The debate on assisted suicide has lost its way. Catholic, but not only

Between suicide as ‘the only truly serious philosophical question’, according to Albert Camus’s famous definition, and the regional approval of medically assisted suicide in the Veneto region, there lies not only the chasm of eighty-four years of lives and deaths that have shaken to its very foundations the anthropology which, for better or worse, has underpinned a couple of Western millennia. There is also, to stick with canonical quotations, that of the philosopher and sociologist Émile Durkheim, who, half a century before Camus, defined suicide as ‘a social fact’. By this he meant that it is a constant phenomenon in every civilisation. But also – and this concerns us closely – that it is a choice which involves the whole of society. Of the most radically solitary of acts, one might say that one never commits suicide alone. It also concerns others, whether in a private or public sphere, because it is a choice – a value judgement – that affects social perception, to the point of becoming a factor in law and positive law. Indeed, to the point of transforming this individual and philosophical issue into a right guaranteed by the National Health Service.

In the deep chasm that divides individual freedom to determine one’s own life (even Cardinal Zuppi realised, at Zaia’s Fienile, that palliative care has nothing to do with it: ‘if we’re talking about aggressive medical treatment, the Church is against it’. But that was a while ago) and the social significance of a right that has been turned into an absolute, there ought to be room for a serious public and political debate. Yet it takes only a few steps to realise that this ravine has become a swamp, a barren steppe. In the 17 years since the Eluana Englaro case, and the nine since the DJ Fabo case, it is not merely that the political initiative of supporters of ‘a gentle death’ – in its various forms – has grown; nor is it merely that the recourse to assisted suicide has become a commonly accepted possibility in public opinion – just another way of ending it all, a topic of every afternoon talk show. But clearly—and this is the most worrying thing—any serious debate has withered away and disappeared. Whether philosophical or political. Two very recent rulings by the Constitutional Court have referred the responsibility for legislating back to Parliament, not least to prevent the matter from being subject to uncontrolled regionalisation (assisted suicide as the sole area of ‘differentiated autonomy’ in a state that denies it). Yet as recently as last June, work on the end-of-life bills ground to a halt once more, amid a steady stream of purely political and tactical skirmishes – nothing, absolutely nothing, of a philosophical or ethical nature. There was not much to read in the press yesterday. Neither acclaim nor condemnation. In the Corriere, however, there was an interesting commentary by Enzo d’Errico reflecting on the personal and social abandonment that leads to despair and, often, to death – the real tragedy that the community and the state ought to address. But he was referring to the tragedy of the two parents in Rome who killed their disabled daughter and then took their own lives. That the same tragedy of loneliness or lack of support is, at times, also a decisive factor in the decision to opt for assisted suicide is, on the other hand, a cultural taboo. Something for reactionaries. Yet this was recounted in Tempi by the Milanese city councillor Deborah Giovanati, who had become friends with Domenico Zuccarella, the first case of assisted suicide under the Lombardy Regional Health Service.

It is impossible not to notice that, since the time of Eluana Englaro and the contemporary bioethical battles waged by the Italian Episcopal Conference (CEI), even the voice of Catholics – even those whom Professor Melloni smugly refers to as ‘(legitimately) reactionary and (legitimately bigoted) Catholics’ – has fallen silent. We have moved on from Cardinal Ruini or Gaetano Quagliariello to Claudio Borgia or Simone Pillon. On the political front, too, the cultural vagueness – let us put it that way, so as not to say doctrinal – of Luca Zaia, writing yesterday in La Repubblica, is perplexing; whilst declaring himself a Catholic, he skims over the basics, “Catholics must understand that there are no good and bad people who will go to hell”, and reduces the Church to a moral institution that “holds the Holy Grail, but Catholics in public institutions must concern themselves not with souls, but with bodies”. Here, the distinction between legislating in an attempt to uphold principles (which, of course, may legitimately end up in the minority) and relativist laissez-faire becomes indistinguishable. It is also significant that, to find a position that is at least consistent, one must look to Mariastella Gelmini in Il Giornale – who has never been a staunch supporter of ethics committees – and who clearly declares herself “opposed to suicide and euthanasia”, though not to a law, provided it is enacted by Parliament. Yesterday, Avvenire gave a slight stir, with the headline ‘Suicide in Veneto’, if only to take account of the harsh criticism from many bishops, foremost among them the Patriarch of Venice, Francesco Moraglia. But for the Catholic Zaia, ‘the difference between me and a priest is that I have to apply a law, and the priest does not’. That is not exactly the case, but Zaia is perfectly in tune with the Church’s discourse – even within the hierarchy – which on these issues is increasingly characterised by an un-Gospel-like ‘neither-nor’ stance. Anxious not to cause a stir.

The issue of end-of-life care, and all the philosophical considerations surrounding it, deserves a little more attention – and not just from the Catholic side. Even though there are no more Albert Camus-like figures around.