Transcript of Fatherhood Is the Most Romanticized Crime in the World | David Benatar

This video isn't here to win you over. It's not designed to stroke your ego or make you feel warm and fuzzy, and it sure as hell isn't comfortable. You won't find sappy cliches about family is everything or tired platitudes like fatherhood is God's greatest gift. Here, the truth comes raw, unfiltered, and unrelenting. If you're not ready to hear that the biggest mistake of your life might have been calling it love, you might want to hit pause now. But if you've got the guts to keep going, step inside. Brace yourself to never see fatherhood the same way again. You didn't ask to be here. You didn't choose to be born. You didn't sign up for a lifetime of pain. Yet, someone decided your suffering was worth it. And they called it fatherhood. For centuries, fathers have been put on a pedestal. Painted as heroes, protectors, providers, guiding lights. Fatherhood has been romanticized, sanctified, glorified. But no one's dared to ask the question that rips the whole charade apart. What if having kids is the most selfish act a person can commit? David Benitar, the antiatalist philosopher, had the nerve to poke that wound. He didn't mince words. Bringing a life into this world isn't love. It's an imposition. a quiet act of existential violence dressed up as affection. In this video, we're tearing down every layer of rosecoled nonsense that wraps fatherhood in a halo. We're exposing how this so-called sacred role hides a silent crime. The crime of thrusting someone into existence without their consent. The crime of forcing pain, trauma, and death on a soul that never got a say. Buckle up. What you're about to hear, no one wants to admit, but deep down, everyone feels it. The act of being born is the greatest heist in the history of existence. A theft of peace, a robbery of silence, a snatch of painfree oblivion, the only true freedom that exists before birth. And at the heart of this heist, the father, the one who decided without asking, without listening, without a shred of respect that another life had to exist. Not for the kid's sake, but for his own. No one's ever knocked on the door of nothingness and asked a soul, "Hey, you cool with coming into this world ready to deal with pain, fear, grief, loneliness, failure, sickness, loss? Nope. Birth is a one-sided deal, forced, demanded. And yet, society hails the father as a hero, a lifegiver, a man worthy of honor and respect. But what if the life he gave isn't a gift, but a burden? What if the kid grows up and realizes living hurts more than it's worth? What if birth itself was the first trauma, a scar no one remembers, but everyone carries? Here's the truth. No one says out loud, "Being a father is gambling with someone else's pain before they even exist." That's not love. That's arrogance. Behind most fathers lies an unspoken craving to make their name live forever. To create an heir, to leave a legacy, to mold someone in their image. Sounds noble when you say it out loud, but dig deeper and it's all about an ego terrified of fading away. A man who decides to have a kid often isn't thinking about the child's happiness. He's thinking about himself, about being remembered, about hearing dad and feeling validated, about getting an I love you to prop up his existence. It's male pride masquerading as love. The urge to reproduce is less about care and more about control, less about nurturing and more about owning. The kid becomes a mirror, an extension, living proof he was here. And when a man's ego collides with a society that worships the father figure, you get a toxic cycle. Men having kids not out of wisdom, but out of fear of disappearing without a trace. It's not about giving love. It's about leaving a mark. And when that mark doesn't live up to expectations, when the kid doesn't worship dad like a god, that same pride turns into frustration, demands, or abandonment. Because love tied to vanity, isn't love. It's neediness dressed up as fatherhood. No one talks about this. Calling out male ego is like kicking a hornet's nest. It stirs up old sacred structures. But as long as we keep praising fathers as martyrs will keep ignoring the brutal truth. Plenty of men have kids just to fill their own voids. I want to leave something for my kid. You hear it all the time from modern dads. But how many have the guts to ask what exactly are you leaving? Because it's not just money, a house, or a last name. A father's legacy goes way beyond what he brags about. It's not just assets, it's baggage. trauma, addictions, limiting beliefs, emotional wounds, inherited fears, and deeprooted silence. It's the sharp tone that cuts, the absence that screams, the toxic presence that suffocates. Legacy is the weight a kid carries without knowing where it came from. Plenty of fathers think they're passing down something valuable when really they're unloading their unresolved mess. And the worst part, they act like it's a favor. Emotional inheritance doesn't get questioned. A dad can pass on his pentup rage, his coldness, his rigidity, his family scars, and the world will clap as long as he pays the bills and says, "I just want what's best for you." But what's this best? A