Miller, Samuel "The Guilt, Folly, and Sources of Suicide"

The Guilt, Folly, and Sources of Suicide

Samuel Miller, 1805

To the Young People Under the Author's Pastoral Care

From the moment of my consenting to publish the following discourses, I resolved to inscribe them to you. In doing this, it is my aim not to conciliate your attachment by flattery, nor by warm professions to proclaim my own fidelity as your pastor; but to gain a larger share of your attention to a subject which appears to me worthy of your most serious consideration.

If it is true, as I, with others, have expressed a belief, that the young are the most apt to fall into the crime of suicide—it is obvious that these discourses, though intended to have a general application, are especially applicable to you. It is certain that in preparing them for the pulpit, and afterwards for the press, the idea that they might, in some degree, promote your welfare, was the object more particularly in my view—the hope which I most fondly cherished.

There is little prospect of success, on the principle of human probability, in addressing those who have become inveterate in corrupt habits, or whose minds are already prepared for the last act of violence which a despairing mortal can commit.

But to admonish the young; to instruct the inexperienced; to warn those who are entering on the stage of life, against the errors, the excesses, the false hopes, and the numberless delusions to which they are exposed; and to endeavor to imbue those whose character and habits are yet imperfectly formed; as they are among the most important, so they are also among the most encouraging parts of our pastoral duty.

If, in these respects, the following pages should be found, even in a single instance, productive of good, I shall consider myself as richly rewarded.

That you may "escape the pollutions" (2 Peter 2:20) which surround and assail you; that you may prove the comfort of your parents, the ornament of the church, and the benefactors of society; that you may be inspired with that heavenly wisdom which "has length of days in her right hand, and in her left hand riches and honor" (Proverbs 3:16); and that you may, finally, through the power and grace of the Redeemer, be prepared to live and reign with him forever; these, my dear young friends, are the cordial wishes, the unceasing prayers of Your affectionate pastor, Samuel Miller, 1805

Job 2:9-10. "Then his wife said to him, 'Do you still hold fast to your integrity? Curse God and die!' But he said to her, 'You speak as one of the foolish women speaks. Shall we indeed accept good from God, and shall we not accept adversity?' In all this Job did not sin with his lips." Job, in the days of his prosperity, was "the greatest of all the men of the east" (Job 1:3). His immense wealth placed him in a high station, and gave him an extensive and commanding influence. His unselfish and liberal charity endeared him to every friend of human happiness. His wisdom and piety excited the admiration, and rendered him the oracle, of his countrymen; and surrounded by affectionate and dutiful children—he seems to have possessed, in a large measure, every requisite for earthly enjoyment.

Job 29:7-13, 25. "When I went to the gate of the city and took my seat in the public square, the young men saw me and stepped aside and the old men rose to their feet; the chief men refrained from speaking and covered their mouths with their hands; the voices of the nobles were hushed, and their tongues stuck to the roof of their mouths. Whoever heard me spoke well of me, and those who saw me commended me, because I rescued the poor who cried for help, and the fatherless who had none to assist him. The man who was dying blessed me; I made the widow's heart sing! I chose the way for them and sat as their chief; I dwelt as a king among his troops; I was like one who comforts mourners."

How long Job was permitted to enjoy this prosperity, the sacred historian has not informed us. But in the process of time it pleased the Sovereign Disposer to lay him low in adversity. He was deprived of his possessions by a variety of disastrous occurrences.

His sons and his daughters, in the midst of festive enjoyment, were all cut off at a single stroke.

The honors which, in his prosperity, a selfish and deceitful world had heaped upon him, were now withdrawn.

And to complete his wretchedness, the venerable man himself was smitten with a tormenting and loathsome disease.

Sudden and melancholy reverse! Lately rolling in princely affluence—now a beggar. In the morning greeted by a numerous and happy offspring—in the evening childless. A few hours since blessed with vigorous health—now tortured and disfigured by a disease which renders life a burden. Once followed, and even loaded with testimonies of public respect—now almost universally neglected. "But now they mock me, men younger than I, whose fathers I would have disdained to put with my sheep dogs!" Job 30:1

In the day of affliction, to have an enlightened, affectionate, and pious friend , capable of soothing our pains and beguiling our sorrows; especially to have the companion of our bosom, that "friend that sticks closer than a brother" (Proverbs 18:24), of this character—is an inestimable blessing. Many a man, by the tender endearments, and the prudent counsel, of a faithful wife , has been guarded from important mistakes, and even snatched from destruction.

But the wife of this afflicted saint was of a very different character. Instead of the soother and lightener of his woes—she became his tormenter! Instead of pointing him to the proper sources of consolation—she tempted him to despair and death. How destitute at once of the softness of her gender, the affection of a companion, and the decorum, to say nothing of the purity of virtue—must that woman have been, who could approach her husband, already overwhelmed by sorrow, with such language as this, "Do you still retain your integrity?" Will you still serve a master who, in return for all your faithfulness, has treated you so unkindly? "Curse God, and die!" (Job 2:9). "Set at defiance that power which has now done its worst. Live no longer in dependence upon him who has loaded you with miseries. Be your own deliverer. Take refuge in a voluntary death from a world which offers you nothing but evil."

Here appears to be a direct and explicit proposal of suicide .

