Antinatalism is the view that procreation is morally wrong. Its most well-known current defender is David Benatar, a professor of philosophy at the University of Capetown, who explicated this moral position on procreation in his 2006 book Better Never to Have Been: The Harm of Coming Into Existence. However, antinatalism long predates Benatar’s work. Antinatalism has roots in Buddhism and ancient Greek thought, and was later defended in the pessimistic writings of Arthur Schopenhauer. Other philosophers since Schopenhauer also went on to argue that we should desist from procreating, including Norwegian philosopher Peter Wessel Zapffe and Romanian philosopher Emil Cioran, as well as contemporary proponents alongside Benatar, such as Tina Rulli and Julio Cabrera.

Within the field of procreation ethics, antinatalism has garnered serious debate and deliberation. Many people, though, balk at the idea that bringing new people into the world is morally wrong, which is unsurprising, given the contentious nature of the position. How could procreation, something so biologically-based and normal, be unethical? It would be far too ambitious to address each of the objections to antinatalism in turn, as each rebuttal deserves an essay in itself; so instead, I wish to examine — what I believe is — a particularly poor argument against antinatalism. This is the objection that we should reject antinatalism because only those who are clinically depressed can buy into it.

Hopefully, it’s obvious that the mental health of the proponent of antinatalism does not affect the truth of their argument. What I would like to explore, however, is the possibility that this sort of ad hominem attack, if founded, might actually inadvertently strengthen the case for antinatalism, if we’re going to bring psychology into the equation. In this essay, I will aim to refute this counterargument — as well as support antinatalism — with the concept of ‘depressive realism’, which states that depression can help you see the world more clearly. I will then tie in depressive realism with the kind of philosophical pessimism espoused by Benatar and Schopenhauer that is used to bolster antinatalism.

Antinatalism and Depressive Realism

The main thrust of the aforementioned ad hominem attack is that we should not take antinatalism seriously because its proponents may have a mood disorder that is warping their view of reality. Curiously, though, having some degree of depression could help an individual to better see how things really are, which is surely one of the main — if not the primary — aims of philosophy. This isn’t to say we should make ourselves depressed in order to gain clarity, only that in cases of depression, certain human biases may be suspended, allowing a sense of realism that was previously thwarted by such biases.

Depressive realism is a hypothesis developed by the psychologists Lauren Alloy and Lyn Yvonne Abramson in 1988; it essentially states that depression may afford an individual with a more accurate view of the world than the non-depressed. Or in the words of comedian Drew Michael: “Depression is a medical condition where you see things for what they are.” On this account of depression, it would seem that ameliorating the condition would cloud a person’s view rather than realign with the nature of reality — although, as we shall see, this may only hold true for some individuals some of the time. In terms of the evidence for and against depressive realism, some studies have indeed found that depressed participants were more accurate in their perceptions and judgements than their non-depressed counterparts.

The first piece of favourable evidence comes from Alloy and Abramson, who formulated the depressive realism hypothesis. In a seminal study in 1979, published in the Journal of Experimental Psychology, participants saw a light bulb on a computer screen and were asked to push a button to turn the light bulb on. In reality, though, they had no control over whether or not the light bulb lit up. After the experiment, the researchers asked the participants (divided into the non-depressed and depressed) whether they thought they had any control over the light bulb. Alloy and Abramson found that non-depressed participants were more likely to think they controlled a light bulb when it turned on compared to their depressed counterparts. The conclusion, then, was that depressed people may have a more realistic perspective on how much control they have in certain situations.

Subsequent research shows a mixture of evidence for and against depressive realism. For instance, a meta-analysis highlights that it is hard to show how the results of studies that support depressive realism apply to the real world, due to the way the studies have been designed. Meanwhile, other studies have shown that depressed participants were less accurate in their predictions about the future than their non-depressed peers. It is difficult to see if the preponderance of research bolsters or weakens the depressive realism hypothesis; nonetheless, there is still evidence in favour of depressive realism in some instances.

The psychiatrist Neel Burton, in writing for Psychology Today, underscores that the scientific literature finds depressive realism only really holds true for those with mild-to-moderate depression and that in these cases of depression, patients can more accurately judge the outcome of contingent events (those which may or may not occur), as well as have a more realistic perception of their capacities and limitations. This contrasts with instances of more severe depression, in which cognitive distortions are pronounced and render appraisals about oneself, others, and the world as inaccurate. One can also see the world as worse than it actually is. In those cases of mild-to-moderate depression, Burton writes:

“This so-called ‘depressive realism’ may enable a person with depression to shed the Pollyanna optimism and rose-tinted spectacles that shield us from reality, to see life more accurately, and to judge it accordingly. If so, the concept of depression may — at least in some cases — be turned onto its head and positively redefined as something like ‘the healthy suspicion that modern life has no meaning and that modern society is absurd and alienating.’”

Pollyanna optimism, also known as the optimism bias or positivity bias, is inspired by Eleanor H. Porter’s 1913 novel Pollyanna. In the story, the title character Pollyanna Whittier has a philosophy of life based on what she calls ‘The Glad Game’, which involves finding something to be glad about in every situation. The attitude of Pollyanna in the novel has since come to stand for the unconscious bias we have towards the positive. Now, I am certainly not against adopting the attitude of trying to see the silver lining in any situation, but such an attitude, we can say, is distinct from Pollyanna optimism, which can obfuscate one’s vision of the world. For example, Pollyanna optimism involves the tendency to remember pleasant events more accurately than unpleasant events, as well as to paint neutral events as more positive than they actually were.

Benatar, in line with the depressive realism hypothesis, claims that some cases of depression may help to remove a person’s rose-tinted glasses — the optimism bias hardwired in all of us — that makes life seem better than it actually is. Cognitive biases are complex. It is hard to know when either a positivity or negativity bias is at play in our judgements. However, as Benatar points out in an essay for Aeon, “empirical evidence of various cognitive biases, most importantly an optimism bias, suggests that overestimation [of the good] is the more common error.”

There is, of course, an evolutionary value in taking an unduly optimistic view of things, as this can spur on hope and sustain our motivation, which would grant us a greater survival advantage — and make us more likely to procreate — than perhaps a more pessimistic (and realistic) perception of things. A depressed antinatalist, then, may be less happy than a non-depressed pronatalist who sees no moral issue in having kids, but the depressive realism the antinatalist enjoys may actually give them better ground to support their position than the pronatalist who has no depression or who has never had depression.

Now the pronatalist may claim that any mildly depressed antinatalist is more depressed than they think they are, and so their moral arguments about procreation shouldn’t be trusted. But it would be unlikely that out of all the antinatalists who have clinical depression, all of them should have it in its severe form. Regardless, the crucial point is that it’s possible depression will sometimes bolster philosophical pessimism and, in turn, the antinatalist outlook, rather than invalidate antinatalism in the way that protonatalists imagine.