I am not alone in being intellectually and personally perturbed by the arguments of antinatalists. The view that life is only or largely suffering—pleasure being only the absence of it—is a bleak and unsubstantiated worldview indeed, ignoring the subjectivity of suffering and the intense intellectual and personal fulfillment that can transcend a mere absence of it, opining a deeply sad outlook on behalf of a species that appears to starkly disagree with it. The most glaring feature of antinatalist sentiments is that they seem more closely tied to personal melancholy than genuinely beneficent intellectual intentions whenever they are given; the authors of very learned expressions of antinatalist philosophy routinely admit in their works that they are deeply unhappy themselves, a sure conflict of interest. Psychologizing antinatalists as merely melancholy does not invalidate their arguments, of course—but that many treatises on antinatalism attempt to take the seriously individual idea of suffering and do not consider individual bias is rather disappointing. Take the prominent example of Matti Häyry, a Finnish philosopher who, in his antinatalist Cambridge essay, called the hypothetical vaporization of his consciousness “The Offer I Could Not Refuse”. If I wanted to be vaporized, perhaps I, too, would be an antinatalist—but I do not.¹ Indeed, Häyry does little to explain why such a subjective notion as suffering—something defined, of course, by his experience—should be considered universalizing enough to invalidate procreation. Of course, my life has had unjust and terrible hardship, as all lives have; still, I maintain that with a healthy lifestyle, life is a profoundly beautiful and edifying experience. The notion that life and consciousness are overwhelming suffering—enough to justify extinction—seems thoroughly unproven. Leading antinatalist David Benatar argues that the real depths of suffering are merely beyond human perception, as humans are inclined to optimism and are not disposed to reflect on their lives negatively—a very speculative statement that bears little meaning, as, if humans cannot perceive the extent of their “true” suffering, it could be easily said that they are not then feeling it and it is thus not suffering. To found his logic for antinatalism, Benatar chiefly divides all feelings cleanly into “pain” and “pleasure”, believing both to exist in equal measure and and proceeding from there—an oversimplification if there ever was one. He claims that life’s pain is bad, and the absence of it is good; life’s pleasure is good, and the absence of it is neutral. Thus, he insists, it is better to exist without both—without life—which would be a net good. This argument breaks down whenever one has a different value-understanding of its variables; he considers the absence of pain good (despite there being no one to whom that good might accrue), but assigns no value to the absence of pleasure (a term carefully chosen to sound shallow against “pain”; a better term might be “fulfillment” or “joy”). What if the absence of fulfillment is indeed bad, if he is willing to accept that moral values can exist in the absence of perceivers? He says this cannot be, suggesting that one would be glad that, for example, there is no race of sentient beings on Mars because they could be suffering; but I, conversely, mourn that Mars is desolate because there could be billions of thinking, joyous, productive beings, but there are none. Ultimately, he says that we ought not be sentimental about human exinction and the absence of human joy, but is perfectly happy to be sentimental about suffering. It is an unconvincing imbalance that seems merely to regurgitate Hegesias of Cyrene with an imitation of modern philosophical processes.² Still, suffering does exist; everyone sees it. Milder antinatalists say that, because there is such suffering in the world, having a child—creating another human—is an ethical concern, as humans cannot consent to being born into the risk of suffering. This is a misapplication, however, of our idea of consent; if one is left non-existing, one does not have the choice to assent or dissent to existence at all. The choice to consent altogether only comes with existing, during which one can indeed consciously decide whether to exist or not. As a personal and political tenet, I believe in counseled but free euthanasia, which would give—painlessly—every soul a means of acting on that choice. The freedom to make it—to live or die—comes only with existence. Which is more restrictive: being brought painlessly into a universe that you can enjoy or leave with ease, or being confined to perpetual non-existence? I do not believe that the mere existence of suffering—which can be beneficial, whose worst forms which may be eventually eliminated, and which is most often overcome by gladness—is enough reason to deny those who could exist the choice. Yes, the potential suffering of a child—particularly when one is in poor environmental, financial, medical, or social circumstances—should be a profound consideration for prospective parents. Still, the mere prospect of harm is simply not enough to preclude one giving the varied and dazzling gift of life. I, for one, am desperately grateful that I was given the rare and splendorous opportunity to exist. Such is my disdain for philosophical antinatalism.