And if ever there was a man who might either wisely or innocently have resorted to this mode of terminating his sufferings, perhaps Job was that man. The most abject poverty stared him in the face. The negligence and derision of his former acquaintances must have made him almost willing to fly forever from the sight of man. The strongest ties which bound him to the world had been broken in the loss of his property , and in the death of his children . A distressing, and apparently incurable, disease rendered all future enjoyment of life hopeless. And the only near relative which a bereaving providence had left him, was a grief instead of a comfort!

Many a modern infidel would, no doubt, pronounce these circumstances an abundant justification of suicide, and would readily join this woman in her wicked proposal, "Curse God, and die!" (Job 2:9). But Job "feared God, and shunned evil" (Job 1:1). He had the magnanimity of a man, and the fortitude of a believer. He, therefore, firmly and indignantly replied, "You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?" Job 2:10

It is my design, from this passage, to offer some remarks on the CRIME OF SUICIDE: a crime of the deepest die; a crime which has become alarmingly frequent in our land, and in our city; a crime, therefore, against which it befits those who would "declare the whole counsel of God" (Acts 20:27) to bear public and solemn testimony.

By suicide is meant not merely self-murder by immediate violence, but also the destruction of our own life by wanton exposure to violence from others, or by any indirect means. The duellist is guilty of this crime. He who commits a felony with the express view of being put to death, by the hand of public justice, is also guilty of it; and, in general, everyone who, voluntarily and without necessity, places himself in the way of danger.

There are occasions, indeed, on which it is the duty of men to put their lives in jeopardy, and even resolutely to sacrifice them. The case of martyrdom is one instance of such duty, and the case of just and necessary war is another. But it is possible, in either of these cases, to court death foolishly and wickedly.

We are bound to use all lawful means to preserve our own lives! Therefore, he who, in any case whatever, destroys his life, or who permits it to be destroyed, when he is able, without denying the truth, or abandoning duty, to save it—is chargeable with the whole guilt belonging to the crime which we are about to consider.

Perhaps some of my hearers will say, "What interest have we in the discussion of such a subject? Does the preacher suppose that we are capable of that miserable insanity, either intellectual or moral, which actuates self-murder? Let him rather direct his reasoning and his rebukes against the numerous other crimes to which we, or our children, may be in some measure exposed. But let him not take up our time in showing the evil of suicide, against which every feeling of nature presents a barrier, and of which every dictate of reason shows the egregious folly."

Brethren, be not deceived! Every individual who hears me has an interest in this subject. Who can foresee the situation in which he may hereafter be placed, or the temptations by which he may hereafter be assailed? Or who can tell how soon the conduct of a near relative, or of a valued friend, may bring the subject home, with the deepest interest, to your bosom?

It is probable that the most of those who have fallen into this deplorable sin were once as ready, as any of my present hearers can now be, to think and to say, "What, is your servant a dog, that he should do this thing?" (2 Kings 8:13). In truth, it befits depraved creatures, with regard to every sin, to be humble and watchful; for there is no sin into which they may not fall—if forsaken by restraining grace . That we may, therefore, be armed against the hour of temptation ourselves, and that we may be able to convince and warn others, let me request you seriously to attend, while I endeavor: first, to lay before you the guilt and folly of the sin in question; secondly, by tracing the evil to its sources, to put you on your guard against such principles and habits as may lead to danger.

I. The Guilt and Folly of Suicide. My first object shall be to show that suicide is really a crime.

1. To destroy our own lives, is A SIN AGAINST GOD.

But if there is a God who made us, who has a right to our services, and whose providence extends to all his creatures and all their actions—then there is an end for which we were all made, a task which we are bound to accomplish, a term of service which it is our duty to fulfill. Of course, he alone who placed us here—has a right to decide when this task is done, to judge when this term of service ought to close, and, in a word, to dispose of the life and the talents which his power has bestowed.

This is the representation which the scriptures everywhere give of human life. They speak of it as a term assigned, a course marked out, a race set before us. Hence, the pious Job asks, "Is there not an appointed time to man upon earth? Are not his days also like the days of an hireling?" (Job 7:1). And in the spirit of the principle which this interrogation implies, he resolves, "All the days of my appointed time I will wait, until my change comes" (Job 14:14).

The same lesson is taught by the apostle Paul, when he exhorts, "Let us run with patience the race that is set before us" (Hebrews 12:1); when he expresses an earnest desire to "finish his course with joy" (Acts 20:24); and when, toward the close of life, he exclaims in holy triumph, "I have finished my course, I have kept the faith" (2 Timothy 4:4).

Such is the language in which the inspired writers speak of the life of man—a language which plainly teaches us that we are not at liberty to dispose of our own lives, or to determine the end of our continuance in the world; but that we are to be patient and active as long as God is pleased to retain us in the present state, and to wait his pleasure for the period of our dismissal. To take into our own hands the decision of this question; to abandon, without God's permission, the station in which we are placed, is . . . the most unequivocal rebellion against God, the most direct opposition to his providence, a presumptuous attempt to escape from his control, and an ignoble breach of fidelity to a rightful Sovereign.

So consonant are these instructions of scripture with the dictates of reason, that we find even a heathen moralist expressing himself on this subject in language remarkably similar to that of the sacred volume. Socrates , after being condemned to die, decides, in the strongest terms, against the lawfulness of suicide. He declares that men are the property of God; that they are in his custody; that they have no right, by a voluntary death, to escape from the sphere of action in which he has placed them; and that those who do so are as much the objects of just divine displeasure and punishment, as a slave who flees from the service of his master. Such are the sentiments expressed by a heathen sage in his last moments when, with death immediately before him, and surrounded by his beloved friends and pupils, he might be supposed to utter the fullness of his heart.

