Introduction: Better never to kill?

Contemporary antinatalism is not a single, unified doctrine but a diverse and evolving philosophical landscape, spanning an increasing number of both academic and nonacademic forms.Footnote ^{1 ,} Footnote ^{2 ,} Footnote ³ While all antinatalists share a fundamental opposition to human procreation, they diverge sharply on many issues—most notably on the ethical responsibilities humans may bear toward nonhuman animals, sentient beings in general, and beyond.Footnote ⁴

Before David Benatar’s Better Never to Have Been: The Harm of Coming Into Existence (2006),Footnote ⁵ antinatalist thinking largely focused on human reproduction and the inherent harms of human life. Forms of antinatalism that recommend human-only extinction are often colloquially referred to as anthropocentric antinatalism.Footnote ⁶ These iterations range widely in their consideration of other species—some disregard nonhuman animals entirely, others adopt rigorous commitments to animal welfare and veganism, and a few others advocate that nonhuman animals inherit the Earth following human extinction.

However, Benatar’s formulation of the doctrine—often referred to as Benatarian antinatalism—marked several dramatic shifts. Not only did Benatar coinFootnote ⁷ for the first time in known history a term for the concept of morally grounded antiprocreation, but he also generated some of its most influential contemporary arguments, the Benatarian axiological asymmetry chiefly among them.Footnote ⁸ Most contentious, though, was Benatar’s extended scope of antinatalist concern to include the suffering of all sentient beings, thereby creating the first known, fully developed form of what is sometimes called sentiocentric antinatalism.

Twenty years since the publication of Better Never to Have Been, two of the most important versions of antinatalism to emerge are the anthropocentric academic antinatalism of continental philosopher Patricia MacCormack’s ahumanism, as described in her book, The Ahuman Manifesto: Activism At The End of The Anthropocene,Footnote ⁹ and the infamous nonacademic, sentiocentric efilism,Footnote ¹⁰ which grew out of the YouTube videos of Inmendham.Footnote ¹¹

While the ethical contours of antinatalism remain deeply contested among pro-natalists, philosophers, bioethicists, and others who have come to know of antinatalism since the dawn of its growing media presence,Footnote ^{12 ,} Footnote ¹³ the most philosophically generative frictions often arise not between natalists and antinatalists, but within antinatalism itself—particularly where anthropocentric and sentiocentric commitments, axiologies, and norms collide.

Efilism poses an interesting challenge. If humans die out through antinatalism, should it then be the duty of humanity, as the only beings who could intervene, to end the suffering of the rest of sentient life before we are gone, even if it meant ending those lives?

Most anthropocentric and sentiocentric forms of antinatalism alike, Benatar’s included, find this notion to be abhorrent. It is not at all hard to understand why these tensions have created hostility between the various groups that espouse or advocate for either endmost conclusion—in their most extreme binaries, the possible choices represent paternalism versus autonomy, reductionism versus vitalism, philosophy versus activism, and total Kantian pacifism versus negative utilitarian benevolent omnicide.

In The Ahuman Manifesto, MacCormack provocatively claims that David Benatar is an “Efilist Philosopher.”Footnote ¹⁴ This is a categorization that, though technically inaccurate, highlights the conceptual and ethical overlaps of Benatarian antinatalism and efilism and reveals a weakness in Benatar’s theory neutrality,Footnote ¹⁵ leaving the door wide open to all manner of axiological and normative interpretations. The resulting blurring effect between sentiocentric antinatalist manifestations in the eyes of anthropocentric antinatalist varieties like MacCormack’s is a predicament that I have previously called, Benatarian Efilism.Footnote ¹⁶

Through an analysis of a wide range of different antinatalist philosophies, positions, identities, and iterations, this paper will examine how anthropocentric and sentiocentric forms of antinatalism alike often end up advocating the use of some type of force, and how it could be argued that the more antinatalism expands its scope of concern, particularly when coupled with its propensity for activism, the more it risks endorsing forceful or ever promortalist interventions, whether acknowledged or not. Can consistent, suffering-focused, extinctionist antinatalism remain nonviolent? Or are forceful and deliberate actions to end some or all suffering an inevitability of antinatalism? And what does this mean for the future of antinatalist thought and action?

