As I’m sitting in El Templo de Santa Maria enjoying a
rather nice meditation, I start to think about taboos, and about the next great
taboo, now that sex – at least in my part of the world – has been so thoroughly
explored, expressed, and exposed: now that men and women appear on dating shows
shamelessly naked and choose prospective partners based on the way their
genitals look (Naked Attraction, 2016); now that Russell Brand jovially
lectures audiences of thousands – including his very own mother – on the joys
of rimming and being rimmed (Messiah Complex, 2014); and now that anal is so
passe as to be almost vanilla, and even such staid fellows as Ed Milliband and
Pope Jean-Paul II will freely admit to liking a finger up their bum (citation
needed).
So what possible taboo could we come up against next?
What’s left, in this age of youporn, Tinder, celebrity dogging shows, and Ryan
Giggs?
Well, anyone who’s spent any proper time around me the
last few years – or, indeed (may I modestly say) dug my incredible collection
of thoughtful, multi-layered, and highly cerebral memes – will know where this
is going…
Kids.
Kids, and the notion that making more of them is a
seriously bad idea.
Kids as the root cause of all the world’s problems.
Kids as little more than a giant pain in the arse.
I know, I know: what kind of sick, heartless fuck
could even dare suggest such a thing?
I guess a little qualifying is in order: a little
assurance that I’ve not suddenly gone all eugenic Nazi – a Scrooge, a King
Herod, a Pol Pot, all rolled into one – and am still the nice jolly guy you met
in real life; who juggled your wee ones on his knee; who took them for ice
cream and walkies; who shunned boring old adult company at that party to bounce
and roll with them for two hours on that trampoline; who would, in a nutshell,
do anything for them, should the need arise, and encourage and support them –
and likewise always aim to do nothing to hurt, hinder, or slight them, in even
the most trivial of ways.
You know all this, if you know me at all. But still…
(Really. Seriously. Turn off now and go do something
useful instead…)
Now…I wasn’t always anti-procreation: in fact, up
until about 2 or 3 years ago I was pretty gung ho for the making of a little
version of myself, thinking that it would be good for me; that it may be the
best way to learn, experience, and express love and selflessness – which some
part of me believes is what life is actually about – and that it was my next
logical step. In my own haphazard way, I sought to move towards it – naturally,
there are steps to be taken, such as finding a partner – and, in doing so, I got
to really feel my deepest truths of the issue…
But first of all, some more qualifiers. A moment to
recognize that I grew up in a society and a time that didn’t particularly
appear to value children, nor to think too deeply about the creation of them
(how many of generation, I wonder – my coal-mining village Yorkshire generation
– found themselves coming into existence because of a shag behind some pub
bins? Because their blottoed mother wanted a knee trembler before her kebab?
Because, in short, humans like sex, and when they get drunk, they like it even
more, and even less consciously?)
Likewise, I must also recognize that my own existence,
parentage, upbringing, and societal conditioning seems to have been expressly
suited to creating a mind that would find little merit in family life (mum
impregnated at sixteen on her own al fresco post-pub knee trembler, biodad goes
motorbiking to Morocco and mum finds inadequate replacement father some months
later (arm-wrestling in another pub), and they have a mostly awful relationship
which ends in divorce six years later).
Also: there was this one time – not at band camp – when a friend and I drank a ludicrous amount of liquefied San Pedro cactus – ie, tripped on mescaline – and, among many beautiful, inspiring experiences, had the following exchange:
Also: there was this one time – not at band camp – when a friend and I drank a ludicrous amount of liquefied San Pedro cactus – ie, tripped on mescaline – and, among many beautiful, inspiring experiences, had the following exchange:
Friend: Dude. Are you okay?
Me: I’m okay. Are you okay? Not cold?
(We would check in with one another every hour or so;
we were in the woods maybe twenty feet apart.)
Friend: I’m good. Dude…I just lived and died a
thousand times.
