We forget another aspect of the weaponization aspect. Women who don't have children (yet or at all) live this reality of being seen as anti-child, when they are asked why they don't have children. Yes, it's the default, and most women do, but the world it creates for those women who don't have any is heartbreaking. They might be dealing with broken relationships or fertility problems, but the presumption is that they never were willing to make the sacrifice. So I have vowed never to be the type of person to ask a new acquaintance. It will come out in some form eventally, there's no need to push the issue.
Also, there are plenty of people without children who "die to self" by being present in their extended families and communities, in donating their time and money to people in need.
I appreciate this in Douthat's piece: "...in a rich society with a plunging birthrate, the plausible goal should be to help more families have the kids they already say they want." I think he's right: we can and should help people with exterior needs (because yes, cars and car seats and maternity leave are all very important to many people) and interior considerations (if I'm worried I won't have enough time or energy or love to give to one more child, will someone else who has walked that road share her experience with me?)
I have a harder time with this thought: "having a bunch of kids is the form of life most likely to force you toward kenosis, self-emptying, the experience of what it means to live entirely for someone other than yourself." Because children are not a means to an end, or "a life hack that might crack the door of heaven." And I'm sensitive to that because I have encountered the damaging idea (from religious circles) that it can almost never be wrong to have more kids because they make you holier, because siblings are the greatest gift you can give your child, etc. And if you're not willing to be forced toward kenosis in this way, there is something wrong with you, or you're just not trying hard enough to be holy.
Having kids has absolutely expanded my heart, encouraged me to be more generous, and given me greater empathy for other adults and other children. Part of that empathy involves a greater understanding of how very difficult having and raising children is. I love my children more than I realized it was possible to love someone - and I acknowledge that I have limitations as their mother. Those limitations might mean I'll have fewer children than I *thought* I was going to have before I had any children, and fewer children than some looking in from the outside might think I should be able to handle.
Growing up in the church, I've heard this pitch quite a bit - but with a different twist. I agree with Rachel who talked about the dangers of using children as a means to an end (holiness). Another danger I've seen and heard addressed in my church growing up was the dangers of having a child-centered home. Obviously NOT talking about the newborn years when you are meeting the needs of a helpless infant, but rather when parents are skipping bible studies and church for their children's soccer games and when the whole family revolves around the children in an unhealthy way. This can be just as damaging as a parent-centered home where the selfishness of parents never gives way to the self-giving emptying of oneself for others. The solution isn't a meeting in the middle, but rather having a Christ-centered home where parents are shepherding their children into laying down their lives for Christ and others.
Holiness and self-sacrifice are the byproduct of loving your children - not the "purpose" of children. My mom didn't really want kids when she was younger, but changed her mind after going to a church and seeing how much other moms loved and enjoyed their children. After coming from a broken home, my mom saw that and wanted the same. (I'm the second of five kids.)
As a side note, I've also heard this same argument for marriage as well..."Getting married is the fastest way to get sanctified!" Which also strikes me as ... off. Not very romantic to gaze into my husband's eyes and recount all the ways being married to him has helped me to take up my cross and endure the suffering that leads to righteousness. (Is it true? Yeah, kind of. But also not the why I got married.)
For your last question: When I lived in Southern California, I would intentionally do my grocery shopping at my local Mexican/Armenian grocery store because as a young mother, people were nicer to me. Grandmothers would stop and coo over my fat babies - and gently scold me for not having socks on them. Other moms would help me load my groceries, and men would return the carts for me. A very different cultural experience than in the whiter neighborhoods where kids were less common.
I miss my old neighborhood. A few months ago when I was *heavily* pregnant with my third child, a milk jug fell off my cart in the parking lot and the only assistance I got was a 50 year old man yelling at me across the lot that I lost something, then tell me not to worry because: "you're still hot". Thank you, sir.
Finally, shout out to my infant car seat that has been used for all three of my kids, and four other babies in my church - all within the six year expiration date!
I wrote about this years ago, long before I was married or a mother. This year theory becomes practice and I am dying to self every day.. even more than when I was a single missionary trying to serve the poor. http://notveryindiangirl.blogspot.com/2014/12/why-have-kids.html?m=1
I totally agree with Ross’s comment. I remember when I was discerning joining a particular convent and how much I disliked how early they had to get up. What a fool I was! The “little years” of parenting take it out of you physically and emotionally, and I have never been more keenly aware of how selfish I am. Though I only have two kids now (3.5 and 1.5) we do plan to have more, and some days I really just have to go on faith that this is our path to holiness. If I didn’t believe that, I’d be on a plane to Aruba.
