One must, however, acknowledge the fact that nowadays, any discussion centred around the issue of death triggers a certain malaise. In the 19th century, Victorians used to cover the genital areas of statues with a certain type of G-string. Today, it is hearses that one attempts to conceal: the sight of death disrupts the anti-tragic optimism that goes hand in hand with the spreading of ‘progressive’ ideologies.
The arguments one resorts to in this debate are almost invariably emotional and fraught with unmethodical sensitivity. Those that present them continuously sway from the medical and scientific field to the philosophical, metaphysical and even political sphere. The disqualifying reminder of ‘Nazi atrocities’ is taken as a ratio perennis. One proceeds to extrapolate based on the most extreme cases (whether one’s own experiences or hear-say) and, above all, to reassure oneself by diving head first into the misty realm of words.
Popular instinct is more reliable in this regard. When someone that has been afflicted with long-term agony dies, his family and friends say: ‘Redemption at last’. It is a most heartfelt statement on their part, one that is not formulated in spite of their love for the departed, but because of it.
On 5th February, 1974, a jury in Minneola, USA, acquitted a doctor, Mr Vincent A. Monterano, who had been accused of having shortened the agony of a patient suffering from laryngeal cancer, double pneumonia and pulmonary embolism. The announcement of the verdict triggered a thunderous applause among those present.
Must Man Continue to Be ‘Acted Upon’?
It is hardly a coincidence that the issue of euthanasia is currently resurfacing. Having previously considered biological workings to be unavoidable, man is henceforth in a position to control them. His newly acquired power imposes some rather formidable options upon him.
The entire problematic can thus be formulated as follows. There are people whose condition has been determined to be untreatable and who experience the worst imaginable suffering on a daily basis; due to their ordeal, they ask to be released from it all. Should society, on principle, condemn them to suffer further, with no prospect of recovery, until the end of their inevitable degeneration? Should mankind, whose members enjoy the necessary means to act in this regard, continue to be acted upon? Is it not time for us to add the right to death to its counterpart, the right to life, which was proclaimed on the 10th of December 1948 as part of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights?
In Le Quotidien du médecin, HR Charles Reymondon (Baruch) reminded the readers that the Code of Medical Deontology ‘does not, in contrast with popular misconception, define the respect for human life as medicine’s sole aim; it is rather the respect for human life and the human person that constitutes its very purpose’.
For all those who advocate euthanasia, these two notions — that of life and that of the person — can no longer be confused. When life is degraded beyond a certain threshold, there is no person left. How can one claim to respect life if one equally respects both the real person and its caricature?
In a recent book, doctor Paul Sporken, who defines himself as a Dutch Christian, proceeds to make the following statement: ‘The stopping of the heart, which once represented the most undeniable proof of death, is now compatible with “life”. Some organs can thus be dead while the human being is still alive. Inversely, the latter can already be dead while certain organs remain alive either in someone else or by being sustained artificially’.
Religious authorities have repeatedly manifested hostility towards any and all forms of euthanasia (‘The Christian response is most clear: they are opposed to it’, as stated in La Vie catholique710 on 14th July, 1976). On 20th August, 1956, however, Pope Pius XII had declared:
‘With regard to the question of prolonging life, the ethical norm cannot be found in the mere preservation of life, but in preserving a life that is genuinely human’.
On his part, doctor Sporken declares himself to be in favour of euthanasia as long as it is not conducted against the formal will of the patient or without it.
An endless number of objections spring to mind, however, including all possible excesses. A question thus surfaces: when one sets out to justify death, how far will this undertaking lead us?
Doctor Christen, a biologist, responds: ‘War and capital punishment already embody a justification of death. The issue that presents itself is, in fact, that of arbitrariness. One has every right to pose the question, but no one has the right to use it as a pretext to evade their own responsibilities. It would be a display of the worst kind of propagandist bad faith to state that, should one “begin” to accept euthanasia, one would soon be led to eradicate the elderly, the infirm, and so on. All human institutions run the risk of falling into arbitrariness. And yet, is there anyone who would ever agree to abolish institutions for fear of potential abuse (and at the risk of causing even greater misuse)? It is akin to disestablishing courts for fear of judicial error’.
