Dying well

Since the demise of Socrates in 399 BC, killed by the hemlock he was forced to drink on sentence from the state for corrupting the minds of Athenian teenagers, the Good Death has been deemed possible. According to Plato, his pupil, Socrates died with his senses intact, surrounded by those he loved and who loved him, and in control until the last moment, his body numbed but not distorted by that toxic drug. It’s a myth, of course. We know, as must Plato have known, that hemlock produces dreadful cramps, vomiting, convulsions; it would not have been possible for Socrates to remain calm, thoughtful, prescient while in such agony. But he wanted his death, his passage out of life, to be seen as a very public spectacle of control, of a man in charge of his destiny until the end, untroubled by pain or the terror of infinite obliteration.

In A Good Death, this week’s late-night essay on Radio Three (Monday to Friday), academics, writers and Rabbi Julia Neuberger each gave us a short meditation on what that phrase ‘to die well’ means to them.