I became a first-time parent in the middle of the pandemic. As a very social extrovert, prior to the pandemic, I was really worried about the dent in my social life that parenthood would necessitate, and the possible toll on my mental health that that would take. I knew parenthood would require a level of selflessness I had not yet fully acquired, simply because it hadn't been demanded of me.
Enter COVID-19, and by the time I was 6-7 months pregnant we were sheltering at home in lockdowns. By the time Violet was born in May, the prospect of staying home a lot with a baby didn't seem so daunting, or induce much FOMO, because everyone was doing it, and in many ways, is continuing to do it.
So in a weird way, the pandemic - for all of its other challenges - I think made the transition to the more radical life of a parent easier for me, in some ways. God has a weird way of working with us sometimes!
I've been half-jokingly, half-seriously remarking to my friends that I got pregnant so quickly because I kept asking God to make me less selfish... My child is still in utero so I have a long way to go on my parenting journey, but it's already making me think about how much of my life has focused on avoiding suffering and maximizing my own convenience. But even the best-case scenario here (the delivery of a healthy child) is going to involve a fair amount of suffering on my part, so I find myself thinking instead "How am I going to cope graciously with whatever suffering I happen to get?" This is an approach to situations that we're often taught as Christians, but thus far my life has been comfortable enough that it hasn't gotten real the way it's getting real now.
As much as this scares me (and it scares me a lot!) I'm also looking forward to it, in a way. A friend of mine told me once that she had kids because she couldn't stomach the thought of decades more of simply spending money on herself and spending every night parked in front of the TV. She wanted something else to do that had real meaning ("it was either kids or I joined the Peace Corps"). This is something I deeply relate to in my own desire to have children - a need to escape the pressure/temptation to make life all about my personal consumption. Like Sarah Ruhl says, if this is the self that gets annihilated, so much the better.
I am struggling with my decision to become a mother and this idea of death to self is interestingly both what I fear most about motherhood and also what most draws me to the phenomenon. I love the Sarah Ruhl passage you shared. I've been reading Thomas Aquinas who discusses self-transcendence as not diminishing the self but rather expanding the idea of the self to include more than just yourself. I cannot imagine anything that would expand the self more than a child. After all the pregnant state is in and of itself the only place where two selves are one.
I am (maybe?) somewhat different from other members of this group in that I am not convinced that dependence and autonomy are oppositional. For example, I am firmly pro-choice while also affirming that abortion takes a life. My reasoning is that during the pregnant state mother and child are inseparable. Abortion then is akin to harming yourself and while there are certainly considerations as to if it is moral to harm yourself in this way, I do not believe self-harm (including suicide) should be illegal. To me abortion is a form of suicide. Bit tangential but my views on abortion feel tied to the understanding of the self in this way. I am really enjoying this group and look forward to reading your posts Leah and the responses.
I am late to the party here...probably too late. Sorry! I think Douthat's point about kenosis is deeply true. It's true, not just in the sense that we are subjected to the uniquely disgusting and exhausting in the course of parenting, but moreover in that our aim as parents is ultimately to set our children free--to forget about ourselves for their sake and then to give our children away--ie, to themselves (I often think about this when I get a moment of peace...and can't think of anything to do!). This is good news for those whose children are cheerful and tidy--your opportunity for sacrifice will come! But I also think we need to remain aware that some of the specific ways in which we are required to sacrifice ourselves for our children arise from the individualism of our moment. It's not a best practice to raise children with a very limited network of family and friends, but it's what a lot of us do. In 2012, my husband and I and our two-under-two were living in a city a long way from home with no extended family and few friends when we were struck down by a severe flu. In the course of about five weeks as it seriously incapacitated each of us in turn, we became entirely convinced that we were called to return to our home in a small, rural Canadian province. Since our move to my hometown in 2014 (my husband's family are two hours away), there have been far fewer moments of abject self-emptying in our life as parents. But the opportunities to grow in charity and virtue have bloomed with the extension of our network.
