The “no-kid” trend—that idea that a woman, to truly flourish and be free, should refrain from having children—has become, in France as elsewhere, a real mania. Young women publish an increasing number of essays, more or less inspired, in which they try to convince themselves and others that the world would be so much better if we did not reproduce. The press piles on, explaining with a lot of statistical arguments why it is not a good idea to have kids. But the muses of navel-gazing, keen to preserve what they think is their own little individual happiness, are not very clear-sighted about the hell they are preparing for us all if everyone decides to follow their dubious advice.
The reasons put forward for not having children are well-known, so much so that they are repeated ad nauseam by the mainstream media, especially the women’s press. The press reminds us with forceful figures that a child is tremendously expensive and that, for the same price, we could have several dogs (eight, to be accurate [sic]). Indeed, you do have to spend money to have children: on a car, housing, school. But why would it be one of the only areas where we would do the math, in the world of unlimited welfare state and public spending?
Having children, they say, also prevents women from having a career and developing professionally—the arguments are starting to get a bit old. More in vogue is the idea that children are anti-environmental: they consume, they produce waste, and the use of washable diapers and recyclable toys will not be enough to stop the cataclysm that is coming to sweep us all away. More ‘intellectual’ and more elaborate is the argument that bearing children is the attitude expected by the dominant patriarchy to keep women in a state of eternal subordination.
The latest essay on the subject is titled Personne ne m’appellera maman (No One Will Call Me Mum). This is the title chosen by the young author Caroline Jeanne, who strives to demonstrate that having children can in no way be the ultimate goal of life. She advocates an easy and cheerful hedonism, and explains that “you can love children, but be perfectly happy without them.” No catastrophic talk about the end of the world approaching here, but simply an unbearable little individualistic credo on the means of achieving one’s navel-gazing happiness, totally inconsequential—that is to say, incapable of questioning the consequences of such a choice were it to become universal. This good lady has obviously not read Kant, and the notion of universal imperative is clearly way over her head.
If the heralds of this deadly movement believe that they embody a disruptive point of view, they are, in fact, far from doing so. There is nothing more commonplace for a woman today than refusing to have children, and nothing more daring and incongruous than socially claiming the desire to surround yourself with a few kids, especially if there are many of them.
The basis of this reasoning is twofold. Either it is an individualistic type of reasoning (having children is detrimental to my personal development), or it is hyper-macro-structural (having children is detrimental to the planet). But the intermediate level is systematically ignored: at the level of a country, a nation, a given society—what are the consequences if we no longer have children?
The absurdity of the argument becomes evident when applied to the pension system. France has opted for a pay-as-you-go pension system which, by definition, can only work with a birth rate high enough for the contributions of the working population to pay for the pensions of the elderly. But in one of the paradoxes for which the progressive left is known, those most determined to defend the destruction of the traditional family and the individualistic fulfillment of childless women are also the most vigorously opposed to capitalized pensions, where individuals or employers contribute to personal retirement savings accounts over time—a system that would somewhat loosen the grip of the cost of pensions on future generations.
The Left’s universal response to this problem is well-known: the best remedy is immigration. Immigrants would have to be brought in en masse to work and contribute so that the French can have a pension. Even if we skip over the slave-driving aspect of the whole thing, the reasoning is fundamentally flawed. If having children is bad for the planet, why would the children of immigrants be better for our carbon footprint?
The question of social cohesion is analyzed in detail by the young journalist and mother Aziliz Le Corre, author of a noted essay promoting motherhood, L’enfant est l’avenir de l’homme (The Child Is the Future of Man). She reminds us that individualistic obsession denies the part that each individual has to play in bringing beauty and goodness to the society in which they live, in the desire to share and pass on a common cultural heritage. Childbirth is at the heart of this dynamic: bringing a child into the world requires us to consider, concretely and on a daily basis, what we want for the future, far from the intellectual speculations of ecological revolutionaries.
“No one will call me mum.” Can you imagine a more depressing scenario?
The problem of the no-kid system is not simply an accounting issue, but an anthropological one. What does a childless society look like? Let’s put it very simply: a childless society is both a society of loners and a society of old people.
A society without children is a society of free electrons that gravitate and wander with no goal other than the satisfaction, at any given moment, of passing passions. A phenomenon that is not very well identified when it comes to talking about the drop in the birth rate is the explosion of singleness. To have children, it takes two (in principle—but the Left would end up making us doubt this reality). You have to live together—at least for a few minutes!
In Paris, the last census in 2021 showed that 52.8% of Parisian households are single-person households. The trend has worsened since then. Another factor to consider is the drop in the number of marriages. For those who have managed to get into a relationship, the lack of marriage or commitment translates into the absence of children. While more and more children are being born to unmarried parents, expanding the family, of going from one to two and then three children is mainly observed among married couples. Several countries like Austria or Sweden have experienced this: the incentive to marry automatically produces an increase in the birth rate—a solution that is sometimes more effective than the direct incentive to have children.
