It was, truly, a Black Friday. 330 MPs in favour. 275 against. It was close. But it just wasn't close enough. The Terminally Ill Adults (End of Life) Bill passed its second reading.
Last Friday was a dark day for so many who are vulnerable, particularly those at risk of coercion. A dark day for many who are fearful, particularly those who are disabled. A dark day for all those who will be diagnosed with terminal illness, who will one day be faced with a choice they should never have had to make.
For many of us, who have been praying, working, campaigning on this issue, in some cases for decades, we might feel grief, a sense of injustice, or even anger. For our nation has changed. It has sacrificed some of those who are most in need, on the altar of autonomy.
MPs think they are making 'progress', inexorable, forward-thinking, that they are 'on the right side of history', when in truth, assisted suicide would return Britain to a pre-Christian era, a world in which life is no longer sacred, and in which not all lives are of equal worth.
'All get what they want'
We may well ask: how did it come to this? I actually think that the answer is quite simple; in Britain (and the West more generally), we have made 'autonomy' our god.
Gone are the days when the average MP believed in divinely-mandated moral absolutes, or in 'the sanctity of life'. Our increasingly secular nation has lost its faith in God as the Author of Life. In His place, we have erected a new idol in the midst of our moral vacuum: ourselves.
It was the repeated refrain from the pro-assisted suicide body: 'I deserve the right to choose.'
In a sense, it was ever thus. Just think back to the Garden of Eden. The serpent said to Eve: "God knows that when you eat [the fruit] your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil." And yet Adam and Eve decided to make themselves god, rebelling against His commands. Essentially, they asserted their right to choose.
Autonomy is the one moral absolute still going; it lies at the heart of the gender wars, the debates around life and death, and the only sexual ethic to have not yet been eroded, consent.
And of course, freedom is generally a very good thing. But if autonomy is the one moral absolute, then who is the one true judge of good and evil? Yourself. That is the literal definition of the word: 'law by yourself'. In this world, if you don't want an assisted suicide, don't have one.
Lib Dem MP Tim Farron spoke in the debate about the difference between 'liberalism' and 'libertarianism'. He is, he said, a liberal. He is not a libertarian: libertarians believe in your absolute right to do whatever you want. Liberals believe your right to do what you want is limited by its effect on those around you.
And assisted suicide legislation will impact those around us, particularly given, under the Bill, a doctor can raise the prospect of an assisted suicide with a patient unsolicited.
We have made an idol of ourselves; our freedom; our choices; our bodies. I've been reflecting on the words of Romans 1: "Although they claimed to be wise, they became fools and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images made to look like a mortal human being and birds and animals and reptiles. Therefore God gave them over in the sinful desires of their hearts..."
Ultimately, God says, 'Have it your way'. In C.S. Lewis' 'The Magician's Nephew', the Witch gains lasting life for herself by eating the fruit she was forbidden from taking. Aslan says, "Things always work according to their nature. She has won her heart's desire; she has unwearying strength and endless days like a goddess. But length of days with an evil heart is only length of misery and already she begins to know it. All get what they want; they do not always like it."
This feels like one of those situations: "All get what they want." Our nation has, for decades, chosen to prize autonomy above all else. As soon as absolute autonomy is your god in one area of life, it will lay claim to another. The path towards assisted suicide has been long in the making, when we forgot our obligations to the community and to God, and prioritised our own desires. This is the result.
Protecting the vulnerable
At CARE, we have always been mindful of the impact of assisted suicide legislation upon the vulnerable. Proverbs 31:8-9 is a passage close to our heart:
"Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves,
for the rights of all who are destitute.
Speak up and judge fairly;
defend the rights of the poor and needy."
It is well known that many in the disabled community feel afraid about the impact of legislation. Stories from Canada show that it has a disproportionate impact upon those living in poverty. In the debate, Labour MP Jess Asato spoke superbly about how women are particularly at risk of coercion from men, and the impact of domestic violence.
Florence Eshalomi, Labour MP for Vauxhall and Camberwell Green, who spoke powerfully about her own mother's experience, concluded her wonderful speech, "true compassion must have equality at its heart. That is why I will be voting against this bill."
My heart is grieved for those who now feel that little bit less safe. It should not have been so.
Danny Kruger, who led the response to the bill, closed his speech like this:
"I'm talking about the people who lack agency: the people who know what it is to be excluded from power, to have decisions made for them by bigwigs in distant offices speaking a language they don't understand...Not the ones who write to us campaigning for a change in the law, but the people who come to our surgeries with their lives in tatters, or who the police and social workers tell us about, the people with complex needs. What are the safeguards for them? I will tell you. We are the safeguard. This place. This Parliament. You and me. We are the people who protect the most vulnerable in society from harm."
It is a tragedy that this safeguard has now been eroded, and we stand closer to the precipice.
Praying for a miracle
Something did change about Britain on that Black Friday. But the fundamental truths which we believe in, about the fabric of the universe hold just as true now as they would have done had we won.
There is a God on high. He is still sovereign. He does know what He is doing. He does raise up kings. His eye is on the sparrow. He does care about every one of us. He has sent His church to be His hands and feet. Truths are still true.
In the meantime, I will be praying to the God who "changes times and seasons." And I will still be praying for a miracle. Yes, Parliament has voted on the principle of the bill, and it will be much harder now to stop it than it would have been before.
But we do believe in a God of miracles. It is almost two years now since the Scottish Parliament passed the Gender Recognition Reform bill, would have introduced self-ID for transgender people in Scotland. That felt like a dark day. And yet, miraculously, the legislation did not come into law, its architects were unceremoniously removed from office, and now the idea has been almost entirely dropped.
There are still further stages to come. The bill now goes to Committee stage. It will return to the Commons, at which point MPs who said they would vote for it, but wanted to see changes made, will have to reflect on whether they are satisfied with those changes or not.
We do believe in a God of miracles. If Jesus can defeat the power of the grave, and overturn death, He is more than capable of intervening on an 'assisted dying' law.
Come, Lord Jesus.
Peter Ladd is Head of Content at Christian Action Research and Education (CARE).