We forget another aspect of the weaponization aspect. Women who don't have children (yet or at all) live this reality of being seen as anti-child, when they are asked why they don't have children. Yes, it's the default, and most women do, but the world it creates for those women who don't have any is heartbreaking. They might be dealing with broken relationships or fertility problems, but the presumption is that they never were willing to make the sacrifice. So I have vowed never to be the type of person to ask a new acquaintance. It will come out in some form eventally, there's no need to push the issue.
Also, there are plenty of people without children who "die to self" by being present in their extended families and communities, in donating their time and money to people in need.
Heather Lanier's Raising A Rare Girl. The whole thing, really.
I appreciate this in Douthat's piece: "...in a rich society with a plunging birthrate, the plausible goal should be to help more families have the kids they already say they want." I think he's right: we can and should help people with exterior needs (because yes, cars and car seats and maternity leave are all very important to many people) and interior considerations (if I'm worried I won't have enough time or energy or love to give to one more child, will someone else who has walked that road share her experience with me?)
I have a harder time with this thought: "having a bunch of kids is the form of life most likely to force you toward kenosis, self-emptying, the experience of what it means to live entirely for someone other than yourself." Because children are not a means to an end, or "a life hack that might crack the door of heaven." And I'm sensitive to that because I have encountered the damaging idea (from religious circles) that it can almost never be wrong to have more kids because they make you holier, because siblings are the greatest gift you can give your child, etc. And if you're not willing to be forced toward kenosis in this way, there is something wrong with you, or you're just not trying hard enough to be holy.
Having kids has absolutely expanded my heart, encouraged me to be more generous, and given me greater empathy for other adults and other children. Part of that empathy involves a greater understanding of how very difficult having and raising children is. I love my children more than I realized it was possible to love someone - and I acknowledge that I have limitations as their mother. Those limitations might mean I'll have fewer children than I *thought* I was going to have before I had any children, and fewer children than some looking in from the outside might think I should be able to handle.
I've encountered two other pieces recently on this same topic: Sophie Caldecott's "The Unexpected Creativity of Motherhood" in Humanum Review: https://humanumreview.com/articles/the-unexpected-creativity-of-motherhood as well as Rebekah Curtis's reply to Douthat in Public Discourse entitled "The Domestic Kenosis" https://www.thepublicdiscourse.com/2020/12/72987/
Growing up in the church, I've heard this pitch quite a bit - but with a different twist. I agree with Rachel who talked about the dangers of using children as a means to an end (holiness). Another danger I've seen and heard addressed in my church growing up was the dangers of having a child-centered home. Obviously NOT talking about the newborn years when you are meeting the needs of a helpless infant, but rather when parents are skipping bible studies and church for their children's soccer games and when the whole family revolves around the children in an unhealthy way. This can be just as damaging as a parent-centered home where the selfishness of parents never gives way to the self-giving emptying of oneself for others. The solution isn't a meeting in the middle, but rather having a Christ-centered home where parents are shepherding their children into laying down their lives for Christ and others.
Holiness and self-sacrifice are the byproduct of loving your children - not the "purpose" of children. My mom didn't really want kids when she was younger, but changed her mind after going to a church and seeing how much other moms loved and enjoyed their children. After coming from a broken home, my mom saw that and wanted the same. (I'm the second of five kids.)
As a side note, I've also heard this same argument for marriage as well..."Getting married is the fastest way to get sanctified!" Which also strikes me as ... off. Not very romantic to gaze into my husband's eyes and recount all the ways being married to him has helped me to take up my cross and endure the suffering that leads to righteousness. (Is it true? Yeah, kind of. But also not the why I got married.)
For your last question: When I lived in Southern California, I would intentionally do my grocery shopping at my local Mexican/Armenian grocery store because as a young mother, people were nicer to me. Grandmothers would stop and coo over my fat babies - and gently scold me for not having socks on them. Other moms would help me load my groceries, and men would return the carts for me. A very different cultural experience than in the whiter neighborhoods where kids were less common.
I miss my old neighborhood. A few months ago when I was *heavily* pregnant with my third child, a milk jug fell off my cart in the parking lot and the only assistance I got was a 50 year old man yelling at me across the lot that I lost something, then tell me not to worry because: "you're still hot". Thank you, sir.
Finally, shout out to my infant car seat that has been used for all three of my kids, and four other babies in my church - all within the six year expiration date!
