Euthanasia in Finland: A Difficult Light, Passive Euthanasia and the Reality of Ending Life

When we talk about euthanasia, many people picture far-off places, clinics in Switzerland or shadowy organisations like the Club euthanasia. But the truth is, this debate is happening right now, here in Finland, and it touches us all far more closely than we realise. I often find myself sitting with friends over coffee, and whenever passive euthanasia or letting go of a loved one comes up, I notice just how heavy the subject is. It’s not some theoretical exercise – it’s that moment when you have to look into the eyes of a sick relative and know that the pain is just too great.

I still remember the case of the 25-year-old woman. She decided to seek euthanasia, and her reasons weren’t just physical illness but long-term mental health issues that had made life unbearable. It shattered the traditional idea of who might choose ending life – meaning, ending their own life – as a solution. This wasn’t an elderly person tired of living, but a young woman who had spent years fighting in a tunnel of what she called Difficult Light, unable to find a way out.

Right now, the situation is ambiguous in many ways. In Finland, active euthanasia is still illegal, but passive euthanasia – essentially, withdrawing treatment when it’s no longer effective – is standard practice on every palliative care ward. It’s not about some moral dilemma; it’s about humanity. No doctor wants to keep a patient alive on machines if all that does is prolong suffering.

I’ve been following this debate for a long time now, and I think it boils down to three key points that everyone should understand:

• Individual choice vs. society’s will: Who actually gets to decide? The law, or the person lying in a hospital bed?
• Mental health as part of the whole picture: That 25-year-old’s case showed that mental health is just as fundamental to quality of life as physical health. If a person’s mind is broken, is euthanasia then justified?
• A cultural silence: We Finns don’t talk about death. We say “they passed away in their sleep” and avoid the term ending life, even though for many, that’s the very concrete reality they’re forced to confront.

If you compare the situation to, say, the Netherlands or Belgium, you notice the conversation there is far more open. They’ve been discussing for years how euthanasia could also be a solution in cases of severe depression or dementia. Here, the debate often gets stuck, deemed “politically tricky” or “too sensitive.” It feels as though many of us have someone in our family who suffered in silence simply because we didn’t dare ask: “What would you want to do if you couldn’t go on anymore?”

While the law isn’t about to change yet, attitudes are certainly shifting. People no longer accept that passive euthanasia is acceptable while actively helping someone is a crime. No one wants a loved one to have to travel abroad or secretly speak with groups like Club euthanasia because there’s no alternative at home. Ultimately, it’s about the kind of ending we want to be able to offer each other.

Amidst these reflections, it’s worth remembering that while the term Difficult Light might sound poetic, it’s a reality for many families. It’s that period when, day after day, the light never seems to rise. If the debate around legalising euthanasia does anything, it at least forces us to open those curtains and talk about what we truly value.