Better never to eat them

While these internal ideological wars within antinatalism are mainly waged in the realm of online, nonacademic, informal groups, some of these divides have crossed over into academia, as various collaborations between academic antinatalist philosophers, and nonacademic antinatalist activists, artists, and influencers have increased.Footnote ^{17 ,} Footnote ¹⁸ Few academic thinkers, however, have driven head on into this collision more provocatively than Patricia MacCormack, whose Ahuman Manifesto offers a striking critique of efilism’s prescription for wild animal intervention, which she believes to be the prohibited logic of “efilist philosopher,”Footnote ¹⁹ David Benatar.

Despite her critical distance, MacCormack begins her continued commentary on efilism in The Ahuman Manifesto, by identifying a radical yet familiar ethical promise in efilism’s uncompromising commitment to suffering reduction. She writes:

At first glance, this seems to be a rather generous appraisal of what MacCormack perceives to be efilism’s more offsetting factors. Despite their many differences, efilism and ahumanism do have much in common, not only in their firm antinatalist and vegan principles but also in that they each affirm the ethical centrality of extinction, and are arguably the two most overtly influential of the contemporary iterations of the doctrine to also combine these positions with activismFootnote ²¹ and art.Footnote ²²

The conceptual entwinement of antinatalism and veganism significantly predates their articulation in more contemporary academic or nonacademic incarnations. The writings of eleventh-century Syrian poet Abu al-Ala al-Ma’arri, for instance, combined an austere veganism with a pronounced antinatalist stance. In one well-known verse, he condemns the exploitation of nonhuman animals, urging abstention from flesh, dairy, eggs, and even honey on the grounds that such consumption constitutes injustice against sentient life.Footnote ²³ In a separate poem, he declares, with a surprising level of anthropocentric extinctionism:

Such historical precedents underscore a longstanding impulse to link dietary and reproductive abstention as mutually resonant ethical refusals, and in a sense, MacCormack’s ahumanism could be seen as the contemporary inflection of al-Maʿarri’s ancient ethical gestures.

Drawing from a lineage of continental and posthumanist thinkers—Gilles Deleuze,Footnote ²⁵ Felix Guattari,Footnote ²⁶ and Jean-François LyotardFootnote ²⁷ among them—MacCormack’s veganism is a refusal not only of human-centered moral hierarchical frameworks—it is abolitionist in the strongest sense. A complete and uncompromising cessation intended to render human society obsolete. For MacCormack, antinatalism and veganism are acts of esthetic and ethical sabotage against malzoanFootnote ²⁸ systems of harm.

In addition to ahumanism, efilism, and a few other notable historical examples like al-Maʿarri, the connection between animal rights and antinatalism, while controversial, can be equally central to many forms of both anthropocentric and sentiocentric antinatalism. With some exception,Footnote ³⁰ nearly all, David Benatar included,Footnote ³¹ of the most prominent antinatalist philosophers are vegan, and other nonacademic antinatalist activist identities, like VegantinatalismFootnote ³² and Aponism,Footnote ³³ continue to emerge and thrive in online spaces.

The inherent antinatalism of abolitionist veganism reflects a conscious objection to any participation in factory farming or other practices that exploit nonhuman animals, encapsulating the central duty of antinatalism not to create new lives, for moral agents not to create moral patience, not to perpetuate or contribute to suffering, and not to create other sentient beings.

However, efilism’s stance on veganism, while perfectly adamant, may quickly begin to resemble something MacCormack finds less than redeemable after all. According to Inmendham, life can be understood as four interlinked forces: consumption, reproduction, cannibalism,Footnote ³⁴ and addiction. Of these, addiction functions as our primary motivator of desire, binding need and want to nearly all human behavior, including natalism and carnism. These drives exploit and obligate us, often against our reflective interests, and to the extent that we recognize their influence, we may diminish their grip, thereby reducing both our own suffering and the harms we inflict on others.