I wrote about this years ago, long before I was married or a mother. This year theory becomes practice and I am dying to self every day.. even more than when I was a single missionary trying to serve the poor. http://notveryindiangirl.blogspot.com/2014/12/why-have-kids.html?m=1
I totally agree with Ross’s comment. I remember when I was discerning joining a particular convent and how much I disliked how early they had to get up. What a fool I was! The “little years” of parenting take it out of you physically and emotionally, and I have never been more keenly aware of how selfish I am. Though I only have two kids now (3.5 and 1.5) we do plan to have more, and some days I really just have to go on faith that this is our path to holiness. If I didn’t believe that, I’d be on a plane to Aruba.
I became a first-time parent in the middle of the pandemic. As a very social extrovert, prior to the pandemic, I was really worried about the dent in my social life that parenthood would necessitate, and the possible toll on my mental health that that would take. I knew parenthood would require a level of selflessness I had not yet fully acquired, simply because it hadn't been demanded of me.
Enter COVID-19, and by the time I was 6-7 months pregnant we were sheltering at home in lockdowns. By the time Violet was born in May, the prospect of staying home a lot with a baby didn't seem so daunting, or induce much FOMO, because everyone was doing it, and in many ways, is continuing to do it.
So in a weird way, the pandemic - for all of its other challenges - I think made the transition to the more radical life of a parent easier for me, in some ways. God has a weird way of working with us sometimes!
I've been half-jokingly, half-seriously remarking to my friends that I got pregnant so quickly because I kept asking God to make me less selfish... My child is still in utero so I have a long way to go on my parenting journey, but it's already making me think about how much of my life has focused on avoiding suffering and maximizing my own convenience. But even the best-case scenario here (the delivery of a healthy child) is going to involve a fair amount of suffering on my part, so I find myself thinking instead "How am I going to cope graciously with whatever suffering I happen to get?" This is an approach to situations that we're often taught as Christians, but thus far my life has been comfortable enough that it hasn't gotten real the way it's getting real now.
As much as this scares me (and it scares me a lot!) I'm also looking forward to it, in a way. A friend of mine told me once that she had kids because she couldn't stomach the thought of decades more of simply spending money on herself and spending every night parked in front of the TV. She wanted something else to do that had real meaning ("it was either kids or I joined the Peace Corps"). This is something I deeply relate to in my own desire to have children - a need to escape the pressure/temptation to make life all about my personal consumption. Like Sarah Ruhl says, if this is the self that gets annihilated, so much the better.
I am struggling with my decision to become a mother and this idea of death to self is interestingly both what I fear most about motherhood and also what most draws me to the phenomenon. I love the Sarah Ruhl passage you shared. I've been reading Thomas Aquinas who discusses self-transcendence as not diminishing the self but rather expanding the idea of the self to include more than just yourself. I cannot imagine anything that would expand the self more than a child. After all the pregnant state is in and of itself the only place where two selves are one.
I am (maybe?) somewhat different from other members of this group in that I am not convinced that dependence and autonomy are oppositional. For example, I am firmly pro-choice while also affirming that abortion takes a life. My reasoning is that during the pregnant state mother and child are inseparable. Abortion then is akin to harming yourself and while there are certainly considerations as to if it is moral to harm yourself in this way, I do not believe self-harm (including suicide) should be illegal. To me abortion is a form of suicide. Bit tangential but my views on abortion feel tied to the understanding of the self in this way. I am really enjoying this group and look forward to reading your posts Leah and the responses.
I am late to the party here...probably too late. Sorry! I think Douthat's point about kenosis is deeply true. It's true, not just in the sense that we are subjected to the uniquely disgusting and exhausting in the course of parenting, but moreover in that our aim as parents is ultimately to set our children free--to forget about ourselves for their sake and then to give our children away--ie, to themselves (I often think about this when I get a moment of peace...and can't think of anything to do!). This is good news for those whose children are cheerful and tidy--your opportunity for sacrifice will come! But I also think we need to remain aware that some of the specific ways in which we are required to sacrifice ourselves for our children arise from the individualism of our moment. It's not a best practice to raise children with a very limited network of family and friends, but it's what a lot of us do. In 2012, my husband and I and our two-under-two were living in a city a long way from home with no extended family and few friends when we were struck down by a severe flu. In the course of about five weeks as it seriously incapacitated each of us in turn, we became entirely convinced that we were called to return to our home in a small, rural Canadian province. Since our move to my hometown in 2014 (my husband's family are two hours away), there have been far fewer moments of abject self-emptying in our life as parents. But the opportunities to grow in charity and virtue have bloomed with the extension of our network.