Chris Byron
The television universe of True Detective is quite bleak. That may be an understatement. It is often completely monstrous. The first season's two heroes and moral center are far from virtuous. Rust, for instance, recognizes himself as a “bad guy” whose redeeming trait is that he keeps “other bad men from the door.” Most of the adult characters are either just as flawed or remarkably worse. Monsters such as Reverend Tuttle, Reggie Ledoux, and Errol Childress ought not to live so close together, nor be so institutionally well organized and socially interconnected. Philosophically, we should consider whether or not human existence in the world of True Detective is worth enduring.
Take, for instance, the children of True Detective. Although they are not categorically evil, they essentially have no real opportunities to flourish. They grow up in poverty and are spoon-fed a dogmatic religious education in schools filled with pedophiles and rapists. Although no individual child is depicted as evil, it is doubtful that any of them are going to grow up to be moral leaders and beacons of social progress. Ought the characters of True Detective to have children? Their children's prospects for success are dismal, and their prospects for abuse are too probable for comfort. Would it not be better if everyone in the True Detective universe ceased to procreate, and, as Rust argues in the “The Long Bright Dark,” “walk hand in hand into extinction, one last midnight—brothers and sisters opting out of a raw deal?”
The philosophical position against procreation is known as anti-natalism, and no doubt Rust is an anti-natalist. Rust's insights, coupled with the philosophy of David Benatar, not only require the characters of True Detective to cease procreation but also morally compel all people to stop procreating. Indeed, True Detective creator Nic Pizzolatto acknowledges that Benatar's work was influential in the creation of the character of Rust.1 Taking that cue, this chapter explores whether or not anti-natalism is a philosophically cogent position by presenting Rust's perspective on human existence and connecting it with Benatar's argument that coming into existence is necessarily harmful.
In a deleted scene that initially aired in HBO's first showing of True Detective,2 we find out that Rust's girlfriend Lori left him because he did not want to have kids. Rust says he will never have kids again and will not budge from his beliefs. Lori is insistent that Rust will not have kids because of “what happened” to him. She is no doubt referring to the death of his daughter. Moreover, she states that, no matter what reasons Rust provides, ultimately his anti-natalist views are emotionally driven by his daughter's death. Rust, however, insists that his anti-natalism is a “philosophical decision.”
This is one of the few moments in the show when Rust does not offer a philosophical argument. Instead, he only offers his philosophical perspective. We know he does not want children, and he does not think anyone ought to have children, but he does not put forward his reasons when arguing with Lori. Yet Rust seems like a smart guy. He is philosophically literate, has an impressive stack of books in his apartment, and is usually capable of justifying and putting forward various arguments with reasonable conclusions. This discrepancy between Rust's intellect and his unarticulated argument for anti-natalism leaves us, the viewers, with a question: What are the reasons someone would be an anti-natalist, and is it a reasonable philosophical perspective? Moreover, is anti-natalism applicable just to the world of True Detective or does it apply to those of us who have lives that do not involve rapists, murderers, pedophiles, and cult worshipers?
Although Rust provides no singular argument in favor of anti-natalism, over the course of the series he does provide several premises that could lend support to an anti-natalist conclusion. Rust is fairly confident that the horrors he and Marty uncover in the backwaters of Louisiana are not geographically unique. They are symptomatic of the fact that the world is “all one ghetto, man … a giant gutter in outer space,” as Rust says in “The Long Bright Dark.” Given that the world is one giant gutter, Rust believes Louisiana has no monopoly on violence and human cruelty. As Rust states, “in philosophical terms” he is a pessimist. A pessimist believes that the bad aspects of our lives outweigh the good. While this perspective may sound morose, it is by no means vapid, and was first fully articulated by the German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer (1788–1860).
In his essay “The Vanity of Existence,” Schopenhauer points out the intolerable nature of the human condition.3 We are born into infinite time and space but live for a finite time in a finite space. Our entire lives are spent trying to fulfill desires that nag at us constantly and only ever receive temporary satisfaction. For instance, hunger, thirst, and our sexual appetites are constant, and, no matter how much we quench them, they will nag at us for continued fulfillment. Moreover, the existence of all living beings on the planet is governed by a horrendous process in which some survive through the suffering and death of others. Consider how many animals have suffered for humans' continued existence, and then also consider how many animals have suffered for the continued existence of other animals. Such a consideration of nature affirms that the world is one big ghetto.
Rust's pessimism drives his view that some of our favorite institutions and beliefs are ultimately illusions. As Rust argues in “The Locked Room,” the sense that one is a unified self with an identity, the practices of love and forgiveness, belief in salvation from sins, and the existence of a benevolent God are all contrivances invented by humanity in order “to get together, tell [ourselves] stories that violate every law of the universe just to get through the goddamn day.”
