Those who lack the courage to die are also unable to truly live. I believe that people who die by suicide do not do so because they want to die, but because they wanted to live. They want to live, yet they cannot find a way to live that feels like “living.” This is not a question of life or death itself, but a question of methodology. If a viable way to live had existed for those who took their own lives, wouldn’t they still be here?
They possessed the courage to live. On the other hand, they were unable to connect with the mode of existence they desired. Those who die by suicide truly want to live. For the individual, suicide feels like a protest and a declaration, staked upon their very life, against the fact that a way for them to exist did not befit this world.
Isn’t it precisely because they had the courage to live that they made such a desperate protest and declaration? I suspect that being overflowing with the courage to live, while simultaneously being unable to connect with a way to manifest it, is what drives one toward suicide.
Some might argue that there are countless ways to survive. In reality, there may indeed be options remaining. But how does it feel for the individual? If choosing one of those “ways” does not embody that person’s essence of life, isn’t that, for them, a living death?
Arguments like the following carry little weight: it is conceivable that mental illnesses such as depression, isolation, or economic hardship cause tunnel vision, making one unable to see options for survival. However, don’t these only become problematic within the context of living? Rather, a more plausible counter-argument is that one might die precisely because they cannot muster the courage to live.
As for me, I have neither the courage to live nor the courage to die.
Possessing the courage to live is the flip side of possessing the courage to die; it is only by accepting both that one can exercise the driving force of “judgment.” Decisions made without accepting both are merely propelled by the inertia of the judgment process itself, leaving one to live passively.
For those lacking this courage, every time a distinct “other” intervenes in the self, the weakness of one’s own capacity for judgment is exposed. Looking back on my life thus far, I cannot help but feel this way.
To perceive anything is to draw a line—to see in black and white, to establish a boundary. As long as we are alive, this is unavoidable. By living, humans constantly take on the risk of death.
The perception of being alive and the decision to live establish these boundaries. Judgment is always accompanied by boundaries. Whether we recognize existing indicators or create new ones, as long as we live, the act of drawing lines through judgment follows us; living itself is the very embodiment of judgment.
In human existence, there is a line drawn by the act of judgment itself and a line drawn by the act of living. Accepting the latter is what constitutes the “courage to live.” By possessing this courage, these two lines overlap, and for the first time, one’s resolve gains strength.
In a world where a distinct “other” intervenes in the self, perhaps the act of the self intervening in the world is only made possible by possessing this specific strength.
