John Donne - Delphi Poets Series

by John Donne

  Certainly the reason for the law that none should be judge in his own cause is that everyone is presumed to favor himself. Therefore, if the law is dispensable in some cases that are beneficial to a man, much more may it be so in cases of inflicting punishment, in which nobody is imagined to be overly strict on himself. Even if man were by nature as slavish as the “Essenes were by profession and rule, who had power over themselves only in serving and being compassionate,” except when self- homicide becomes an act of advantage to ourselves, we have enough jurisdiction to do it. It is more certainly proved that in some cases derogatory and prejudicial to us we have this right over ourselves, that every man may become judge in his own cause and not exercise the privilege.

  Everybody condemned Gregory XII in the Great Schism when, after he had promised to depart from the papacy by an oath in which there was a clause that he should neither ask, give, nor accept absolution from that oath, he induced his mendicants to preach that it would be a mortal sin for him utterly to relinquish power over the church. Many kings at their own pleasure have departed from their governments and relieved themselves of their burdens. What one says of the whole church may be said of every particular member, “It was always in political bondage but not in spiritual bondage.”

  If there are cases in which one may—assuredly or probably, after just diligence has been used—decide to do something because of an illumination from the spirit of God or from a ceasing of the reason of the law at that time in him, that man is then judge in his own cause.

  Although in cases where there is a proper court I am bound by it, yet as two kings who are both sovereigns may justly decide a cause by war because there can be no competent judge between them, just so, in secret cases between the spirit of God and my conscience of which there is no certainly constituted, exterior judge, we are ourselves sufficient to do all the offices. Then, delivered from all bondage and restored to our natural liberty, we are in the same condition as princes. If in the strictest sense they may not properly be said to give themselves privileges, still they have one general, inherent privilege, for, when they will, they may declare that in that particular case they will not take a new privilege but exercise their old one.

  7.—Because Josephus has one reason that smacks of theology, we will consider it here. He says our soul is a small part of God, deposited and committed in trust to us, and we may not neglect or dislodge it before God withdraws it. We are still on safe ground in saying that whenever I may justly depart this life it is by a summons from God, and it cannot then be imputed to any corruption of my will. For “He who yields to authority is believed not to exercise his will.” I expect there was never a particular inspiration or a new commission, such as they are forced to purchase for Samson and the rest of the self-homicides, except from that resident and inherent grace of God by which he excites us to works of moral or higher virtues.

  Therefore, when anything for which we are the depositaries is called for again, is would be a greater injustice in us to deny or withhold it than if we were debtors—just so, not to depart from Josephus’s allusion or metaphor of a deposit. If it was a fault to let go that of which I am depositary before it was truly called for, still with an erring conscience I would be excusable, for it is “Of the essence of a deposit that the depositary is held for what is lost by deceit, not by fault,” according to Soto. Indeed, when I have a secret from another, given in trust, in all respects I hold it in the nature of a deposit, and yet nobody doubts that in many cases I may share this secret.

  8.—Many metaphorical and allegorical reasons scattered among authors, as in Cicero and Macrobius, were made more for illustration than for argument or answer. I will not stand to glean among them, since they are almost all bound up in one sheaf in that oration of Josephus, or else will be fitly handled in those texts of scripture that make such allusions.

  9.—In that oration Josephus gives one reason drawn from the way we deal with enemies. We count them enemies who make attempts on our lives. Shall we be enemies to ourselves? Since in this text Josephus speaks to save his own life, he may justly be thought to speak more sincerely and dispassionately. Where in the person of Eleazar he persuades people to kill themselves, there is neither certain truth in the assertion nor in the consequence. But do we count God or the magistrate our enemy when death is inflicted by them? Do not martyrs, in whose death God is glorified, kiss their executioners and the instruments of their death? Is it unlawful, unnatural, or inexpedient for us in many cases to be our own enemies when we deny ourselves many things agreeable to our sensitive nature and inflict upon ourselves many things repugnant to that nature? This was abundantly shown in the first part.

  10.—In the same oration Josephus has another allusory argument: “A servant who runs away is to be punished by the law, even if his master is severe; much more, if we run away from so indulgent a master as God is to us.” Not to give strength or delight to this reason by affording a long or diligent answer, we say that in self-homicide the servant runs not from his master but to him and at his call obeys his voice. Still, it is as truly as it is devoutly said, “The devil is overcome by resisting, but the world and the flesh by running away.” And the farther the better!

  11.—His last point that is of any taste is, “In a tempest it is the part of an idle and treacherous pilot to sink the ship.” But I say that if in a tempest we must cast the most precious ware overboard to save the lives of the passengers, and the merchant who suffers loss thereby cannot impute this to anybody or remedy it himself, how much more may I, when I am weather-beaten and in danger of betraying the precious soul that God has embarked in me, put off this burdensome flesh until it becomes his pleasure that I shall resume it? This is not to sink the ship but to retire it to safe harbor and assured anchor.

  Thus our fourth distinction, which was to embrace the reasons proposed by particular authors, whether sacred or profane, oblique and metaphorical as well as direct, shall here be ended.