The primacy given to individualism runs counter to this common-sense logic. Pascale de la Morinière, president of the French Catholic Family Associations, points out that “the ideal of autonomy leads to ever more loneliness, contributes to separations, to the non-acceptance of children and to indifference towards the sick and the elderly.”
Ultimately, the prospect of a society of loners is that of inexorable aging. The picture that emerges is not a happy one. The health system is overwhelmed by the care of the elderly. Retirement homes are taking precedence over nurseries. In pharmacies and supermarkets, diapers are being replaced by incontinence protection. Prams and strollers are being replaced by walkers and wheelchairs. In the streets, it becomes pointless to look for shop windows displaying colourful little clothes, and toy stores end up closing their doors. The Christmas windows no longer make sense. What has replaced all this? That’s a good question. The obvious daily horizon for the majority of the population is no longer the future, dreams, hopes and projects in the making, but the unavoidable management of illness and death. Being an undertaker is becoming a promising profession.
A childless society is immersed in a cushioned atmosphere where no noise should be allowed to resonate, like those residences for the elderly that banish children so as not to disturb a silence that is a prefiguration of eternal rest. Children make noise and laugh, sometimes for no reason. Children bring the unexpected. Children are constantly discovering things and force us to rediscover everything we seem to already know. A childless society has the illusion that everything is known and that everything can be controlled—to the point of sinking into mortal boredom.
For some, however, doubt eventually sets in. This is the case for the left-wing journalist Salomé Saqué. Even though, in her essay Sois jeune et tais-toi (Be Young and Keep Silent), she explains that she “does not see herself giving birth in a world that is going so badly,” she refuses to make it a demand and admits to “feeling the beginnings of a rather powerful desire for a child.” She experiences it as a “deprivation”: the world needs to change, she believes, and prove to her that there is indeed meaning in procreating and becoming parents with serenity.
There is a certain immaturity in this observation, which is based on the principle that everything is always someone else’s fault, but it nevertheless testifies to the fact that the desire to have children, which is ingrained in every woman, cannot be dispelled with a wave of a magic wand, despite all the doses of good conscience that have been swallowed. Salomé, just a little more effort: it’s up to you to bring into the world children who will ensure that one day, through the choices they make, this world will not be going “so badly.”
Apostles of the No-Kid Movement Are Crafting an Unlivable World
StockCake
The “no-kid” trend—that idea that a woman, to truly flourish and be free, should refrain from having children—has become, in France as elsewhere, a real mania. Young women publish an increasing number of essays, more or less inspired, in which they try to convince themselves and others that the world would be so much better if we did not reproduce. The press piles on, explaining with a lot of statistical arguments why it is not a good idea to have kids. But the muses of navel-gazing, keen to preserve what they think is their own little individual happiness, are not very clear-sighted about the hell they are preparing for us all if everyone decides to follow their dubious advice.
The reasons put forward for not having children are well-known, so much so that they are repeated ad nauseam by the mainstream media, especially the women’s press. The press reminds us with forceful figures that a child is tremendously expensive and that, for the same price, we could have several dogs (eight, to be accurate [sic]). Indeed, you do have to spend money to have children: on a car, housing, school. But why would it be one of the only areas where we would do the math, in the world of unlimited welfare state and public spending?
Having children, they say, also prevents women from having a career and developing professionally—the arguments are starting to get a bit old. More in vogue is the idea that children are anti-environmental: they consume, they produce waste, and the use of washable diapers and recyclable toys will not be enough to stop the cataclysm that is coming to sweep us all away. More ‘intellectual’ and more elaborate is the argument that bearing children is the attitude expected by the dominant patriarchy to keep women in a state of eternal subordination.
The latest essay on the subject is titled Personne ne m’appellera maman (No One Will Call Me Mum). This is the title chosen by the young author Caroline Jeanne, who strives to demonstrate that having children can in no way be the ultimate goal of life. She advocates an easy and cheerful hedonism, and explains that “you can love children, but be perfectly happy without them.” No catastrophic talk about the end of the world approaching here, but simply an unbearable little individualistic credo on the means of achieving one’s navel-gazing happiness, totally inconsequential—that is to say, incapable of questioning the consequences of such a choice were it to become universal. This good lady has obviously not read Kant, and the notion of universal imperative is clearly way over her head.
If the heralds of this deadly movement believe that they embody a disruptive point of view, they are, in fact, far from doing so. There is nothing more commonplace for a woman today than refusing to have children, and nothing more daring and incongruous than socially claiming the desire to surround yourself with a few kids, especially if there are many of them.
The basis of this reasoning is twofold. Either it is an individualistic type of reasoning (having children is detrimental to my personal development), or it is hyper-macro-structural (having children is detrimental to the planet). But the intermediate level is systematically ignored: at the level of a country, a nation, a given society—what are the consequences if we no longer have children?