Some of the advocates of this crime have contended that, as God is a benevolent being, who delights in the happiness of his creatures—he cannot be supposed to regard with displeasure one who ends his life when he ceases to enjoy it. But if this position is admitted, then it will follow that every man is at liberty to pursue his own happiness in whatever way he chooses. Or, which is the same thing, that no act is displeasing to God, or a crime—which the agent commits with a view of promoting his own happiness. This is a doctrine which, if conceded, would lead to the justification of the most atrocious crimes; would destroy the firmest principles of moral obligation; and render the caprice of man, instead of divine law, the ultimate rule of human conduct.

It is impossible, then, to justify suicide upon any other principles than those of atheism; or, at least, without a total denial of the government and providence of God. And this remark will receive much confirmation when we recollect that the greater part, if not all those who have undertaken, at different periods, to be the advocates of suicide, either, were more than suspected of holding atheistical tenets—or avowed principles altogether inconsistent with any rational system of theism.

To consider man as a creature independent, free from the restraints of divine authority, at liberty to dispose of his own life and talents without reference to the will of the Creator—what is this but practical atheism? What is this but a figment of an impious imagination, which though sometimes formed in minds professing to believe in the existence and providence of God—can only be cherished by a heart radically hostile to his character and government, and secretly desirous, if it were possible, to hurl him from his throne!

2. Suicide is A SIN AGAINST HUMAN NATURE.

The fear of death is one of the strongest principles that dwell in the bosom of man. But why should this principle operate not only more generally and strongly in human beings than in the other animals, but almost exclusively in the former? It is difficult to assign any other reason for this fact, than that the all-wise Creator intended it as a barrier against the crime which we are considering—a crime which the brutal tribes have neither temptation nor ability to commit; but against which man, depraved, afflicted, and covered with evil, requires to be guarded by restraints of the most powerful kind. He, then, who breaks through these restraints, who surmounts that abhorrence of self-destruction, which the Author of nature has so closely interwoven with every fiber of our constitution, is as great a monster in morals as an atheist in religion, or as the most hideous assemblage of deformities in animal nature.

But suicide is not only repugnant to every genuine feeling of human nature—it also offers insult to every just principle of human dignity. I know that the advocates of suicide are, in general, the most loquacious asserters of the dignity of man . This is the idol which they profess to worship, and contending for its honors, they consider as their greatest merit.

But does it comport with the dignity of our nature to act the part of cowards and deserters? Have fortitude, patience, and self-command ceased to be virtues? Putting moral and religious obligation out of the question—is it not more honorable for a rational being to bear afflictions with firmness, to meet misfortunes with magnanimity, and to surmount difficulties with triumph—than to sink under their pressure, or to flee from the conflict by self-murder?

The outrage which this crime offers to the noble faculties with which the Creator has endowed us, also deserves our serious consideration. If the soul of man were less important, if his faculties were less dignified—then the extinction of life would be an event comparatively trivial, and the violence which it does to our nature would be of smaller account. But voluntarily to destroy a life, which is connected with the exercise of such exalted powers; to wantonly to cut off a moral agent, so capable of activity and usefulness; to extinguish talents so rich, various and productive—is offering a violence to human nature as degrading as it is criminal .

Nor is this reasoning invalidated by contending, as some advocates of suicide have done, that to destroy this mortal life is liberating these noble faculties from a species of imprisonment, and transferring them to a more enlarged and useful sphere of action.

How do they know this? The immortality of the soul, and a future state of bliss or suffering—are fully ascertained by revelation only; a revelation which, while it unfolds to our view the eternal world, solemnly forbids us to precipitate ourselves by suicide into its solemn realities.

3. Suicide is A SIN AGAINST SOCIETY.

In the civil magistrate, in the minister of the gospel, and in all who—by their office, their talents, or their wealth—hold conspicuous stations, this crime of self-murder is peculiarly atrocious, because they are connected with those around them by more numerous and more important ties than other men. And when such people, regardless of all the obligations which bind them to society, abandon the post at which they are placed—they act a part which deserves to be stigmatized as selfish, unsocial, and evil.

Instead of living to bless mankind, by their instruction, their example, their beneficence, and their prayers—they selfishly flee from the scene of labor and usefulness; and, attentive only to their own feelings, they deliberately rob their fellow men of all the benefits which it was in their power to confer by a patient course of piety and virtue.

Nor is this all. When such a one destroys his life, he not only deprives society of an important member, and withholds from it the benefits which he might have bestowed, by continuing to live—but he also inflicts a positive injury, by displaying a harmful example, and by recommending, as far as the influence of his conduct reaches, the same practice to others!

But admitting that he who meditates suicide is neither a magistrate, nor a minister of the gospel, nor bound to society by any public or peculiar ties—yet let it be remembered that the community has just claims upon all its members, from the highest to the lowest; and that to violate these claims, or to abandon the duties which they involve, is a criminal desertion, a fraud practiced upon our species, an injury—the extent of which it is impossible to calculate, but which we have reason to believe is, in most cases, serious and lasting.

Nor let anyone plead that his case is peculiar , and that society can lose but little by the destruction of a single life. For if one individual, because he feels the inclination, has a right to take away his own life—then every other individual who feels a similar inclination has the same right. And if everyone were to think and act accordingly—then into what a field of blood would our world be converted! What darkness and mourning would cover the face of society! What distrust, anxiety, and consternation should reign in every family, and torture every bosom!