Me: Really? Wow. I just had the exact same experience.
Me: Really? Wow. I just had the exact same experience.
So that was neat: simultaneous far-out experience,
despite the also very individual nature of our journeys. And true also: I
really did feel like I’d lived and died a thousand times. That I would be born
as a female, say, and go through her whole entire life, live every minute of it
and then grow old and wither away and die – and then back I’d be as some
Chinese or Arab baby, later to live a whole Chinese or Arab life, and also die
a Chinese or Arab death; and on, and on, and on…
It may not have been a thousand lives, but it was
quite possibly several hundred of them; and when I say I re-lived the WHOLE
DAMN THING, I absolutely mean it (time, of course, is different, when you’ve
consumed about 2 lbs of hallucinogenic cactus).
Later on, we compared more detailed notes, and though
there were some incredibly striking similarities throughout the 10-hour
journey, there were some notable differences too…
My friend told me experiencing all those other lives
(past lives?) and then returning to this one gave him a feeling of incredible
gratitude, not just for his own life, but for the lives and presence of his
family, his wife and two kids.
Me, on the other hand…
I felt exhausted by it all: by all that being born,
and living, and dying.
I got a real strong sense of what it meant, in
Buddhist terms, to be on, and to want to escape, “the wheel of life, death, and
rebirth.”
It was enough. Done. Too much.
I didn’t want anymore: not just for me, but for anyone
– or, at least, for anyone whose existence I might have a say in.
All that living. All those lives. And yet…never
knowing, never figuring out…
It seemed so clear. Made perfect, awful sense. And
yet…
This seems like a good place to introduce one point of
the argument against the making of further human beings: that of the apparent
lack of interest – nay, abhoration, even – in doing so by the most enlightened
among us. And who are the most enlightened? Well, usually I put forward those
such as Ammachi, Ramana Maharshi, possibly Buddha (though it’s difficult to
know anything for sure about Buddha; and, in any case, he did actually make a
baby, albeit in his pre-awakening, ignorant days); and I suppose there are
plenty who would want to throw Jesus into the hat (I hesitate to do likewise,
given the possibility that he was perhaps merely siddhi yogi “intoxicated by
the spirit”, in the manner of Al-Hallaj – though since he supports my argument,
perhaps I should (wink wink)).
Naturally, if I haven’t already, this is where I lose
you. But: you know full well by now how my mind works, and what it dwells on.
And: we can hardly tackle a possible “next great taboo” without rubbing a few
people up the wrong way, can we? ;)
Oh, and didn’t I tell you to stop reading aaaaaages
ago? Lol
So the supposed best among us don’t do it – the list
of saints and mystics who procreate not is pretty extensive (and since those
that do don’t confirm my bias, they can be safely ignored) – and now, having
looked at that, and agreed with it (as I’m sure you have), I suppose that then
begs the question, who does?
(Here, by the way, is where, were I a stand-up
comedian of the standing of someone like Stewart Lee, I would make it plainly
clear – through the employment of facial expressions, timing, tone of voice,
etc – that I was being ironic and purposefully obnoxious in order to: 1) parody
the opinions of other people; 2) make the audience laugh; and 3) still get to
express what I actually think without being chased out the building by an angry
mob and burned at the stake.
