I do think that if people are taking the time to think about

Hear the words of Caroline Lucas, who has long lifted her voice for the earth and for the generations yet unborn: “I do think that if people are taking the time to think about their environmental footprint when it comes to how many flights they take, whether or not they have a 4X4, whether or not they are going to have a patio heater, then putting the question to themselves about how many kids they are going to have is a reasonable thing to do.” At first, these words may sound hard, even unsettling, for they touch upon matters most sacred to the human heart. Yet in them lies a call to deep responsibility, to consider the weight of our choices not only for ourselves, but for the fragile world we all share.

She speaks first of the environmental footprint, a phrase that has become the measure of one’s impact upon the earth. Many think of it in terms of flights, cars, or heating, the daily choices of comfort and convenience. But Lucas, with clarity and courage, extends the thought further: if such small matters are worthy of scrutiny, how much more should we reflect upon the greatest of all choices—the bringing of new life into the world? For each child, though a blessing beyond measure, is also a new participant in the cycle of consumption, energy, and resource use.

This does not mean that Lucas despises life, but that she honors it so deeply that she calls us to ask: what kind of life will our children inherit? Will it be one of abundance, clean skies, fertile soil, and flowing waters? Or will it be one of scarcity, where resources strained by overuse bring hardship and sorrow? Her words demand that we lift our vision from the personal to the planetary, from the individual to the generational. To question is not to deny, but to act with wisdom.

History offers us powerful examples of this struggle. In ancient Easter Island, the people carved giant statues to honor their ancestors, but in their zeal, they felled every tree to move them. With forests gone, soil eroded, crops failed, and famine followed. They had children, but those children inherited ruin. Contrast this with the Iroquois Confederacy, whose leaders declared that every decision must be weighed by its impact on the seventh generation yet to come. Here is the wisdom Lucas calls us to: to measure not only the footprint of today, but the inheritance of tomorrow.

The emotional power of her words lies in their bravery. For to question how many children one should have is to touch a place of deep love and longing. Yet Lucas dares to speak it, because love for children must also mean responsibility for the world they will walk upon. To bring life into a dying world without thought is no kindness; to bring fewer lives into a flourishing world is an act of justice. Thus, her statement is not a command, but a plea for reflection—that in the joy of parenthood, there also be the foresight of stewardship.

The lesson, O listener, is this: do not shy away from hard questions, for they are the crucibles of wisdom. Ask yourself not only how you travel, what you drive, or how you warm your nights, but also what legacy you leave in the balance of population and planet. This is not a call to deny love or family, but to weigh it against responsibility, to understand that every new life deserves a world fit for living.

What then shall you do? First, reflect honestly upon your footprint, both in the small matters and in the great. Second, speak openly with your loved ones about responsibility—not only for your own comfort, but for the generations that will come after. Third, act with courage, whether in choosing restraint, or in choosing to raise children with the values of stewardship, simplicity, and care for the earth.

And remember always: as Caroline Lucas declared, the question of children is not separate from the question of the planet. To consider it is not cruelty, but compassion. For only by asking such questions can we ensure that the children we do bring into the world will inherit not desolation, but hope; not barren fields, but fertile ground; not despair, but the living legacy of a people who dared to think beyond themselves.