But we may go further. Besides the injury done to society in general—he who destroys his own life seldom fails to inflict the deepest wounds upon all who stand more immediately related to him in domestic and social life.

Say, miserable man—you who are contemplating the crime of self-murder—have you no parent , the evening of whose days, by this crime, would be embittered, or whose grey hairs would be brought down with sorrow to the grave? Have you no amiable spouse , who would be precipitated by this step into the deepest affliction and grief? Have you no tender babes , who by your desertion would be left fatherless, and exposed to all the dangers of an unpitying world? Have you no brethren or sisters to share in the grief and the disgrace of your unworthy conduct? Are there no friends who love you, who would weep over your folly and sin, and feel themselves wounded by your self-murder?

In short, would the execution of your wicked purpose disturb the peace of no family? Would your self-murder torture no kind bosom? defraud no creditor? Would it plunge no friend into difficulty? Would your self-murder rob no fellow creature of advantage or enjoyment?

Ah! if the evil terminated in your own person, though still a crime—it would be comparatively small. But the consequences of such a step would probably extend far beyond your conception, and last longer than your memory.

Stop then, guilty man! Stop your murderous hand! Extinguish not the happiness and the hopes of a family—it may be, of many families! Forbear, O forbear to inflict wounds which no time can heal, and which may tempt survivors to wish that you had never been born!

Let no person say that he is useless in the world; that his life is of no value, either to his relatives, or to mankind—and, therefore, that he does no injury to others by killing himself. If any man is really useless—it is his disgrace and his sin! To think of justifying one crime, by pleading that he has committed the previous one—is as wretched logic, as it is detestable morality.

But the degree of our usefulness in society is a question concerning which, as we are not competent to judge—so we are not at liberty to decide for ourselves.

The victim of depression and melancholy may sometimes think himself an unprofitable member of the community, a mere cumberer of the ground—when his services are really substantial and important. And even admitting that he is, at present, so afflicted, so infirm, so degraded, or so unfavorably situated in any respect, as to be entirely useless—has he lost every capacity of being otherwise in time to come? Or, if this capacity is now lost—is every possibility of recovering it precluded? May not his infirmities be hereafter removed? May not the clouds which hang over him be dissipated? May not his vices be repented of and abandoned? May not his reputation be restored? May not his means of usefulness become, if not great and extensive—at least important in a moderate sphere?

If these things are duly considered, it will be manifest that there is not an individual breathing who can, with propriety plead, in defense of despair and suicide, that he is useless. There is certainly no individual, on this side of the grave, whose life either is not, or might not be, of some value to mankind.

It may be demonstrated, then, that suicide is generally prompted by the most sordid and unworthy selfishness . It is a crime, which sacrifices everything on the altar of selfishness. It is a practice which reverses all the doctrines of social benevolence, and sets up as a principle of action the detestable maxim, that private happiness and enjoyment are to be regarded as more worthy objects of pursuit, than public happiness. It is a crime, therefore, of which even an atheist, on his own principles, ought to be ashamed—but which the Christian should regard with peculiar abhorrence.

4. If we examine THE MOTIVES which immediately prompt the unhappy to despair and suicide

Let us go to yonder victim of impatience and despair, who wanders silent, melancholy, and alone—meditating the termination of his sorrows by the pistol, or the poisonous draught. Let us approach, and inquire why he is disgusted with life.

You are

Is a large portion of property indispensably necessary to happiness? Have not thousands been contented and happy with as small a pittance, as that which you yet possess? Nay, have not some found more real enjoyment after being thus reduced to poverty, than they found in the days of their affluence and prosperity? Was not the Savior, when he sojourned upon earth, without "a place where to lay his head?" (Matthew 8:20; Luke 9:58). And has he not, by his example, made poverty and sufferings honorable?

Besides, though you are now in straitened circumstances—may not a kind providence hereafter smile upon you, and reward your industry with comfort and plenty? Who can tell but that, like Job, your "latter end" (Job 42:12), in this respect, "may be more blessed than your beginning?"

But even supposing the worst, will you destroy a life on which so much depends— for the sake of transient and unsatisfying trifles; for a little glittering dust, which perishes in the using; for so much trash as may be grasped thus?

Miserable estimate! Ignoble alternative! Live! and exhibit the sublime, the edifying spectacle of one struggling with poverty, and yet holding fast his integrity.

If we inquire of another, we shall find that he is hurried on to despair by the prospect of

But, alas! deluded man! are you so thoughtless as not to perceive that your calculation is as false, as the design which you harbor is criminal? If you are now in disgrace—then what advantage will you gain by hiding yourself in the grave? Certainly none. On the contrary, you will aggravate instead of diminishing the evil—because you will seal yourself up under eternal infamy , and cut off all hope of regaining public esteem. Rather live! and, by a course of worthy actions, endeavor to retrieve you character! Live! and testify by your future conduct that you are neither irreclaimable nor utterly degraded.

A third is, perhaps, afflicted with a tormenting, or apparently

To such an one I would say, "No man can certainly tell whether a disease which he thinks incurable may not afterwards be found to admit of some remedy, or at least of some alleviation. Dark and dismal as your prospect now is—you may, like Job, be again restored to health and enjoyment. Or if not perfectly restored, your burden may be rendered comparatively light and tolerable.

