After the shocking rape of Lucretia and her subsequent suicide, Augustine (354-430 AD) concludes that Christians should not commit self-murder

Tarquinius and Lucretia by Titian (1490–1576)

The rape of noblewoman Lucretia was a starting point of events that led to the overthrow of the Roman Kingdom and establishment of the Roman Republic. As a direct result of rape, Lucretia committed suicide. Many artists and writers were inspired by the story, including Shakespeare, Botticelli, Rembrandt, Dürer, Artemisia Gentileschi, Geoffrey Chaucer, and Thomas Heywood.

Of suicide committed through fear of punishment or dishonour



Lucretia by Lucas Cranach the Elder.

What person of human feeling, then, would refuse to forgive those women who for this reason slew themselves rather than suffer in such a way?  And as for those who refused to slay themselves, lest they avoid the crime of another only by a sin of their own: whoever makes that a matter of reproach to them will not himself escape the charge of foolishness.  For if it is not lawful for a private person on his own authority to slay even a guilty man whose death has not been authorised by any law, certainly he who slays himself is also a murderer; and the more innocent he was of that for which he thought he ought to die, the more guilty is he when he kills himself.  We rightly detest what Judas did; but the judgment of truth is that, when he hanged himself, he increased rather than expiated the guilt of that accursed betrayal.  For though he was penitent at death, he left himself no room for wholesome repentance when he despaired of the mercy of God.  If this is so, then, how much more should he who has no sin in him to be punished by such means refrain from killing himself!  For Judas, when he slew himself, slew a wicked man; but he ended this life guilty not only of Christ's death, but of his own also.  For though he killed himself through his own crime, killing himself was another crime.  Why, then, should a man who has done no harm do harm to himself, and in slaying himself, slay an innocent man so as not to suffer the crime of another?  Why should he perpetrate upon himself a sin of his own so that another's sin might not be perpetrated on him?


Of Lucretia, who slew herself because she was ravished




Suicide of Lucretia by Albrecht Dürer?

With clear reason, then, do we say that, when a woman's body is overpowered but the intention to remain chaste persists nonetheless, and is unaltered by any consent to evil, the crime belongs only to the man who violated her by force.  It does not belong to the woman who, forced to submit to violation, did not consent to it by any act of will.  Can it be that those against whom we are defending as holy not only the minds, but also the bodies, for the Christian women who were ravished while in captivity will dare to contradict this?  Certainly, they extol with great praise the modesty of Lucretia, that noble woman of ancient Rome.  When the son of Tarquin the king overcame her with violence and lustfully enjoyed her body, she made known the crime of that most deplorable young man to her husband Collatinus and her kinsman Brutus.  These were men of the highest distinction and courage, whom she adjured to avenge her.  Then, sick with the shame of what had been done to her, and unable to bear it, she slew herself.  What shall we say?  Should she be judged an adulteress or a chaste woman?  Who can think it worthwhile to argue over such a question?  A certain person, reciting this story with distinction and veracity, says: 'Marvellous to relate, there were two people, but only one of them committed adultery.' (The source of this quotation is not known.)  Splendidly and truly said!  He, contemplating in this intermingling of bodies an entirely shameful lust on the one side, and an entirely chaste will on the other, and considering not the union of their members, but the separateness of their minds, says that 'there were two people, but only one of them committed adultery'.


For she is plainly numbered among those who, 'though innocent, laid deadly hands upon themselves, hating the light, and threw away their souls'

The Story of Lucretia (ca. 1500-1501), an artistic and symbolic rendition of the event by Sandro Botticelli. In this detail of the center of the painting, citizens with swords are swearing the overthrow of the monarchy.

How does it come about, then, that the one who did not commit adultery was the more severely punished?  For Sextus was expelled from the fatherland with his father; Lucretia, however, was smitten with the supreme penalty.  If it was not through any impurity on her part that she was taken against her will, then it was not justice by which, being innocent, she was punished.  I appeal to you, O laws and judges of Rome.  Even after the commission of crimes you do not allow a wicked man to be executed uncondemned.  If, therefore, anyone were to bring this case before your tribunal, and it were proved to you that a woman had been put to death not only uncondemned, but also chaste and innocent, would you not punish one who had done this with fitting severity?  Lucretia, however -- she who is so celebrated -- did exactly this: she slew the innocent and chaste Lucretia, who had, moreover, suffered violence.  Pronounce sentence, then; and if you cannot do so because she does praise with such eloquence the murderess of an innocent and chaste woman?  Certainly, you will have no arguments with which to defend her against hose judges of the infernal regions of whom your poets sing in their verses.  For she is plainly numbered among those who, 'though innocent, laid deadly hands upon themselves, hating the light, and threw away their souls'. (Virgil, Aeneid, 6,434ff.)  And if they long to return to the overworld, 'Fate bars the way, and the dismal swamp's unlovely pools confine them.' (Aeneid, 6,438ff).


She should not have slain herself if it was possible to do penance which might bear fruit with her false gods

Lucretia by Rembrandt van Rijn

But is she, perhaps, not, after all, among the number of those who have slain themselves even though innocent?  Did she, perhaps, slay herself because she was conscious not of innocence, but of guilt?  What if -- and only she could know this -- even though the young man threw himself upon her with violence, she herself consented, seduced by her own lust?  And what if she was then so stricken by remorse that, in seeking to punish herself, she thought that death was the only expiation?  Even in this case, she should not have slain herself if it was possible to do penance which might bear fruit with her false gods.


If she was an adulteress, why is she praised?  If she was pure, why was she slain?

