Let’s begin with an inconvenient question: What if the right to live doesn’t mean the obligation to stay alive? It’s a simple question, yet one that touches on the core of many of our deepest fears, values, and assumptions. Most of us are used to thinking about life as inherently sacred, survival as paramount, and death—especially when chosen voluntarily—as something tragic or inherently wrong. But in her provocative book Every Cradle is a Grave, writer and philosopher Sarah Perry turns this entire conversation on its head.
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Perry advances a bold and unsettling proposition: true personal freedom must include the right to choose death—not only in cases of terminal illness or unendurable suffering, but when a person concludes that life is no longer worth living. To Perry, denying this choice is less an act of compassion than an assertion of control. While such a stance may strike many as outrageous, even disturbing, it challenges us to think deeply. The aim is not necessarily to persuade, but to explore how someone might arrive at this conviction—and to consider why the debate remains vital, even for those who ultimately reject it.
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A Radical Claim About Freedom
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At the heart of Sarah’s book lies a simple yet radical claim: if we truly own our lives, then we must also have the right to give them up. Perry comes from a background in libertarian ethics, a school of thought that emphasizes individual autonomy. Under this view, your body and your mind belong to you and no one else. Society embraces this principle in many areas—we’re free to choose who we marry, how we worship, what we eat, where we live. When someone tries to take away that freedom, we call it oppression.
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Yet when it comes to choosing death, on the whole our attitude suddenly shifts. Instead of honoring the decision, we treat it as a crisis. Generally we assume that anyone who wants to die must be mentally unstable, in need of saving or fixing. Perry inquires: why is this choice treated so differently than all others? Why is voluntary death uniquely taboo as a legit course of action? If someone cannot choose to end their life, she argues, then their life is no longer their own. They are being coerced—by legal systems, by medical cartels, or by the absence of access to a peaceful death—to keep living, even if they no longer want to.
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Is Suicide Always a Crisis?
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To be clear, Perry is not romanticizing or promoting suicide. She does not dismiss the reality of depression or ignore the importance of support and care for people in distress. What she does challenge, however, is the widespread assumption that suicide is always irrational or pathological. In her view, some people make the decision to die in a state of calm, informed clarity. They are not consumed by panic or trauma. They simply don’t feel connected to life. They don’t find it meaningful or fulfilling, and they’ve decided that they don’t wish to continue.
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Perry gives examples of people who are not suffering from terminal illness or dire circumstances. They might live for decades in reasonable comfort and stability. But if they have reflected deeply and concluded that life no longer holds what they want, should they be compelled to stay? Is preventing their suicide always an act of compassion—or can it sometimes be a denial of their autonomy? This is the moral tension Perry presents: is saving someone from suicide always a kindness, or can it sometimes be an act of control?
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Autonomy That Cuts Both Ways
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One of Perry’s most challenging and compelling insights is this: society respects autonomy in almost every area—except death. People are trusted to make high-risk choices all the time. You can choose to climb dangerous mountains, race motorcycles, fight fires, or take on massive debt. You can volunteer for war, give away your organs, or adopt a lifestyle that carries known physical and emotional risks. And most people would respond with, “It’s your life. Your choice.”
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But if someone chooses to end their life peacefully, that same society often responds with disbelief and intervention. Suddenly, we question their competence and revoke their autonomy. Perry sees this as a moral contradiction. If we truly believe in freedom, she argues, we must allow for choices even when we personally find them painful or unacceptable. Otherwise, our belief in autonomy is selective and hollow. “What we do not own, we are enslaved to. If we cannot choose death, then we do not truly own our lives.”
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Why This Is So Hard to Accept
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Of course, this idea is incredibly hard to accept. It collides with our most tender experiences—grief, fear, and the pain of losing loved ones. Many of us have been touched by suicide, whether through family, friends, or our own struggles. The devastation it leaves behind makes the thought of supporting someone’s decision to die feel unthinkable. It feels like giving up on them. Like abandoning hope when we should be holding on tighter.
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But Perry asks us to consider another possibility: what if forcing someone to live, despite their wishes, is not an act of love, but a form of domination? What if our fear of death blinds us to the peace others might find in accepting it? For some, the most loving thing might not be intervention, but deep listening. Not saving, but allowing. Perry challenges us to consider that compassion can take many forms—and sometimes, it means letting go.
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An Exit Door That Brings Peace
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Interestingly, Perry also suggests that increasing access to legal, peaceful methods of death might actually save lives. When people feel trapped in life—with no safe or dignified way out—the despair can become overwhelming. But if a person knows there’s an exit, they might feel less pressure and more control. Like an emergency exit in a crowded building, its mere presence can bring comfort—even if it’s never used.
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This perspective doesn’t imply we should encourage death. Rather, it means taking autonomy seriously enough to stop criminalizing it. It means treating people’s reflections on life and death with respect, not automatic suspicion. Perry invites us to imagine a world where death is not a threat, but a right—available, but not imposed.
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Conclusion: Not About Death But About Freedom
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Ultimately, Every Cradle is a Grave is not a book about death. It is a book about freedom—about the limits of personal choice, and how much autonomy we are truly willing to allow. Perry asks us to stop treating life as a moral obligation, and start treating it as a meaningful choice. That doesn’t mean abandoning care, compassion, or support. It means holding those we love gently, not tightly. Respecting their agency, even when their decisions break our hearts. Because the right to live only holds meaning if it includes the right to stop living. And truly respecting another person means trusting them—fully and lovingly—even if it means letting them go. As Perry asserts, “To truly love someone is to let them go—even from life, if they must.”
Disclaimer: Most, if not all, of the quotes attributed to Sarah Perry in the above essay are paraphrased. See the comment section for more excerpts from her book and additional perspectives on her ethics regarding the right to die. Moreover, Every Cradle Is a Grave was published in 2014, so the author’s current views on suicide may have evolved.
