Article
Assisted dying
Care
Comment
Ethics
6 min read

It's a dreadful thing when we regard the disabled, the dependent, and the different as disposable

A MND sufferer reflects on the historic vote to legalise assisted dying
A crowded House of Commons awaits a vote.
MPs await the result.
Parliament TV.

I can’t say I’m surprised, but I am disappointed. The euthanasia juggernaut has been gathering momentum throughout the western world. In this country it appeared as the Voluntary Euthanasia Society, to be later rebranded as the richly endowed Dignity in Dying. It’s been beavering away for decades, with well publicised personal stories and legal cases which have been very effective in persuading general opinion that dying is frequently nasty and that we should have the right to choose when and how to die. That organisation resisted using the term ‘suicide’, which is what they advocate, realising that it opens up the accusation of devaluing life. So, I’m not surprised that MPs have, after an impassioned debate, by a narrow majority, eventually given way to the pressure.

A fortnight ago, I had my annual check-up at the motor neurone disorder clinic and subsequently received the GP letter.

“Date seen 02/06/2025…  Diagnosis (this visit) Primary Lateral Sclerosis…  Symptom onset 2000”.

I well remember the year 2000, my voice deteriorating, my balance starting to fail me, resulting finally a year later in the consultant’s verdict, “You have a motor neurone disorder.”

I knew what that meant as at the time Diane Pretty, backed and publicised by the Voluntary Euthanasia Society, was fighting through the courts as far as the European Court of Human Rights for the right for her husband to take her to commit suicide in Switzerland in the Dignitas “clinic”. It was a frightening time to receive an MND diagnosis, and it still is today. The normal progression is both swift and relentless. However, the Motor Neurone Disease Association does say “in the majority of cases, death with MND is peaceful and dignified”.

At that time I could have been depressed; I could have known how much care I would need, how much it might eat into our savings; I could have feared the physical and emotional toll it would take on my wife; I could have been desperate about the future. Certainly I was vulnerable. Fortunately, I was of an optimistic nature and had plenty of reasons for living.

But it could easily have been otherwise. I might well have panicked and opted for a doctor to help me die, if the law debated in the Commons today was in effect. Then I wouldn’t have seen two sons getting married nor grandchildren being born and growing up. I would have missed out on twenty years of an increasingly restricted but paradoxically fulfilled life.

Of course you might argue that I’m ‘lucky’ to have, as became clear over the years, my exceptionally rare and slow form of MND, but I wasn’t to know that, as indeed none of us do despite our doctors’ best predictions. Indeed I am lucky to be alive.

However it was my experience that brought me face to face with the fact of my own mortality and the issue of assisted dying. There seemed to me to be four main drivers. First, the desire for autonomy; second, the insistence of independence; third, a sort of compassion, and fourth, finance. There were two further factors: fear of death and fear of being “a burden”.

Autonomy

It’s a modern western concept that humans are by nature autonomous beings, meaning that choice is an inalienable right. I once co-wrote a book with the title, I Choose Everything, based on a quote of Therèse of Lisieux. It was from a childhood incident, but it did not mean she reserved the right for total autonomy, but rather the opposite. As she later wrote, “I fear only one thing: to keep my own will; so take it, for ‘I choose all!’ that you (God) will!”

Absolute choice is not a virtue. Choosing where to drive your car is not a virtue as it can endanger other road users. There are many limitations on freedom or taboos that protect others in a society. Taking someone’s life directly or indirectly is a universal one. Individuals submitting to a higher authority holds a community and a nation together.  

Independence

Another related modern heresy is the ideal of independence. How utterly fatuous this is! None of us is born independent. We’re born relational. All of our lives we are interdependent. Being cared for is not to be lacking in dignity. Being 100% dependent does not deprive someone of their human dignity. Even the most disabled person is a human being made in the image of God. It is a dreadful thing when a society regards the disabled, the dependent, the different, the mentally deficient and the declining as inferior and potentially disposable. Of course the advocates of the Bill would vehemently deny that they or it implied any such thing. Yet the history of the twentieth century bears witness to how subtly a society can be seduced by the pernicious philosophy of eugenics.

Compassion

It is a modern paradox that medical advances have contributed to the illusion that death is to be feared. Yes, death has always been the last enemy and, yes, we hope it will be peaceful. But we shall all die. Contrary to received wisdom, the compassionate response to that fact of life is not to “put someone out of their misery”; compassion (literally suffering with) means to be with them in their suffering. This is what good palliative care provides, making the end of life dignified, worth living and even pain free.

As former Prime Minister Gordon Brown pertinently asked, “When only a small fraction of the population are expected to choose assisted dying, would it not be better to focus all our energies on improving all-round hospice care to reach everyone in need of end-of-life support?”

