Statistics of suicides.

— One reads in the Siècle of… May 1862:

“In Social Comedy in the Nineteenth Century, a new book that Mr. B. Gastineau has just published through the Dentu Press, we find this curious statistic of suicides:

“It has been calculated that since the beginning of the century the number of suicides in France amounts to no fewer than 300,000; and such an estimate is perhaps below the truth, for statistics only offer complete results from 1836 onward. From 1836 to 1852, that is, in a period of seventeen years, there were 52,126 suicides, an average of 3,066 per year. In 1858, 3,903 suicides were counted, of whom 853 were women and 3,050 men; finally, according to the latest statistic that we saw in the course of the year 1859, 3,899 persons killed themselves, namely: 3,057 men and 842 women.”

“Noting that the number of suicides increases every year, Mr. Gastineau deplores in eloquent terms the sad monomania that seems to have taken hold of the human species.”

— Here is a brief funeral oration for the unfortunate suicides. However, the question seems to us very grave and deserves a serious examination. From the point of view in which things stand, suicide is no longer an isolated and accidental fact; it can, with full reason, be considered a social evil, a true calamity. Now, an evil that regularly eliminates three to four thousand persons per year in a single country and follows an increasing progression is not due to a fortuitous cause; there is necessarily a root cause, exactly as when one sees a great number of persons die of the same illness, which ought to draw the attention of Science and the solicitude of the authorities. In such a case, they limit themselves to verifying the kind of death and the means employed to carry it out, while the essential element is neglected, the only one that could put us on the path to the remedy: the determining motive of each suicide. One would thus come to ascertain the predominant cause; but, save for very characteristic circumstances, they find it simpler and more convenient to enroll them in the class of monomaniacs and maniacs. Incontestably there are suicides by monomania, carried out outside the domain of reason, for example, those that occur in madness, in burning fever, in drunkenness. In these the cause is purely physiological; but alongside is the category, far more numerous, of voluntary suicides, carried out with premeditation and with full knowledge of cause. Certain persons imagine that the suicide is never in his right mind; it is an error in which we ourselves once shared, but which fell before a more attentive observation. Indeed, the instinct of self-preservation being in Nature, it is very rational to think that voluntary destruction is against Nature, which is why one often sees the instinct triumph at the last instant over the will to die, whence one concludes that, to carry out this act, one must have lost one's head. No doubt many suicides are at that moment seized by a kind of vertigo and succumb to a first moment of exaltation; if the instinct of self-preservation dominates them at the last instant, they as it were return to reality and cling to life. But it is also very evident that many kill themselves in cold blood and with reflection; and the proof lies in the calculated precautions they take, in the reasoned order they put into their affairs, which is not a characteristic of madness.

— We will note, without further examination, a peculiar trait of suicide: it is that acts of this nature, carried out in completely isolated and uninhabited places, are exceedingly rare; the man lost in the desert or at sea will die of privations, but will not kill himself, even when expecting no help. He who voluntarily wishes to leave life takes good advantage of the moment when he is alone so as not to be hindered in his design, but he does it preferably in populous centers, where his body will at least have some chance of being found. One will leap from the top of a monument in the center of the city, and not from the top of a cliff, where no trace of him would remain; another will hang himself in the Bois de Boulogne, n and not in a forest, where no one passes. The suicide does not wish to be prevented, but desires that it be known, sooner or later, that he killed himself; it seems to him that this remembrance by men binds him to the world he wished to leave, so true is it that the idea of absolute nothingness has something more terrifying than death itself. Here is a curious example that comes to support this theory: Around 1815, a rich Englishman went to visit the famous waterfall of the Rhine; he was so enthralled that he returned to England, put his affairs in order, and came back, some months later, to throw himself into the whirlpool. It is, incontestably, an act of originality, but we strongly doubt that he would have thrown himself from the cataract of Niagara, had no one come to learn of the fact. A singularity of character caused the act; but the thought that they would speak of him determined the choice of the place and the moment. Should his body not be found, at least his memory would not disappear.

— In the absence of an official statistic, which would give the exact proportion of the various motives of suicide, there remains no doubt that the most numerous cases are determined by the reverses of fortune, the disappointments, the sorrows of every kind. In this case suicide is not an act of madness, but of despair. Alongside these motives, which might be called serious, there are some that are evidently futile, not to mention the indefinable distaste for life, in the midst of pleasures, like the one we have just cited. What is certain is that all who kill themselves resort to this extreme, with or without reason, only because they are not content. No doubt it is given to no one to remedy this primary cause; nevertheless, what must be deplored is the facility with which men yield, for some time now, to this fatal impulse. It is this, above all, that should draw attention and that, in our view, is perfectly remediable.