The members of the medical body already exert influence upon the secrecy of human conscience.
One of them says: ‘At what point should a patient that has been lying in a state of irreversible coma no longer be kept alive? If I only have one single piece of resuscitation equipment at my disposal while on duty and two ‘emergencies’ come up at the same time, what criteria should determine my choice and course of action’?
In its 100th issue entitled Respect de la vie, respect de la mort,711 published in spring 1974, Cahiers Laënnec712 addressed the topic of reanimation. It states: ‘It seems that the necessary conclusion is that it is up to the doctor to make the final decision and bear the burden himself’.
Great Future Conquests
In an article published by Le Figaro, Mr Thierry Maulnier writes: ‘In these demanding domains, there is no such thing as a religious and counter-religious answer, or even a “Rightist” and “Leftist” response. The fact that Christianity declares, on principle, its unconditional respect for human life does not prevent numerous Christians from acknowledging one’s duty to bear arms or the legitimacy of the death penalty… There is arguably no society that could erect the respect for human life into an absolute. To fly planes or build bridges is to sacrifice a number of human lives on the altar of “progress”. The same is true of revolutions’.
On 21st September, 1972, Montherlant took his own life because he felt ‘vanquished by degeneration’. Shortly afterwards, writer Gabriel Matzneff declared:
‘Just like myself, Montherlant regretted the absence of euthanasia. He felt sorry for not living in a sufficiently civilised society. If he had turned to me and asked me to assist him in his suicide, I would certainly have obliged’.
Professor Louis Rougier, the eighty-eight-year-old author of Génie de l’Occident,713 made the following affirmation: ‘The right to eugenics and euthanasia shall be among mankind’s great future conquests’. In La mort a changé,714 Mr Alfred Fabre-Luce715 expresses an analogous point of view.
The dean of the Faculty of Theology at the Catholic Institute of Paris, HR Pierre A. Liégé, and pastor Marc Lods of the Free Faculty of Protestant Theology have both reminded the public that in their eyes, ‘only God is master of life and death’.
Professor Alexandre Minkowski, the head of the Neonatal Medical Department at the Hospital of Port-Royal, chose to share a specific testimony: ‘The neonates that are born at term and whose electro-encephalic lines are found to be flat on two successive occasions are expected to be severely impaired. What we face, in such cases, is a complete absence of cerebral activity resembling the state of irreversible coma. These humans will only be able to live in a vegetative state, never knowing any other life. In such instances, we do indeed unplug the artificial respirator, while taking it upon ourselves not to consult the matter with the family’.
Mr Thierry Maulnier has also stated: ‘There may not be any perfect answer. The only answer, in fact, is a harrowing one’.
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Le droit de mourir,716 an essay by Paul Sporken. Desclée de Br
ouwer, 174 pages.
The Unfinished Debate on Euthanasia, an essay by Hugh Trowel. SCM Press (56–58 Bloomsbury Street, London WCAB 3QX, U.K), 186 pages.
Faut-il tuer par amour?,717 an essay by Jean Toulat. Pygmalion, 210 pages.
Le dossier confidentiel de l’euthanasie,718 an essay by Igor Barrière and Etienne Lalou. Seuil, 184 pages.
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During the past years, there have been various cases that have been granted major publicity by the press and that have regularly brought the issue of euthanasia to the forefront of current affairs: the Hämmerli case (Switzerland, 1975), the Nicole Schmitt case (France, 1975), the Karen Quinlan case (USA, 1975), and many others. Very recently, the standpoint adopted by doctor Coggan, the archbishop of Canterbury, in favour of a certain form of voluntary euthanasia caused quite a sensation (The Times, 14th December, 1976). On 5th January, 1977, in Le Monde, one could read the following words on the issue of ‘spina bifida’ (a congenital malformation characterised by an incomplete closing of the backbone and membranes around the spinal cord): ‘This tragic affliction is often accompanied by hindbrain and nerve root herniation and always results in death should a surgeon fail to intervene while the patient is still in their early childhood. Should one, however, truly perform systematic surgery on these unfortunate children, taking into account the exorbitant costs of preserving their lives, whose quality is, at the very least, debatable?’ In a testimony published by the same French daily, the parents of a child afflicted with this disease gave a negative response.