Finance

Of course palliative care costs more than facilitating patients to take their own lives. According to the Daily Mail “Legalising assisted dying would save the taxpayer £10million in NHS costs in its first year, rising to £60million after a decade, according to grim new estimates published by the government.” The estimates are indeed grim, but also attractive to politicians straining to balance the national budget. Yet they raise the fundamental question: do we want to live in a society which values money over life?

Which is the most fundamental of all the issues: the sanctity of life has been a core principle central to all the Abrahamic faiths, which undergird our culture and way of life. In the words of Job on hearing of the death of all his children, “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away.” The start and end of life are not ours to determine. We lack the wisdom of God.

Apparently the majority of our parliamentarians have decided to place that prerogative into the hands of suggestible and distinctly fallible humans beings. We or our children shall, I fear, reap the whirlwind.

As an afterthought I have a number of friends who disagree with me, often after personal experience of watching a loved one die. I sympathise and I suppose that I must be glad for them that the MPs have represented their wishes. And I would never condemn them if they decided to choose the route of assisted dying for themselves. I hope they won’t have to.

Meanwhile I trust that, when the Bill comes to the upper house, their Lordships will fulfil their function of revising it wisely and effectively. They certainly have relevant expertise, for example in the field of palliative care - which is in danger of being squeezed following this bill.

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Snippet
America
Comment
Trauma
3 min read

Why Charlie Kirk’s murder shook me so much

When violence hits close to home, we search for answers

Will Fagan serves as a minister in the Episcopal Church in Birmingham, Alabama.

Mourning students at a vigil hold a sign about Charlie Kirk.
Students at Texas Tech hold a vigil for Charlie Kirk.
X.com/OldRowOfficial.

Unless you've managed to avoid all news this week, you’ll have heard of a series of unconnected violent attacks in the United States, the most recent being the assassination of 31-year-old conservative political activist Charlie Kirk during a speaking engagement at a university in Utah. 

Every time there is a shooting in my country – whatever the motives – I become physically sick and had a similar reaction this week. I cannot watch the news; I delete social media and avoid the topic in conversation as much as possible. Our present and public culture of violence coupled with the resultant news cycle is simply too much, too fear-inducing, and leaves one with the helpless thought of, “what would happen if I was in a situation like this?” I’m sure I’m not alone in this response. 

I do not agree with Kirk’s politics (though as an ordained minister, I wouldn’t tell you if I did), yet what I can tell you is that his death has gripped me in a way I couldn’t have foreseen, nor expected, becoming strikingly close to home. Kirk was 31 with a three- and one-year-old child. I am 32 with a three- and one-year-old. The idea that this could happen, period, followed by the thought of a prospect of never seeing my own children grow up completely undoes me.  

This is undoubtedly a common response to when tragedy strikes individuals with whom we can readily identify. I doubt I have to list examples (were you 37 years old when Princess Diana died?; etc). because you’re probably thinking of certain instances right now in times where tragedy has hit, even metaphorically, quite close to home. 

As I write this not from a gun control perspective, nor a political one at all, what is the theological answer to why events like this continue to happen? It is a question that I have been asked, unprovoked, by three young fathers (of diverse political persuasion) this week who have been gripped similarly to me.  

What continues to come to mind is a blanket statement written by the Apostle Paul in his first century letter to the Galatian churches in which he calls the backdrop of our lives, “This present evil age.” It is a harsh statement, and it is unpleasant, but I also think it is true. How, you ask, can I apply this first century statement to 21st century life?  

For one, Paul is writing about the time before Jesus Christ returns, a time that Christian teaching states that we presently occupy, so the statement does apply. But perhaps more importantly, when I look around, I confess that, especially in weeks like this one, “this present evil age” is an existence that I recognize. It is an existence that tragically we can largely expect, an existence that cannot be fixed politically, personally, or corporately as much as we would like to. 

Rather than depressingly stripping us of agency, how is this helpful? I find it helpful in two key ways: First, this present evil age as a descriptor is helpful because it helps answer, “Why?” to my despondency, confusion, and nausea at senseless tragedy. It helps me put those feelings somewhere and begins to, if only slightly, give the nonsensical a name.  

More than that, though, it forces me to look beyond this world, and to a power greater than the seen forces here – a power that I cannot see, a power that is good, merciful, and just, a power that will one day, and hopefully soon, make all things new.  

Of course, we cannot make sense of senseless and violent and sickening tragedy. We weren’t meant to, and that is grievous. So might we only call on the name of the one who has come to this present evil age before, and that he might come again – soon.   

Support Seen & Unseen

Since Spring 2023, our readers have enjoyed over 1,500 articles. All for free. 
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If you enjoy Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?
 
Do so by joining Behind The Seen. Alongside other benefits, you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing my reading and reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.

Graham Tomlin
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