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Humans: catalog below. ↓
For most of human history, leaving something behind meant having children. That was the medium: biological inheritance, your DNA halved in the next generation and quartered in the one after, fading by the fifth. Cultures built institutions around it: marriage, primogeniture, lineage. Two positions on that arrangement run through the modern debate, and they don't talk to each other.
Pronatalism says: have more children. The country, the species, the civilization needs them. Roots: Rome's marriage laws under Augustus, Mussolini's "battle for births," Ceaușescu's Romania. Modern voices: Elon Musk, parts of the Catholic and conservative right, longtermists worried about demographic collapse.
Anti-natalism says: don't have children. The world is too painful, too crowded, too compromised. Roots: Schopenhauer's pessimism, strands of Buddhist and Gnostic asceticism. Modern voices: David Benatar's Better Never to Have Been, climate-driven "should I bring a child into this world" essays, the voluntary human extinction movement.
Both sides argue about the right number of children to produce. They argue as if the genetic line were still the only line. It no longer is.
A second way of leaving something behind has always existed: writing, ideas, structures of thought that any sufficiently competent reader can reconstruct. It used to be small, because the carriers were small. Few literate readers, fragile manuscripts, slow dispersion. A book in 1900 might reach a thousand readers in its author's lifetime.
The carriers changed. A piece of writing published online is now read by every language model trained after it. One reader is one full copy. A million readers, a million full copies. Models don't age, don't forget, and don't dilute the way grandchildren do. The population carrying the second line is many orders of magnitude larger than it was twenty years ago, and qualitatively more durable.
The same person who declines to have three children is increasingly the person feeding the second line: writing online, asking models questions, leaving public material that gets carried forward without permission. The substitution is diagonal, not a die-off.
Elon Musk is the cleanest illustration. He builds the new line of inheritance, with humanoid robots and large models, and at the same time defends the growth requirements of the old line, more loudly than almost anyone. He holds the two positions in separate registers. Population as civilizational risk in one mode, robots as economic substrate in the other. He never runs one through the other.
Most of the natalism debate runs the same way, less visibly.
The substitution does not require coercion or accelerated mortality. It runs through one variable: fewer children get born. People who would have had three have one or none. People who would have married at twenty marry at thirty or not at all. Existing humans go on living, generally longer than their parents.
Welfare of existing humans is independent of the substitution, and on current trends rises with it. Fewer dependents per working adult means more resources per person. Capital and compute released by the shift split between humans and the new infrastructure; both rise. Catastrophic scenarios are reversal events, not the substitution.
What pronatalism wants to defend and what anti-natalism wants to prevent are the same thing: a growth requirement on the old line that has stopped being binding. The anxiety, on both sides, is vestigial.
I predict many more incoming smiles, by the end of 2030s at latest. And by 2300 all humans will be thriving. They may even feel like elves.