You never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from. — Cormac McCarthy
—What lingers after this line?
One-minute reflection
Why might this line matter today, not tomorrow?
A Paradox That Reframes Misfortune
Cormac McCarthy’s line hinges on a paradox: the very event you label “bad luck” may be a hidden shield. By suggesting that misfortune can function as protection, he nudges the reader away from instant judgment and toward a wider, time-stretched view of outcomes. This reframing matters because luck is usually evaluated from a single snapshot—what hurt, what was lost, what went wrong. Yet McCarthy implies that any moment’s pain sits inside a larger chain of events, and the chain you never lived could have carried a sharper edge.
The Unseen Branches of Every Choice
To understand the quote, it helps to imagine life as a series of branching paths where you only experience one route. A missed flight feels like an inconvenience until you learn the later flight avoided a storm, or a delayed decision feels like failure until the delay prevents a costly commitment. Moving from abstract idea to lived experience, many people can recall an outcome that once seemed disastrous—being rejected from a program, losing a job, ending a relationship—only to see, years later, that it redirected them away from a worse fit and toward something sturdier.
Counterfactuals and the Mind’s Blind Spot
Psychology offers language for what McCarthy is pointing at: counterfactual thinking, the mental habit of comparing reality to imagined alternatives. We often default to “upward” counterfactuals—dreaming of how things could have gone better—because they sting and feel urgent. However, “downward” counterfactuals—how things might have gone worse—are less vivid, partly because there’s no evidence to hold onto. McCarthy’s sentence effectively supplies that missing direction, reminding us that the unseen alternative timeline may contain hazards we’re not equipped to picture.
Luck, Fate, and the Limits of Judgment
Philosophically, the quote resonates with older traditions that warn against declaring any event wholly good or bad in the moment. Stoic writers like Epictetus in the *Enchiridion* (c. 125 AD) argue that what disturbs us is not events themselves but our judgments about them, a view that encourages patience before labeling a turn of fortune as final. From that angle, McCarthy isn’t romanticizing suffering; he’s questioning certainty. If you cannot see the full causal web—what your misfortune prevented—then your verdict on luck is necessarily incomplete.
A Darkly Practical Kind of Hope
What gives the line its power is that it offers hope without denying harsh reality. McCarthy’s worlds often contain danger and randomness, so the consolation here is not sentimental; it’s pragmatic: sometimes the setback is the narrow escape. That practicality can change how people endure hard stretches. Instead of demanding an immediate lesson or silver lining, you can hold a quieter thought: “I don’t know what I avoided.” The point is not to celebrate pain, but to keep despair from claiming the last word.
Using the Insight Without Gaslighting Yourself
Finally, the quote works best as a tool for perspective, not self-erasure. It doesn’t mean every tragedy is secretly a blessing, or that you should suppress grief. It means you can admit two truths at once: this hurt is real, and the full meaning of what happened may not be visible yet. In practice, that might look like letting yourself mourn a loss while also loosening the grip of catastrophic certainty. By leaving room for the possibility of unseen protection, you keep your story open-ended—and that openness can be its own form of resilience.