— One often asks whether there is cowardice or courage in suicide. Incontestably there is cowardice before the trials of life, but there is courage in confronting the pains and anguishes of death. It seems that these two points enclose the whole problem of suicide.

However poignant the oppressions of death may be, man confronts and bears them, if he is stimulated by example. It is the story of the conscript who, alone, recoiled before the fire, whereas he became electrified, seeing that the others marched forward without fear. The same occurs with the suicide: the sight of those who free themselves by this means from the vexations and distastes of life leads them to think that soon this moment will pass; those who might be held back by the fear of suffering will say that, since so many do it thus, they too can do the same; that it is preferable to suffer a few instants than to endure for years. It is only in this sense that suicide is contagious. The contagion lies not in the fluids nor in the attractions, but in the example, which becomes accustomed to the idea of death and to the employment of the means to carry it out. This is so true that when a suicide occurs in a certain manner, it is not rare for others of the same kind to follow. The story of the famous sentry box where in a short time fourteen soldiers hanged themselves had no other cause. The means was there in plain sight; it seemed convenient and, however slight the inclination these men had to end their lives, they made use of it. The mere sight could make the idea sprout. The fact having been recounted to Napoleon, he ordered that they burn the sentry box. The evil ceased, since the means was no longer in plain sight. The publicity given to suicides produces upon the masses the effect of the sentry box; it excites, encourages, becomes accustomed to the idea, and even provokes it. From this aspect we consider the descriptions of the kind that abound in the newspapers as one of the exciting causes of suicide: they give the courage to die. The same happens with crimes, by means of which public curiosity is excited, producing a true moral contagion; they have never stopped a criminal, while they have brought forth more than one.

— Let us now examine suicide from another point of view. We say that, whatever the particular motives, it always has discontentment as its cause. Now, he who is certain of being unhappy only for a day and of being better in the following days easily acquires patience; he despairs only if he sees no end to his sufferings. What, then, is human life in relation to eternity, but less than a day? But for him who does not believe in eternity, who judges that all ends with life, should he feel oppressed by grief and misfortune he sees an end only in death; expecting nothing, he finds it very natural, very logical even, to shorten his sufferings by suicide.

Unbelief, simple doubt regarding the future, materialist ideas are, in a word, the greatest excitants of suicide: they lead to moral cowardice. And when one sees men of science lean upon the authority of their learning, striving to prove to their listeners or readers that they should expect nothing after death, is this not to lead them to this consequence: that, if they are unhappy, they have nothing better to do than to kill themselves? What could be said to them to turn them away from suicide? What compensation can be offered them? What hope can be given them? Nothing that is not nothingness. We must, then, conclude that if nothingness is a heroic remedy, the only prospect, it is better to fall at once than later, thus suffering for a shorter time. The propagation of materialist ideas is, then, the poison that inoculates in many the idea of suicide, and those who become its apostles assume a terrible responsibility.

