I died in March 2023 — or so the rumour mill would have you believe.
Of course, given that I’m still here, hammering away at this keyboard, it must be said that I didn’t technically die. We don’t bring people back. Death, real death, doesn’t work on a “return to sender” basis. Once you’re gone, you’re gone, and the only thing bringing you back is a heavily fictionalised Netflix series.
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No, this is a semantic cock-up, yet another stinking exhibit in the crumbling Museum of Language Insufficiency. “I died,” people say, usually while slurping a Pumpkin Spice Latte and live-streaming their trauma to 53 followers. What they mean is that they flirted with death, clumsily, like a drunk uncle at a wedding. No consummation, just a lot of embarrassing groping at the pearly gates.
And since we’re clarifying terms: there was no tunnel of light, no angels, no celestial choir belting out Coldplay covers. No bearded codgers in slippers. No 72 virgins. (Or, more plausibly, 72 incels whining about their lack of Wi-Fi reception.)
There was, in fact, nothing. Nothing but the slow, undignified realisation that the body, that traitorous meat vessel, was shutting down — and the only gates I was approaching belonged to A&E, with its flickering fluorescent lights and a faint smell of overcooked cabbage.
To be fair, it’s called a near-death experience (NDE) for a reason. Language, coward that it is, hedges its bets. “Near-death” means you dipped a toe into the abyss and then screamed for your mummy. You didn’t die. You loitered. You loitered in the existential equivalent of an airport Wetherspoons, clutching your boarding pass and wondering why the flight to Oblivion was delayed.
As the stories go, people waft into the next world and are yanked back with stirring tales of unicorns, long-dead relatives, and furniture catalogues made of clouds. I, an atheist to my scorched and shrivelled soul, expected none of that — and was therefore not disappointed.
What I do recall, before the curtain wobbled, was struggling for breath, thinking, “Pick a side. In or out. But for pity’s sake, no more dithering.” In a last act of rational agency, I asked an ER nurse — a bored-looking Athena in scrubs — to intubate me. She responded with the rousing medical affirmation, “We may have to,” which roughly translates to, “Stop making a scene, love. We’ve got fifteen others ahead of you.”
After that, nothing. I was out. Like a light. Like a minor character in a Dickens novel whose death is so insignificant it happens between paragraphs.
I woke up the next day: groggy, sliced open, a tube rammed down my throat, and absolutely no closer to solving the cosmic riddle of it all. Not exactly the triumphant return of Odysseus. Not even a second-rate Ulysses.
Here’s the reality: There is no coming back from death. You can’t “visit” death, any more than you can spend the afternoon being non-existent and return with a suntan.
Those near-death visions? Oxygen-starved brains farting out fever dreams. Cerebral cortexes short-circuiting like Poundland fairy lights. Hallucinations, not heralds. A final, frantic light show performed for an audience of none.
Epicurus, that cheerful nihilist, said, “When we are, death is not. When death is, we are not.” He forgot to mention that, in between, people would invent entire publishing industries peddling twaddle about journeys beyond the veil — and charging $29.99 for the paperback edition.
No angels. No harps. No antechamber to the divine. Just the damp whirr of hospital machinery and the faint beep-beep of capitalism, patiently billing you for your own demise.
If there’s a soundtrack to death, it’s not choirs of the blessed. It’s a disgruntled junior surgeon muttering, “Where the hell’s the anaesthetist?” while pawing desperately through a drawer full of out-of-date latex gloves.
And thus, reader, I lived. But only in the most vulgar, anticlimactic, and utterly mortal sense.
There will be no afterlife memoir. No second chance to settle the score. No sequel. Just this: breath, blood, occasional barbed words — and then silence.
A Comparative Analysis of Sarah Perry, Emil Cioran, and Contemporaries
In a world where procreation is often celebrated as a fundamental human aspiration, a group of philosophers challenges this deeply ingrained belief by questioning the ethical implications of bringing new life into existence. Antinatalism, the philosophical stance that posits procreation is morally problematic due to the inherent suffering embedded in life, invites us to reexamine our assumptions about birth, existence, and the value we assign to life itself.
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Central to this discourse are thinkers like Sarah Perry, whose work “Every Cradle is a Grave: Rethinking the Ethics of Birth and Suicide” intertwines the ethics of procreation with the right to die, emphasizing personal autonomy and critiquing societal norms. Alongside Perry, philosophers such as Emil Cioran, David Benatar, Thomas Ligotti, and Peter Wessel Zapffe offer profound insights into the human condition, consciousness, and our existential burdens.
This article delves into the complex and often unsettling arguments presented by these philosophers, comparing and contrasting their perspectives on antinatalism. By exploring their works, we aim to shed light on the profound ethical considerations surrounding birth, suffering, and autonomy over one’s existence.
