too dependent on their mothers. A society that finds dependence so humiliating a condition that "Depends" is the name of an adult diaper. We live in – we are raised in – we continually breathe the air of a society in which our worth is fundamentally seen as coming from what we do. "What do you do? When are you going to do something with your life? What contributions can you make to society?" Our abilities and our actions are the most important things about us... right?
So that when we cannot do, when our capabilities become disabilities, when we can no longer preserve the rugged independence that is the American ideal… we may not know anymore what we have left.
Or perhaps we don’t put much stock in the abilities of our bodies, but we feel that our primary value lies in our minds, our intellects. I might be able to accept the idea of using a wheelchair, but feel that if I could no longer put together an incisive argument, or read The New York Times, or balance my checkbook, my worth as a person would be degraded.
We may fall into this way of thinking - which some call ablism or disablism – about ourselves. And more gravely: when other people can no longer do, when they are not capable, when they face increasing dependency as they age or become disabled... it may seem to us, through the lens of our independence-and-action-prizing culture, as if it would be perfectly rational for them to conclude that their life is not worth living. A conclusion we would never accept from a physically healthy person.
Where do our UU values lead us, on these issues? That’s a complicated question to answer, and it is clear that where assisted suicide is concerned different members of our congregation have looked within themselves and found very different answers. We may also perceive conflict between different UU values. Our Unitarian forebears were Puritans; from them we may have inherited a sense that our works are what give us value. Unitarians have long prized intellect and rationality; excellent values, but ones which may leave us vulnerable to losing our sense of worth if our intellect fades.
More generally, our Unitarian emphasis on rationality may mean that when someone presents an apparently rational argument that their life is not worth living, it is difficult for us to look deeper beneath the surface of that rational argument, to test the assumptions on which it rests.
And as religious liberals, we may shy away from a position on assisted suicide which would appear to put us on the same side as the right-to-life movement and the Catholic Church. If they’re opposed to assisted suicide on religious grounds, doesn’t that automatically mean that we ought to favor it?
No. I want to call for us to re-examine this issue, approaching it with Universalist hearts as well as Unitarian minds. The First Principle reminds us that we have inherent worth. "We affirm the inherent worth and dignity of all people." Not because of their actions or capabilities, but as an integral part of their very being. Our UU values tell us that we do not have to do to have worth. We simply have to be. Our UU values direct us to honor the lives of people who are disabled, frail, depressed, mentally incapacitated, to the same extent that we value the lives of people who are healthy, vital, confident, intelligent.
To me, the First Principle unequivocally says that when someone tells me that their life is worthless, I cannot agree with them. I must find a way to support and affirm their worth.
The Second Principle guides us toward justice, equity, and compassion in human relations. I want to spend time talking about this, because assisted suicide is often framed as the "compassionate" answer to suffering at the end of life. So let’s consider those problems in greater depth, and the solutions to which the Second Principle may lead us.
So far I’ve focused on the emotional and existential challenges of people facing death or severe disability: a sense of meaninglessness, hopelessness, loss of personal value. We know those are far from the only challenges. People struggle with pain, which is often inadequately controlled. They fear that they will be a care burden for relatives and friends, or that they will have to give up their freedom for the restrictions of a nursing home. They fear that they will be poorly treated when they are helpless. They fear leaving their spouse with tremendous medical debt, or wiping out the estate they hoped to leave to their children. These are not irrational fears. They are often very real. They may seem overwhelming when we, or our loved ones, are facing them.
What, then, is the just, equitable, and compassionate response to someone who says that "the circumstances of my life are intolerable"?
When I look back at UU history, I see that we have faced that question again and again. Our UU forebears have answered that question with their social action work for abolition, for civil rights, for women’s rights, for immigrants, for lesbian, gay, and transgendered people, for oppressed people all over the world. We have fought to relieve suffering and increase freedom and improve living conditions in the most desperate and hopeless of circumstances.
Only with this issue, as far as I can tell, have UUs been encouraged to come to the conclusion that when the conditions of someone’s life are intolerable, the just and compassionate response is to kill them.
That doesn’t make sense to me. To me that is a profound rejection of our responsibilities under the First and Second Principles, and a profound rejection of our denominational history as agents of transformative social change. I don’t know how we got here, except that – as Aaron Beck warned us – on this issue we’ve gotten sucked into agreeing with helpless, demoralized, and oppressed people that their situation is truly hopeless.
I say to you that it is not. When faced with the suffering of people who are disabled or dying, we have options beyond reframing "compassion" and "dignity" to mean fatal overdoses for those who lose hope.
(Then I have stuff about what we need to do to support people who are dying and transform end-of-life care, which I'll break off into a fourth sermon prep post.)
