One of the most popular environmentally-friendly consumable product lines is called Seventh Generation. They make toilet paper, tissues, napkins - paper disposables that are mostly made from post-consumer recyclables; as well as bleach-free cleaning products.

Their name derives from the Native American tradition of weighing the ethics of a certain behavior or policy by imagining how it will effect even the seventh generation hence.

A truly noble sentiment, taking us way beyond our usual temporal perspective that falls somewhere between now and immediately. And, if we take it seriously, a compelling sentiment as well.

But then I began to wonder, why the number seven? Arbitrary and random? Too easy and too dismissive of either a judicious choice or the earthy, powerful wisdom of folk traditions.

Just because it is a really big number when it comes to generations, indicating a time far into the future? Possibly. Consider: Meriwether Lewis’ great-great-great-great nephew is seeking public support to conduct an investigation into the mysterious death of his famous ancestor, who died 200 years ago. And that is a spread of six generations.

Or perhaps because seven is a mystical number. Again, possibly. One internet author tells me that seven is indeed a sacred native American number, “represented in the seven directions: north, south, east, west, above, below, and ‘here in the center,’ the place of the sacred fire.” (Debra McCann) Sounds pretty compelling. But perhaps there is an additional reason - for no one says that meaning resides in only one place.

Pondering the question some more, I came up with this thesis. Agree with me or not, I believe it has resonance.

Here is how my reasoning unfolded: Sacagawea, the Shoshone Indian who traveled with the Lewis and Clark expedition with her infant son, and served as a guide, translator and intrepid fellow-traveler, was 15 when she became a mother. Let’s use this as a general measure of the length of a generation of American Indians in the early 1800’s, a guess but not an unreasonable one. Now, imagine that for a venerable Indian elder, a full allotment of years would be 75 or 80 (Geronimo was said to be 80 when he died in 1909). An Indian blessed with long life, then, would also be blessed with seeing and knowing 6 generations (their own, and then five more born at 15 year intervals after them). No one, it seems, or almost no one, could be expected to live to see seven generations. That is the generation just beyond anyone’s probable lifespan. That is the generation they could never personally know. And it is precisely that generation by which they had to measure the value of their deeds.

They needed to discern how their decisions would affect life beyond themselves, not at some theoretical, random distance into the future, but beginning with the generation coming right after them. This is the generation that will still remember their name, will know them, their deeds, and the gifts or curses they left behind. This is the generation before whom they will not be able to hide in anonymity, yet they will no longer be able to correct their mistakes, and they will not be able to defend themselves. But they can be blamed, or blessed, depending on the legacy they leave. That legacy is all that will be able to speak for them by name.

That, it seems to me, is the power of the seventh generation.

Judaism has a similar impulse. We call it being responsible m’dor l’dor, from generation to generation. What we do, for good or bad, impacts generations to come. We are constantly taught that our lives leave a trace. Our names and heritage carry the results of our behavior and our decisions. We teach the lessons of our tradition by citing the names of those who first spoke and transmitted that wisdom. Our tradition reminds us that we are forever associated with and responsible for our deeds for generations to come.

Imagine if we could remember that every morning as we prepare ourselves for the day. How would it change the choices we make?