— To this it may perhaps be objected that not all suicides are materialists, considering that there are persons who kill themselves to gain heaven more quickly, and others to reunite sooner with those whom they have loved. It is true, but it is, incontestably, the smaller number, of which we would be convinced if we had at our disposal a statistic, conscientiously made, of the intimate causes of all suicides. Be that as it may, if the persons who yield to such a thought believe in the future life, it becomes evident that they form a completely false judgment of it, and the manner in which it is generally presented is not very apt to make them form a juster idea. Spiritism not only comes to confirm the theory of the future life, but proves it by the most patent facts possible: the testimony of those who find themselves in it. And it does more, in showing it to us under colors so rational, so logical, that reasoning comes in support of faith. Doubt not being permitted, the aspect of life changes; its importance diminishes in proportion to the certainty one acquires of a more prosperous future. For the believer, life prolongs itself indefinitely beyond the tomb; hence the patience and resignation that naturally drive away the idea of suicide; hence, in a word, moral courage. From this aspect Spiritism has yet another very positive result and, perhaps, more determining. Religion does well to say that suicide is a mortal sin, for which one is punished. But how? By the eternal flames, in which one no longer believes. Spiritism shows us the very suicides coming to explain their unhappy position, but with a difference: the penalties vary according to the aggravating or attenuating circumstances, which is more conformable to the justice of God; that, instead of being uniform, they are the very natural consequence of the cause that provoked the fault, in which one cannot fail to see a sovereign justice, distributed with equity. Among the suicides there are some whose suffering, although temporary, is nonetheless no less terrible and capable of making whoever feels tempted to depart from here before the order of God reflect. The Spiritist thus has, as a counterweight to the thought of suicide, several motives: the certainty of a future life, in which he knows that he will be all the happier the more unhappy and resigned he has been on Earth; the certainty that, by shortening life, he arrives at a result entirely opposite to what he expected; that he frees himself from one evil to fall into another worse, longer, and more terrible; that he will not be able to see again in the other world the objects of his affections, to whom he wished to unite himself. He thus arrives at the conclusion that suicide is against his interests. It is for this reason that the number of suicides prevented by Spiritism is considerable; whence one may infer that, when all the world is Spiritist, there will no longer be voluntary suicides, which will happen sooner than one imagines. Comparing, then, the results of the materialist and Spiritist doctrines, solely from the point of view of suicide, we ascertain that the logic of the one leads to it, while the logic of the other turns away from it, which is confirmed by experience.

— But — they will ask — by this means will you destroy hypochondria, that cause of so many unmotivated suicides, of that insupportable distaste for life, which nothing seems to justify? This cause is eminently physiological, whereas the others are moral. Now, if Spiritism cured only these, it would already be much; the first is, properly speaking, within the province of Science, to which we could abandon it, saying: We cure that which concerns us; why do you not cure that which is within your competence? Nevertheless, we do not hesitate to answer the question affirmatively.

Evidently certain organic affections are fed, and even provoked, by the moral dispositions. The distaste for life is most often the fruit of satiety. The man who has used up everything, seeing nothing beyond, is in the situation of the drunkard who, having emptied the bottle and having nothing more, breaks it. Abuses and excesses of every sort necessarily lead to a weakening and a disturbance of the vital functions; hence a host of illnesses whose source is unknown and which we judge to be causative, when, in truth, they are merely consecutive; hence, too, a sensation of languor and dejection. What would the hypochondriac lack to combat his melancholy ideas? An aim in life, a motive for his activity. What aim can he have if he believes in nothing? The Spiritist does more than believe in the future: he knows, not by the eyes of faith, but by the examples he has before him, that the future life, which he cannot escape, is happy or unhappy according to the use he makes of the corporeal life; that happiness is proportional to the good he does. Now, certain of living after death, and of living much longer than on Earth, it is very natural that he think of being there as happy as possible; moreover, certain of being unhappy there if he does not do good, or even if, not doing evil, he does nothing, he understands the necessity of an occupation, the best preservative against hypochondria. With the certainty of the future, he has an aim; with doubt, he has none. He is seized by tedium and ends his life because he expects nothing more. Permit us a comparison a little trivial, but to which analogy is not lacking: A man has spent an hour watching a spectacle. If he thinks the play is over, he rises and leaves; but if he learns that something better and longer than what he has seen is still to be performed, he will stay, even if in the worst seat. The expectation of the better will overcome the fatigue in him. The same causes that lead to suicide also provoke madness. The remedy of the one is the remedy of the other, as we have demonstrated elsewhere. Unfortunately, so long as Medicine takes into account only the material element, it will deprive itself of all the lights that the spiritual element would bring it, which plays so active a role in a great number of affections.

— Moreover, Spiritism reveals to us the first cause of suicide, and it alone could do so. The tribulations of life are, at the same time, expiations of faults of past lives and trials for the future. The Spirit himself chooses them, aiming at his advancement; but it may happen that, once at the work, he finds the burden too heavy and recoils from carrying it out; it is then that he resorts to suicide, which retards him, instead of making him advance. It also happens that a Spirit committed suicide in a preceding incarnation and, as an expiation, is required in the following one to struggle against the tendency to suicide. If he comes out victorious, he progresses; if he succumbs, he will have to begin anew a life perhaps even more painful than the preceding one and thus must struggle until he has triumphed, for every reward in the other life is the fruit of a victory, and whoever says victory says struggle. The Spiritist therefore draws, from the certainty he has of this state of things, a force of perseverance that no other philosophy could give him. A. K.

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Translator's note: Our emphasis. A large green area located to the west of Paris.

(Public park.)