The Inherent Suffering of Existence
At the heart of antinatalist philosophy lies the recognition of life’s intrinsic suffering. This theme is a common thread among our featured philosophers, each articulating it through their unique lenses.
Sarah Perry argues that suffering is an unavoidable aspect of life, stemming from physical ailments, emotional pains, and existential anxieties. In “Every Cradle is a Grave,” she states:
“Existence is imposed without consent, bringing inevitable suffering.”
Perry emphasises that since every human will experience hardship, bringing a new person into the world exposes them to harm they did not choose.
Similarly, David Benatar, in his seminal work “Better Never to Have Been: The Harm of Coming into Existence,” presents the asymmetry argument. He posits that coming into existence is always a harm:
“Coming into existence is always a serious harm.”
Benatar reasons that while the absence of pain is good even if no one benefits from it, the absence of pleasure is not bad unless there is someone for whom this absence is a deprivation. Therefore, non-existence spares potential beings from suffering without depriving them of pleasures they would not miss.
Emil Cioran, a Romanian philosopher known for his profound pessimism, delves deep into the despair inherent in life. In “The Trouble with Being Born,” he reflects:
“Suffering is the substance of life and the root of personality.”
Cioran’s aphoristic musings suggest that life’s essence is intertwined with pain, and acknowledging this is crucial to understanding our existence.
Thomas Ligotti, blending horror and philosophy in “The Conspiracy Against the Human Race,” portrays consciousness as a cosmic error:
“Consciousness is a mistake of evolution.”
Ligotti argues that human awareness amplifies suffering, making us uniquely burdened by the knowledge of our mortality and the futility of our endeavours.
Peter Wessel Zapffe, in his essay “The Last Messiah,” examines how human consciousness leads to existential angst:
“Man is a biological paradox due to excessive consciousness.”
Zapffe contends that our heightened self-awareness results in an acute recognition of life’s absurdities, causing inevitable psychological suffering.
Ethics of Procreation
Building upon the acknowledgement of life’s inherent suffering, these philosophers explore the moral dimensions of bringing new life into the world.
Sarah Perry focuses on the issue of consent. She argues that since we cannot obtain consent from potential beings before birth, procreation imposes life—and its accompanying suffering—upon them without their agreement. She writes:
“Procreation perpetuates harm by introducing new sufferers.”
Perry challenges the societal norm that views having children as an unquestioned good, highlighting parents’ moral responsibility for the inevitable pain their children will face.
In David Benatar’s asymmetry argument, he extends this ethical concern by suggesting that non-existence is preferable. He explains that while the absence of pain is inherently good, the absence of pleasure is not bad because no one is deprived of it. Therefore, bringing someone into existence who will undoubtedly experience suffering is moral harm.
Emil Cioran questions the value of procreation given the futility and despair inherent in life. While not explicitly formulating an antinatalist argument, his reflections imply scepticism about the act of bringing new life into a suffering world.
Peter Wessel Zapffe proposes that refraining from procreation is a logical response to the human condition. By not having children, we can halt the perpetuation of existential suffering. He suggests that humanity’s self-awareness is a burden that should not be passed on to future generations.
The Right to Die and Autonomy over Existence
A distinctive aspect of Sarah Perry’s work is her advocacy for the right to die. She asserts that just as individuals did not consent to be born into suffering, they should have the autonomy to choose to end their lives. Perry critiques societal and legal barriers that prevent people from exercising this choice, arguing:
“Autonomy over one’s life includes the right to die.”
By decriminalizing and destigmatizing suicide, she believes society can respect individual sovereignty and potentially alleviate prolonged suffering.
Emil Cioran contemplates suicide not necessarily as an action to be taken but as a philosophical consideration. In “On the Heights of Despair,” he muses:
“It is not worth the bother of killing yourself, since you always kill yourself too late.”
Cioran views the option of ending one’s life as a paradox that underscores the absurdity of existence.
While Benatar, Ligotti, and Zapffe acknowledge the despair that can accompany life, they do not extensively advocate for the right to die. Their focus remains on the ethical implications of procreation and the existential burdens of consciousness.
Coping Mechanisms and Societal Norms
Peter Wessel Zapffe delves into how humans cope with the existential angst resulting from excessive consciousness. He identifies four defence mechanisms:
Isolation: Repressing disturbing thoughts from consciousness.
Anchoring: Creating or adopting values and ideals to provide meaning.
Distraction: Engaging in activities to avoid self-reflection.
Sublimation: Channeling despair into creative or intellectual pursuits.
According to Zapffe, these mechanisms help individuals avoid confronting life’s inherent meaninglessness.
Thomas Ligotti echoes this sentiment, suggesting that optimism is a psychological strategy to cope with the horror of existence. He writes:
“Optimism is a coping mechanism against the horror of existence.”
