Because I suspect there’s a lot of bitterness behind this.
When Moses began laying heavy plagues on Egypt, the priests of Pharaoh were able to explain it away, at least at first. This is seen in the Book of Mormon where people begin to explain away the prophecies, as mere guesses. Similarly, we are told that when Christ comes, the sign of his coming will be explained away as merely a comet, planet, etc. This is often seen with respect to miracles and curses.
I never expected to see that excuse making in myself. (more…)
I suppose I would be puzzled, too, if I wasn’t LDS.
Which is why we are under solemn covenant to mourn with those that mourn. Reading Dan’s blog this week has been awfully hard on the photoreceptors, which don’t respond well to saltwater immersion.
And please consider making a modest donation to nowilaymedowntosleep.org, which Dan has indicated provided its free services to his family. I visited the web site and it seems like a very worthy charity.
It has become fashionable to excuse practically every suicide as either the result of profound mental illness, for which the suicide is not morally accountable, or as a response to intractable psychic or physical pain, for which it is justified.
I predict that Emily Esfahani Smith will succeed in finally uniting liberals, libertarians, and many self-identifying conservatives … against herself.
Notwithstanding that she is making a rather important point.
Some suicides are the result of profound mental illness. But, as society lessens the stigma against suicide, it is inevitable that there will be more and more suicides that are not the result of profound mental illness. More despondent people will turn to the gun or the rope instead to to the grace of God.
Or… “Lions and tigers. Oh my!”
Or… “After watching Jurassic Park, I’ll never use a Port-o-let again.”
Arise my body, my small body, we have striven
Enough, and He is merciful; we are forgiven.
Arise small body, puppet-like and pale, and go,
White as the bed-clothes into bed, and cold as snow,
Undress with small, cold fingers and put out the light,
And be alone, hush’d mortal, in the sacred night,
-A meadow whipt flat with the rain, a cup
Emptied and clean, a garment washed and folded up,
Faded in colour, thinned almost to raggedness
By dirt and by the washing of that dirtiness.
Be not too quickly warm again. Lie cold; consent
To weariness’ and pardon’s watery element.
Drink up the bitter water, breathe the chilly death;
Soon enough comes the riot of our blood and breath.
Thus C.S. Lewis.