A strange new coalition of vaguely conservative political actors is taking shape. One of the common threads is concern over declining birth rates. This is a topic that has intrigued me for years, not as a data scientist but as someone who has lived in communities with few or no young children and lived in places where casual gatherings of a few families result in dozens of children sprawling across the house and spilling out into yards. Forget the numbers and demographic panic: demographic collapse is fundamentally a local phenomenon, not a national issue.
I’m in the midst of reading “Hannah’s Children: The Women Quietly Defying the Birth Dearth.” The qualitative economic study of women who intentionally had five or more children is the work of economist Catherine Pakaluk and colleagues. Pakaluk, a mother of eight who teaches at the Catholic University of America, uses the rarely used form of economic inquiry, the qualitative interview study, because she rightly recognizes that the reasons women choose to be open to more children are fundamentally personal.
Whatever the broad economic trends, the issue is in the hands of individuals.
This is good news, because it means: 1) this is not uncharted territory, and 2) the solution is in your own backyard (which could be overflowing with neighbor kids). Despite the unique forces driving statistics in our current moment (think widespread, long-acting contraception as default and an overgrowth of professional degrees and certifications that consume peak child-bearing years), there have been places in other times that did not have many children, places where people were growing old alone. These stories can teach us something about our current moment and encourage a compassionate response.
Some poignant stories of “birth dearth” that come to mind include “Kildee House,” Rutherford George Montgomery’s 1950 Newbery Honor book about a lonely man who retires to the California redwood forest. Planning a life of solitude, his cabin is overrun first with small forest creatures and then children who draw him out of himself.
Another is Elizabeth Enright’s “Gone-Away Lake,” a runner-up to the Newberry Medal in 1957. Children discover an abandoned resort locale in the woods inhabited by an elderly brother and sister, a charming pair stuck in the past, aging quietly, all but forgotten by neighboring communities.
Yet another is a splendid book by Elsa Beskow, “Aunt Green, Aunt Brown, and Aunt Lavender,” the story of three spinster sisters who dote on their dog. Their neighbor, the bachelor “Uncle Blue,” is also aging alone. Through the hijinks of the lively little dog, Dot, the adults discover two children and a kitten in need and are taken out of themselves to care for the young.
When writing about demographic decline, I’ve received heart-breaking emails from readers excoriating me for not understanding that they desperately want children but have been unable to have them. While demographic decline is personal, it’s not that personal. In no sane world are you responsible for statistically replacing yourself because, despite the overbearing narrative, we are not the authors of life. That title belongs only to God. As Pakaluk’s work so beautifully illustrates, all that is required of us who wish to serve God is to grant Him sovereignty over our lives. The results are not ours to control.
In one of the interviews, with the memorable “Angela,” a mother of five and college professor, Pakaluk muses on the connection between openness to babies and openness to guests. A culture that thrives is open to the other, whether that be a new baby or an unexpected dinner guest who drops in. There does seem to be a similar disposition, and it is life-giving to be around people of that type.
Whether we personally have a great brood of children or not, we can be the type of people who are open to others, seeking ways of serving others. As it turns out, that is also the path to fulfillment and happiness, that blessed forgetfulness of self in which we are most radiantly alive.
