New Book: My Body for You, by Stephanie Gray Connors

I just returned from Ohio where I spent two days with my publisher, Emmaus Road, pre-recording videos and podcasts to promote my new book My Body for You: A Pro-Life Message for a Post-Roe World. Although it doesn't officially release until January 1, you can PRE-ORDER COPIES TODAY! The best place to order is through the St. Paul Center (although due to border shipping fees, it will be easier for Canadians to pre-order via the Canadian distributor Sunrise Marian, available at this link).

At a time when the slogan "My body, my choice!" is shouted louder than ever, the words of sacrificial love desperately need to be heard. In the book I urge everyone to reflect more deeply on who we are, what we are made for, and why living out Christ's words—“This is my body, given for you”—is the only path to victory for life.

I share my experiences and insights as a debater, and now a mother, to provide a robust defense of the pro-life message while exploring the topics of pregnancy and abortion. Part apologetics, part memoir, part sharing the Good News, the hope is that my words inspire readers to a deeper level of love. For within the story of the greatest love—which began as a pregnancy—within our own stories of embracing maternity and paternity (whether biological or spiritual), we can unlock the ethos to move us forward in this post-Roe world.

To learn more about the content of My Body for You, check out this blog I wrote, as well as this Facebook reel. Please share these links through your social media networks to help spread the pro-life message.

On Multiple Miscarriages, by Stephanie Gray Connors

“I just wanted to thank you,” I started to say, as the tears began too. I didn’t want to cry when conveying my gratitude. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones. Or maybe it was the gravity of what she had done in sharing with me. But there I was, blubbering away as I tried to get the words out.

I was at a minor medical appointment related to my ear with my Nurse Practitioner. I hadn’t seen her in a while. Coincidentally, the last time I was in her office was one year prior, almost to the day. On that previous occasion, I had been on the tail end of a third miscarriage. Fast forward to the present appointment, and I was pregnant again. This time, everything is going well with sweet one growing in my womb. And as my burgeoning, 22-week belly beckoned her attention, so did my tears and words.

When I had seen my NP twelve months ago for another minor issue (my pregnancies were being handled by OB care), I happened to share my many miscarriages with her. And she shared with me that she had had two miscarriages. And no more children—by choice. By choice, she conveyed sadly, at the time. She then said, “I regret not trying again. I regret not trying for more children.” Fear had kept her back. Now, with the reality of aging, it was too late. But she was sharing what she regretted with someone—me—who was younger and could learn from her.

“I just wanted to thank you,” I said at my appointment the other day, “For sharing with me back then that you wished you’d tried for more.” I conveyed to her how grateful I was to have tried again, to be pregnant with this baby.

But in between her words a year ago and this second-trimester pregnancy I am currently experiencing, was to be for me yet another—a fourth—miscarriage. When my husband and I found out last spring, at a routine 12-week pregnancy appointment, that our fifth child had died like his three older siblings, my shattered spirit cried out in anguish, “I never want to get pregnant again.”

My reaction to so much death of not wanting to be pregnant again, was a natural, human response to suffering. It was the reaction my nurse practitioner had once had too.

But both of us could ultimately recognize that such a response was based on fear. It was based on the fear that a subsequent pregnancy would result in yet another miscarriage. And it could. Three in a row surely taught me that. But it also could lead to a live birth. A myriad of medical tests turned up no explanation for my losses. I have been under incredible care from a top notch physician in the world of restorative reproductive medicine/NAPRO Technology. Other than a need for progesterone supplementation (which I’ve had for five of my six pregnancies), no pathology has been identified. There is nothing to fix.

If I avoided pregnancy again I would have the guarantee of avoiding another miscarriage. But then I considered the future. And wondered what it would be like to be 80 years old and look back and always wonder, “What if? What if we had given life another chance? What if the next child, or even children, would survive?” I didn’t want to live with that depth of regret looming over my future. If God bestowed more life on us, He would be in charge of its trajectory. But I didn’t want to be closed off to letting His life even enter my womb to begin with.

After one of our losses my husband wisely remarked, “If we’re going to be open to life, we’ve got to be open to death.”

It was a hard truth. When pregnancies proceed healthily and parents live to see their children’s children, when our society has access to top notch medical care and has low infant mortality, we can forget the reality that every living person faces an ultimate earthly destination of death. Since four of my children have died within my body, I have become keenly aware of that fact. I have experienced the fragility of life. And it has crushed my heart each time.

But it has also reminded me that this earth is not our home. It has reminded me that my children are very much alive in the Heaven that awaits me. It has reminded me that until our epic family reunion, my days are meant to be spent loving God and loving others better and better. It has taught me to live with an eternal perspective, to realize that the value of a child’s life is in that life—not in its length. It has taught me that the worth of my children is in who they are as unrepeatable, irreplaceable individuals made in God’s image; it is not based on how much time I get to spend with them on earth. My, and my children’s, ultimate destination is Heaven. How long we live on earth before getting there is not in my control. But loving life here until it reaches its destiny, however long or short that may be, is within my control.