But supposing that your case really is hopeless, and that your whole life is destined to be a scene of suffering. Which is most befitting in a rational being, and especially in a Christian—to bear suffering with firmness—or to flee from it by illicit and cowardly means? What is it that raises to such an elevation the character of the martyrs and other primitive sufferers for the gospel? What is it in their conduct which men of all habits and modes of thinking admire, and which sometimes even 'extorts a trembling homage' from the blaspheming infidel? It is that divine magnanimity which deliberately chose to suffer the most excruciating tortures—rather than to escape from them by the sacrifice of principle, or by yielding to the forbidden demands of self-murder.

A fourth, it may be, will plead that he has the certain prospect of an

Such have been the reasonings and conduct of some renowned personages, whose conduct on other occasions was more heroic, and more worthy of the rational character. But the same reasoning which was employed in the case of painful and incurable disease, applies equally to this case. No man can be absolutely certain that the death which he considers as inevitable will be realized. Divine providence has frequently interfered, in a most extraordinary manner, for the deliverance of those from whom all prospect of relief, from human sources, was cut off.

But, setting this argument aside, who can tell what important ends the death which he fears is intended, by infinite wisdom, to answer both to himself and to society? Unreserved submission to the will of God is always safe —while the smallest attempt to counteract His will is always both criminal and dangerous. Had those of old who embraced suicide, rather than fall into the hands of enemies or die by public execution—consented to live, and meet the dispensation of providence with unshaken fortitude—they would have displayed a more sublime heroism; and none can tell how much they might have promoted the welfare and glory of their cause.

Another has been

But while this passion is allowed to be most important, and, when properly regulated, most laudable—yet let us not imagine, like those who borrow their principles of morality from the theater, or from novels—that marital love is the main business of life, and the attainment of its wishes all that is worth living for. There are considerations which should be regarded as paramount to everything of this kind. There may be, and there doubtless is, in this respect, an idolatry , as criminal as it is unworthy of the rational character.

But allowing to each case of disappointed love all that importance which the subject of it may require—how many considerations immediately present themselves which should induce the sufferer to lay aside despondency, and determine to live! A little time may restore peace to a mind which is now perturbed and melancholy. The object fondly sought may hereafter be attained, and abundantly reward a long and anxious pursuit. Or if this is not the case, a kind providence may have in store for the discouraged and despairing, a more suitable and a more happy relationship.

A sixth person, perhaps young in years, but old in dissipation and vice, has run the round of what he calls pleasures; and having found little happiness in this course, and supposing that life can afford nothing better, he resolves to escape from a scene in which he finds no objects that can any longer interest or gratify him.

This is not infrequently the case with those wretched mortals who have sought no enjoyments but those of the sensual kind; who have cultivated no taste but for scenes of dissipation and profligacy. But how degraded is that mind that can find no interesting employment, no gratifying pursuit in such a world as this! Where are those elevated pleasures which arise from the cultivation of our minds, from the acquisition of knowledge, from walking with chosen companions in the delightful fields of literature and science? Where are the sublime gratifications which flow from feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, instructing the ignorant, and directing the miserable wanderer "in the homeward way?" Where are the heavenly pleasures which arise from the exercise of grace and the discharge of holy duties? Can a world in which these are to be enjoyed, be said to afford nothing that is worth living for?

Blind and mistaken mortal! make trial of some of these wholesome pleasures; explore some of these paths to happiness, which you have hitherto neglected, and see if they be not worthy of your regard. Above all, open the volume of God, unfold the precious record of redeeming love, and there learn, by delightful experience, that the gospel provides employment and pleasure for the mind, as much superior to the base gratifications of the sensualist—as the heavens are higher than the earth!

Finally, a vain worshiper of

A distinguished infidel, when the dead body of his son, who had murdered his own life, was found, exclaimed, "Poor insane coward!" and was never afterwards heard to mention the unhappy event.

Such, mistaken votary of fame—such is the sentiment that spontaneously arises in almost every mind in contemplating the conduct of the self-murderer! And thus will it generally be found, that what is fondly regarded as a source of honor, is in reality a monument of shame!

But leaving out of sight the disgraceful nature of this conduct, let me ask him who contemplates this mode of raising himself in the estimation of his fellow man, whether there are not a thousand ways in which he may more worthily display his courage, than by such a miserable act of weakness and folly?

Is the exercise and the display of magnanimity your object? Go, and in the faithful discharge of Christian duties—in the achievements of benevolence, in ruling your own spirit, and in opposing error and vice in every form—you will find scope enough for the firmest courage, and the greatest elevation of soul. Go, set your face as a flint against the sneers and blasphemies of unbelief; wage inexorable war with the hydra of corrupt fashion; contend with zeal and perseverance for the faith once delivered to the saints; submit to labor, self-denial, and ridicule for the sake of doing good!

In a word, dare to stand at your post, and to be faithful in the discharge of every duty, whoever may oppose you, and whatever it may cost you. This is magnanimity worthy of men, and of Christians. This is magnanimity which will live and be remembered with honor, when "the name of the wicked shall rot!" (Proverbs 10:7)—when that wretched vanity, which so mistakenly sought for fame , shall be buried in oblivion!

Such are some of the considerations which have frequently prompted men to despair and suicide: pride, vanity, impatience, cowardice, a criminal love of the world, a false estimate of happiness, the most unworthy and degrading selfishness —these, however decorated with plausible names, are the real motives which prompt to nine-tenths of the suicides that occur. But are they motives which an enlightened and virtuous mind can possibly vindicate? No, brethren, they are motives which reason forbids, which religion condemns, and which even a serious infidel must regard with disapprobation.

