If bringing up the next generation is important, why aren't they

In the quiet wisdom of her words, Estelle Morris, once the steward of education in Britain, gave voice to a question that pierces the conscience of every society: “If bringing up the next generation is important, why aren't they the best qualified, the best paid? Why aren't we as concerned about their career progression as we are about those who work in the education or health services?” In this reflection lies both a lament and a challenge — a lament for how far we have strayed from honoring the sacred duty of raising children, and a challenge to restore its rightful dignity. For Morris speaks not only of teachers, but of parents, caregivers, and all who shape the hearts and minds of the young. Her question is ancient at its core: How can a civilization call itself great if it neglects the hands that mold its future?

The origin of this quote arises from Morris’s years in public service and her deep understanding of the structures that shape human potential. As a teacher and later as Secretary of State for Education, she saw firsthand the imbalance between society’s words and its deeds. The rhetoric proclaimed that “children are the future,” yet the rewards and respect given to those who nurture them remained paltry. In these words, Morris exposes this hypocrisy. She asks not as a politician, but as a philosopher of the common good: Why do we honor those who heal the body, yet undervalue those who heal the soul in its earliest years? Why do we reward those who build monuments, yet neglect those who build character? Her insight is a mirror held up to the heart of society — and what it reflects is a truth both uncomfortable and urgent.

When she speaks of “bringing up the next generation,” she elevates the act of child-rearing from a private duty to a public trust. The next generation is not simply a collection of children — it is the living continuation of our values, our knowledge, our very civilization. Yet, as Morris observes, those entrusted with this sacred task — parents, childcare workers, teachers of the young — are often the least supported and least celebrated. In her words, one can almost hear the echo of the ancients, who believed that the upbringing of the young was the highest form of service to the state. Plato himself wrote that the education of youth should be the noblest of callings, and that no cost was too great for those who tend the garden of the human spirit.

Consider, for a moment, the story of Maria Montessori, the Italian physician who, in the early 20th century, revolutionized the understanding of childhood education. At a time when the young were often treated as empty vessels or lesser beings, Montessori saw divine potential in every child. Her classrooms were not laboratories of obedience, but sanctuaries of curiosity and independence. Yet she too faced resistance and neglect, for society rarely rewards those who care for children with the same reverence it grants to those who build wealth or wage war. Her work reminds us, as Morris’s quote does, that true progress is measured not by the inventions of the present, but by the values we impart to those who will inherit the earth.

When Morris asks why those who nurture the next generation are not “the best paid” or “the best qualified,” she is not merely speaking of wages or degrees — she is speaking of worth. She points to a moral imbalance, a world that prizes accumulation over cultivation. A banker may earn riches for manipulating numbers; a teacher earns little for shaping lives. A celebrity may be adored for vanity; a caregiver, forgotten for virtue. Yet Morris’s voice calls us to remembrance: the health of a nation is not found in its markets, but in its children. If we wish for a future of wisdom and compassion, then we must honor and empower those who tend the roots of that future.

Her question about career progression pierces even deeper. She reminds us that to value a profession is to build a path within it — to allow those who nurture and teach to grow, to lead, to aspire. Too often, the care of children is treated as a stepping-stone, not a calling; a temporary task, not a lifelong vocation. Morris’s challenge, then, is not only to governments, but to culture itself: to create a world where those who guide the young are lifted, not left behind. Just as physicians train for mastery in the healing of the body, so should educators and parents be honored as healers of the spirit, equipped and esteemed for the magnitude of their labor.

So, O listener of these words, take this teaching to heart: to raise a child is to shape eternity. Honor those who carry this responsibility — the teachers, the parents, the caregivers, the unseen pillars of the world. If you are one of them, hold your task with pride, for it is greater than gold or glory. And if you are not, then lend your voice and your effort to their cause, for it is the cause of all who hope for a better world. Build systems that lift them, speak words that praise them, and live in gratitude for their unseen labor. For as Morris reminds us, when we dignify those who raise the next generation, we are not merely rewarding them — we are investing in the soul of humanity itself.

The lesson of Estelle Morris’s wisdom is timeless: that no civilization can claim greatness if it neglects its children or the guardians who guide them. Empires fall, inventions fade, but the spirit of a generation endures in the values it is taught. Let us, then, reorder our priorities, and give honor where honor is due. For those who raise and teach the young do not merely prepare the future — they create it.