projection of the life he never lived. A chance to rewrite his story through his kids. The child becomes a project, a mission, a walking expectation. And when they don't follow the script, they're a disappointment. Because the real legacy, the one that shapes a psyche, isn't written in a will. It's etched in actions, silences, and glances. It's time to stop romanticizing leaving something good. The kindest thing a father could leave might just be the peace of never existing. Every father who chooses to bring a child into the world is also choosing to throw them into chaos. He's not just creating a life. He's shoving a consciousness into a broken, cutthroat, violent, unjust system full of pain he never figured out how to handle himself. Being a father means opening the door to a dark maze for someone who didn't ask to step inside. It's giving life not just to a body, but to a pain with a name, a social security number, frustrations, illnesses, and goodbyes. And yet, this choice is treated like it's holy. Society sells the father as the one who teaches the world to his kid. But who gave him the right to force the world on them first? Who gave him the audacity to decide another mind should bear the weight of existence? worse, who gave him the moral free pass to call it beautiful. There's no act more authoritarian than giving life. Because giving life isn't giving freedom, it's stealing the possibility of nothingness. The father imposes the world because he didn't have the courage to face it alone. And by having a kid, he offloads that burden onto someone else. That's not honor. That's cowardice. It's like tossing someone into a war and then patting yourself on the back for teaching them to die with a smile. The life a father hands over comes with strings attached. Guilt, obligation, pressure, debt, and no one questions it because it's been normalized. If everyone stopped to think about what they're really doing, maybe no one would have kids, and just maybe, the world would be a less brutal place. There's an invisible shield around the father figure, a symbolic fortress built from tradition, religion, patriarchy, and social convenience. A father can screw up, he can fail, he can abandon, he can traumatize, and still he'll be forgiven. Excused with lines like, "He did his best. He didn't know how to be a dad. He had a rough childhood. He was working too hard." A father's guilt is always softened, explained away, swept under the rug of a society that refuses to hold accountable the one who chose to create a life. Why? Because admitting that plenty of fathers messed up big time would mean questioning the very foundation of society. It would mean looking back and realizing that a lot of the collective pain we carry started in the cold arms of an absent, neglectful or doineering dad. Fatherhood has become a role with moral immunity. The man who walks out on a pregnant woman is still in some circles seen as freespirited. The dad who never says I love you gets labeled tough but fair. The one who yells, humiliates, and demands blind obedience is defended as old school. Society's built a culture where being a father is always a badge of honor, never a risk. But the truth cuts deep. Some men never should have been fathers. Emotionally broken, spiritually empty, mentally unprepared men who had kids just to feed their egos or check a societal box. And no one says it because calling out that guilt would mean facing millions of wounded kids taught to be grateful for being born even if their world feels like a private hell. Fatherhood has become a dogma. And like all unexamined dogmas, it's a cage. When a father chooses to have a child, he's not just passing down physical traits or a last name. He's handing over an invisible lineage of pain. Every family carries a hidden psychic load. Fears that repeat. Traumas disguised as personality quirks. Patterns of self- sabotage that cross generations like silent curses. And no one calls it legacy. But it is one of the deadliest. A father passes down his anxiety, his rigidity, his swallowed rage, his unprocessed guilt. He hands over his worldview, his version of love, his way of handling rejection, loss, failure. And it's not just in words. It's in the tone that stings, the heavy silence, the stare that freezes, the habits that become automatic. A traumatized father who doesn't heal becomes a transmitter of suffering. And the kid often grows up thinking that heavy, broken way of living is normal. because no one told them. It's just a reflection, not reality. Genetics alone can bring diseases, disorders, imbalances. But emotional genetics are even more dangerous. They hide as fate. And when you mix that with a society that glorifies fatherhood, you get a factory of recycled pain. The dad who was beaten beats. The dad who was ignored vanishes. The dad who was betrayed teaches his kid to distrust and the cycle rolls on until someone has the guts to say, "I'm done with this." But in this world, that kind of courage is seen as betrayal. Because as long as fatherhood is treated as an untouchable right, suffering will keep being passed from father to child like it's love. No one's born knowing who they are. Identity is a mirror built from the reflections