  Distinction V

  1. Another sort of reason is produced from the grounds of the moral virtues, of which Saint Thomas Aquinas proposes two that we delimit for this distinction. Saint Augustine’s reason, that it is against fortitude, has another bearing. Aquinas says it is against justice and against charity.

  As to the reason that it is against justice, there are two aspects. The first is that the self-homicide steals a person and member of the body from the universe or from the state to which his service is due. The second is that he usurps the right of God.

  The first may as well be said of all who, withdrawing themselves from functions in the commonwealth, defraud the state of their assistance and attend only to their own ends, whether in this life or the next. Certainly to do even that so intently that we neglect our office in society is the same offense in kind as this one. Although many follow Aquinas here, Navarro, Sayer, and others have a better reason for the opinion that this cannot be a sin against justice.

  As for the second reason, I say it does not usurp God’s authority or deal with another’s servant if I become God’s servant, delegate, and commissioner in self-homicide, when in no other way he can be so much glorified. Surely the passage from this life to the next is not generally left to our free will, and nobody is properly lord of his own life. Still, according to Sayer, “Although we do not have the dominion, we do have the use of this life, and it is lawful for us to lose that use when we will.” How little and narrow a distance there is between negative and positive killing and how contiguous they are, we shall see in another place. If, therefore, the reason why we may not die by self-homicide is because we are not lords of our own life but God alone is lord of it, then the state cannot take away our life, for “It is no more lord of our life than we are,” says Sayer; that is, the state cannot do it except in cases where it is God’s officer.

  If by self-homicide any injury were done to the state, then certainly it would be in the power of the state to license a man to do it, and with such license he would be ex
cusable in conscience. For the state to do so would be only to cede its own right, which anybody may lawfully do. Finally, if the state were injured by self-homicide, the state might lawfully recover its damage from the heirs and goods of the delinquent. However, except in those places where express laws allow it, this cannot be done. I think the better opinion, to judge by the number of authors, is that if the person is of necessary use to that state, there are in self- homicide some degrees of injustice, but no more than if a general of much use should retire into a monastery.

  If we could safely take the decision that self-homicide is not against justice, we would ease ourselves of all the labor that must be spent on the third part. Since the foundation of that part will be principally the commandment, “You shall not kill” (Exod. 20:13), if this killing is not against justice, it breaks no part of the Decalogue and thus is not a sin.

  Should any consider self-homicide an injustice to ourselves, Aquinas in the same text clears that up. Were it possible for a man to injure himself, which it is not, this injury might oftentimes be such as Cicero says of his banishment, “In no way an expelling, but an improving,” considering how much happiness might recompense it.

  Because charity is not properly a moral virtue, and because many of the scriptural texts that we must handle in the last part are built on this ground of charity, we will not examine whether or not it is against charity until we come to that part. Here I will only say that, although it is still under dispute and questionable whether or not self-homicide is against charity, it is certainly against charity to pronounce so desperately against those who fall into it as men are used to doing.

  2. Aristotle suggests two reasons that are derived from the rules of moral virtue. Observing that this kind of death caught men by two baits, ease and honor, against those who die to avoid misery he teaches that death is the greatest misery that can befall us. Leaving aside the question of how it can agree with the rest of his doctrine, for its purpose this was the most slippery and devious argument. Then, so that honor and fame might draw none to it, he says, “It is cowardliness and dejection, and the argument of a tender and impatient mind.”

  We have already spoken about the first charge in answer to one of Peter Martyr’s reasons. About the other one we shall have occasion to say enough when we come to a place where Saint Augustine says the same thing. Therefore, we may relieve this distinction of that business.

  Distinction VI

  1.—Having considered the reasons that are found in the best authors, and having shown such rules as serve for the true understanding of them and of all others that spring from the same or similar topics, before we terminate this second part concerning the law of reason, we must also touch those reasons in favor of our side that others have produced and that we may produce. According to these, self-homicide may be affirmed either wholly or in part.

  I shall not stop long upon the law and practice in Rome, that anybody who had his causes approved by the Senate might kill himself. About this Quintilian frames a case. A son, who by astrologers’ predictions was to kill first many enemies and then his father, having in the wars performed the first part makes petition to the Senate that before he comes to perform the last part he be allowed to kill himself. Quintilian argues for the son, with many reasons applicable to his particular case and to our main question. But I shall hasten to our chief strength.

  2.—It will shed much light on this business if we compare desertion with destruction and consider where and how they differ. Certainly, in Almighty God it is not the same thing to forsake and to destroy, because he owes us nothing and always in his forsakings there are degrees of mercy, since he might justly destroy us and then afterwards at his good pleasure return again to us.

