ittle
than too much suicide in the world--that people are so cowardly as to
live on long after endurance has ceased to be a virtue. This view is but
a return to the wisdom of the ancients, in whose splendid civilization
suicide had as honorable place as any other courageous, reasonable and
unselfish act. Antony, Brutus, Cato, Seneca--these were not of the kind
of men to do deeds of cowardice and folly. The smug, self-righteous
modern way of looking upon the act as that of a craven or a lunatic is
the creation of priests, Philistines and women. If courage is manifest
in endurance of profitless discomfort it is cowardice to warm oneself
when cold, to cure oneself when ill, to drive away mosquitoes, to go in
when it rains. The "pursuit of happiness," then, is not an "inalienable
right," for that implies avoidance of pain. No principle is involved in
this matter; suicide is justifiable or not, according to circumstances;
each case is to be considered on its merits and he having the act under
advisement is sole judge. To his decision, made with whatever light
he may chance to have, all honest minds will bow. The appellant has
no court to which to take his appeal. Nowhere is a jurisdiction so
comprehensive as to embrace the right of condemning the wretched to
life.

Suicide is always courageous. We call it courage in a soldier merely to
face death--say to lead a forlorn hope--although he has a chance of life
and a certainty of "glory." But the suicide does more than face death;
he incurs it, and with a certainty, not of glory, but of reproach. If
that is not courage we must reform our vocabulary.

True, there may be a higher courage in living than in dying--a moral
courage greater than physical. The courage of the suicide, like that of
the pirate, is not incompatible with a selfish disregard of the rights
and interests of others--a cruel recreancy to duty and decency. I have
been asked: "Do you not think it cowardly when a man leaves his family
unprovided for, to end his life, because he is dissatisfied with life
in general?" No, I do not; I think it selfish and cruel. Is not that
enough to say of it? Must we distort words from their true meaning
in order more effectually to damn the act and cover its author with a
greater infamy? A word means something; despite the maunderings of
the lexicographers, it does not mean whatever you want it to mean.
"Cowardice" means the fear of danger, not the shirking of duty. The
writer who