5. Once more, suicide IS SOLEMNLY FORBIDDEN BY ALL OUR INTERESTS AND HOPES BEYOND THE GRAVE.

It is common to see announced, in our newspapers, that such a one, in a melancholy hour, "put an end to his own existence." It were well for those who live and die in rebellion against God—if death were really the termination of their existence; for as hideous as is the thought of sinking into the gulf of annihilation—even this gulf would be preferable to the abyss of the damned. But, alas! As wretched as this hope of annihilation is—it is cherished in vain. The infidel, indeed, will tell me that death is nothing; that it is only "diverting from its ordinary channel a portion of that red fluid" which appears necessary to the vital functions; that in destroying his own life, he only alters the modification of a small portion of matter—only arrests the motion of an animal machine.

For, let it be distinctly remembered, that there is no class of men who go so far in denying the real honors, and trampling on the noblest prerogatives of human nature, as those who are ever prating about the dignity and perfectibility of man. These are the proud teachers who would persuade us that man is a machine; that the soul is a non-entity; that eternity is a dream; and, of course, that the destruction of life is a trifle unworthy of notice.

But woe to the anguished man who, embracing this impious delusion, lifts the murderous hand against his own life! How will he be astonished and confounded to discover that the extinction of this mortal life is something infinitely more serious than had ever been told him; that it is cutting the "slender thread on which hang everlasting things;" that it is terminating the day of grace; that it is putting an end to every opportunity of repentance and reformation; that it is hurrying an immortal spirit before the tribunal of its Judge, and fixing the condition of the soul in endless misery, or in endless joy!

But perhaps it will be asked, "Can we entertain any hope of the final salvation of one who destroys his own life?" This is a question which it ill becomes a blind and erring mortal to decide. It is possible that a child of God may be so far under the power of mental derangement, as to rush unbidden into the presence of his Father? I believe that instances of this kind have sometimes occurred; and, if so, concerning the salvation of such people no doubt can be entertained. But it may be questioned, on very solid ground, whether a real Christian, in the exercise of his reason, ever became his own executioner.

Let those inclined to adopt a more favorable opinion, ponder well that solemn declaration of the Spirit of God, "No murderer has eternal life abiding in him!" (1 John 3:15). How small, then, is the proportion of self-murderers for whom we can cherish the least hope beyond the grave! When men leave the world in an act of daring and deliberate rebellion against God, distrusting his providence, agitated by the worst of passions, and trampling upon all the obligations which bind them to their Creator and their fellow men—how can Charity herself avoid considering them as "strangers from the covenants of promise" (Ephesians 2:12), and weeping over them as "children of perdition!" (John 17:12).

This conclusion will be confirmed, if we look into the sacred history, and examine the characters of Saul, Ahithophel, and Judas—the only instances of suicide which the pen of inspiration has recorded. Do we discover in the last moments of these wretched self-destroyers anything to warrant a hope concerning their state after death? Alas! no. We find them throughout manifesting that spirit of pride and enmity to God, and that hateful compound of malice and despair, which characterize the fiend, and which torture the bosoms of the accursed in their dark abodes.

With what solemn language, then, does the consideration of his future destiny address everyone who contemplates this mode of terminating earthly sorrows! Pause, O man! and recollect, before the irrevocable step is taken—recollect that you are to exist beyond the grave! Are you, then, prepared to die? Are you sure—as miserable as your present state may be—are you sure that death will not land you in still greater misery—in that prison of eternal despair, "where the worm dies not, and the fire is not quenched" (Mark 9:44 ff.), and where the heaviest calamities of this life will sink into nothing when compared with that "torment, the smoke of which ascends forever and ever?" (Rev. 13:11).

Such are the guilt , the folly , and the doom of the self-murderer! May God of his infinite mercy preserve us all from an evil so deplorable, from a crime of such complicated malignity! "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his!" (Numbers 23:10). Amen.

We have seen the guilt , the folly , and the doom of suicide. With respect to such an evil, we cannot be too fully apprized of its sources, nor be too carefully put on our guard against those sentiments and practices which may lead to the fatal temptation. Let us, therefore, proceed, in pursuance of our plan,

II. To develop some of the SOURCES of this crime of Suicide, and to point out some of the principles and habits which expose to danger.

There are many who believe that suicide always arises from insanity. If by this is meant, that every self-murderer is impelled by a dreadful infatuation, which renders him a proper object of pity as well as of blame—it is doubtless a just opinion. But if the meaning is, that everyone who commits this crime ought to be, of course, considered as in that state of mental derangement which is commonly denominated insanity, and which places its unhappy subject, for the time being, out of the class of moral agents—it is, I am persuaded, not only an error, but also an error of the most mischievous kind.

Instances frequently occur, in which men destroy their lives with the utmost apparent coolness, with great deliberation, after long and formal reasonings on the subject, and after the most regular disposition of their worldly affairs. To pronounce such people insane, is a departure from every principle of probability, and from all propriety of language.

It will be said, perhaps, that the commission of a crime so repugnant to every feeling of nature, and to every dictate of reason—can never be supposed to take place but by a person of disordered mind. But is not the murder of a parent, a husband, a wife, or a child—also an unnatural as well as an atrocious crime? Yet, when cases of this kind occur, we generally and justly ascribe them rather to great moral depravity than to intellectual derangement.