Lucretia by Monogrammist I.W. (active in the Cranach Studio c. 1520-40)

If this was indeed the case, and it is false that 'there were two people and only one of them committed adultery'; if, rather, both committed adultery, the one by visible assault and the other by hidden assent: then she did not slay herself innocent.  Her learned defenders can therefore say that she is not in the infernal regions among those who 'though innocent, laid deadly hands upon themselves'.  But then the case is reduced to a dilemma.  For if she is acquitted of murder, she is convicted of adultery; and if she is acquitted of adultery, then she is convicted of murder.  It is not possible to find a way out of this dilemma.  One can only ask: If she was an adulteress, why is she praised?  If she was pure, why was she slain?


She feared that, if she remained alive, she would be thought to have enjoyed suffering the violence that she had suffered

Symbolic rendition of Brutus holding the knife used by Lucretia to commit suicide with Lucretia and swearing the oath of vengeance.

Our purpose, however, is to refute those who, fair removed from any understanding of holiness, reproach Christian women who were outraged in captivity.  For us, therefore, it is enough that, in the case of this noble lady, it is well said in her praise that 'there were two people, but only one of them committed adultery'.  For the Romans prefer to believe that Lucretia was not one who could have soiled by consenting to adultery.  In that case, therefore, when she slew herself because she had endured the act of an adulterer even though she was not an adulteress herself, she did this not from love of purity, but because of a weakness arising from shame.  She was made ashamed by the infamy of another, even though committed against her without her consent.  Being a Roman lady excessively eager for praise, she feared that, if she remained alive, she would be thought to have enjoyed suffering the violence that she had suffered while she lived.  Hence, she judged that she must use self-punishment to exhibit the state of her mind to the eyes of men to whom she could not show her conscience.  She blushed, indeed, to think that, if she were to bear patiently the infamy that another had inflicted upon her, she would be believed to have been an accomplice to it.


But this is not what those Christian women did who suffered in the same way yet are still alive.

The Bulgarian martyresses, a painting depicting the rape of Bulgarian women by Ottoman troops during the April Uprising of 1876 by Konstantin Makovsky (1839–1915)

But this is not what those Christian women did who suffered in the same way yet are still alive.  They did not avenge another's crime upon themselves; and it was because they feared adding to the crime of others a crime of their own that they did not do so.  For this is what they would have done if, when their enemies committed rape on them out of lust, they had committed murder on themselves out of shame.  Within themselves, indeed, by the testimony of their own conscience, they have the glory of chastity.  Moreover, they have it in the sight of God, and they require nothing more.  They intend no more than to do right, without straying from the authority of the divine law by doing wrong to avoid the scandal of human suspicion.

That there is no authority which extends to Christians the right to die of their own will in any circumstances whatsoever

The Suicide by Édouard Manet 1877–1881

It is not without significance that, in the holy canonical books, no divine precept or permission can be discovered which allows us to bring about our own death, either to obtain immortality or to avert or avoid some evil.  On the contrary, we must understand the Law of God as forbidding us to do this, where it says, 'Thou shalt not kill.' (Exodus 20:13).  This is especially so given that it does not here add 'thy neighbour', as it does when it forbids false witness.  It says, 'Thou shalt no bear false witness against thy neighbour.' (Exodus 20:16)  No one, however, should consider himself innocent of this crime if he has borne false witness only against himself; for he who loves his neighbour has received a rule under which he must love himself also.  For it is indeed written: 'Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.' (Matthew 22:39).  Thus, a m an is no less guilty of false witness if he testifies falsely only against himself than if he does so against his neighbour; and this is so even though, in that commandment where false witness is prohibited, only false witness against a neighbour is forbidden.  It might seem that it is not forbidden for someone to bear false witness against himself; but only to those who do not understand the matter rightly.  Still more, then, must we understand that a man is not permitted to kill himself, since, when it is written, 'Thou shalt not kill', nothing is then added to this commandment, and no one -- not even the person to whom the commandment is addressed  -- is seen to be excepted.


Some persons endeavour to extend this commandment even to beasts and cattle

Tiffany Window of St Augustine - Lightner Museum by Louis Comfort Tiffany (1848–1933).  St. Augustine was once a Manichaean.

Hence, some persons endeavour to extend this commandment even to beasts and cattle, and maintain that it is not lawful to kill any of them either.  Why, therefore, not also include plants and whatever else is rooted in the soil and fed by it?  For things of this kind are said to live, even though they have no sensation.  By the same token, they can also die, and, consequently, when force is applied to them, be slain.  The apostle himself, when he speaks of seeds of this kind, says: 'That which thou sowest is not quickened except it die.' (1 Corinthians 15:36)  And in the psalm it is written: 'He killed their vines with hail.' (Psalm 78:47)  Do we, then when we hear 'Thou shalt not kill', for this reason conclude that it is wicked to pull up a weed, and acquiesce in the most senseless error of the Manichaens?  Let us leave these maunderings aside, however.  When we read 'Thou shalt not kill', we are not to take this commandment as applying to plants for these have no sensation.  Nor does it apply to the non-rational animals which fly, swim, walk or crawl, for these do not share the use of reason with us.  It is not given to them to have it in common with us; and, for this reason, by the most just ordinance of their Creator, both their life and death are subject to our needs (Cf. Genesis 1:28).  What remains, then, is this: that, when it is said, 'Thou shalt not kill', we must understand this as applying to man, and hence to mean 'neither another nor thyself'' for he who kills himself kills what is no other than a man.

Source: Augustine. The City of God against the Pagans. Edited and translated by R.W. Dyson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998, Book I, Chapters 17, 19 and 20, pages 26, and 29-33.