Once a familiar actor joked: if he is not approved for the main role, then he will commit hara-kiri in front of the director. Of course, I smiled, but this joke instilled anxiety in me, and I looked into the eyes of a friend to understand to what extent he was joking …
In our society, there is no taboo to publicly declare your unwillingness to live. Moreover, the idea of suicide in a hopeless situation is quite natural, but it is customary to dismiss it as unproductive and meaningless. As if we had long ago come to an agreement what it is — suicide — and why. When we think about it, the thought wanders through the three pine trees: suicide is a terrible sin, so one must live; suicide is a consequence of depression, and it is necessary to free yourself from depression, not from life. Or like the existentialists: no one can take away my right to commit suicide, but, damn it, my life should be worth living it … But immunity to the infection of suicide has never been found.
There is, however, a completely different view of the freedom to live and the lack of freedom to die. The Chukchi had a custom of voluntary death at the beginning of the XNUMXth century. If a person did not want to live, then he informed a friend or relative about it, and they had to kill him. Even if the words about the desire to die were thrown in the hearts, the rejection of the intention uttered aloud was impossible: otherwise the Kele spirits would have become angry and would have avenged the whole family for the promised but not made sacrifice. These spirits took into account only words and remained indifferent to the external circumstances that caused them. The only thing a penitent could count on was to insist on dying at the hands of his son; such a death was considered less painful …
Maybe you need more intelligence and tact to keep silent about something than to brilliantly and comprehensively describe the topic aloud
In the Western culture, between motivation and action lies an ever-increasing gap as long as reflection. It often seems to us that the more possibilities we sort through in our mind, the more guarantees we will get to make the right decision. And it seems that the longer, the more subtle the reflection, the more deeply the problem is investigated, while in reality only the number of words devoted to it has multiplied.
Maybe there are topics that need to be tabooed from childhood? Maybe you need much more intelligence and tact, much more internal effort to keep silent about something than to describe the topic aloud subtly, comprehensively, with brilliance and many references? To remain silent, for example, about the sudden fatigue from life that has suddenly rolled in, because this fatigue, which is mythologized in every possible way, will subside if you wait it out and endure it. Deep in our hearts, we know this.
None of us are immune to bitter thoughts. But is it possible to regain the courage to live if you torment those around you with your despair? The world will rather respond to despair than to a cry for help buried under it — and will not give a chance to survive.