Book Club: "Notes on Suicide" by Simon Critchley

So believe it or not, despite my ongoing English degree, something I haven't done in a while is reading. And I mean reading beyond just skimming through a book and going through its sparknotes in order to submit an essay; I can't remember the last time I actually started and finished a book, because I wanted to. I've ordered some books from Waterstones, which are taking their time in dispatching (seriously, it's been over a week now), so as I'm waiting for those to even leave their warehouse, I decided to read some of the things I've impulsively bought because I judged them by the cover, or received as gifts over the last couple of years. The first one being Notes on Suicide by Simon Critchley

As Critchley himself reassures us in the beginning of his skinny book: this is not a suicide note. He then goes on to share multiple stories and examples of authors who have killed themselves following submitting manuscripts or publishing texts related to suicide, such as Edouard Levé, who hung himself 10 days after handing in the manuscript to Suicide to his publisher, all of which really ironically undermines his opening sentence. But he reiterates, although albeit it might disappoint some readers, who are out looking for a grandiose story, Critchley has no plans to end his life. And neither do I, and nor is this some sort of weird perverted obsession or fascination with melancholy, so bear with me as I tell you why this is something you might want to read.

So at this point you may be thinking, "why Nona, what ever reason might you have to pick up a book with such a title from a book shop? Especially one with no cover!" (worded in this manner only if you are a pompous 20th century royal family associate). Well let me tell you why: first and foremost, because 2018/19 Nona thought a book with no cover was incredibly edgy, especially one which talks about suicide. To assert this to you even further, I actually bought three books from this 'series', all no covers, titled "Nicotine" and "Limbo", but my smoking addiction and lack of clear idea of my place in this world are topics for another sunny Sunday. So yeah, this was the initial, superficial reason which lead this book to my bookshelf. However, a year later I am a changed woman. I'm calling bullshit on myself, but in all seriousness, over the last couple of months I have taken up a genuine interest in philosophy and psychology, and Simon Critchley happens to be an English philosopher, as well as a professor of Philosophy at the New School in New York, which is where I was planning on transferring to earlier this year.

This book isn't solely a personal or historical account of the idea of suicide, it is rather an attempt to tackle the fact that we lack a language to speak honestly about suicide. He recalls multiple conversations with friends who have brought up the passing of a friend, or a friend of a friend (by suicide) after which the conversation has sort of gone silent. Not that we don't have thoughts or a million questions, but as though we're not at capacity to really communicate them. Why is that? What's so taboo about it? Critchley believes a big part of this is due to the fact that, despite living in the 21st century, as a society we still carry much of the preconceptions of suicide as morally sinful. This belief which persists in secular modernity can be traced all the way back to Christian theology, as seen through Critchley's social and philosophical surveys concerning attitudes towards suicide.

So to summarise, Christian theology believes that life is a gift from God, therefore by taking one's own life, one is in theory rejecting a gift from God, et cetera, et cetera. However, as Critchley points out, this puts into question the entire idea of the nature of a gift. By its definition, a gift invites the possibility for dislike, return or rejection. The entire Christian theology, as Critchley's overview puts it, has a lot of 'loopholes'. For example, what about Christian martyrs? Jesus Christ's own crucifixion can be seen as a quasi-suicidal act of love and martyrdom, which was then later followed by many saints and such. So it seems a little contradictory to forbid suicide, while at the same time celebrating it.

Notes on Suicide brings to light that the idea of suicide and our perception of it is utterly tangled in paradoxes which don't necessarily make sense, even when attempting to pull them apart. Maybe less-so then. In addition to the idea of gifts and their nature, there is much to be thought about the claim that God is all loving, the claim that you cannot kill yourself because you need to be virtuous and good, and fulfil your role in the world; but what if your life comes to a point when you can no longer thrive- isn't killing yourself essentially 'doing good'?

I feel like I need to intersect here for a second: I want to point out that in no way is Simon Critchley, or am I, implying that suicide is 'the way to go', and I will come back to that. He is rather offering us the space for all things considered; why do we think about it the way that we do.

He then goes on to talk about questions of ownership of the self; are we completely independent, if the state won't condone our decision to end our lives had we decided to do so? Going beyond religion, Critchley also plugs in the idea of rationality, personal autonomy and Kant: the idea that we're only subject to the law which we legislate on ourselves. He quotes Nietzsche, and John Donne, who associate suicide with having the key to the prison of one's mind, making it a liberating act. However, then you're entering a whole other paradox concerning how can autonomy and the choice to abandon it (which is essentially what one does when ending their life: abandoning their autonomy) be consistent with each other?

A big part of Critchley's approach is also looking at suicide notes. In fact, he himself lead a creative writing class on suicide notes in New York in 2013, the idea of which I find incredibly fascinating. He goes through many examples, from Kurt Cobain, to less standard ones, such as indirect autobiographies, or short poems. He also makes note to point out that in one way or another, most (if not all) suicide notes concern themselves with love. In our dying moment, when we are so overwhelmed with self-hatred, all we can think about is love.

In history, suicide notes were sent to the press for publication, so in their nature, even today, they are an extremely public acts. In a way suicide then enters a paradox of communication on lack of ability to communicate, and not wanting to die alone while at the same time dying alone (for the sake of this argument I feel like we are all indirectly asked to tune out the pessimistic whiny voice going off in the back of our heads about how 'we all die alone anyway'). Think about this: the golden gate bridge is infamous for the amount of suicides it has, but the vast majority of people jump off the side of the bridge which faces the city, versus the one which faces the abyss of the Pacific Ocean. Deliberate exhibitionism? Suicide is a communicative act. I was speaking to a friend recently who studies at the University of Toronto, also somewhat infamous for the amount of suicide cases. Yes, most larger-scale educational facilities will have suicide cases, where even 1 is an overwhelming amount, I mean think about Columbia University, but the reason I bring this up is because they have numerous cases per annum of students killing themselves on campus. One can then go on to even look at Shakespeare, Hamlet's soliloquies being, as Critchley puts it, 'a powerful cocktail of depression and exhibitionism'.

So we've got roots in religion, philosophy, factual accounts, and literature. Freud himself doesn't want to be left behind, claiming that in a way, suicide is homicide. Due to our inherent and intense self-love (the superego), one does not kill ones self, but rather the hated object which they have seen themselves become. Suicide in itself also has the power to invert the meaning, or the way we look at people's lives. Not an example he uses, but think about Sylvia Plath. I can almost 100% guarantee that the majority of articles you can find on her will mention her suicide, almost on par with her inarguable writing as an author, where the second should clearly be more important.

The book grounds itself in much historical account while also being fuelled by personal experiences, as Critchley shares that he himself has struggled with thoughts of suicide. It asks the reader questions, such as Is suicide selfish? Reminding us that the human response is often fuelled and distorted by anger, prejudice and inarticulacy.

As I said, in no way is he trying to make an argument for suicide, rather than simply acknowledge all of its surrounding factors, when trying to find the right words to speak about it. He ends by, as cheesy as it sounds, asking the reader to consider that "each of us has the power to kill ourselves, but why not choose instead to give oneself to another or others in an act of love," as well as reminding the reader of the beauty in the moment.

"Ecstasy bursts into our eyes. It is enough."