Addictions are not easily overcome, however, and attempting to do so often involve suffering. Efilism acknowledges this with empathy. It is bad not to have what you desire, even if what you desire is bad.Footnote ³⁵ While it might be best and necessary that we work to overcome these needs no matter the discomfort, the sincerity of conviction outweighs one’s ability to consistently enact the principle. Efilism does not place an ethical onus in punishing addicts for their inability to become unaddicted:

Finally, McCormack’s phrase, “opening the world,” is drawn from her 2020 essay, Embracing Death, Opening the World.Footnote ³⁷ For ahumanism, this means freeing the nonhuman animals from the existence of people, but for efilism, the only way to open the world is by closing the door to that world forever, through the cessation of humans, animals, and all else that could ever have the capacity and possibility of feeling.

All sentient creatures, except for them—Definitional sleight of hand?

Shattering the notion of a fragile truce between these opposing antinatalisms is the subtle implication that can be drawn from McCormack’s statement—that though efilism redeems itself by “promoting” positions like veganism and antinatalism, it does so only as something other than as a form of antinatalism itself. This indication is further corroborated within a slightly earlier paper written by MacCormack, in which she directly claims that

From this passage, a reasonable question then emerges: What is antinatalism? If efilism is a form of antinatalism, then antinatalism itself carries with it a set of radical implications that for many, untenably complicate its ethics. And if MacCormack’s statement is true—that efilism is not in fact antinatalism, and that one can only at best “Promote” the other, they what are antinatalisms definitional boundaries, and how have these boundaries been negotiated previously and currently?

Though no known scholarly study of the history of the word antinatalism has yet been conducted, the history of defining antinatalism is simultaneously both a long and short one. No antinatalist philosopher had defined the term until David Benatar at last posited his own in 2024, and the word remained outside of any known English dictionary until the same year, when it was finally defined by Cambridge.

The Oxford English DictionaryFootnote ⁴⁰ indicates that the first usage of the word “antinatalist,” arrived in Katherine Organski and A.F.K Organski 1961 book, Population and World Power. Footnote ⁴¹ The second time it is used, on page 191, seems to indicate something resembling a definition for the word at that time.

By the 1970s, antinatalism and antinatalist (or antinatalism and antinatalist with a hyphen) had established themselves, albeit in quite obscure fashion, within a variety of languages, as a term to describe various population practices and policies.Footnote ^{43 ,} Footnote ^{44 ,} Footnote ⁴⁵ These earlier iterations of what antinatalism was and meant, though decades before the invention of antinatalism as a philosophical position, greatly inform how individuals outside of contemporary antinatalist circles know and think about the idea even today. This was reflected in one of the first twoFootnote ⁴⁶ known definitions of “antinatalisme,” the French entry of the word “antinatalist,” in the French dictionary Le Robert:

Which translates to, “Who seeks to limit the birth rate. ➙ Malthusian. noun Supporter of an antinatalist policy.” While this definition could still be true of an antinatalism or antinatalist today, the definition is lacking, both in the fact that is only seeks to define what adherents of such a cause might be, and not the idea itself. It also fails to encapsulate any key features of what antinatalism has become within the last 20 years.

Though ever changing due to the nature of the platform, the closest and most consistent offering to exist as an official definition of antinatalism for many years came from the Wikipedia pageFootnote ⁴⁸ on the subject.

Comparing this to the far later Cambridge definition, which seems like it could be a description of anthropocentric antinatalism, this definition could in turn be interpreted as describing some species of an activist sentiocentric antinatalism. The inclusion of “social movement”Footnote ⁵⁰ denotes that people might wish to do something about “birth”—a condition of all sentient creatures, having “negative value.”

During the 2024 How to Define Antinatalism? A Panel Discussion Event on YouTube,Footnote ⁵¹ four antinatalist philosophers,Footnote ⁵² including Benatar, and two activists gathered to discuss the then newly released Cambridge definition, in addition to sharing their own proposed definitions of the idea. Within this panel discussion, Benatar proposed his own definition of antinatalism:

Several key words like “morally” and “bring” denote a far more conditionally anthropocentric or sentiocentric antinatalist view. “Bring” is the optimal word signaling this fact. “Bring” indicates the morality of deliberate action, which can only mean the willful creation of new human lives, or in the case of animals, those we breed for the purposes of food, entertainment, companionship, or to serve other human needs.