  It is otherwise between men who are mutual debtors and naturally bound to one another, for a magistrate or minister who abandons his charge and neglects it destroys it. So says Agapetus the Deacon to Justinian the emperor, “For subjects commission but for princes omission is a vice.” Indeed, a private man who does not but could and should hinder a man’s wrong performs the fault. “If you have not fed one who is dying of hunger, you have slain him,” says Ambrose. Also, “That clergyman who does not hinder a manslaughter if he can is thereby suspended.” He who denies himself necessary things or exposes himself inordinately to dangers that men usually do not escape kills himself. He who is as sure that this medicine will cure him as that this poison will destroy him is as guilty if he refuses the medicine as he is if he swallows the poison. For which is less dangerous, to attend the collapsing of a house, the flooding of a stream, or the incursion of mad beasts? Those who compare omissions with commissions ask no more to make them equal than that we omit something that we could and should do!

  3.—Concerning such faults as are greatest, either in their own nature or in their being beyond remedy once they are done, all laws say that every approach, even the very first step, to them carries the same guilt and is under the same punishment as the fault itself. In treason and heresy the first consent is the absolute fault. We have an example of a woman who was burned for petty treason for contriving the death of her husband, although it was not done.

  Homicide is one of these crying sins that has always been reckoned among atrocities. Although the Athenians repealed by disuse all of Draco’s laws because of their extreme severity, they retained those against homicide. Homicide, says Toledo, may be done five ways: by commandment, by advice, by permission, by help, or by the act itself. In the first and worst homicide, committed in Paradise, in which were employed all the persons in the world who were able to concur in evil— although there was only one man, all the millions who ever have been and ever will be were massacred at once, and himself too—as many of these kinds of homicides were found as was possible in so few persons. Reuchlin notes, “The serpent counseled, the woman helped, and Adam perpetrated” the first sin—and, we may safely say, God permitted it! If every one of these acts is a kind of homicide, no approach towards it can be lawful, if any is itself lawful, that is not homicide. Let us therefore consider how far and in how many of these ways self-homicide may be allowable.

  4.—First, although the commonly received opinion is that “The one who instigates a crime and the one who perpetrates it are subject to the same punishment,” we cannot properly apply the precept to ourselves, because in this act the same party must be the agent, the patient, and the instrument.

  We may come close but not properly to the nature of it by the second way of advice, so that after discourse we may advisedly choose one of these roles and refuse the others, for whoever can be willing can also be unwilling. So we may wish for ourselves what is naturally evil (I mean the evil of punishment); the hermit monk, according to Sulpicius Severus, by earnest prayer obtained from God permission to be possessed by the devil for certain months, because he found in himself an inclination to pride and security.

  Certainly in some cases we may without sinning wish for death, and not only for enjoying the sight of God—so says a holy man, “For a vision of God, we long a thousand times to consign our body to death”—but also to be delivered from the encumbrances of this life. So the act can have good reasons, as Peter Martyr argues, and then says, “To refuse the better deed is corruption of the first condition.” Thus we may wish for death, even though it is so far from being lawful to wish anything that “It is sin to wish that anything naturally evil were not evil, so that we might then wish it when it was discharged of that natural evilness.” Death itself, therefore, is not evil, nor is it evil to wish for it. Is it then evil to further with more actual help that which we may lawfully wish to be done?

  The two extreme religions that seem to degrade secular magistracy by subjecting monarchs either to a bishop or to a consistory willingly accept this saying, “Curse not the king, no not in your heart” (Eccl. 10:20); that is, do not wish him ill. Nor, as I observe, have the authors of either persuasion allowed in their books that the subject might wish the death of the prince
except in cases where he might contribute his actual help. For both Papists and Puritans teach that a lawful king may become a tyrant, which in my understanding cannot consist with the form and right of hereditary monarchy. Still, Saravia, who pretends to go the middle way—in this case, truly the royal way—says, “We as well as the Romanists deem a king of another religion to be a tyrant” and, “It is impossible to make one a king without his being a tyrant in the opinion of one side or the other.” As for his own opinion, he writes, “No man can be bound by an oath of fidelity to the pope, because he is not indeed the vicar of God as he presumed and swore himself to be.”

  Conformably with this view, that book whose title and scope is the foundation of matters of state in France (and, it pretends, in all Christendom), Declaration et Protestation des Doctes de France, after it has enraged subjects against tyrants and comes to declare what a tyrant is, exemplifies it in the king of Spain, and with reasons that cast whatever malignity the author is equal to upon whatever prince he chooses.

  Last, whoever will compare carefully Beccaria’s book with Beza’s (if that other book is Beza’s) will see that, although they differ diametrically in many things, still from their collision and beating together there arise abundantly the sparks of this pestilent doctrine, that as tranquility once was so religion now is the reason we admit kings and also the reason why they are not kings when they neglect religion. From these doctrines, I say, it is inferred by Carbone that “It is lawful to wish the death of a tyrant or of a favorer of heretics, even though he dies in mortal sin.” To wish and to do so are naturally the same fault. Still, although it is “A sin to offer myself to martyrdom simply out of the weariness of life,” according to Mazzolini, or according to Navarrus “To wish death simply out of impatience, anger, shame, poverty, or misfortune”—even to wish for heaven simply for my own happiness—nevertheless, Saint Paul certainly had some permissible reasons to desire to be released and to be with Christ.