Unexplained deviations from conventional wisdom.
In Berlin, on December of 2003, Armin Meiwes was arrested for the murder of Bernd Juergen Brandes. Mr. Meiwes had put an ad on the internet for someone willing to be killed and eaten. Mr. Brandes was reportedly not the only person who answered in the affirmative. Videotapes were shown where the two men feasted on parts of Mr. Brandes' body which Mr. Meiwes had removed, including a portion of Mr. Brandes' penis. Mr. Meiwes stated that Mr. Brandes had allegedly consumed an entire bottle of cold medicine in order to be unconscious while Mr. Meiwes killed him.
In 1933, a 19-year-old student named Kiyoko Matsumoto committed suicide by jumping into the crater of a live volcano on the island of Oshima, Japan. It's estimated that over the next few months, more than three hundred other schoolchildren were led to follow her example.
Late last year, Iris Chang, best-selling author of The Rape of Nanking, reported to friends that the nature of the research for her current book, chronicling the experiences of Bataan Death March veterans, was causing her undue stress and anxiety. On November 6th, she pulled her car over to the side of a highway in Los Gatos, California, and shot herself in the head.
What makes people decide that life isn't worth living? Why does one person look upon death with horror, another with relief? Do people always commit suicide out of pain and anguish? Is it possible that some people might simply choose death as a path like any other?
Certainly, some motives for suicide are understandable even to the general public. Chronic, untreatable pain or an incurable, progressive illness are usually understood, if not necessarily accepted, rationale for ending one's life. Mental illness is generally considered less of a justification, due to the fact that it's generally thought of in terms of treatable, and allegedly temporary, manifestations such as depression and trauma. But what does one do when these supposedly temporary conditions persist with no end in sight? One thinks of Holocaust survivors like Jean Amery, Paul Celan, and allegedly, Primo Levi, who all killed themselves decades after escaping the horrors of the camps. There are also more chronic mental conditions, such as schizophrenics who are unresponsive to medication. At what point do we decide that the obstacles to living a fulfilling life are no longer worth the struggle it takes to overcome them?
I think anyone who lives long enough knows that there are a great many people in the world who, despite being estimated to be perfectly decent by most who know them, will nevertheless concentrate on their failings and regularly value themselves as worth less than the people around them. If you're wondering if I'm talking about myself here, well, I might be and I might not be. But at any rate, what forms people that way, that they're consistently depreciating themselves? Neglectful upbringing, history of abuse, tragic and or traumatic events over the course of their lives? All likely, I'm sure. But one has to wonder if some people, over time, simply lose interest in life and find the world to be wanting. The actor George Sanders comes to mind, who wrote in his suicide note, "Dear World. I am leaving because I am bored."
I used to get letters from fans saying that my music had stopped them from killing themselves. I imagine anyone in my position has. I never found it particularly easy to feel good about. Perhaps I should have done, but it just felt like such an overwhelming responsibility. It gave my music far more power over people's lives than I would have liked. What if the song hadn't been good enough, if I'd left out a line here or a chord progression there that was the finishing touch that kept this person's despair at bay? How would I be able to duplicate the feat on the next album, and if I couldn't, would I be responsible for the lives that were lost as a result? And on an even more paranoid and self-centered note, how was I to know that I'd done these people a service? Who's to say that they wouldn't encounter even greater suffering down the road? I've worked hard at learning how not to agonize over these sorts of intangibles over the years, and believe I've succeeded for the most part. But I'm far from certain that we can assume we know better than anyone else whether their life is worthwhile or not.
In what may or may not be unrelated news, we're back to work. This may or may not mean what you think it means.
In 1933, a 19-year-old student named Kiyoko Matsumoto committed suicide by jumping into the crater of a live volcano on the island of Oshima, Japan. It's estimated that over the next few months, more than three hundred other schoolchildren were led to follow her example.
Late last year, Iris Chang, best-selling author of The Rape of Nanking, reported to friends that the nature of the research for her current book, chronicling the experiences of Bataan Death March veterans, was causing her undue stress and anxiety. On November 6th, she pulled her car over to the side of a highway in Los Gatos, California, and shot herself in the head.
What makes people decide that life isn't worth living? Why does one person look upon death with horror, another with relief? Do people always commit suicide out of pain and anguish? Is it possible that some people might simply choose death as a path like any other?
Certainly, some motives for suicide are understandable even to the general public. Chronic, untreatable pain or an incurable, progressive illness are usually understood, if not necessarily accepted, rationale for ending one's life. Mental illness is generally considered less of a justification, due to the fact that it's generally thought of in terms of treatable, and allegedly temporary, manifestations such as depression and trauma. But what does one do when these supposedly temporary conditions persist with no end in sight? One thinks of Holocaust survivors like Jean Amery, Paul Celan, and allegedly, Primo Levi, who all killed themselves decades after escaping the horrors of the camps. There are also more chronic mental conditions, such as schizophrenics who are unresponsive to medication. At what point do we decide that the obstacles to living a fulfilling life are no longer worth the struggle it takes to overcome them?
I think anyone who lives long enough knows that there are a great many people in the world who, despite being estimated to be perfectly decent by most who know them, will nevertheless concentrate on their failings and regularly value themselves as worth less than the people around them. If you're wondering if I'm talking about myself here, well, I might be and I might not be. But at any rate, what forms people that way, that they're consistently depreciating themselves? Neglectful upbringing, history of abuse, tragic and or traumatic events over the course of their lives? All likely, I'm sure. But one has to wonder if some people, over time, simply lose interest in life and find the world to be wanting. The actor George Sanders comes to mind, who wrote in his suicide note, "Dear World. I am leaving because I am bored."
I used to get letters from fans saying that my music had stopped them from killing themselves. I imagine anyone in my position has. I never found it particularly easy to feel good about. Perhaps I should have done, but it just felt like such an overwhelming responsibility. It gave my music far more power over people's lives than I would have liked. What if the song hadn't been good enough, if I'd left out a line here or a chord progression there that was the finishing touch that kept this person's despair at bay? How would I be able to duplicate the feat on the next album, and if I couldn't, would I be responsible for the lives that were lost as a result? And on an even more paranoid and self-centered note, how was I to know that I'd done these people a service? Who's to say that they wouldn't encounter even greater suffering down the road? I've worked hard at learning how not to agonize over these sorts of intangibles over the years, and believe I've succeeded for the most part. But I'm far from certain that we can assume we know better than anyone else whether their life is worthwhile or not.
In what may or may not be unrelated news, we're back to work. This may or may not mean what you think it means.