In Better Never to Have Been, David Benatar specifies that he would be making a conscious decision to make human lives the primary focus of the book.Footnote ⁵⁴ Factory farmed animals and a recommendation that humans also desist from those practices are clearly specified. Regardless, Benatar makes it clear that his antinatalism has a sentiocentric scope, with a preference for an earlier sentient extinction as opposed to a later one.Footnote ^{55 ,} Footnote ⁵⁶

Many years later, however, Benatar’s sentiocentrism seems to have shifted from an unconditional view to a conditional one.Footnote ⁵⁷ In a video entitled, Are Animals Included in Antinatalism?Footnote ⁵⁸ by popular antinatalist activist and YouTube influencer Lawrence Anton,Footnote ⁵⁹ Benatar is quoted as saying this:

If antinatalism as a moral stance against procreation can only apply to instances of procreation that humans are responsible for—moral agents creating moral patience, or more specifically, the production of new human beings and factory farmed animals, then those are the types of lives that antinatalism is limited to, and the only ones that can comprise antinatalist considerations. They are not the “fault” of humanity. This suddenly relegates antinatalist extinctionist duties toward wild animals to be outside the bounds of antinatalism and effectively expels efilism as an unwelcome intruder.

Later on in Anton’s video, Benatar goes on to describe a second way of defining antinatalism, which again opens the door to all sentience, and a path toward permissiveness to wild animal interventions.

This definition—quietly but decisively—dispenses with the requirement of moral agency. Though efilism has never been officially defined, the placement of evaluative weight on the act of coming into existence itself aligns closely with efilist logic. While Benatar stops short of advocating for active intervention, the door is no longer closed—Pro tanto prevent worthy is normative. Once antinatalism is defined in terms of the intrinsic disvalue of existence, the moral symmetry between human and nonhuman procreation becomes difficult to ignore or draw lines of demarcation through.

The virtue of anthropocentric humility versus sentiocentric hubris?

Though Patricia MacCormack acknowledges that the aspiration to reduce, even abolish, suffering may be a shared ideal across different, even opposing antinatalist frameworks, MacCormack’s continued commentary on efilism in The Ahuman Manifesto expands on key fundamental tensions—a more restrained, anthropocentric humility, which confines obligations to beings whose existence is the direct result of human agency, and the possibility of sentiocentric overreach. MacCormack continues her reflections by saying that:

The debate regarding if human beings should or should not intervene in nature for a variety of reasons has deep historical roots, but extinctionist antinatalist frameworks, anthropocentric or sentiocentric, have become a part of the broader conversation only recently. A pioneer of this development was Les U. Knight, the founder of the Voluntary Human Extinction Movement (VHEMT), and his contributions exemplify one pole of this divide.

Grounded in environmentalism and deep ecology, the legacy and conclusions of VHEMT, that animal life should be freed from humanity so that it may thrive without us, resonates in much of MacCormack’s own ahumanist thinking, albeit hers with a stronger poststructuralist, occult and feminist flavor. On the VHEMT website, Knight describes the kind of world he believes will be possible should humanity leave the planet to nonhuman animals.

Knight has expressed sentiments toward efilism, very similar to McCormack’s:

Forms of sentiocentric antinatalism are not a monolith either. David Benatar’s antinatalism, though similarly sentiocentric to efilism, also has voiced similar critiques of efilist like actions and motivations.

For Benatar and perhaps for others, it is not only that the suggestion is paternalistic, hubristic, and potentially violent, but also that the proposal of action is not in line with philosophical pessimism—efilism is optimistic, while antinatalism is more accurately and academically pessimistic.Footnote ⁶⁶

However, while not intervening into nature, and leaving wild animals alone after human extinction may be the more intuitive view, a need for an antinatalism that address the suffering of all sentient creatures finds itself in demand regardless.Footnote ⁶⁷ Though not an antinatalist himself, prolific author and suffering-focused ethicist Magnus Vinding published a short book in 2017 entitled, The Speciesism of Leaving Nature Alone and the Theoretical Case for “Wildlife Anti-Natalism Footnote ⁶⁸ in which he states:

This tenancy toward a broader scope for antinatalist extinction concerns, even ones espousing roughly the same prescription of force, while rare, is not unheard of in the history of antinatalist thinking.Footnote ⁷⁰ In 1892, the French animal rights activist, feminist and Neo-Malthusian Marie Huot, author of Le Mal De Vivre, seems to have possessed views very similar to efilism. In an interview, she remarks that:

This statement is extremely evocative of efilism, which often advocates for something resembling a Benevolent World Exploder,Footnote ⁷² or as it is more colloquially called, the Big Red Button.Footnote ⁷³

An interesting and inciteful reframing of the dilemma to act or not act in matters concerning nonhuman animals, their consumption and extinction, has come in several recent contributions by antinatalist bioethicist and philosopher Matti Häyry. Häyry’s academic contributions to antinatalism date back as far as the 1980s with inquiries concerning all manner of both pro- and antiprocreation, from abortion,Footnote ⁷⁴ procreative fairness, ectogenesis, male wombs, cloning,Footnote ^{75 ,} Footnote ⁷⁶ as well as antinatalism and extinctionism.Footnote ^{77 ,} Footnote ^{78 ,} Footnote ⁷⁹

The scope of Häyry’s work yields many fascinating dualities, showcasing the width of his moral considerations, and the pursuit of a strong reflective equilibrium. Unlike David Benatar, Patricia MacCormack, and other academic antinatalist philosophers, Häyry’s philosophical background is shaped by an expansive history of utilitarian inquiry, with a strong inclination toward negative utilitarianism. Throughout many of his works,Footnote ^{80 ,} Footnote ⁸¹ he has sought to balance, revise, and temper positions like negative utilitarianism with principles of autonomy based on a need-based axiology.Footnote ⁸²

In a 2024 video essay, Häyry launched his own version of antinatalism called Vexan.Footnote ⁸³ Vexan, which stands for Voluntarily Extinctionist Antinatalism, begins with statements of Häyry’s personal principles of procreative abstinence and voluntary childlessness but reveals how his position goes a step further to a universalized form, in the hopes that others, indeed, everyone, will follow suit.

Both Häyry’s antinatalism and extinctionism are voluntary—though extinction is desired, it must be chosen. Rational persuasionFootnote ⁸⁴ is alright, cunning of reasonFootnote ⁸⁵ welcomed, but he advocates an extinction strictly without coercion or manipulation—a free and informed autonomous choice.

Häyry’s Vexan is informed by several interlocking dimensions: Kantian morality and rationality as informed by Kant’s first formulation of the categorical imperative,Footnote ⁸⁶ negative utilitarianism, and a Kantian-based aversion to manipulation. He measures these perspectives placed against human reproduction, factory-farmed reproduction, and wild animal reproduction and intervention respectfully. While Häyry finds the cessation of human life, and the ending of factory farming to be all or mostly in line with all the constituent parts of Vexan, he stops short of wild animal intervention by saying that:

Under the lens of manipulation and its avoidance, an even stronger principle of caution is expressed regarding interventions into the lives of wild animals. Häyry’s hesitance significantly mirrors McCormack’s expressed concerns about “management tools” and the unfortunate human tendency to eliminate wild animal species not for their benefit, but for our own. Häyry continues:

Häyry salient principle of circumspection in animal interventionalism, and the wish not to make their situations worst, could be an expression of another concept originally formulated by Häyry, dissense, defined as:

Conversely, Häyry also presents the interplaying concept of copathy, which he defines as follows:

Through the dual application of dissense and copathy, Häyry negotiates a reasoned balance between restraint and care. He endorses voluntary cessation of human and captive-animal procreation to reduce suffering (copathy) yet refrains from interventions in wild populations where manipulation could be harmful or ethically questionable until more is known (dissense). This measured approach resonates with MacCormack’s critique of efilism, which cautions against human overreach, and with perspectives from Les U. Knight and David Benatar, who similarly emphasize the limits of human moral authority. Benatar’s more potentially copathy-inflected view in his second definition of antinatalism—that wild animal procreation might be considered “pro tanto preventworthy (assuming that there are not sufficiently strong countervailing considerations not to interfere.)”—are also accommodated within Häyry’s framework. In doing so, Häyry models a powerful moral calibration between restraint and ethical concern, showing how extinctionist antinatalism can be both conscientious and cautious, and systematically balanced between its moral ambitions and prudence.