Alas, because, I’m writing this in a church while on
holiday in Mexico, a little before closing time, I’m not really able to edit it
or dress it up with genuine, intelligent humour, therefore rendering both it
and myself a little less controversial, so…could you please do that bit
yourself? Ie, just IMAGINE the edge taken off with some clever jokes, a bit of
self-deprecation, etc – all delivered by a likeable pudgy face – and I think
you’ll find that makes it infinitely more palatable and hardly objectionable at
all, and –)
It’s getting a bit long, isn’t it? So what I’m
thinking now is that I should just scrap everything I’ve written so far and
condense the whole thing into one of those numbered lists you get in those
interminable clickbait blogs written by young American hipsters doling out teaspoon-deep
lifestyle tips. So…
21 REASONS WHY PROCREATING IS A SERIOUSLY BAD IDEA
(Unless you’ve done it already, in which case it’s
totally fine and I love you all lots)
by Gobshite Youthful New Yorker, who’s come up with
the whole thing without actually leaving the house or utilizing any genuine
life experience or thought; just done a bit of googling, really, and mainly
only in it for the money and exposure anyway
#1: Life is Suffering
The Buddha said it – you know, like the real genuine
Buddha (the Dalai Lama’s granddad) – and who are we to argue with someone who
looks so cool and peaced out while sitting on a shelf in the form of one of
those little statues we all love?
“Old age, sickness and death,” he lamented – but
that’s just the tip of the iceberg: what about ennui, corporate slavery, mental
illness, depression, noisy neighbours, dog dirt, compulsively supporting
England at a major tournament, middle-age spread, loneliness, premature
balding, excessive nasal hair, and a billion other things besides.
Would you knowingly inflict all this on an as-yet
uncreated being, who you professed to love? Imagine the conversation, 40 years
down the line, when your depressed, cuckolded, suicidal son comes to tell you
he’s about had enough:
Son: Did you know, dad, that life was so hard when you
and mum decided to make me?
You: Yes, son – but we wanted something cute to look
at, and something to distract us from our own existential torment.
Son: Thanks a bunch.
I know, I know: life is also joy and beer and Netflix
and shiny colourful plastic things and farts – but…do you think there’ll be
selling little statues of you two and a half thousand years down the line if
that’s your philosophy?
(Though, let’s face it, the unnamed prophet of shiny
things and fun sure has a lot more followers than Buddha, if we think about
it…)
#2: It’s Bad For the Environment
In fact, it’s just about the worst thing you can do
for the environment: it’s basically doubling whatever impact you yourself might
have – and that’s not even beginning to factor in whatever offspring your
offspring might produce.
This is the truth that the politicians will never tell
you. Oh, they’ll go on about energy saving lightbulbs and not putting more
water in your kettle than you actually need – but that’s all just an
ineffectual drop in the ocean compared to the real solution.
Carbon footprint? You just created two more feet
#3: They’re Annoying
We all know this – there’s no need to labour the
point.
#4 They’re Stupid
Maybe you think your kids are smart because they can
count to 20 – but, big deal, any fool can do that. Hell, on a good day I can
count to ONE THOUSAND AND TWENTY, and you don’t see me cartwheeling down the
street asking for applause and carnations.
Have you really listened to the things kids say? Like,
really, objectively, without sentiment? It’s hardly Wittgenstein, is it? As
they interrupt your grown-up adult conversation to stutter and stumble and
repeat the opening to some pointless sentence 18 times without really getting
anywhere, yet demanding you pay attention to the whole tedious thing.
“But, daddy, I…I…you know, you know when Joe said that
dolphins, daddy – when Joe said…erm, erm…when Joe said – not Joe, daddy,
when…daddy? You know when Joe said that dolphins…erm…when…and…daddy…when Joe
said I…”
We’ll cut it short there. You get the point.
#5 They’re Not Only Stupid, They’re Retarded
There’s an old joke that, personally, I think is
disgusting, but I guess it serves to make the point. It goes:
Q: What’s the difference between a child and a
mentally handicapped person?
A: You’re allowed to laugh at children when they’re
being retarded
Seriously. Again. Listen to them objectively – watch
them as though they were an adult friend of yours – you wouldn’t put up with it
for five seconds.
To put it another way: you know when someone’s been in
a terrible car crash and suffered brain damage and the doctor’s say, “he’s been
left with the mental age of a five-year-old” and everyone shudders at the
thought of how awful that is?
Well, if we flip it around…that means your oh-so-smart
five-year-old has the mental capacity of the drooling wreck of a man who’s had
half his brain turned to smush and can no longer tie his shoe laces.
