“Alas! There cometh the time when man will no longer give birth to any star. Alas! There cometh the time of the most despicable man, who can no longer despise himself(1)”
In contemplating the question of whether it is ethical to have children in a "doomed world," we are confronted with a profound existential dilemma, one that invites us to reckon with our innate desires alongside the stark realities of our time. The question itself permeates the unconscious fears and desires of a society that grapples with notions of survival and legacy. The act of having children can be seen as a reflection of our internal conflicts and longings for continuity in the face of uncertainty. It’s a decision imbued with the potential to transform not just personal lives, but societal narratives—an act of faith in humanity’s capacity for resilience, adaptation, and love. Taking a cue from Nietzsche, as Emba challenges us, we must ponder whether we have entered the era of the "most despicable man," one who, in the face of this existential despair, loses his capacity for despising oneself and thus, for change and growth. The question is not just about the material prospects of our time, but whether our spiritual and moral imagination can sustain the creation of 'stars'—new lives, new hopes—despite the impending uncertainties. One could argue that the narrative of a "doomed world" acquires a fetishistic function, simultaneously distracting us and enabling us to ignore more immediate crises—those we might have the agency to address. To posit that the ethical query embedded in procreation is not solely about the future we fear but about the present, we refuse to confront. In this mire of displacement and disavowal of reality, I would challenge us to recognize the ideological traps that shape our perceptions of choice. The act of parenting, then, becomes not just a personal choice but a dialectical engagement with history itself—an articulation of our hopes, fears, and existential courage. It is perhaps through this very engagement that we find an ethical compass, not by seeking a foregone conclusion to the world's fate, but by confronting the present with a willingness to imagine and enact futures that defy 'doom.' Thus, the crux of the matter lies within our capacity to despise—not ourselves, per se, but the forces that bind us to futility, and to rediscover within this possibility a new ethos of living, creating, and imagining human continuity beyond the spectre of despair…
🦶 footnote: Friedrich Nietzsche
Friedrich Nietzsche (2017). “THUS SPOKE ZARATHUSTRA (Modern Classics Series): The Magnum Opus of the World’s Most Influential Philosopher, Revolutionary Thinker and the Author of The Antichrist, The Birth of Tragedy & Beyond Good and Evil”, p.23, e-artnow
“Alas! There cometh the time when man will no longer give birth to any star. Alas! There cometh the time of the most despicable man, who can no longer despise himself(1)”
In contemplating the question of whether it is ethical to have children in a "doomed world," we are confronted with a profound existential dilemma, one that invites us to reckon with our innate desires alongside the stark realities of our time. The question itself permeates the unconscious fears and desires of a society that grapples with notions of survival and legacy. The act of having children can be seen as a reflection of our internal conflicts and longings for continuity in the face of uncertainty. It’s a decision imbued with the potential to transform not just personal lives, but societal narratives—an act of faith in humanity’s capacity for resilience, adaptation, and love. Taking a cue from Nietzsche, as Emba challenges us, we must ponder whether we have entered the era of the "most despicable man," one who, in the face of this existential despair, loses his capacity for despising oneself and thus, for change and growth. The question is not just about the material prospects of our time, but whether our spiritual and moral imagination can sustain the creation of 'stars'—new lives, new hopes—despite the impending uncertainties. One could argue that the narrative of a "doomed world" acquires a fetishistic function, simultaneously distracting us and enabling us to ignore more immediate crises—those we might have the agency to address. To posit that the ethical query embedded in procreation is not solely about the future we fear but about the present, we refuse to confront. In this mire of displacement and disavowal of reality, I would challenge us to recognize the ideological traps that shape our perceptions of choice. The act of parenting, then, becomes not just a personal choice but a dialectical engagement with history itself—an articulation of our hopes, fears, and existential courage. It is perhaps through this very engagement that we find an ethical compass, not by seeking a foregone conclusion to the world's fate, but by confronting the present with a willingness to imagine and enact futures that defy 'doom.' Thus, the crux of the matter lies within our capacity to despise—not ourselves, per se, but the forces that bind us to futility, and to rediscover within this possibility a new ethos of living, creating, and imagining human continuity beyond the spectre of despair…
🦶 footnote: Friedrich Nietzsche
Friedrich Nietzsche (2017). “THUS SPOKE ZARATHUSTRA (Modern Classics Series): The Magnum Opus of the World’s Most Influential Philosopher, Revolutionary Thinker and the Author of The Antichrist, The Birth of Tragedy & Beyond Good and Evil”, p.23, e-artnow