There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.
By William Stafford
Abortion can either be moral or immoral, depending on the context it’s in. A woman who has taken pains to prevent a pregnancy, or been raped and had the pregnancy forced upon her should have the right to an abortion. However we cannot show ourselves as reducing the value of life because a baby would be an inconvenience. We must respect life enough to only abort fetuses in the most extreme cases.
“Except in such cases as the unborn person has a right to demand it–and we were leaving open the possibility that there may be such cases–nobody is morally required to make large sacrifices, of health, of all other interests and concerns, of all other duties and commitments, for nine years, or even for nine months, in order to keep another person alive….” 1
A fetus is often thought of as being a human being and should therefore have the basic human rights that shouldn’t be denied anyone. A life begins at the moment of conception, and taking that life at any point after conception is murder. But as Thomson says a newly fertilized ovum, a newly implanted clump of cells, is no more a human being than an acorn is an oak tree.
People study the development of the fetus in the womb to try and determine the point when it becomes a person. At conception this fertilized ovum is hardly distinguishable as a human being, but at some point it must become a human because nine months later we have a newborn baby. Parallels can be drawn between this and the analogy of the acorn and an oak tree. To draw an arbitrary line at some point during its development to mark the moment the fetus is human, is, as Thomson describes it, a “slippery slope argument.” In such arguments the exact moment will always be disputed and the answer may never be found and may not exist. So Thomson acknowledges that a fetus becomes a person well before birth, but also that newly fertilized ovum is not a person. But let’s assume, for the sake of the opposition, that a person is a person from the moment they are conceived.
Thomson claims abortion is not an issue that can only have one absolute solution. In cases where either the pregnant woman was raped, or in the instance of a contraceptive malfunction, where the woman never granted the fetus permission to live and grow inside her, abortion is morally acceptable. However, she does not argue in favor of murdering fetuses by drawing a distinction between aborting an unborn fetus, and guaranteeing its death. It would be moral to detach yourself from an unborn fetus, even if it dies, but it would not be moral to then shoot the aborted fetus in the head.
Thomson gives the metaphor of a fatally ill violinist to support her claim which goes as follows: Suppose that a famous violinist has a fatal kidney ailment, and that you alone have the right blood type to help him. You were then kidnapped and your circulatory system was plugged into his, so that your kidneys could be used to extract the poisons from his blood. Are you then morally obligated to stay in a bed next to this man and be his lifeline for as long as he needs? If everyone has a right to life, as the Pro-Life support says they do, then you are indeed obligated to do so. You have the right to decide what happens to your body, but a person’s right to life outweighs your right to decide what happens to your body. No matter the length of time the violinist needs to be plugged into you to live. Even if he will never be able to stay alive on his own, and you are then forced to be there until one of you dies. If the strain on your kidneys affects your own health and shortens your own life, your responsibility remains to keep the violinist alive, no matter what. Now apply the previous situation to the topic of abortion. The violinist is the fetus, you are the mother, and disconnecting yourself from the violinist would be to abort the fetus.
The problem with acknowledging that abortion, in any combination of these situations as moral is that you must agree with Thomson’s thesis. And no one can argue against the fact that nobody has the right to use your kidneys unless you give them permission, no one can make you give that permission-if you allow the violinist to go on using your kidneys its kindness on your part, but not the right of the violinist.
The weakest point of this argument is saying that aborting the fetus and letting it die on its own is moral. Aborting the fetus and letting it die on its own could be considered homicide by neglect. In this country we arrest the parents of neglected children, and label them unfit to be parents. Saying that letting a fetus die by neglect is acceptable, and letting a child die by neglect is not acceptable is not logical as long as we maintain that a person is human at the moment of conception. Another somewhat faulty part this argument is that it doesn’t give an absolute answer to the question of abortion. When we have a grey area like this it becomes the decision of the courts for each case, and that would add to our already backed-up legal system. Not only might the length of time necessary to see a judge be adequate to change an abortion to a murder, but time and money that especially a pregnant teenager who is unable to support a child would not be able to afford.
In conclusion, this argument is that abortion is not impermissible, but it is not always permissible either. Clearly there are situations in which abortion is the better option, and a woman does have the right to choose what is done on or in her own body. When a woman has gone through lengths to avoid pregnancy, or been raped and didn’t have a choice, her pregnancy should be hers to give up if she decides to do so. On the other hand we cannot appear to diminish the value of life simply because a baby would be an inconvenience. So we must respect life enough not to have an abortion for superficial reasons, or turn abortions into common procedures.