The limits of anthropocentric extinctionist autonomy

The antinatalist positions of ahumanism, VHEMT, and Vexan are all primarily extinctionist frameworks. Despite their differences, they each annunciate strict principles of autonomy and consent as central to their ethical orientations and in pursuit of their extinctionist aims.

While critics often emphasize the ambitions of efilism, particularly in its willingness to impose infringements to the autonomy and consent of nonhuman animals, anthropocentric models of antinatalism are not without interventionalist prescriptions of their own, potentially challenging these fundamentals. Without proposing specific actions, Häyry readily acknowledges this:

The dilemma as expressed above is clear: within a context already defined by human domination, curtailing the procreation of nonhuman bred species may be justified for the sake of prevention, even though such actions inherently compromise their autonomy and consent. In MacCormack’s 2020 interview on The Exploring Antinatalism Podcast however, MacCormack goes quite a few steps further than Häyry and suggests that in the circumstance of imminent human extinction, all production animals should be sterilized:

Though MacCormack’s makes this recommendation with great reluctance,Footnote ⁹³ her willingness to contemplate sterilization of nonhuman animals in human care prior to human extinction is striking, given her earlier criticisms of efilism’s alleged use of “management” tools and its aim to “redress an imagined environmental balance most usually caused by humans in the first place.”

Les Knight has also voiced similar thoughts regarding the phasing out of human-bred animals before human extinction. Though he does not specifically propose the method of sterilization, he has said that

Knight’s observation about the limited ability of such animals to survive independently in these environments is well taken. Yet, given that both Knight and MacCormack regard the lives of domesticated animals as already deeply exploited, brutalized, and manipulated by human hands, it is worth asking by what right anthropocentric human antinatalists would commit further transgressions. Forcibly sterilizing these animals, though a kindness to their potential offspring, would nonetheless inflict inevitable further pain, distress, and dependent on the methods employed, possibly even death on those already in existence.

From the perspective of autonomy, the issue is fraught. To sterilize or phase out animals is to deny them both reproductive potential and the chance—however slim—of survival in posthuman ecosystems. To refrain, however, may condemn their descendants to prolonged suffering, exploitation, or ecological maladaptation. Either path risks undermining the principles of consent and noninterference that anthropocentric antinatalists prize.

This debate can again also be framed through Häyry’s concepts of dissense and copathy. The proposals of Knight and MacCormack may be understood as acts of dissense: limited interventions designed to prevent further suffering among beings whose existence is already contingent upon human interference. By curtailing reproduction in contexts of entrenched exploitation, they aim to minimize future harms while leaving other domains of nature untouched. Yet, these measures fall short of copathy, which requires the prevention of suffering as well as a genuine improvement of the lives already here.

At this juncture, the ethical dilemma intensifies. Is sterilization preferable to euthanasia? Would ending the lives of domesticated animals swiftly, and perhaps painlessly, be a greater act of compassion than denying them reproduction while extending their dependence? Conversely, is euthanasia risking a far greater violation, foreclosing lives that could contain joy alongside suffering?

What emerges is less a clear prescription than a recognition of the profound limits of anthropocentric extinctionist autonomy. Even when explicitly rejecting efilist ambitions to intervene across all sentient life, human-centered antinatalisms are unable to fully extricate themselves from interventionist dilemmas. Whether by sterilization, phasing out, or environmental “artistry,” they remain entangled in the contradictions of managing the lives of others while professing noninterference. Whether through sterilization, euthanasia, or phasing out, any such proposal exposes the fragile coherence of autonomy as a guiding principle—interventions appear both necessary and impermissible all at once.

Marzipan

Benatarian antinatalism as far as can be detected makes no recommendations involving the sterilization of animals. However, given the sentiocentrism of Benatar’s antinatalism, questions regarding the limits and boundaries of ending the lives of nonhuman animals in antinatalist human extinction scenarios have remained, that rightly or wrongly, efilism has attempted to address.

