I like to
think that most people do not think about suicide. I like to think that most
people, and by ‘most’ I mean nearly all, wake up each morning not needing to
will themselves out of bed or coach themselves to carry on. They just do, and
most have a reason to, whatever it may be.
But this
week I am thinking about suicide, and I would venture to say, so is most of the
world. This week the king of comedy chose the path of tragedy and ended his
life. ‘Why’ is a question as much clichéd as it is rhetorical, but we are still
trying to reach the answer. Why would a man who was loved so deeply by his wife
and children, who was hailed world-wide as a genius and a success, who had the
respect and esteem of his peers and icons, who had purpose in philanthropy and
charity, why would such a man need to escape the world in so desperate a
manner?
Rob and I
disagree. His contention is that those who are highly intelligent and creative
are more prone to depression and suicide than the rest of us ordinary people.
There is something in the creative mind that causes one to think differently
from others, and this difference is so alienating that it wears the genius
down. It is exhausting to not fit in and to have to spend one’s life trying to
get the world to understand and approve of your peculiar way of thinking. He cites
David Foster Wallace, Kirk Cobain, Spalding Gray, Ernest Hemingway. He quotes Kirk
Douglas as Vincent van Gogh shouting, “It’s impossible!”
It’s a very
romantic notion, but I disagree. Depression and its by-product suicide are
universal. A blue collar worker who dropped out of high school can feel that
same alienation. A housewife who never considered college or the arts can
perceive herself as misunderstood and unappreciated. I cite the teenage boy who
shoots himself after being bullied at school, the distraught mothers who usher
their children into the afterlife with them, the elderly who feel they are a
burden to others. Anyone can feel desperate. Everyone feels misunderstood. The
intelligent do not have a market on depression, nor does creativity require
suffering.
Apparently,
studies on this are inconclusive, but they lean in my direction. About fifteen years
ago, Scientific America published a
report suggesting that men with lower IQ’s are far more likely to commit suicide
than those with higher IQ’s. The speculation was that people with lower IQ’s also
have a lower ability to problem-solve, leading them to see suicide as the best
solution in overwhelming situations. Additionally, men with lower IQ’s tend to have
more exposure to violence in childhood. This violent history is ostensibly a
factor in many violent deaths. And as for creativity, there is no link to that
and mental illness either. In fact, a more recent study by Simon Kyaga in the Journal
of Psychiatric Research concludes that “individuals with overall creative
professions were not more likely to suffer from investigated psychiatric
disorders….” (The only exception to this is writers. Go figure.) Interestingly,
the study also found that siblings of those diagnosed with mental illness are far
more likely to have a creative profession in the arts or sciences than their
brothers or sisters with mental illness.
The
majority of intelligent, creative people are happy and healthy. They have an
outlet for their unconventional thinking, and, I surmise, couldn’t care less if
the world appreciates or understands them. They do not fit in, and they are happy
to keep it that way. Why would a creative, intelligent person feel desperate at
not fitting in with Kardashian-lovers or mass market paperback-readers? Why
would a creative, intelligent person decide that life is not worth living
because people prefer television to art, rap to music, video games to books?
Such resistance is part of the quest. It is essential to the mystery of
creative life. It builds a new purpose into the creative process.
Robin
Williams was a good and generous man. Examples of his altruism and selflessness
are coming to light as each day passes. He was also plagued by the consequences
of his bad choices. We can speculate that his addictions had something to do
with his decision to end his own life. We can hazard that the decision was made
more to spare his family than to spare himself. But we should also not shy away
from saying that it was the wrong decision. Some are being villainized for
saying Mr. Williams’ suicide was cowardly. But, as Rob said this morning, one
cowardly act does not make a coward, just as one idiotic act does not make an
idiot, and one brilliant act does not make a genius.
No one saw
it coming. Suicide is frequently a shock. Despite Rob’s theory, we simply can’t
assume that one type of person or another is more likely to take his own life.
Anyone can hurt. It seems there is no describing just how much people can hurt
inside, and how many different things can drain a person of his objective and
joy. It has made me aware of how brutal and lonely life can be, not just for
the genius or the creative, but for every living soul, if he or she does not
have hope. In The Noonday Devil, Father
Bernard Basset wrote, “Because each of us is, in a sense ... utterly unable to
communicate even a fraction of our inner selves to others, we cannot by
ourselves, unaided, escape such loneliness.” He continues, “We are cut off from
the world… sealed inside ourselves.” God alone can reach those sealed-off
parts, but we can always be more compassionate, more patient, less
self-centered. We can always look a little harder past our own trials and
burdens to those of someone else. This reminder might be the flicker of good that comes
from a life well-lived and badly ended.