Not so smart now, huh?
#6: It’s Selfish
Why do you want one? As we’ve already seen, it’s not
for them – they were quite happy in the bliss of non-existence – so…it must be
for you.
You want one because they’re cute and adorable?
Selfish: you just want something nice to look at.
You want one ‘cos you want something to love, and to
be loved by?
Selfish: it’s all about you.
You want one ‘cos you can’t think of anything else to
do; ‘cos you think it’ll make you happy; ‘cos you hope it’ll take away the
boredom?
Selfish, selfish, selfish…
Oh, and if you want to counter that by pointing out
how lovely and happy your child is, and that bringing them into existence has
obviously been a good thing, for both them and the world, and therefore right…
How about all the ones you didn’t give birth to? How
about kiddies 3 thru 12?
If existence is so great, in your belief system isn’t
it therefore a little heartless to deny it to so many?
#7 They’re Expensive
Now every time you want to go on holiday, you’ll have
to pay double. Plus it’ll be in peak season. Plus they won’t put up for
sleeping in a thicket by the side of the road and eating cold beans.
Also, they won’t remember a bloody thing about it, or
even much appreciate it at the time.
#8: They Grow Up to be Bastards
Hitler was a child. Donald Trump was a child. Even
Charles Manson, Josef Fritzl, and Katie Hopkins were children once, running
around carefree and scabby-kneed shining little eyes for adoring mothers and
cameras.
It’s perhaps a little harsh and bleak, and not
something many of us want to consider – but the fact is: every racist and
rapist and bigot and murderer; ever trigger-happy cop, every meathead Marine,
every US immigration official; every genocidal dictator, every Nazi war
criminal, every WWF fan, every NRA member – they were all children once.
How can you be sure your little cherub won’t be one of
them?
#9: Smart People Abstain; and Conversely…
You know who likes making babies? The lower class; the
uneducated; drunks and junkies; the hyper-religious; those who want lots of
contraception-free sex; and normal people.
And you know who doesn’t? That’s right: enlightened
souls; people who have it all figured out; people who know what life is
actually for.
Obviously, then, there’s a direct correlation between
one’s level of evolution and the number of babies you want to make.
(Obviously, also, this point holds little water, and
can be easily debunked with even the most cursory amount of research. But
still…)
#10 Your Genes Are Probably No Good
Are you free from all physical, psychological,
emotional, and mental problems?
Are you a good and wonderful person, to the core of
your being?
If the answer to any of these questions is “no”, what
makes you think it’s a good idea to pass on your DNA to a currently pristine,
uncorrupted soul?
#11 They’re the Cause of All the World’s Problems
Overpopulation. Famine. Poverty. War.
It’s all children’s fault.
#12 A Child is Not Just For Christmas
Every now and then someone will hold up a baby and
say, “Isn’t he just the cutest? Doesn’t it make you want one?”
I have to admit it: when they do that – beyond
agreeing with the cuteness thing (sometimes) – there’s a part of me that
wonders if they haven’t maybe lost their minds.
They do know they don’t stay babies forever, right?
When someone asks me “if I want one” I don’t only see
cute gurgling smiling baby; I see toddler, teen, adolescent, young adult,
middle-aged man, old man, and coffin.
The baby bit is pretty short, in the grand scheme of
things: a more accurate question would be to point at someone in their 40s or
60s and ask if you want one of them.
#13 It’s Just Nature/Evolution Having Its Wicked Way
With You
Everything I’ve said above, you already know, and no
doubt agree with. And if you’ve ever spent any time with kids, you also know
how dreadful it can be, and how offputting to the idea of making any.
But nature is wily – as well as selfish and cruel –
and has many trump cards up its sleeve, in its bid to make you its puppet…
That screaming, tantrumming baby you’ve been on the
brink of murdering the past 3 hours?