The absurdity of the argument becomes evident when applied to the pension system. France has opted for a pay-as-you-go pension system which, by definition, can only work with a birth rate high enough for the contributions of the working population to pay for the pensions of the elderly. But in one of the paradoxes for which the progressive left is known, those most determined to defend the destruction of the traditional family and the individualistic fulfillment of childless women are also the most vigorously opposed to capitalized pensions, where individuals or employers contribute to personal retirement savings accounts over time—a system that would somewhat loosen the grip of the cost of pensions on future generations.
The Left’s universal response to this problem is well-known: the best remedy is immigration. Immigrants would have to be brought in en masse to work and contribute so that the French can have a pension. Even if we skip over the slave-driving aspect of the whole thing, the reasoning is fundamentally flawed. If having children is bad for the planet, why would the children of immigrants be better for our carbon footprint?
The question of social cohesion is analyzed in detail by the young journalist and mother Aziliz Le Corre, author of a noted essay promoting motherhood, L’enfant est l’avenir de l’homme (The Child Is the Future of Man). She reminds us that individualistic obsession denies the part that each individual has to play in bringing beauty and goodness to the society in which they live, in the desire to share and pass on a common cultural heritage. Childbirth is at the heart of this dynamic: bringing a child into the world requires us to consider, concretely and on a daily basis, what we want for the future, far from the intellectual speculations of ecological revolutionaries.
“No one will call me mum.” Can you imagine a more depressing scenario?
The problem of the no-kid system is not simply an accounting issue, but an anthropological one. What does a childless society look like? Let’s put it very simply: a childless society is both a society of loners and a society of old people.
A society without children is a society of free electrons that gravitate and wander with no goal other than the satisfaction, at any given moment, of passing passions. A phenomenon that is not very well identified when it comes to talking about the drop in the birth rate is the explosion of singleness. To have children, it takes two (in principle—but the Left would end up making us doubt this reality). You have to live together—at least for a few minutes!
In Paris, the last census in 2021 showed that 52.8% of Parisian households are single-person households. The trend has worsened since then. Another factor to consider is the drop in the number of marriages. For those who have managed to get into a relationship, the lack of marriage or commitment translates into the absence of children. While more and more children are being born to unmarried parents, expanding the family, of going from one to two and then three children is mainly observed among married couples. Several countries like Austria or Sweden have experienced this: the incentive to marry automatically produces an increase in the birth rate—a solution that is sometimes more effective than the direct incentive to have children.
The primacy given to individualism runs counter to this common-sense logic. Pascale de la Morinière, president of the French Catholic Family Associations, points out that “the ideal of autonomy leads to ever more loneliness, contributes to separations, to the non-acceptance of children and to indifference towards the sick and the elderly.”
Ultimately, the prospect of a society of loners is that of inexorable aging. The picture that emerges is not a happy one. The health system is overwhelmed by the care of the elderly. Retirement homes are taking precedence over nurseries. In pharmacies and supermarkets, diapers are being replaced by incontinence protection. Prams and strollers are being replaced by walkers and wheelchairs. In the streets, it becomes pointless to look for shop windows displaying colourful little clothes, and toy stores end up closing their doors. The Christmas windows no longer make sense. What has replaced all this? That’s a good question. The obvious daily horizon for the majority of the population is no longer the future, dreams, hopes and projects in the making, but the unavoidable management of illness and death. Being an undertaker is becoming a promising profession.
A childless society is immersed in a cushioned atmosphere where no noise should be allowed to resonate, like those residences for the elderly that banish children so as not to disturb a silence that is a prefiguration of eternal rest. Children make noise and laugh, sometimes for no reason. Children bring the unexpected. Children are constantly discovering things and force us to rediscover everything we seem to already know. A childless society has the illusion that everything is known and that everything can be controlled—to the point of sinking into mortal boredom.
For some, however, doubt eventually sets in. This is the case for the left-wing journalist Salomé Saqué. Even though, in her essay Sois jeune et tais-toi (Be Young and Keep Silent), she explains that she “does not see herself giving birth in a world that is going so badly,” she refuses to make it a demand and admits to “feeling the beginnings of a rather powerful desire for a child.” She experiences it as a “deprivation”: the world needs to change, she believes, and prove to her that there is indeed meaning in procreating and becoming parents with serenity.
There is a certain immaturity in this observation, which is based on the principle that everything is always someone else’s fault, but it nevertheless testifies to the fact that the desire to have children, which is ingrained in every woman, cannot be dispelled with a wave of a magic wand, despite all the doses of good conscience that have been swallowed. Salomé, just a little more effort: it’s up to you to bring into the world children who will ensure that one day, through the choices they make, this world will not be going “so badly.”
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