One such story we tell ourselves is that having children, raising a family, and leaving a legacy are good things to do. But is this really true? Rust argues that the act of procreation is inherently selfish. In “Seeing Things,” he tells detectives Gilbough and Papania to “think of the hubris it must take to yank a soul out of nonexistence into this … meat, to force a life into this … thresher. That's … so my daughter, she spared me the sin of being a father.” Rust's statement contains two implicit premises. One of them is a rearticulation of his previous claim that the world is one big ghetto and that the bad aspects of life outweigh the good. The second premise, though, goes further in supporting his anti-natalist perspective. He argues that an act of procreation is inherently hubristic: it takes excessive personal pride. Rust's anti-natalist argument seems to go like this:
We will return to premise (1) below in a broader discussion of Benatar's philosophy. But for now we should note that, if you deny (1), Rust thinks you are being delusional. Let's consider premise (2). Is it inherently selfish to bring a being into existence? Upon reflection, the answer is most assuredly yes. After all, until a being is brought into existence, it cannot have interests. All the possible beings that could come into existence cannot be said to have interests at all until they actually exist. Necessary conditions for having interests are being able to feel (particularly pleasure and pain) and being able have to goals and projects. Since beings that do not exist do not feel and plan, they cannot have interests. Thus, premise (2) seems safe. When parents desire a child, they are fulfilling their own desires and interests, and not the interests of the child, since the child, by not existing, cannot be said to have interests. But what about premise (3)?
On its face it appears true, but upon reflection it does not. Certainly none of us would affirm that we want to be harmed, full stop. And we spend a great deal of time avoiding pain and pursuing pleasure. But is it always in our interest not to be harmed? In one sense I harm myself when I exercise, because frankly it's tedious and painful. But overall I consider it in my interest to experience the harm, in order to reap the reward of health. Thus one could argue that a child does have an interest, once born, in being harmed, so long as it leads to an overall good life. Parents often punish children, but not always out of malice. One approach to parenting is to punish children, which is an immediate harm, in such a way that they grow up well-rounded and happy. For instance, Marty and Maggie are seen calmly punishing their daughter Maisie. They send Maisie to her room, and she is upset. However, over the course of the show, unlike every other denizen of the True Detective world, Maisie appears to grow up happy and well-rounded. If that is possible, then it is not clear that premise (3) is true. And, if premise (3) is false and we are unsure about (1), then, although Rust may be right about (2), it is not enough to secure the conclusion that anti-natalism is definitely prudent. No matter how selfish our procreation may initially be, if the child ends up happy, they may be able to state definitely in adulthood, “I am glad I was born” without contradiction. Note, though, that if (1) is true, the statement “I am glad I was born” is a delusion. So, while the initial act of having children is selfish, so far it does not follow that bringing kids into existence has to be bad overall.
The philosopher David Benatar disagrees. In his book Better Never to Have Been: The Harm of Coming into Existence, he argues that bringing beings into existence is always a harm and thus that procreation is always wrong.4 His argument rests on an asymmetry between the goodness and badness of pleasure and pain. By rearticulating his philosophy, we can see that Rust's anti-natalism is actually quite reasonable, and moreover that premises (1) and (3) above are quite defensible.
Benatar's first two points are that, generally speaking, (I) pleasure is good and (II) pain is bad. However, it also is true that (III) “the absence of pain is good, even if that good is not enjoyed by anyone,” whereas (IV) “the absence of pleasure is not bad unless there is somebody for whom this absence is a deprivation.”5 There is an asymmetry between goodness and badness with respect to the absence of pleasure and pain.
To justify this asymmetry, it is important to note that most people would agree with all four premises upon reflection. Take premise (III), which states that it is good when there exists no pain, even when no being is present to enjoy the absence of pain. We accept this premise concerning responsible parenthood. For instance, we think it is good that Rust did not get Maggie pregnant during their one-night stand, and it is good that Audrey did not get pregnant during her underage sexual escapades, because that would bring a harmed being into the world. If Rust, Maggie, and Audrey are going to have children, we consider it prudent for them to do so in situations where a child has greater potential for well-being and less risk of overt harm. This asymmetry between pain and pleasure is reflected in the sorts of procreative duties we expect from people. Consider the point this way: if Audrey were to tell us that she uses contraceptives because she is not ready to be a parent, we would consider this a good decision. We consider it good that she is furthering the absence of pain in the world by not bringing a suffering being into existence. Now, Catholics, for instance, may object to using contraceptives, but most still accept the premise in the form of natural family planning and agree that there are good and bad times to have children. The bad times are the ones when suffering is assured. We think people have a duty not to bring suffering into the world, but we do not usually think they have the inverse duty to bring happy people into the world. If Audrey never has a child, that is fine. If she does have a child in a reckless way, that is bad. Thus, an asymmetry exists.