Within Better Never to Have Been, David Benatar describes two forms of possible extinction. He first posits “phased extinction,” which could be brought about by either “dying extinction,” meaning an extinction in which a species gradually dies out, or “killing extinction” or “Pro-mortalism,”Footnote ⁹⁵ meaning that a species is brought to extinction through killing, until none are left. He also briefly talks about how these two methods could “overlap.”Footnote ⁹⁶

Though Benatar would not choose, nor does he advocate for killing extinction, or pro-mortalist extinctionist methods, others have regardless come to a variety of other conclusions. Häyry, seeing the variety of interpretations, and prompted by an increased demand for clarity on these issues, responded by devising the Marzipan thought experiment, resulting in a video series exploring the case in several dimensions, finally culminating in the fourth and final entry, which was an interview between David Benatar and Matti Häyry.Footnote ⁹⁷

The central premise of the Marzipan thought experiment is as follows:

Häyry initially hypothesized that given the conditions and circumstances of Marzipan’s predicament, Benatar would surely allow the prevention of Marzipan’s misery. This prediction was further substantiated by the knowledge that Benatar takes a pro-death view on early abortion, going even so far as to recommend that abortion before 28–30 weeks be morally required.

To Häyry’s surprise, however, many antinatalists, including David Benatar objected.

The crucial distinction lies in whether an action infringes upon whatever morally relevant “interests” might exist for the being in question. While Benatar’s antinatalism primarily concerns the ethics of preventing existence, Häyry’s Marzipan experiment extends the inquiry into the moral permissibility of ending existing lives under extreme extinctionist conditions. Because, according to Benatar, Marzipan possesses morally relevant interests in continuing to live, Benatar’s logic holds that euthanizing her would be wrong.Footnote ¹⁰¹

Häyry’s dissense, in this instance, might recognize that for Marzipan, there are few limits left to be respected—the world in this scenario is coming to an imminent end. The otherwise significant notion of her life’s morally relevant interests, and her own life direction, will soon be over. She will soon be all alone. She may still yet have moments of happiness. What food and water has been left for her, she may yet enjoy, but it cannot reasonably last long. Though she is not in misery now, and though she could still have the possibility of some positive experiences yet to come, her suffering is imminent, and that suffering could, if one were to choose to, be prevented forever.

At the heart of the Marzipan chronicles, is the question—can the ending of a life, be antinatalism? Does coming to such conclusions require additional beliefs, or does it follow that sometimes ending lives can be part and parcel of antinatalism itself? Whether this conclusion belongs within antinatalism proper, or instead signals a promortalist supplement, remains deeply contested.

Häyry began his Marzipan investigation by saying that his case, “will make no explicit claims about antinatalism,”Footnote ¹⁰² and while this is true, it is also a bit of a red herring, as the entire context of the conversation revolves around the permissibility of killing or preemptive euthanasia in the context of antinatalism.Footnote ¹⁰³ Regardless, Benatar rejects the notion that Häyry’s Marzipan has any connection to antinatalism at all.

Though Häyry seems to agree with this, it might be worth re-examining this against Benatar second definition of antinatalism, that, “Antinatalism is the view that coming into existence has negative value.”

If the individual in Häyry’s Marzipan thought experiment were herself an antinatalist who defined the position in terms of preventing imposed sentient welfare, then the very fact that Marzipan had been brought into existence at all, could, under these circumstances, be regarded as sufficient reason to end her life. Given the implications of Benatar’s secondary definition, it becomes difficult to see why the promortalist choice to terminate Marzipan’s life should be considered anything other than an antinatalist one, or how such an act of “killing extinction” could be clearly distinguished from antinatalism itself.

Though euthanizing Marzipan will prevent no further guinea pig lives as she is the last, she is alive, a victim of life’s “negative value.” One might interpret euthanasia in this scenario as a form of preventive care, though whether this constitutes moral kindness remains a disputed question.

If defined in this way, then antinatalism does not necessarily need the circumstances of imminent birth or procreation to be immediately involved for euthanizing her to be an act of true antinatalism. If life has been imposed at all, and life has “negative value,” then antinatalism can carry postnatal, pro-death conclusions quite naturally.