2000 CONFESSIONS
December
November
October
September
July/August
June
May
April
March
February
January

Little Notes
Letters

Talk About Movies
Roamin' Catholic
Follow Me




Contents © 2000
by Jim Holman.
All rights reserved.

SEPTEMBER 2000 CONFESSIONS

A CONSCIOUS PEASANT

A friend who is expecting her fourth was recently asked, "Why so many?" After my mind finished reeling at the appalling lack of manners evidenced by this question, it began racing with replies. We recently learned that we are expecting our third; surely I will receive similar questions?

Part of the problem is that the question is deathly serious, but the person asking it isn't. They are not interested in a detailed and nuanced account of why I believe artificial birth control violates the self-donative nature of sex, denigrates the material aspect of the person (and in so doing, rails against the Incarnation), and closes off the heart to the acceptance of God's will. They don't want to hear distinctions between direct and indirect ends which must be made to explain the difference between natural family planning and artificial birth control.

What they might want -- or at least what they might expect -- is the statement, "Well, I'm a Catholic," which I would be tempted to phrase thusly: "Well, I'm a mindless automaton Catholic in the thrall of a castrated hierarchy that supposes sex to be evil if it doesn't lead directly to procreation and seeks to oppress women by saddling them with hordes of mewling brats." Of course, this involves an uncharitable assumption on my part as to the questioner's beliefs. Charity demands that I assume that the person simply isn't thinking, that their reaction is akin to that at a circus sideshow -- "The Astonishing Catholic Family -- Seven Children Under One Roof!" They are amazed and curious, that's all.

But amazement has made my inquisitor aggressive, and I long to fire back. I want to reply, "Why so few?" Or, "Because I'm trying not to succumb to the culture of death, which sings a siren song of self spiraling into self, charming the soul into despair and damnation." Or more obliquely, "Because love is communicative of itself. That's why God created, and that's why I accept lots of children." Or with perfect piety, "Because a life pleasing to God consists in self-sacrifice, and accepting multiple children necessitates such self-sacrifice." Or, in a bitter attempt at humor, "Because Beethoven was born the last of eight children. We want to improve improve our chances of spawning a genius." Or, with superhuman politeness, "That's a rather personal question, don't you think?"

But I will not fire back. Because of the cult of the two-child family, multiple children may mark me as a Catholic (or maybe a Mormon). This immediately puts me at a disadvantage. I do not like to lead with my Catholicism, preferring to win a person's affection and regard, then let them be pleasantly surprised to discover that I am one of those awful Catholics. If they know my faith going in, if they see in my kids my opposition to a way of life that may be closely aligned with their bedroom habits and family structure, their hackles may be raised. This is not the time for confrontation, even if it's invited. I will say something sweet and inoffensive, something like, "Because every time we ask our kids if they want another brother or sister, they say yes."

It may help to attempt sympathy for the other side's position. There is a fable from Aesop in which a lion, when asked how many children he has by the other beasts -- themselves proud parents of large broods -- replies, "Only one. But that one is a lion." The moral is that it's quality, not quantity that counts, and how easy it is to simply substitute humans for beasts. Am I not flying in the face of this ancient wisdom? (Yes.)

I sometimes wonder if I will be regarded as some sort of primitive, expressing my virtue -- my virtu, my manly strength -- through the less-than-extraordinary mode of producing and raising offspring, thereby tossing out centuries of progress, the idea that man should aspire to wisdom and culture as a means of achieving excellence, rather than simple multiplication. There is something to this, as I have mentioned in a previous column. More kids means less time for me, less time to read and write and create in other ways. This bothers me, but it doesn't stop me. I have become a sort of conscious peasant.

It's not simply a matter of choosing fecundity over wealth, finding fulfillment in kids instead of cash or culture. Though children are fulfilling -- a frequent reminder of the old saw that the best way to be happy is to concentrate on someone else's happiness -- they are not a means to an end. That's why I wince when I hear someone say, "I want to have children," especially when it's, "I want to have x number of children." I fear a note of self-absorption where none is permissible, fear a view of children as an extension of self, rather like the old idea of gaining a sort of immortality through descendants. Is there is these statements an interest in the child for the child's sake or for the child for the parent's sake?

TOP