u/MassimoFantini

If it is true that:

• no one should have the right to inflict suffering on another; and

• every individual should have the right to zero suffering,

then a difficult question follows: should the right not to be born be considered a fundamental individual right?

If the rule of law has a duty to protect individuals from suffering imposed on them by others, how can it consistently exclude the decision that exposes an individual to the possibility of suffering in the first place?

This is not an argument for legally restricting anyone’s reproductive choices. It is a question about the internal consistency of our concept of individual rights.

If the conclusion does not follow from the premises, where exactly does the reasoning fail?

It is easy to question the value of bringing someone into existence when confronted with the great tragedies of life—the ones that inflict unbearable suffering. It is much harder to ask the same question when faced with the minor inconveniences that most people dismiss as insignificant and easily overcome.

Today I was sleepy at work and could not sleep. That is all. Nothing tragic happened to me. I was not ill, I was not grieving, I was not in pain. I simply wanted to close my eyes, and circumstances required me to keep them open. Most people would regard that as trivial, perhaps not even worth mentioning. I did not.

The small effort it took to keep my eyes open was enough for me to say no to life. Not because that effort was unbearable, but because I could see no reason why it needed to exist in the first place. Why should suffering have to become extreme before it counts against existence? Why should only agony enter the calculation, while the endless accumulation of minor discomforts, frustrations, obligations, and unwanted efforts is treated as negligible? A burden does not cease to be a burden simply because it is light.

That moment required almost nothing from me, and that was precisely the point. Even that little was more than I would ever have needed had I never existed. Life was asking for a tiny payment, perhaps the smallest imaginable, and I still found no reason to pay it. No, thank you. I need nothing.

Most people would probably say yes. At first glance, the three positions seem unrelated. I think they are far more closely connected than they appear.

If we question the morality of bringing someone into existence without their consent, it is difficult not to question the legitimacy of political authority as well. Likewise, antinatalism creates an obvious tension with many traditional conceptions of God. How can a perfectly good God appear indifferent to the human condition? And why do most religions encourage procreation despite the certainty of suffering?

But a tension is not a logical necessity. One can consistently reject procreation without denying the possibility of a deity or rejecting every form of political authority.

I've edited the post to clarify the relationship between antinatalism and anarchism: I wonder whether the government of man over man—the hierarchies of power and the rigid rules that shape our lives—might be among the root causes of the frustration and suffering we experience, that very suffering antinatalism seeks to prevent.

What do you think?

When we think about the causes of war, we usually mention greed, hatred, fanaticism, or the lust for power.

But these may all have something in common: Hope.

No one wages war without hoping to gain something. No one commits fraud without hoping to profit. No one seeks power without hoping it will improve their life.

Everyone has children hoping they'll have a happy life.

Hope is often portrayed as the force behind humanity's greatest achievements. Yet it is also the force behind many of its greatest catastrophes. The same psychological mechanism drives both.

This raises an uncomfortable possibility. Perhaps hope is morally neutral. It simply motivates action, regardless of whether the goal is noble or monstrous.

If that's true, then praising hope as an unconditional virtue becomes difficult. The real ethical question is no longer: "Do you have hope?" but rather: "What is your hope trying to achieve?"

Maybe hope is less like a compass and more like fuel, but fuel can power an ambulance—or a tank.