An international conference on euthanasia was held in Tokyo on 24th — 25th August, 1976, organised by the Japanese Society for Voluntary Euthanasia (which had been founded a few months earlier at the behest of former deputy Tenrei Ota) and the Japanese daily ‘Mainichi’. At the end of the debates, a ‘declaration on euthanasia’ was adopted and signed by a total of thirty-five delegates representing England, the United States, Australia, the Netherlands and Japan.
A public opinion poll was organised in Great Britain in September 1976, revealing that 69% of the British were in favour of voluntary euthanasia, with 17% displaying a hostile attitude and 14% remaining undecided. In the religious spectrum, those that approved of euthanasia most were the Anglicans (72%) and the Methodists (71%); by contrast, those least in favour were the Catholics (54%) and the Jews (50%).
In 1975–76, a whole array of books dealing with the issue of death hit the bookstores. A list was put together by Mr Jean-Louis Voisin in May-July 1976, in the 3rd issue of Etudes et Recherches magazine719 (130 rue de la Pompe, 75116 Paris, France). It was entitled ‘Petite bibliographie de la mort’720 and covered on pages 93 to 105. Another item of interest is the special edition of Archives de sciences sociales des religions721 on ‘The Sociology of Death’ (Issue number 41, January–June 1976), published by the CNRS.722
There is also a Society of Thanatology (62 Capitaine Glarner Avenue, 93400 Saint-Ouen, France), headed by Mr Maurice Marois, a medical faculty professor, and publishing its own report since 1966.
Last but not least, there is the Society for Voluntary Euthanasia, 13 Prince of Wales Terrace, London W8, England.
***
Art and the ‘Anartists’
‘It has now become possible to produce art without being an artist. Anyone can now do anything anywhere, as long as they keep the press informed. One can wrap anything up and exhibit it. One can display abstract space delimitated by a piece of string; simply display the string itself; or even content themselves with a description of both the abstract space and the piece of string. Alternatively, one may choose to create holes, circles, fingerprints, footprints and stains; or resort to cheques, trades, bartering and tricks; or make use of irons, umbrellas, nylon threads, metal scraps, guillotines, sewing eyes, water barrels or several meters of tubing. One can, in short, use anything they choose, from the best possible ideas to the most dismally abysmal ones. It simply does not matter anymore: one will always manage to find an “avant-garde” critic who will drool in admiration and claim that the entire universe stands in awe before it’.
Such comments spread across almost 200 pages, targeting the ‘snobbishly cultural’ and attacking ‘anti-cultural rubbish’. What a seductive return to common sense this is!
Displaying an ironic smile and white hair, Hélène Parmelin is pensive. Having authored numerous novels and several essays, she chose to expand on the argumentation that she had outlined in one single burst in a book published three years earlier: L’art et les anartistes723 (Christian Bourgeois, 1969). In L’art et la Rose,724 she denounces a certain kind of ‘art’ and puts all related shams and bewilderment on trial.
Faced with a painting ‘that is utterly inexpressive’, the man in the street says: it is so Picasso-like. Hélène Parmelin begs to differ. She appreciates Picasso but refuses to allow people to use him as an excuse to justify all those delusions.
If certain theoreticians are to be believed, the art of painting is dead and buried, and so is sculpture. All that we are now left with is the ever perverse and polymorphous ‘avant-garde’: the creators of super-inflatable ‘dolls’ and ‘squished’ cars; drugstore-like kinetics creating usurious artificiality; those most adept at silent music and the art of the nylon thread; neon light craftsmen and the artisans of the white square, crushed bronze and dissolved items. Indeed, what we are left with can be summarised in two words: the ‘anartists’.