The extinction of the human race—the natural outcome of an antinatalist universe—is a direct goal of some more adamant antinatalists. The unbelievable tragedy that this would represent for cosmic diversity is nothing less than the annihilation of the only higher intelligence now known. “Distant planets would go unexplored,” filmmaker John D. Boswell wrote on extinction; “It would mark the end of music, poetry, and art in our corner of the galaxy and possibly in the entire universe.” Intelligent creation and the only known sapient species would vanish from the cosmos for no other reason than an obsession with a human-centered abstraction of “suffering”. Worse still are the fringe efilists (or promortalists)—and their militant digital community—who maintain that the universe would simply be better without sentient life. “If life from Earth branches out into the universe,” went one comment on a video featuring the words of amateur philosopher inMendham—the creator of efilism³—“then an unimaginably large number of suffering sentient beings could be created in the process.” This statement rests on the entirely spurious notion that sentience is merely constant, unending, unrivaled “suffering” that conquers all else. It also presumes that suffering will not be alleviated in time, despite the historical trend toward peace and success in our species that has lent the Cognizant Society our meliorism. Is someone who is born in comfort, who is raised well under caring parents, who establishes a loving circle of friends, who spends their life meaningfully improving the world and fulfilling themselves creatively and intellectually and who passes peacefully in their sleep better to not have existed? It is unthinkably vain, anyway, to take this human-abstracted concept of “suffering”—a mix of chemicals and sensations contending with others—and declare it to be the sole, dominant purpose and destiny of sentient life. If efilists are so keen to accept such a decidedly animal-centered concept as “suffering” as real, tenable, and extraordinarily significant, what makes it any more weighty than beauty and wonder? How can it be said that suffering “outweighs” these very subjective ideas? It is increasingly known that, as it dies, the brain is awash with heightened thought and sensation that lends itself to hyperreality and notions of a beautiful light and forward journey—there seems to be some deep struggle for joy within humans indeed. Besides—from a pragmatist point of view, what would efilists do about the problem of suffering? Are we all expected to forcibly die (suffering thereby, in the case of those who do not wish to go) to “eliminate” suffering—or have fewer and fewer children, leaving ever-smaller generations to suffer in holding up a bloated elder generation? Which is more morally reprehensible: extending all the joys and sorrows of life to new souls or forsaking child-bearing and condemning our shrinking numbers of descendants to live in unthriving ignominy, never reaching the full human potential of cosmic proliferation, heightened scientific understanding, and artistic liberation? Besides, if we eliminated humanity solely to eliminate suffering (and beauty and happiness along the way), another intelligent species may well evolve to take our place—but be unable to perform the same Industrial Revolution due to a lack of surface resources and thus live in medievalistic squalor, ergo greater suffering. Should we snuff out all thinking life in pursuit of this vain fantasy—as some ‘universal antinatalists’ and most efilists wish to do—as if we are the all-knowing arbiters of all the universe? Perhaps we could sterilize the universe (though, with such deific power, we could probably end suffering with other means at that point) and eliminate all life for all time, but then we would be enforcing an already deeply flawed human worldview on a diverse and glittering universe. It is an unpragmatic philosophy at best; at worst, it is malice and hopelessness crystallized. Christine Overall well refuted⁴ the idea of eliminating life, rather than working as meliorists toward transcendence, as a means of ending suffering:

Thus, the philosophical outline is given. It is my view that antinatalism is insufficiently founded and, at in its extreme forms, contemptible; still, one must agree with them that suffering must be addressed. Even were I to philosophically subscribe to natalism, I would find it insufficient to minimize suffering (and altogether unable to maximize happinesss). Proceeding from a pragmatist point of view, the only way to actionably eliminate suffering—or otherwise reduce it such that it is greatly surpassed by joy—is through the continued advancement of technology and political science. Rather than the nigh-impossible aim of peacefully extinguishing life, as efilists would have, we can look forward to a day when our descendants may create freely and better understand the universe in comfort, love and safety, physical suffering eliminated with scientific progress and human beings elevated to be thinkers and makers as they please. Perhaps new solutions will be found to the violence of nature, and we will thrive deep into the future as hyper-scientific custodians of Earth, preventing extinction events and even pulling the planet away from the eventually expanding sun to keep life well and pristine (reducing animal suffering during our continued existence) for billions of years more. We extend the gift of life to new souls with this purpose in mind: the ascension of our species and of sentient life to fulfill a truly beautiful purpose in which we can all share and in which art and creativity can be perfected and the cosmos more fully understood. Life, of course, has grown ever more beautiful; the souls of today are the longest-lived and most educated ever to be, and nothing seems to be stopping this upward trend. Human life will grow ever more happy and mighty. The secrets of our universe will only be unlocked with such progress; those who support extinction arrogantly believe that we already know all that there is to know, confident in deeming the primitive concept of suffering the ultimate and final purpose of humanity and believing the fate of our species to be little more than the dirt. Science, however, still has much to show us, and beauty and the arts leave great chasms to be filled. As I wrote above, I am achingly glad to have been afforded life. I will share in the purpose of its transcendence, and I aim to have a family with the eager hope creating happiness, fulfillment, and intellectualism in others and thus advancing to this goal.

