Reflections on the aberration of imposed existence

Imagine for a moment that you had been given the choice, and the intelligence to make it: to be or not to be? Before you existed, you were nothing – not even a potential observer. You were shielded from consciousness itself. In the void there is no pain, no memory, not the slightest trace of regret, because regret requires a self, a memory, a comparison. If you had chosen nothingness, you never could have thought, “I should have chosen life.” Doesn’t the choice then seem obvious?

And even if we grant the opposite scenario – that you might feel such regret – would you really voice it? Have you ever seen a prisoner sincerely say he prefers his cell to freedom, when there is no coercion, no threat, no guard, no release date?

We are not talking here about a life of two or five years

We are speaking of an entire lifetime, with all its potential – and its terrors. To live is also to risk a lingering agony, a consuming illness, a slow disintegration of the body. To live is to risk being born into a war zone, into neglect or poverty – in Gaza, Aleppo, or elsewhere. Even when people speak of a “good life,” that label often makes sense only on the lips of those who do not actually live it. For those who do, even in comfort, weekly sessions with a therapist are common, along with intimate, silent, unseen pains.

This does not mean life offers nothing. On the contrary, there are genuine instants of sweetness, moments that brush something authentic and strangely precious. But then comes the real question: do those moments, however intense, justify everything else? What would your choice be if you could make it calmly, without pressure, without illusion – to be or not to be?

We can repeat it: in nothingness, regret does not exist. There is no lack, no comparison, no complaint. If that state needed another name, one might almost call it peace.

And above all, let us not forget what you still risk. Even when life goes well, it remains a fragile promise. For that reason alone, if the choice were possible… who would not run?

This is the reality

There are truths that people refuse to see, because seeing them would mean waking from a collective dream. Human existence is one of them. We enter it without invitation. We suffer in it without consent. We leave it without understanding much at all. And all this in a world that, with cruel irony, paints itself in colors of normality. Yet this world is anything but normal.

Life does not begin with a choice; it begins with an ontological violation, an absurd eruption: you were not, then you are. The void – perfect refuge of absence, peaceful kingdom of non‑being – held no pain, no injustice, no expectation. Then suddenly, without warning or preamble, you are hurled into a world where every breath exposes you to illness, abandonment, horror, or disappointment.

And despite this, despite the primal tragedy, humanity whistles

It whistles not out of joy but because it sleepwalks. It bustles as though it were alive while replaying a script slipped into its gut. Human consciousness, drugged by instinct, distraction, comfort, or fear, no longer has the lucidity to question its own emergence. Most never think of nothingness. Yet the only true metaphysical starting point is not birth but the void – the place of origin, the only state where no harm was possible. What we call “life” is really a departure from that initial perfection, a breach in the untouchable void.

Life is celebrated as a gift. Those who imposed it call themselves parents. They demand gratitude, love, recognition, as if they had performed a saving act. But what world did they bequeath? A world in which every being, in order to live, must kill – sometimes innocents, often sentient creatures, always desires. A world where horror is not the exception but the background pattern: predation, betrayal, decay, oblivion. A world where suffering is statistically the most common state. And even aside from that, no one can deny this: it is a very risky world – too risky. Seen from the void, no one would choose it in full awareness.

Moreover, it is a world where one must study, work, act… a world full of obligations one could gladly avoid.

This world is no sinecure !

The mere act of bringing a child into such a world is a radical ethical gamble. People speak of love, yet that is a lie: you cannot love what you do not yet know. It is, in truth, a selfish desire – intensely self‑centered. What do we do but hurl a soul into a minefield, a soul we claim to love? Is that love? Do you find it normal that during wars and sieges people still conceive children? The child who dies of hunger – is that child truly loved? It is desire for oneself, at the expense of the other whom one imagines loving, and perhaps does love, yet in a way that rings hollow.

People consider everything except this. When it comes to procreation, the simplest logic seems missing.

And if…

And if, as some religions teach, the stakes are eternal – with hell at the end – then procreation surpasses irresponsibility; it becomes criminal. The lack of consensus about hell’s existence does not erase it. Even an atheist cannot fully dismiss the “what if, after all…”. Can anyone impose such a wager on someone else? If I believe wild animals do not exist, do I have the right to drop a loved one into the savannah unarmed?

And this concerns believers most of all – the overwhelming majority of humanity. They believe, and therefore…

Humanity does not see any of this

It lives. It carries on. It even finds beauty in the cycle: family, love, memories… It decorates chaos to bear it. It turns habit into virtue, instinct into truth, suffering into initiation. And when a lucid mind asks, “Why am I here?”, it answers with empty words: “Because life is beautiful, because you are a miracle, because love.” It recites without thinking.

In this dream, humans think they live. Yet they are dead psychologically: to live is to confront fully the void from which they were drawn. Whoever does not grasp how the void was infinitely more just than life has never truly existed.

Imagine again !

If absorbing the positives of nothingness is hard, then imagine instead that you could choose among several worlds, some better, some worse: would anyone pick this life? It would be madness, would it not?

Say thank you !

This world was created without their permission. We threw them into it, then demanded thanks. Worse still, we assign them metaphysical duties: choose the right religion, become moral, avoid hell – or, on the contrary, reject them all. Always under the tutelage of adults imposing their beliefs on children. What a crime, carried out with the lightness of sipping coffee.

This goes beyond absurdity; it is a cosmic perversion.

And yet… they whistle. They have children. They eat innocent animals. They thank their parents. They celebrate life. And they die without knowing what it meant to exist. For to imagine the void is already to approach paradise.

This text is neither a complaint nor an invitation to despair. It is a cold, implacable statement about the moral indignity of imposed existence. It does not deny that one can experience joys. It asserts, however, that every joy here is a consolation prize offered to a prisoner. The only true awakening is the awareness of the original crime: that of bringing life into being. Everything else – morality, religion, politics, art – is mere décor. Nothingness was perfect. It is nothingness that must be considered before imagining that this existence was ever wanted.