Abortion can either be moral or immoral, depending on the context it’s in. A woman who has taken pains to prevent a pregnancy, or been raped and had the pregnancy forced upon her should have the right to an abortion. However we cannot show ourselves as reducing the value of life because a baby would be an inconvenience. We must respect life enough to only abort fetuses in the most extreme cases.
“Except in such cases as the unborn person has a right to demand it–and we were leaving open the possibility that there may be such cases–nobody is morally required to make large sacrifices, of health, of all other interests and concerns, of all other duties and commitments, for nine years, or even for nine months, in order to keep another person alive….” 1
A fetus is often thought of as being a human being and should therefore have the basic human rights that shouldn’t be denied anyone. A life begins at the moment of conception, and taking that life at any point after conception is murder. But as Thomson says a newly fertilized ovum, a newly implanted clump of cells, is no more a human being than an acorn is an oak tree.
People study the development of the fetus in the womb to try and determine the point when it becomes a person. At conception this fertilized ovum is hardly distinguishable as a human being, but at some point it must become a human because nine months later we have a newborn baby. Parallels can be drawn between this and the analogy of the acorn and an oak tree. To draw an arbitrary line at some point during its development to mark the moment the fetus is human, is, as Thomson describes it, a “slippery slope argument.” In such arguments the exact moment will always be disputed and the answer may never be found and may not exist. So Thomson acknowledges that a fetus becomes a person well before birth, but also that newly fertilized ovum is not a person. But let’s assume, for the sake of the opposition, that a person is a person from the moment they are conceived.
Thomson claims abortion is not an issue that can only have one absolute solution. In cases where either the pregnant woman was raped, or in the instance of a contraceptive malfunction, where the woman never granted the fetus permission to live and grow inside her, abortion is morally acceptable. However, she does not argue in favor of murdering fetuses by drawing a distinction between aborting an unborn fetus, and guaranteeing its death. It would be moral to detach yourself from an unborn fetus, even if it dies, but it would not be moral to then shoot the aborted fetus in the head.
Thomson gives the metaphor of a fatally ill violinist to support her claim which goes as follows: Suppose that a famous violinist has a fatal kidney ailment, and that you alone have the right blood type to help him. You were then kidnapped and your circulatory system was plugged into his, so that your kidneys could be used to extract the poisons from his blood. Are you then morally obligated to stay in a bed next to this man and be his lifeline for as long as he needs? If everyone has a right to life, as the Pro-Life support says they do, then you are indeed obligated to do so. You have the right to decide what happens to your body, but a person’s right to life outweighs your right to decide what happens to your body. No matter the length of time the violinist needs to be plugged into you to live. Even if he will never be able to stay alive on his own, and you are then forced to be there until one of you dies. If the strain on your kidneys affects your own health and shortens your own life, your responsibility remains to keep the violinist alive, no matter what. Now apply the previous situation to the topic of abortion. The violinist is the fetus, you are the mother, and disconnecting yourself from the violinist would be to abort the fetus.
The problem with acknowledging that abortion, in any combination of these situations as moral is that you must agree with Thomson’s thesis. And no one can argue against the fact that nobody has the right to use your kidneys unless you give them permission, no one can make you give that permission-if you allow the violinist to go on using your kidneys its kindness on your part, but not the right of the violinist.
The weakest point of this argument is saying that aborting the fetus and letting it die on its own is moral. Aborting the fetus and letting it die on its own could be considered homicide by neglect. In this country we arrest the parents of neglected children, and label them unfit to be parents. Saying that letting a fetus die by neglect is acceptable, and letting a child die by neglect is not acceptable is not logical as long as we maintain that a person is human at the moment of conception. Another somewhat faulty part this argument is that it doesn’t give an absolute answer to the question of abortion. When we have a grey area like this it becomes the decision of the courts for each case, and that would add to our already backed-up legal system. Not only might the length of time necessary to see a judge be adequate to change an abortion to a murder, but time and money that especially a pregnant teenager who is unable to support a child would not be able to afford.
In conclusion, this argument is that abortion is not impermissible, but it is not always permissible either. Clearly there are situations in which abortion is the better option, and a woman does have the right to choose what is done on or in her own body. When a woman has gone through lengths to avoid pregnancy, or been raped and didn’t have a choice, her pregnancy should be hers to give up if she decides to do so. On the other hand we cannot appear to diminish the value of life simply because a baby would be an inconvenience. So we must respect life enough not to have an abortion for superficial reasons, or turn abortions into common procedures.