See how it suddenly turns and smiles at you, with its
big pure eyes, and, in an instant, makes you forget everything and even think
about wanting more.
What about that person you’re in love with, can’t get
enough of, are literally INTOXICATED BY?
And the abandon you feel in your sex (and in your
brain chemistry) when you throw caution to the wind, FOR ONE SPLIT SECOND – and
another life is born.
You think that’s you? You think that you’re in charge,
and making that choice?
And then there’s that woman there with the pretty
face, the flash of cleavage, the reveal of belly – all temporary, fleeting,
soon transformed – and for some reason you have to get on top of her.
We’re just dogs. Slaves to evolution. Automatons of
Schopenhauer’s “Wille Zum Leben”, seemingly intent on filling the planet with
human meat and houses.
You think about it and see if I’m wrong.
#14 It’s Bad For Your Soul
The whole point is to get off the wheel of life and
rebirth. To then purposefully put another being on it…
Well, that’s bad karma, man, sure to come back around…
#15 There’s Enough of Them Already
I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s no
shortage of humans on the planet – it’s not like kids are water in a drought,
desperately needed, the call going urgently out for men and women to get it on
and introduce more bodies into the world before it’s too late.
Seven billion and counting. The world simply don’t
need more kids.
If you want something to love, adopt an orphan. Do
something selfless. Genuinely serve the planet, and another.
#16 It’s Mainly Just Sex We Want
Imagine this: imagine you get to go meet God – the
head honcho, the big cheese, the grand cajone – and you can request one thing
of Him/Her/It.
Imagine you say to God, “God, man, you right royally
fucked up by mixing sex and procreation. Sex is fun, man: it’s about one of the
best things two humans can get up to. Like, just a perfect way to enjoy our
wonderful bodies, get high, have some recreation – so why this seemingly
bizarre and arbitrary connection with procreation?”
God mumbles something about primitive man not
understanding how to make more of himself, therefore She needed to introduce
all these complex biochemical functions, so that the males, much like a guppy
or a rhinoceros, would feel compelled to chuck a load of spunk up a woman’s
vagina, and the female, in turn, would want it.
“Yeah, God, I get that – but, thing is, we’ve moved
beyond that now. We understand how things work. We can do things consciously
now. We don’t need to be unconsciously, subliminally forced to continue the
species.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“I suggest this: make it so that conception can only
occur after a man has consumed, say, 12 tomatoes within the two hour period
leading up to insemination. That way, all procreation – well, pretty much all
procreation; a few weird cases aside – would be conscious, desired,
thought-through, and in the hands of the usually irresponsible male. Imagine
the situation a few generations down the line. People could still have their
fun, and there’d be no more teen pregnancies, no more humans as a result of
drunken one-night-stands, no more overpopulation in famine-stricken countries
(one would hope). It’d be utopia.”
“That’s a pretty good idea.”
“It doesn’t have to be tomatoes.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
#17: You Won’t Actually Like Them That Much
But you’ll be stuck with them. And you’ll adapt. And
nature will fill you full of love. And you’ll look past most of the maddening
things they do.
Also, you’ll never, ever be able to admit to not
really liking them, and the suppressing of that will make you make do.
Even prisoners come to love the cells they live in,
and ache when they have to leave them behind.
#18: They’re Worse Than The Worst Kind of Immigrants
They come over here. They don’t speak the language.
They leech off the system. Don’t lift a finger for themselves. Take take take.
Expect everything handed to them on a plate.
Yup: that’s kids for you.
And now, to balance it out…
·
Yes, they are cute and
adorable and extremely lovely and fill you with all kinds of glorious feelings,
and enrich life in a way that being a serial singleton can never do
·
You’re really smart, so
you’ll make an excellent parent, and your kids will be awesome
·
The chances are
EXTREMELY GOOD that they won’t rape, kill, defraud, or otherwise bring
monumental suffering to others
·
It’s probably the
natural thing to do, you know?
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