I recently published an autobiographical book, Taking Religion Seriously, about my decades-long evolution from agnosticism to eccentric Christianity. One of the many beliefs that I acquired during that evolution—to my surprise—is that I should not decide when to end my life. It was surprising because for years I not only approved of assisted suicide but was ready to take advantage of it myself. Since early in our marriage, I had an ongoing joke with my wife about her responsibility if I got old and was mentally losing it: She was supposed to know when the time had come to “put the white powder in my gin.” Suicide properly done, with help if necessary, seemed to me a good thing.
Now, when I read that New York will legalize assisted suicide, I am of two minds. As a policy analyst, I admire the bill that Governor Hochul will sign. It requires evidence of mental competence and voluntary initiative. It is limited to people with a clinically diagnosed disorder that gives them fewer than six months to live. The law requires that the person put the pill or potion in his or her own mouth and swallow it unassisted.
As policy, it’s about as well crafted as such a law can be. As an option for me, no thanks. I’m going to stick it out.
Why? My answer is personal, but, writing as someone turning 83, facing death in a comparatively few years, I hope that it might also be useful to others.