Our spirits were high and our guards were low, a perfect situation for disaster to strike. It was approximately five p.m. on Monday, December 19, 2005. It had snowed that day, but the flurries were fading fast as evening approached. My friend Conor, his brother Tavish, and I were relaxing in Conor’s room before going to the gym. We were watching some particularly funny skits of Chapelle’s Show, and listening toG-Unit. When Conor’s mom was finally ready to drive us, we clambered into the dark green Subaru station wagon and enjoyed an uneventful drive to the Kilpatrick Athletic Center.
Strength training was one of my passions, and I always put everything I had into my workouts. I watched Tavish do some calf raises and decided to try that out myself. The motions seemed easy, so I got under the weight and lifted it up on my shoulders. There was way too much weight on the bar for a scrawny high school freshman. But my own inexperience with weightlifting, and an embarrassing urge to impress my friends, gave me motivation. I pushed up the weight with my legs and stood straight upright, with the weight resting behind my head. Then I tried to step up on the wood riser so my heels would hang suspended off the edge. The weight pulled me backward and I lost my balance. The weight twisted my forearms back, and crushed the bones in both my wrists.
I screamed, mostly because of the pain, but then I screamed again in frustration at the fat, wrinkly women on the ellipticals, and the scrawny teenagers doing free-weight exercises, oblivious. Or trying to be. I was frustrated at myself for being an idiot, and jealous of everyone who wasn’t in as much pain as me. I was also terrified about my wrists and hands. What if they had to be amputated? What if I now would be a cripple with two useless and shriveled hands for the rest of my life?
I looked down at my wrists. Both were at a disgustingly unnatural angle, bent back over each forearm. It was one of the most frightening moments of my life.
Tavish was trying to convince me they weren’t broken.
“Here, let me see,” he said.
I could hardly focus enough to argue with him.
“I know when my own body is broken,” I think I said.
He walked me out of the weight room and brought me to the line of hard seats at the top of the first staircase, overlooking the busy lobby. At that moment I hated everyone gathering around with their mouths open. I had never felt such a strong need for help, and all they could do was stand still and watch me. I saw a great number of faces, some I knew and some I didn’t, all staring. Confused people, who wanted to tell this bizarre story over dinner to their families. I wanted them to help me, I didn’t want them to just look at me. How useless these people are, I remember thinking.
I was shivering badly when the paramedics strapped me to a stretcher and rolled me through the lobby and into the snowy night. One of them threw a blanket over me and gently said: “It’s warm, isn’t it? We heated these up in the ambulance.”
Going over the speed bumps on the drive out was excruciating and I wondered if the driver was a professional or a volunteer. In the x-ray room the nurse told me to put my hand on the flat surface.
“Turn your arm one quarter of a turn.”
I did, but my hand stayed in the same spot. Even without painkillers, at this point I found myself distanced from the experience. Enough so that I was able to laugh at the position of my hand, as one might laugh at a low-budget horror movie.
I had two broken wrists and a fractured elbow. They put me in splints, and, when the swelling subsided a bit, put both my arms in full casts. A few weeks later I went back to Hawai’i,where I was living with my family for a year, and was told by a doctor there that if I let my bones heal the way the doctor had cast them, I would never be able to move my left hand or wrist ever again. The Hawaiian doctor broke my left arm again, set it properly, and fixed it with four pins and ten staples to keep the incision closed. The operation took over three hours.
I spent the next two months with both my arms in casts. Everything my new friends were doing I couldn’t do: no sunny beaches for me. No surfing, snorkeling, scuba diving … all the outdoor sports I had intended to enjoy to their fullest while I was there were off-limits. I was far away from the friends I grew up with in Massachusetts and the homesickness was intense. I read every book Robert Parker had ever written in those two months. I spent hours lying on my bed, listening to music, letting my mind wander, and thinking. Thinking maybe more than I had ever thought before.
From this experience I lost a certain quality that defined me as a child: a reassurance that things would always work out the way I wanted them to. A feeling of invincibility.
But I gained something more important. I learned that when things don’t turn out the way you expect, other things surface. I learned, for example, how much I like to think. How much I like to read and listen to music. I learned how to have real conversations with people, not just be active on the basketball court or on the beach. I learned patience. And tolerance for people who couldn’t do things as well as I thought they should be able to.
Most of all, I learned to be flexible. I think now flexibility is my greatest strength. When we aren’t flexible, we break. But when we’re flexible we’re interested in a whole world of people who otherwise might remain strangers. We trust something inside us that’s deeper than physical strength. We’re no longer afraid of change, or shock, or the unexpected, because we know we can deal with it.