A few years ago, during the ‘Salon de mai’ exposition,725 those in charge of organising the latter had ever so innocently taken a common chair out of its wrapping paper. Their actions almost triggered a dramatic event, giving birth to a dramatic experience known as ‘A Chair in Its Wrapping’.
Mrs Parmelin writes: ‘A certain gallery in Milan, one that displays paintings, I mean, currently offers visitors the chance to admire the front and rear bonnet of the amazing Lamborghini-Miura, with its bright yellow colour and a splash of black paint across the car doors. Oh yes, I do mean the actual car; inside the gallery itself’. She adds: ‘When an artist chooses to display a “no-entry” traffic sign post, with its typical and pleasant red and white colours, what is it that we have before us? Life-like art? Art-like life? Does the city provide galleries with art, then? Are we in the presence of an artist who attracts people’s attention to street objects? An artist who, by isolating the object in question from its street-based context, restores its very power and bestows upon it a certain fluidity’?
Life or Void?
Abstract expressionism, kinetic art, op-art, and pop art are all (perhaps pathological) phenomena that mirror our age. Mrs Parmelin readily acknowledges these slightly bizarre forms of expression (indeed, none of us would take issue with the suggestive and lyrical power of expression found in abstract decorative motifs), but is reluctant to have them described as art:
‘The negative aspect of our current world lies in baptising as “painting” all that is nothing of the sort and labelling any inventor that participates in the Lépine contest726 a superman. […] Every random, meaningless painter with parted hair believes himself to be a demiurge. […] In an atmosphere of general euphoria, a pompous kind of cretinism has spread across the globe. […] It is the very notion of art that one is trying to subject to metamorphosis. Instead of turning one’s impassioned attention towards all that is born without yet having its own suitable name, towards something that may or may not be appreciated and may or may not be useful, one strives to replace art with all that glitters, adorns, moves, fills or drains; with anything that entertains, disconcerts, and is either reminiscent of life or of nothing at all; anything that embellishes, animates or rationalises’.
One can wonder, incidentally, just how modern any avant-garde whose duration barely matches that of a trend can actually be. For what is genuinely modern is not only current in essence, but eternal. ‘Today’s art, or what is labelled “avant-garde” and the like, is so ephemeral that it sometimes borders on inexistence. One must therefore hasten to praise
it to the heavens before the phoenix can rise from its ashes in an equally perishable form’.
This system is founded upon a vicious circle. The merchant sells what the critic recommends; on his part, the critic indulges in listening to himself, enheartened by the artist. ‘Those who create thus take themselves ever more seriously, beginning to sound increasingly like critics. As for the latter, they proceed to refine a language that is already demanding and inimitable, one that is impossible to parody because it already is parodical. The praise and elation regurgitated by some and the gratification felt by the others upon being praised to the heavens thus result in a leapfrog game’.
The language itself has become so intricate that is has crossed the threshold of meaninglessness: ‘It is amazing what some have to say about a line or a stain: miles of obscurely subtle thoughts’.
Looking through the 1971 catalogue of the Paris Biennale,727 Hélène Parmelin admits not having been able to virtually fathom anything but ‘the participation rules, which happened to be perfectly clear but rather pointless’.
Upon analysing the work of ‘conceptual artist’ Bernard Vernet, which is basically limited to photographic enlargements of book pages dealing with the subject of mathematics, Mr Otto Hahn, a critic employed by L’Express, proceeds to explain in a most solemn manner that the person ‘is thus attempting to objectivise the artistic issue by completely eliminating personal choices’.
Somehow managing to keep a straight face, Mr Michel Tapié728 writes: ‘Intuitively safeguarding the very essence of our traditional aesthetic heritage, today’s painter-calligrapher succeeds in venturing beyond the basic problem-pretext by deliberately resorting to the symbolism of pseudo-letters within a wide range of structure-spaces where every frame of reference devoid of artistic enchantment and epistemological aestheticism is, both conclusively and fortunately, out of the question’.
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