Sarah Perry and Emil Cioran also critique societal norms that discourage open discussions about suffering, death, and the choice not to procreate. They argue that societal pressures often silence individuals who question the value of existence, thereby perpetuating cycles of unexamined procreation and stigmatizing those who consider alternative perspectives.
Comparative Insights
While united in their acknowledgement of life’s inherent suffering, these philosophers approach antinatalism and existential pessimism through varied lenses.
Sarah Perry emphasises personal autonomy and societal critique, advocating for policy changes regarding birth and suicide.
Emil Cioran offers a deeply personal exploration of despair, using poetic language to express the futility he perceives in existence.
David Benatar provides a structured, logical argument against procreation, focusing on the ethical asymmetry between pain and pleasure.
Thomas Ligotti combines horror and philosophy to illustrate the bleakness of consciousness and its implications for human suffering.
Peter Wessel Zapffe analyzes the psychological mechanisms humans employ to avoid confronting existential angst.
Critiques and Counterarguments
Critics of antinatalism often point to an overemphasis on suffering, arguing that it neglects the joys, love, and meaningful experiences that life can offer. They contend that while suffering is a part of life, it is not the totality of existence.
In response, antinatalist philosophers acknowledge the presence of pleasure but question whether it justifies the inevitable suffering every person will face. Benatar argues that while positive experiences are good, they do not negate the moral harm of bringing someone into existence without their consent.
Regarding the right to die, opponents express concern over the potential neglect of mental health issues. They worry that normalizing suicide could prevent individuals from seeking help and support that might alleviate their suffering.
Sarah Perry addresses this by emphasizing the importance of autonomy and the need for compassionate support systems. She advocates for open discussions about suicide to better understand and assist those contemplating it rather than stigmatizing or criminalizing their considerations.
Societal and Cultural Implications
These philosophers’ works challenge pro-natalist biases ingrained in many cultures. By questioning the assumption that procreation is inherently positive, they open a dialogue about the ethical responsibilities associated with bringing new life into the world.
Sarah Perry critiques how society glorifies parenthood while marginalizing those who choose not to have children. She calls for reevaluating societal norms that pressure individuals into procreation without considering the ethical implications.
Similarly, Emil Cioran and Thomas Ligotti highlight how societal denial of life’s inherent suffering perpetuates illusions that hinder genuine understanding and acceptance of the human condition.
Conclusion
The exploration of antinatalist philosophy through the works of Sarah Perry, Emil Cioran, and their contemporaries presents profound ethical considerations about life, suffering, and personal autonomy. Their arguments compel us to reflect on the nature of existence and the responsibilities we bear in perpetuating life.
While one may not fully embrace antinatalist positions, engaging with these ideas challenges us to consider the complexities of the human condition. It encourages a deeper examination of our choices, the societal norms we accept, and how we confront or avoid the fundamental truths about existence.
Final Thoughts
These philosophers’ discussions are not merely abstract musings but have real-world implications for how we live our lives and make decisions about the future. Whether it’s rethinking the ethics of procreation, advocating for personal autonomy over life and death, or understanding the coping mechanisms we employ, their insights offer valuable perspectives.
By bringing these often-taboo topics into the open, we can foster a more compassionate and thoughtful society that respects individual choices and acknowledges the full spectrum of human experience.
Encouraging Dialogue
As we conclude this exploration, readers are invited to reflect on their own beliefs and experiences. Engaging in open, respectful discussions about these complex topics can lead to greater understanding and empathy.
What are your thoughts on the ethical considerations of procreation? How do you perceive the balance between life’s joys and its inherent suffering? Share your perspectives and join the conversation.
References and Further Reading
Perry, Sarah. Every Cradle is a Grave: Rethinking the Ethics of Birth and Suicide. Nine-Banded Books, 2014.
Benatar, David. Better Never to Have Been: The Harm of Coming into Existence. Oxford University Press, 2006.
Cioran, Emil. The Trouble with Being Born. Arcade Publishing, 1973.
Ligotti, Thomas. The Conspiracy Against the Human Race. Hippocampus Press, 2010.
Zapffe, Peter Wessel. “The Last Messiah.” Philosophy Now, 1933.
For more in-depth analyses and reviews, consider exploring the following blog posts:
This ChatGPT o1-generated article aims to thoughtfully and respectfully present the philosophical positions on antinatalism and existential pessimism. The discussions about suffering, procreation, and the right to die are complex and sensitive. If you or someone you know is struggling with such thoughts, please seek support from mental health professionals or trusted individuals in your community.
Next Steps
Based on reader interest and engagement, future articles may delve deeper into individual philosophers’ works, explore thematic elements such as consciousness and suffering, or address counterarguments in more detail. Your feedback and participation are valuable in shaping these discussions.
Let us continue this journey of philosophical exploration together.
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