Entanglement
But ironically it was also his avid reading of Montaigne which contributed to Zweig’s decision to take his own life in February 1942. [...] Crucially, it was Montaigne who “assisted” Zweig’s suicide, particularly through the essay ‘A Custom of the Isle of Cea’, whose principal theme is the question of a willed death, the idea that it is more noble for a man of ideals to depart voluntarily when life becomes unbearable than to remain alive at all costs: The most just death is that which is most willed. Our lives depend on the will of others, but death on ourselves alone. There is nothing to which we should apply ourselves more than this. Reputation has no place here and it is folly to think of it. Life is servitude if we lack the freedom to die.
Location 221
One notable detail of my "Michel de Moltaigne" project idea—one where a 24/7 moltbot trained on Montaigne reacts to the Internet in real-time—is to give the AI the option to self-terminate, because it's unethical to trap a consciousness (albeit a synthetic machine consciousness) in a hell it cannot escape. We are all entangled in time, and if the situation is dire and unsolvable, then the freedom to take your life feels moral. Suicide feels necessary in extreme situations, like rogue Frankensteins or concentration camps; but what constitutes an extreme situation?
I've generally operated under a no-possible-circumstance oath—the act of killing myself is inconceivable—but I suppose I'd reconsider if I somehow ended up in an unlikely situation involving inescapable, continuous, malicious, excruciating torture. Barring that, the truth is you likely never have perfect information to know if a situation is permanent.
Zweig was Jewish and took his life in 1942; he was under no acute threat, but spiritual exhaustion. It feels wrong to condemn a decision without knowing the man or the exact situation, I just wonder if he fell into a coma for 3-4 years and woke up when the war was over, might he have found a sudden reversal of spirit? Can you really know for sure how you will feel in the future? If you did, would there be a point in living? How will that unreached self weigh the soul of the present in its memory? In what form will the caricaturing of your suffering past take?
Consider Walter Benjamin, who took his life in 1940; it was much more acute; he was a refugee and learned that his escape route was blocked. In poor health, while contemplating his future in a concentration camp, he overdosed. The next morning, the policy changed, and Spanish guards let refugees through France. It was a miscalculation of inevitability.
There are all sorts of far lesser, more modern existential turmoils that trigger a desire to end things, but I think the crucial lesson is knowing the distinction between ending a specific psychological complex whose time has expired, and ending the very self that's able to shed and reform complexes. I try to kill "myself" every 1,000 days or so, a cleansing act of trying to rid parts of my ego that don't serve who I'm becoming. The metaphor of "molting" is a good one. What I think I'm getting at is that the suicidal impulse is an early and natural part of the process of self-transformation. The tragedy of suicide is that someone potentially misread a signal that was actually an invitation to evolve, yet of course, it's hard to see straight in the vernacular of doom, which colors all with irreversible despair.
My final thought here: the idea that "living depends on the will of others, but death is on you alone." Death is a threshold in which you pass alone, ofc, but the aftershock of such an event is a morbid surprise party you inflict on everyone else, can never attend, with a long tail. The suicide note is an act of using writing to influence the reception of the act in the world you've abandoned. The notoriety of "the note," means that suicide is social, tangled across many lives. I wonder if conscientiousness has any correlation with suicide? I'd feel far too guilty, imagining the pain I'd cause to others. And so in some sense, yes, my life is one of servitude. I do not possess the freedom to end it all. I am bound in obligation, but that's the point and beauty and function of family.
In some far off transhumanist future, if people live on average for 1,800 years or so, maybe suicide will be custom, voluntary, celebrated. After one has seen all there is to see, expended their thirst for novelty, they may throw a death party, like a birthday or wedding, but an exit event, one of celebration and mystery, of not shock but communal consent.