Abortion: Who’s Crys Louder?

Some people build their case against abortion on the belief that the unborn arrive preloaded with a soul. Fine. I address them first, since they are already holding the metaphysical clipboard.

The idea that a soul clocks in before birth is debatable. Your conclusion depends on which cosmic checkbox you tick, and your actions follow from that. No quarrel there. If you believe the unborn are fully ensouled, then your outrage at abortion feels like a noble crusade, complete with banners, hymns, and a sense of cosmic urgency.

But then we look at the children already here, already breathing, already tasting milk and dust and disappointment. They have souls beyond dispute. They have looked into someone’s eyes. They have wondered. They have suffered. And yet the outrage meter stays curiously low. The alarms that blare for the unborn fall silent for the unfed.

So those outside your persuasion struggle to take the soul argument seriously. They see you mobilise battalions for the not-yet-born while the barely-living wait in the wings with empty bowls. It suggests your faith has a calibration issue. A gentle recalibration might be in order.

So next time you save a tree, cool a globe, warm a heart, give blood, take time, win something, lose something, score a try, try and score, bench-press a fridge, or French-kiss a bridge – whatever your chosen ritual of virtue – consider adding a small offering to the born-but-hungry. Five dollars to a charity. A recurring donation. A habit. A liturgy. So when you celebrate, you are not just clinking glasses. You are clinking consciences.

Harry Handelbar

Harry is a satirist in remission who now moonlights as a metaphysical desk jockey. He specialises in cosmic admin, recursive nonsense, and the occasional algorithmic incident report. One poem he wrote still hasn’t stopped, and several readers claim it whispers back during thunderstorms.