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On Smoking
There is something people admire about someone whose life has been cut short. Is it envy for that person who, by their own means or some accident, no longer has to deal with the trials and tribulations we do? Perhaps we wish we could also be free from any fear of inadequacy, and forever be immortalized in the shiny coat of unfulfilled (and therefore infinite) potential.
But most of all, we become jealous when we see the glamour that is produced by society’s fascination with death and lost potential. It is taboo to speak ill of the dead without just cause; and having died young, it is unlikely you provided any reason to be spoken ill of. It seems that our eternal pursuit of perfection becomes all that much easier when one doesn’t endure the entirety of life’s sufferings.
“The public health authorities never mention the main reason many Americans have for smoking heavily, which is that smoking is a fairly sure, fairly honorable form of suicide.”
Each year, more than 400,000 souls in our own country escape the pain of human existence through the use of tobacco. That means one escapee every 1.314 minutes. Every 1 minute, 18.84 seconds, another one bites the dust. Luckily, because of this tragic figure, one thousand Americans stop smoking every day. By dying.
Certain philosophers have alleged that there are only two things in life we cannot control. They argue that those two things are the circumstances of our birth, and those surrounding our death. I’d argue against the latter, considering Americans make their choice to the tune of at least that 400,000 per year. Certainly that is more than enough of that tar-blackened number. I apologize if my tongue is not gentle upon the eyes, but suicide is by no means a lighthearted or gentle subject.
I have known several persons of this contemporary age who, when asked why they smoke, were unable to provide any well-defined answer. I believe however, that whether they admit it or not, directly or indirectly, they all share the same admiration of prolonged suicide as their reason for using tobacco.
There are many reasons suicide is admirable. Many among us fear death, or at least what takes place after one’s death. And those among us who claim not to be afraid of death have few ways to prove their fearlessness. Death-defying acts, such as subway surfing or Russian roulette still come with the possibility of survival, something which cannot be said of suicide. Suicide, by whatever means, is no longer defiant simply of death, but ridicules it by taking the control it once had over our mortal selves into our own hands. Those fearless enough to not only defy, but mock the thing which we all fear so much are certainly to be admired.
So why not the bullet? It is most certainly a quicker means of mocking death. Why choke to death on your own mucus, when overdose is surely more painless? Perhaps it is because such glamour as smoking provides cannot possibly come without a hefty price. Or maybe smoking is the middle ground between a normal path through life and taking a shortcut; a median between two extremes. I suppose as far as vices go, the payout for cigarettes is pretty large.
"What a weird thing smoking is and I can't stop it. I feel cozy, have a sense of well-being when I'm smoking, poisoning myself, killing myself slowly. Not so slowly maybe. I have all kinds of pains I don't want to know about and I know that's what they're from. But when I don't smoke I scarcely feel as if I'm living. I don't feel as if I'm living unless I'm killing myself. "
~Russel Hoban, Turtle Diary
So if the suffering is in fact worth it, as the evidence seems to show, why aren’t we all smoking a pack or two per day? Firstly, certainly not every smoker dies glamorously. Almost ironically, the joys of modern medicine have stolen the appeal of premature death in many cases. There is little allure in oxygen tanks or having your tongue removed. Secondly, not every smoker is conscious of the finality of what they’re doing.
The human mind has a remarkable penchant for rationalization, manifesting itself in ways ranging from ‘oh, don’t worry about that,’ to ‘I was just following orders.’ So, there will always be smokers on their death beds who are surprised by what smoking has done to them. Yet, subconsciously the desire of smokers is all the same: a glorified passing. Lastly, it takes a certain amount of fearlessness or foolhardiness to take death upon oneself- both of which being aspects of character I, along with many others, am not blessed with.
While in actuality that ‘glorified passing’ doesn’t manifest itself well, (a smoker who dies only of smoking rarely dies with dignity or glory) in concept, it’s quite beautiful. People are hesitant to speak badly of the deceased–– besides, our own envy prevents us from doing so.
So why is smoking one of the last remaining methods of glorified suicide we suffering mortals have been afforded? In America, we have more than a few roundabout ways of offing ourselves: food, drink, cars- all items of general licentiousness which pale in comparison to our favorite cancer sticks. I’m not sure I trust Tony Sinclair (the mascot of Tanqueray gin) to baby-sit my kids, but Mr. Camel? Mr. Marlboro? Sure, c’mon in! My kids could sure learn something about the American way from those two.
But more relevant to tobacco’s place as a form of ritualistic suicide is the sluggish speed with which it executes. Imagine suicide with a gun––only, you pull the trigger a little at a time until –BANG!- dead in just about 20 or 30 years. It’s easy to overdose, drink oneself to death, or crash into a telephone pole, but smoking certainly is anything but. It is slow, painful and you don’t have control of exactly when you die, only the knowledge that it is far sooner than it would have otherwise been. Oh sure, the nicotine helps, but nowadays you can’t turn right without running into something telling you to, and how to, quit. Only that lovely subconscious knowledge that ritualistic suicide is cool drives you in pursuing repeat and successful pulmonary rape.
To criticize smoking for what it is- an exalted method of suicide- is to miss the essence of what appeals people to smoking. No longer do we live in an age where anyone can claim that they are unaware of the dangers of smoking. We are all aware that it is suicide- yet it is a suicide different from any other, in that we envy and admire it. America is a strange place- with stranger ideals, especially when one considers the number of people dying from this one. One every 78.84 seconds, to be exact.
But to the 1096 of you who pass away every day, I tip my hat. Thank you for smoking. You’ve given me something to live for; even if nothing more than to sit and admire the crazed zeal with which you belittle death. “One short sleep past, we wake eternally, / And Death shall be no more ; Death, thou shalt die.” For their sake, I hope there is truth in John Donne’s words, and that whatever the true afterlife is, they are satisfied with their choice.
Tobacco is a dirty weed. I like it.
It satisfies no normal need. I like it.
It makes you thin, it makes you lean,
It takes the hair right off your bean
It's the worst darn stuff I've ever seen.
I like it.
~Graham Lee Hemminger, Tobacco© 2008 Eugene Aarons-Cooke
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