From Pro-Life to Pro-Choice
As someone who was raised within the Christian faith (Church of Christ, to be specific), it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I was also raised to be “pro-life.”
I truly believed that abortion was morally wrong--straight up murder--in every case except to save the life of the mother, and I didn’t think that made me “anti-choice” either. After all, I reasoned, didn’t she make a choice when she had sex? Yet, even in the case of rape, it was clear to me that there was no morally acceptable exception to be made.
That’s because the reasoning behind my pro-life stance was not actually based upon the question of choice and consent, but rather upon the idea of the “right to life,” which is the mantra of the movement.
The fetus needs the mother to survive, and the fetus has the right to life. Therefore, the mother--or the doctor--does not have the right to deny the fetus what it needs to survive.
Indeed, I found the more “compassionate” pro-lifers who allowed for abortions in the case of rape to be baffling for this very reason. Did the fetus suddenly lose its right to life because of the means of its creation?
The rule was “Thou Shalt Not Kill.” There was no ambiguity there, and I found the arguments over whether or not fetuses qualified as “persons” ridiculous and even appalling.
Furthermore, all the arguments about how taxing pregnancy is--mentally and physically--struck me as tremendously selfish. What was nine months compared to the 80+ years of potential life the fetus may have? (Not that I had any first-hand experience with the struggles of pregnancies that I so easily dismissed as trivial.)
Similarly, the fact that women sometimes die during childbirth--even with all the medical care in the world--didn’t seem like a compelling reason to allow women to opt out on the off chance they would meet such a fate. After all, most women come out unscathed, right? Why not wait until there’s reason to believe the pregnancy will result in death? Besides, I reasoned that the response to such risks ought not to be abortions but rather more medical research to eradicate the risks all together.
Even being confronted by the reality of those very risks--when my college professor’s wife died following the birth of their second child, leaving him grief-stricken and scrambling to care for two young children alone--wasn’t enough to shake my convictions. I believed the pro-life argument as deeply as I believed in god.
So, when I ended up in a Bioethics class the next semester and the topic of abortion came up, I braced myself for the bitter and seemingly pointless debate that was bound to come. We all chose sides easily; not a single classmate was on the fence.
How could they see things the way they did, I wondered? How could they hear the same arguments I heard and come to a different conclusion? How could anyone think there was hope of changing anyone’s mind?
Yet, by the end of the semester, at least one mind had been changed. Mine.
In the end, I wasn’t persuaded by what I had heard time and time again about the fetus not being “fully” human yet or other common arguments. Instead, it was a simple and widely accepted ethical standard which opened my eyes to what so many pro-choice advocates had been saying for so long: the question isn’t whether or not the fetus is a person with all the rights that entails (like the right to life), but rather whether or not a pregnant woman is, too--and the pro-life answer, as it turns out, is no.
The ethical standard is the following:
We do not force people--even dead people--to donate blood, plasma, organs or any type of useful material, even to save the life of someone who will definitely die without it. Indeed, even to save the life of someone whose life-or-death situation you are directly responsible for (think a car accident or something similar in which there is always a chance you could injure someone).
Of course, we can squabble over the perfection of organ or blood donation as a “perfect” analogy for pregnancy (as if perfect analogies ever exist), but the underlying principles are truly the same.
We don’t force people to give blood--a very mild procedure in which what is given will soon be replaced--because we, as a society, believe that “the right to life” does not trump “the right to consent and bodily integrity.”
That’s why we don’t harvest organs from dead people who obviously no longer “need” them--even as others languish and die on endless organ wait-lists. We require that all organ donors formally give their consent while alive and of sound mind.
The effect of these long held and revered ethical stances ought to be clear: people die. People with the right to life die, because we choose not to donate. Yet, it is nearly universally acknowledged that we have the right to do just that: to end lives or to fail to preserve them when the cost involves some measure of our own bodies--no matter our reasoning.
Maybe you can’t safely give blood because you’re ill or underweight. Maybe you don’t want to go through the pain and complications of organ donation. Maybe you like the idea of your body remaining fully intact when you’re lowered into your grave.
You have the unequivocal right to control how, when, and if your body is used, even if it means someone else will die.
Because of that, I realized that if I believed in ethics, I had to be pro-choice, because the right to life is not, in fact, absolute.
I hope other pro-life people can come to see that, too.