But those who ascribe suicide, in all cases, to insanity, are not merely chargeable with a speculative error. Their doctrine is calculated to do practical mischief. It tends to diminish, in the minds of those who embrace it, the moral odium which ought ever to be attached to the crime in question; and it tends, no doubt, further, to divert the attention of men from other and much more frequent sources of this crime, and to put them off their guard with respect to some of the most formidable enemies of our happiness and our lives. It shall, therefore, be my endeavor, in the sequel of this discourse, to expose some of the principal sentiments and practices which have already proved fatal to thousands, and by which thousands more are daily placed in circumstances the most perilous and threatening.

1. Suicide may be traced in many, perhaps in most cases, to FALSE PRINCIPLES IN RELIGION AND MORALS.

The most powerful ties which bind men to the present state of existence, are allowed, on all hands, to be the love of life and its enjoyments, and a strong sense of moral and religious duty. But if the former is taken away, as it frequently is, by a series of afflictions—then how perilous, how deplorable is the situation of him who is either destitute of the latter, or has a feeble impression of its importance!

We may confidently assert that, in the large family of woe, there are thousands who, if they were not restrained by their principles, would, long ago, have laid down the burden of life, and abandoned, without God's permission, the station in which providence has placed them. Every opinion, therefore, which is adverse to this sense of duty—every opinion which tends to make God less an object of fear and love, the standard of holiness less powerful, sin less odious, the soul less precious, and eternity less solemn—must obviously weaken the barriers against suicide; because all such opinions render life, in the estimation of those who embrace them, less important, and death a less interesting and solemn event.

Thus, when a man believes that there is . . . no moral Governor of the universe; no Judge to whom he is accountable for his actions; no Heaven to be sought; no Hell to be avoided— then will he not, of course, feel himself at liberty to dispose of his own life at pleasure?

And if he is at any time weary of existence, and finds the affections which bind him to his family and friends more than counter-balanced by the pressure of suffering—then what is there to prevent his taking refuge in the grave? It is true, indeed, as was formerly observed, there are strong reasons why even the atheist ought to condemn and abhor suicide. But it is equally true, that the native tendency of his principles is to nourish that cold selfishness, that proud impatience, and that gloomy despair—which have so often prompted, and which so naturally prompt men, to flee from life whenever it becomes a burden.

Nor is it merely the extreme of infidelity, or total atheism, which may be considered as leading to the sin in question. To believe that the God who "judges the earth" is a being "altogether such a one as ourselves" (Psalm 57:11; 50:21); to deny his authority over us; to regard his threatenings as empty formalities, and his mercy as mere connivance at sin: in short, to adopt any radical error concerning his character and will, the relation which we sustain to him, or the genius of the gospel—every mistake of this kind has a tendency, in proportion to its magnitude, to weaken the sense of moral obligation, to take away from the mind its most precious supports, and to render it the dupe of every impatient feeling, and the sport of every desperate passion.

Do you demand proof of this? Inquire at what periods, and in what communities—the crime of self-murder has been most common; and you will find that it has been precisely at those periods, and in those communities, in which impiety and profligacy were most prevalent.

In the early ages of the Roman republic, we are told, that suicide was seldom committed. But when luxury, aided by the Epicurean and Stoic philosophy, had corrupted their simplicity and virtue—the Romans soon began to seek shelter in self-murder, from their misfortunes and the effects of their vices; and it was not long before this crime attained a most alarming frequency among that people.

A comparison of the state of opinions and morals in different parts of modern Europe, would lead—it is believed, to a similar result. And the history of our own country, beyond all question, illustrates and confirms the position before us. At a period not very remote, when simple and industrious habits characterized even our populous cities, and when licentious principles were comparatively little known—a case of self-murder was one of the rarest occurrences. But more lately, with the increase of luxury and infidelity, we have seen this unnatural crime every day gaining ground.

Do you call for still more pointed and explicit evidence? Examine those apologies and attempted justifications of their conduct which self-murderers have frequently left for the information of survivors, and you will seldom fail to perceive that either total infidelity, or some other modification of anti-Christian opinions, perverted their judgment, corrupted all their reasonings on the subject, and impelled them to the fatal deed. One professes to believe that there is no God; another denies the doctrine of his providence; a third supposes that God is "all mercy"—and that a disposition to punish sin makes no part of his divine character; and all agree in asserting that men have a right to dispose of that life which the Creator gave, and which he alone has a right to take away.

There is probably no perpetrator of this crime, from the blind atheist who sits in Christian light—to the deluded Hindu immersed in pagan darkness, who does not reconcile his mind to the wicked purpose either by the total rejection of religion, or by the adoption of erroneous and corrupt opinions. The mischief done by false principles in such cases as these, is too evident to be questioned, and too shocking to be contemplated without horror.

And here I cannot help remarking more explicitly, what was transiently hinted in another place, that the mischievous influence on popular opinions produced by many dramatic representations at the theaters, and by licentious novels—may probably be considered as leading to many cases of the crime of self-murder. Perhaps some will pronounce this a far-fetched and illiberal supposition. But let me ask such objectors, whether many of these compositions do not make virtue and religion appear contemptible—and vice honorable, attractive, and triumphant? Do they not frequently put corrupt opinions into the mouth of some favorite hero, the splendor of whose character, in other respects, is made to embellish the most detestable sentiments, and the force of whose eloquence is employed to recommend the most vile and criminal maxims? Do they not often represent the most odious crimes that mortals can commit, and suicide among the rest—as petty faults, and sometimes as no faults at all? In a word, are not many of them constructed precisely as if their leading object were to frame an apology for every evil passion, and to plead for the indulgence of every corrupt propensity?

