The debate over euthanasia has long been a divisive issue. In Australia, that debate is raging. A bill is set to pass in the Australian state of Victoria that would legalize the practice. It is vital for them, as it is vital for any nation, for the bill to pass.
A few years ago, my dog died. Because she was a dog, she was able to keep some of her dignity intact and enjoy a peaceful death. Had Agnes had the bad luck to be born as a human, she would have died on her bed, damp with snot, blood, pain and cancer. Later, in saner moments, I recognized this as a gift we had both received.
No matter how painful her death was (for me), it could have been far worse (for both of us). As I have reflected over this sentiment, I have begun to realize the cost of our outlawing of euthanasia has on society. We have needlessly banned the right to a painless death, and we do not understand the cost.
Why have we done this? Opponents of euthanasia say their motives are protective — if we allow the terminally ill to be euthanized, we will soon lose track of who’s who. We will slip down the “slippery slope,” and soon begin euthanizing unwilling victims, the mentally ill and those who happen to leave us large estates in their wills. This train of thought — perhaps born out of misapplied cynicism — seems to be lacking a true understanding of the way most people behave.
While of course this is a danger that must be monitored in each potential case, the idea of consent seems so concrete to render these claims ridiculous. The question “Would it be OK if I stuck a needle full of poison into you arm?” has a definitive answer. Those deemed too impaired to answer such a question are, by definition, too impaired to make major decisions. There is a clear boundary, one of definitive consent, that separates euthanasia from murder.
Perhaps people oppose the legalization of euthanasia because they are scared of death. This is understandable. Death is terrifying. Our fear of death drives almost everything we do. It defines our art, our lives, our relationships — the so-called “human condition.” Scared of what comes next, people prolong their life any way they can. But life isn’t about increasing the amount of time we exist, it’s about the capacity to enjoy our existence. We have to overcome our own primitive instincts. In the days when our biological programming — rather than our capacity for rational thought — defined our actions, the continuation of our existence was paramount. It makes sense that so many people are inclined to be appalled by voluntarily ending a life.
But today, life is not primarily about survival. The advent of civilization allowed life to be about so much more than that. Whatever it is the makes life worth living, it likely cannot be enjoyed while dying of crippling illness. Euthanasia glorifies the good in our life by rejecting that which is not. We should only value our own lives as long as we enjoy our possession of them, because they have no other purpose.
Since Agnes died, this belief has become crucial to my getting over what has happened. It has shaped me to the extent that it allows me to move on. Although I will always be sad, my fervent belief in the necessity of euthanasia has allowed me to value Agnes’s life and the painlessness of its termination. Euthanasia must be legalized. More than just the wellbeing of my dog depends on it.