Or consider another asymmetry. While we accept Rust's premise (2), that one cannot have a child for the child's sake, we do think we can avoid having a child for the sake of any future possible child. If Audrey, Maggie, and Marty all use protection when engaging in recreational sex, we accept that they are doing so to prevent bringing a harmed being into existence, and that is good (even if the illicit sex is not virtuous). Benatar summarizes this second point, saying, “It is strange to cite as a reason for having a child that that child will thereby be benefited. It is not similarly strange to cite as a reason for not having a child that that child will suffer.”6
Another asymmetry in our moral duties is reflected in Rust's observation that he is happy that his daughter passed away before she could know true pain. Notice, however, that it would not be wrong if Rust had not brought a being into existence. We would not say that hypothetical being was deprived of happiness. We can feel bad for bringing a being into existence because it is harmed—hence Rust's claim that his daughter's early death spared him the sin of being a father. However, it would be nonsense if Rust were to feel remorse at not having brought a hypothetical happy person into existence, for the sake of that hypothetical person, since there is no one actually being deprived of happiness and pleasure. Although Rust could hypothetically feel bad for himself, he cannot feel bad for the nonexistent being.
Another moral observation can be used to motivate premise (III). When we finally get to see Errol Childress' home and occult temple, we know it is good when we see any area unoccupied by a suffering being. The emptier his temple and home, the better. The emptier Marty and Rust's interrogation room, the better. The emptier the backwaters of Louisiana, or the religious schools, or the entire universe of True Detective, the better! That is because the absence of pain is good, even when there is no one around to experience it (III), whereas the absence of pleasure is only bad when someone is deprived of it (IV). The only people it is bad to deprive of pleasure are those who actually exist—such as Maisie, Audrey, or Maggie.
We now have four different reasons for accepting the asymmetry between (III) and (IV). There is an asymmetry between our procreative duties. We should avoid bringing suffering people into existence but we have no counterobligation to bring happy people into existence. There is an asymmetry of beneficence in procreation. It seems too bizarre to cite a child's well-being as the reason for having a child, whereas it makes sense to accept the claim of possible parents that they are delaying the act of procreation because the future child will suffer. Then there is the asymmetry of retrospective beneficence. This asymmetry acknowledges the fact that, while we can feel bad for an existing child once it is brought into being, we cannot also feel bad for the children we have not brought into being. Finally, there is the asymmetry of suffering across space. While we think it good when an uninhabited space does not have suffering beings in it, we do not conversely think it bad that the same empty space does not have happy beings in it.7 We do not think it is bad that Mars does not contain a happy civilization, but we do think it is good that no one is in Errol Childress' temple. Even if someone with a particular religious disposition rejects one of these premises, they most likely accept several of the others and thus support the overall asymmetry between pleasure and pain concerning existence and nonexistence.
Given that bringing a life into existence always constitutes a harm (since that life will inevitably suffer at various points), whereas the absence of existence is never a harm, it follows that nonexistence is preferable to existence. Coming into existence will always constitute some harm, whereas nonexistence can never be a harm, because things that never exist cannot be said to be harmed. Perhaps, then, Rust is right that the human species ought to opt out of existence, forgoing our mutual raw deal. The legitimacy of premises (I)–(IV) is just as applicable in the world of True Detective as it is in our own world.
Now, a person could read all this, recognize that procreation is wrong, and still decide that nevertheless they are going to procreate. After all, they say to themselves, life is not as bad as Rust states. This is a risky venture, since one is gambling with the well-being of someone else's life, and in any other circumstance we would find this sort of venture to be wholly reckless and immoral. Is Rust right, though, that most, if not all, lives are awful? From a historical perspective, the answer must be yes. History is one bloody and violent process where survival almost always means being able to kill another living being. Both the act of killing and being killed are frequently undesirable. Human existence is no different. The human species is at least 150,000 years old and, as the philosopher Thomas Hobbes (1588–1679) so eloquently stated, our lives have been mostly “nasty, brutish, and short.”8 Even today, a cursory glance through the morning paper reveals famine, inequality, natural disasters, terrorist attacks, psychological ailments, and the spread of disease, racism, sexism, and megalomaniacs running for presidency as if they have the population's interests at heart. How many people are really living lives that net more pleasure than pain? Even when our friends and family tell us they are doing well, are they not delusional, as Rust suggests?
Benatar cites dozens of studies suggesting that humans are bad at assessing how well things are really going and that they often lie when asked.9 For instance, when someone asks, “How are you?” the knee-jerk response is “good.” But oftentimes we are cranky, thirsty, achy, and so forth. Just as Schopenhauer points out, we are trapped in a perennial process of addressing desires, which, once satisfied, are quickly replaced by more unsatisfied desires. Think about all the times Marty tries to act as if everything is okay. Life is great, he is a family man, and has achieved the American dream. Behind all his smiles and boastful tales, though, we know he is unhappy. Aside from Rust, few people wear their misery on their sleeves. If this is the case, and happiness is a delusion, or something forever out of reach for the mass of humanity, then it must take real “hubris … to yank a soul out of nonexistence into this … meat, to force a life into this … thresher.”