I sincerely believe in the joys and merits of having children and raising them in loving care and education. There is no other direction in which our species can go; child-bearing must happen, in some number, for progress to occur. Graying societies around the world are, as the twenty-first century steams ahead, increasingly faced with the consequences of not caring for parents and children. I am, nonetheless, a progressive. In the United States, the issue of natalism—that is, encouraging population growth—has been lately hijacked by traditionalists who aim to make women merely tools for birthing, a chauvinistic atavism unwelcome in the modern era. To confine women solely to a biological role is to ignore the tremendous social, artistic, and intellectual potential of half of the human race, and this parochial prejudice ought to be condemned outright. Rather than compelling women to have children, the progressive, humanistic natalist ought to invite the birth or adoption of children into families through meaningful policymaking. Making the world a more manageable place for all parents to have, raise, care for, spend time with, and teach their children is something that can be done through policy; few nations have even begun to tread the path. Universal daycare and preschool, a health-optimized breakfast-and-lunch school meal program, child tax credits, and maternity and paternity leave are just a few of the ways human reproduction can be gently and warmly invited rather than compelled by the unfriendly hammer of social and political pressure. Even then, births must be carefully moderated. Those who view themselves as dangerous parents ought not to have children. Child abuse must be punished with fire and lightning—a parental license with clear reasons for revocation may be the solution to this. I rebuke the uncautious, culturally motivated natalism of the contemporary traditionalist movement, and I am not interested in labeling myself as a “natalist” in the sense that this term is usually meant. I would rather see the coming of children as a natural extension of the advancements of the human world, able to share in its fruits; continue in its journey of peace, enjoyment, creativity, and understanding; and contribute to its ultimate destiny. Natalism should not invite desperate, hardline policies; all parents should expect their children to have the best possible upbringing and future ahead of them under acceptably moderated, compassionate fertility. True humanistic natalism ought to be promulgated hand-in-hand—and through nothing but gentle accommodation—with social justice for future generations.

The philosophical argument for child-bearing does not necessarily need to be won on a grand idealistic or progressive level, either. Christine Overall’s above-quoted book on the reproductive debate contends that it is the deep, multi-dimensional fulfillment of a parent-child relationship—“not only genetic but also psychological, physical, intellectual, and moral”—is the optimal reason for child-bearing, affording prospective parents the opportunity not only to cultivate such a relationship with a new soul but form a new soul who can share in the beauty of that relationship, experiencing and originating multi-dimensional love. To create a mind to love and be loved must be noble indeed; if suffering can exist, so, indeed, can love, and the latter must be made to outweigh the former. Pessimism about the goodness and character of children is one argument I have heard made against child-bearing: “your child is more likely to be a murderer than to cure cancer”, I have heard said. This statement, though, makes two vastly different things equivalent—a fairer comparison would be whether a child is more likely to save a life or take one, and I should say that the former is considerably more likely in any case, but especially if the child is raised in goodness and love. As a final point, though I understand my personal motivations for child-bearing cannot be used for the purpose of argument, I see it fit to include them in conclusion nonetheless. I revel in existence. The joy and pain of man have been unending gifts. The experience of holding another in a tight embrace, understanding a new and challenging concept, looking up at a canopy of leaves, swimming in cool water on a warm day, enjoying a hot meal in the company of long-time friends—these are things I do not take for granted. I acknowledge that I am biased, being that I am a living thing—but the only souls we can observe exist are those that are alive, and we can thus only judge life as it pertains to living beings. I ask, then:

Is it not noble to bring sentient creatures—tiny specks of self-knowing minds—dipping into the flickering orb of life for the brief moment that we may? To give them a chance to see the roaring, beautiful chaos of the universe? In my estimation, it is, and as humanity grows nearer to transcendence, it will evermore be.