But what about the decision to go on living?
Put a different way - why is life - objectively, in all cases - better than death?
Choosing life - not committing suicide - is also an act (or, in some cases, an omission). Why should we assume that the act of choosing life is always rational and freely chosen, never the product of a delusion?
In fact, the act of choosing life may frequently be irrational and poorly chosen. Optimistic bias often causes people to overvalue the future utility of their lives. But we do not think to second-guess those who, perhaps foolishly, choose to go on living. Nor should we, by forcing them to die! But no more should we second-guess those who choose to die, by forcing them to live instead.
From Contingency Cannibalism, by "Shiguro Takada":
Starvation is a vicious enemy . . . . Your brain, without your conscious thought, decides which organs to sustain, which ones to break down, and which entrails not to supply with nutrients stolen from other parts of your body. Still, through the communication of pain, your body sends messages to your anguished mind.
Those muscles you worked so hard to acquire deteriorate rapidly. You lose your spleen. Your liver and bladder fail. As you grow decrepit, you can barely walk away from your own waste. You piss your pants and find that something that isn't quite like feces soils your briefs as you literally shit yourself on yourself.
Unrelieved, unrescued, and, after several days of starvation, too enfeebled, your brain, heart, and lungs are among the last to go, so you are aware of your fate - you experience the terror and misery of a lingering death until a merciful coma ensues. (For some odd reason, few people starving to death opt instead to put a bullet into their heads. Perhaps it is because in the final stages they are too weak to do much.) Your emaciated carcass becomes pungent debris beside the road.
"Takada" wisely questions the rationality of the starving person's decision not to end his life. But the reason I reproduce this description of starvation is that, for many of us, this is an accurate description of what life is like all the time. "Pungent debris beside the road" is our most optimistic possible future. Is our pain severe and permanent enough to make living irrational? To make suicide rational?
Or is life a precious gift?