Is it far-fetched or illiberal to say that such compositions have a tendency favorable to suicide, and that those who habitually delight in and peruse them are in the high road of danger? No, brethren, it is rather a subject of astonishment and regret that so many who bear the Christian name appear to be so little impressed with a sense of this danger, and that some even doubt its reality"

Infidelity, then, or, what is little if any better, those lax principles of religion, which make God an accommodating and capricious being, his law a solemn mockery, and his gospel a minister of sin—may be considered as the fatal delusion which is not only poisoning the hearts and corrupting the morals of multitudes, but which is also daily precipitating thousands into premature graves! Where this delusion reigns, no virtue can be considered as stable, no moral tie as permanent, no life as secure. This is the blind and relentless guide who first flatters, deceives, and plunges into misery—and then, having no consolation to administer, with cold indifference prepares the instrument of death, puts it into the hand of his victim, and, with "demon smile," prompts him to the murderous purpose!

Mortals! behold your danger, and flee from it! When you listen to the sneers and suggestions of the infidel, remember that you are not only listening to one who would destroy the hopes of the soul, but who may also be regarded as indirectly a conspirator against your lives. Avoid with abhorrence, his principles and his artifices. Be it your study to be early instructed and fixed in those principles which will enable you to detect his fallacies, to answer his arguments, and to despise his sneers. Unless you are thus armed—there is no danger to which you may not be considered as exposed.

Ah! how perilous, how pitiable is the situation of that youth who is permitted to go forth on the stage of life, without Scripture principles, without any acquaintance with the gospel, without a knowledge either of the dangers to which he is exposed, or the means of defense! What can we expect of such an one, but that, like the mariner who ventures abroad on the trackless ocean, without compass or chart, he will be deceived by every false appearance, become the sport of every tempest, and be, at length, either dashed on the rocks, or swallowed up in the merciless waves!

2. Another source to which we may trace many instances of suicide is AN EARLY AND EXCESSIVE INDULGENCE IN THE PLEASURES OF LIFE.

When the pleasures of life are sought and indulged under the restrictions, and with that moderation which the law of God, as well as reason requires—they, no doubt, have their value, and are to be regarded as a substantial part of human enjoyment. When this economy of pleasure, if I may so express it, is early and diligently observed, that vigor, both of body and mind, which is so necessary to earthly happiness, will generally be retained until the close of life.

But when worldly pleasures become our chief business, the grand object of pursuit—they never fail to disappoint themselves, and to defeat their own purpose. The most exquisite gratification, when frequently repeated, and especially when carried to excess—palls upon the sense; the capacity for enjoying it diminishes with each inordinate repetition; and when indulgence is carried still further, it produces disgust and loathing.

Yes, my young friends, he who makes haste to enjoy life may "spread happiness into wild luxuriance," may appear, for a time, to taste the most enviable felicity; but he is over-drawing from that fund of enjoyment which should exhilarate his following years; he is "exhausting that radical vigor" which is necessary to render his cheerfulness permanent; and all that can be expected, after a little while, is languor, satiety, and weariness of life.

That such an infatuated course has sometimes produced these melancholy effects and terminated in suicide, is too well attested to admit of controversy. An eminent medical writer tells us that a gentleman of polished manners, and comfortable circumstances, one day said to him, "A ride out in the morning, and a warm parlor and a pack of cards in the afternoon, is all that life affords;" and that, in a short time afterwards, to show that such a life had lost, in his estimation, all its charms—he shot himself.

The annals of suicide, beyond doubt, record many cases of a similar kind. Those wretched beings who, by early excesses, as irrational as they are criminal, have exhausted all their sources of enjoyment, and lost all relish of life, not infrequently terminate their mad career by self-murder. The sordid objects of their idolatry ceasing to be a refuge from themselves, they sink under the burden of their own minds.

How miserable, then, is the prospect, and how extreme the danger, of him who has grown up destitute of all taste for any pleasures but those of the sensual kind; who finds no happiness but in the whirl of dissipation, in the hall of the dance, in licentious company, or in the luxurious indulgence of the festive table; who has run round and round again the whole circle of enjoyments of which he is capable, and can find nothing new to interest or gratify him! No wonder that such a one should be frequently ready to say, "My soul is weary of my life!" [Job 10:1]. No wonder that he should "fill up the circle of his joys long before he has completed the measure of his duration, and either wretchedly sit down for the remainder of his days, in gloomy discontent, or rashly cut them short in despair."

3. A habit of INTEMPERATE DRINKING frequently leads to weariness of life, despair, and suicide.

It would be impossible, in the bounds of a common discourse, to trace and enumerate all the evils arising from this pernicious indulgence of alcohol. Its destructive effects on the bodies, the minds, the estates, the reputation, and all the comforts of those who yield themselves to its power, form one of the most melancholy chapters in the history of man! But in reciting the numberless evils to which intemperance gives rise, we may unquestionably consider suicide as among the most conspicuous and dreadful. I speak not now of the tendency of this sin indirectly to destroy life; to injure the bodily health; to bring on mental derangements, the most loathsome and tormenting diseases, the vitiation of the whole system, and finally death.

I speak not now of those poisonous effects of the intoxicating draught, which are proclaimed by the sickly looks, the emaciated forms, the trembling hands, and the tottering step of multitudes around us, who are gradually sinking into untimely graves. On this picture of human degradation and destruction I forbear, at present, to dwell; and God grant that none of those who now hear me may ever become acquainted with it by personal experience!

But I speak of those instances in which habits of intemperance have so perverted and disordered the mind, so clouded every prospect, so tortured the emotions, or so plunged their miserab