others give you. And the first reflection a child gets comes from their father. A fragile, helpless being who needs love to survive is placed under the absolute power of someone who often can't even face their own demons. Being a father is the most dangerous power in the world. the power to shape a mind from scratch to define what it calls love, value, respect, boundaries. And when that power is mishandled, it creates emotional monsters or broken souls. That's why so many kids grow up feeling wrong, guilty for everything, terrified of failure, rejection, or being unlovable. Because their father wasn't just a guide, he was an unconscious sculptor of insecurity. Even present fathers can be emotionally violent. They can wield affection like a bargaining chip, guilt as a leash, silence as punishment. And the kid grows up thinking that's normal, that love has to hurt, that presence has to intimidate, that authority trumps care. In this context, fatherhood becomes a throne, a seed of control where the father decides who the child should be, what they should think, how they should act. And when the kid starts questioning that mold, the father sees it as betrayal because power doesn't like being challenged. But that challenge is what saves us. Because if no one questions the absolute power a father holds over someone's existence, we'll keep calling abuse tough love, trauma, character building, and fear respect. A father isn't God, but plenty act like they are. And as long as that's true, fatherhood won't be love. It'll be control dressed up as protection. We live in a world that fetishizes birth as a miracle, but dodges any real talk about the cost of being alive. We'd rather gush over a baby's first cry than face the first pain they'll feel. We'd rather plan parties, pick names, and buy onesies than think about the anxiety attacks that person will face one day. And in this world, a brutal, quiet, often vilified philosophy emerges. Anti-natalism. People hear that word and picture lifehating nihilism or cold detachment. But few get that anti-natalism isn't about hate. It's about protection. It's about breaking the cycle. It's about saying, "I don't have the right to gamble with someone else's pain just because I want to love." David Benitar lays it out with stark logic. There's an ethical asymmetry. Not being born spares you suffering that's good. Being born guarantees suffering that's bad. So, not creating a life prevents harm. It's simple, but no one wants to hear it because accepting it means admitting that many of us were born to carry pain that could have been avoided. Antiatalism in a way is the ultimate act of unconditional love. It doesn't demand payback, validation, or gratitude. It's love that doesn't need to exist to protect. And that's why it's misunderstood. In a world obsessed with being seen, where every choice needs applause, antiatalism feels like a slap in the face. But it's not. It's just too cleareyed for a planet addicted to romanticizing tragedy. The father who chooses not to be, who stops the cycle, who refuses to toss another soul into the fire of existence, might just be the most human of all, the most awake, the most quietly loving. In a world obsessed with leaving marks, building dynasties, passing down names, and planting family trees like trophies, there's a rare kind of man who chooses something else. Silence. He doesn't need a kid to feel whole. He doesn't need someone calling him dad to prove he's worth something. He's realized the greatest legacy might be. None at all. Because no legacy means no new trauma. No new mind thrown into chaos. No new body doomed to sicken, fight, fail, beg for love, or search for meaning. No new life to repeat the mistakes it took him decades to untangle. This man isn't cold. He's awake. He stared into the abyss of existence and decided not to push anyone else into it. He doesn't want a mini me walking the earth because he knows the world is a machine that grinds souls to dust. And his silence, it's loud. It's disruptive. It gets him labeled selfish, lonely, a failure. But the truth is, he's done what most couldn't. He thought before creating, before projecting, before repeating. His silence is heroic, rebellious, revolutionary. Because real evolution isn't about making more. It's about hurting less. And maybe the greatest act of love a man can offer. Is never forcing someone to live in a world he hasn't figured out himself. You've been taught that being a father is a privilege. That creating a life is a trophy. That leaving a piece of you in the world is noble. But no one told you the crulest truth. You didn't leave a piece of you. You left someone to carry the weight you never learned to handle. Having a kid was never about love. It was about projection, fear of death, craving control, chasing immortality. It was about you, never about them. And if after everything you've heard, there's still a flicker of doubt in your mind, ask yourself one question. If I'd had the chance to choose being born, would I have said yes? Because if the answer's no, then maybe you finally get it. Fatherhood is the most romanticized crime in the world, and silence might just be the only legacy that doesn't destroy anyone. [Music] [Music]