So here I am, pregnant again, a tabernacle again for the sacred, for a human body and soul described by his or her creator as “very good” (Genesis 1:31). The other day my 2-year-old was repeatedly saying what sounded like, “Body! Body” so I responded, “You have a body.” And then I said, “You are a body and a soul!” And she immediately said, “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord” recalling the words of Jesus’ mother that my husband and I sing to her before bed. Yes, her sweet little toddler soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, as does each of the souls of my other children, four of whom are doing so perfectly already at the wedding feast of the lamb and one of whom is kicking in my womb as I type this. My pregnant body also proclaims the greatness of the Lord; it proclaims that death is not the end of the story, that God is a God of life, and that the resurrection follows the crucifixion (incidentally, the last baby I miscarried I lost on Good Friday. The one growing in my womb today is due on Easter Sunday).

After my fourth miscarriage, a friend e-mailed me who had lost a pre-born child of her own. She wrote, “It may seem far, far from your present reality, but the joy your dear children are experiencing in their heavenly home right now is so very real, and wouldn’t be possible without you. Through God’s Mercy and your desire for their baptism, they are now saints. Thank you for your courageous love that allowed this.”

Courage, I once read, is not an absence of fear, but a will to do what’s right in spite of your fears. I don’t know precisely what the future holds, and at various times in this latest pregnancy I have been afraid. But regardless of my past sufferings and present unknowns, this new child is wanted and willed. I have come to see that when we choose life, we flourish. And when the thief of death rears its head in our broken world, I know that that isn’t the end of the story. I know that the depths of loss we experience when losing a beloved is a reflection of the heights of our love. I know that one day that love will be lived in perfect form in eternity, where, mysteriously, death on earth leads us to eternal life in Christ. Until then, I choose to be a worker building up His kingdom here on earth.

Love Unleashes Life Update

It’s been a while since we blogged, so we wanted to update you about Stephanie Gray Connors’ pro-life work through Love Unleashes Life:

Since becoming a mother, Stephanie has limited the amount of work she does due to her primary focus being her family. Where possible, however, she is continuing with some pro-life education. Writing is most conducive to her mom life, and besides the three books she’s already published, Stephanie has been a contributing author to three other books recently released: With All Her Mind: A Call to the Intellectual Life, The Ave Prayer Book for Catholic Mothers, and The New Apologetics: Defending the Faith in a Post-Christian Era. Stephanie is also working on writing at least two other books, and we encourage you to sign up for our e-updates to be notified about them and other projects she’s involved with. You can read our historical e-updates by scrolling below her bio here.

If you are active on social media, we encourage you to share the endless number of apologetics videos of Stephanie’s presentations, podcast appearances, and interviews that are available on YouTube (try searching “Stephanie Gray Connors Abortion”). For example, a clip from her interview with Matt Fradd has generated more than 1 million views and is a great way to reach the public with the pro-life message. If you want to share links on specific topics, check out our apologetics resource page here.

Stephanie also gives select pro-life presentations. To keep informed about those, please sign up for our e-updates.

On Being an Incubator, by Stephanie Gray Connors

With the US Supreme Court hearing the abortion-related Dobbs case this Fall, the topic of abortion will certainly be in the news more. This makes for a great opportunity for debate, not just in a court of law but in the “courtroom” of public opinion. This means pro-lifers need to be equipped to engage in such discussions in a winsome, grace-filled, and compelling way.

  To help prepare people, Cy Kellet over at Catholic Answers selected one pro-abortion article and invited me on his show to explain how to break down abortion supporters’ flawed rhetoric and weak arguments. You can view the 30-minute exchange here, but in particular I wanted to draw attention to one point in particular.

  The article we were discussing is by Elie Mystal and titled, “The Supreme Court May Have Just Signed Roe v. Wade’s Death Warrant.” At one point, the author writes about pro-lifers (aka “Republican-controlled states”) treating a woman as a “malfunctioning incubator.” In the course of Cy’s and my discussion, this is how I responded to that (around 22:36):

  “Let’s talk about incubator. You know, I would love to have fun with that and say ‘Why is that a bad thing?’ And, I say that as a pregnant woman who delights in the fact that I have a child in my body who is dependent on me, who is bonded to me and connected to me in a way that isn’t even connected to my husband, that I have this special relationship with our child by the fact that I can incubate our baby. That’s a joy. That’s a privilege. That’s an honor, to have someone who is so needy and dependent on you. What a delight. So, I would actually say, ‘Hey, maybe that’s not such a bad thing, to be an incubator.’”

  Cy responded by observing, “Well, it does seem that the things that women can do and that are special about women have to be denigrated in order to justify abortion. You have to say, ‘Well, it’s not that important, you know, carrying a baby…’”

  And I continued,

  “Right. That’s a great point. It really is an attack on the feminine and femininity. What sets women apart from men [is] our ability to conceive new life in our very bodies and sustain that life not only before birth but even after birth through breastfeeding. To think that a newborn child [for example], their body is not designed to consume food as we consume it. You can’t just give them a banana mushed up. I mean, if you are going to provide an alternative to breast milk, it has to be formula. It’s not a bottle of water. It’s not cow’s milk. It’s not almond milk or oat milk. I mean, it’s a very specific formulation that is designed for sustaining their bodies. But their bodies really cannot be sustained with much. It is someone else’s body, the breast milk of their mother or a wet nurse, or some very specifically designed formulation that would not harm their bodies.”

  In other words, both born children and pre-born children rely on another’s body in a very unique and specialized way. Even someone who formula feeds needs to use their body to provide that nourishment to the baby through holding, bottle-feeding, and burping. Rather than look at this dependence of the youngest of our kind on us as some sort of intrusion, we should celebrate it as a unique privilege and joy.

  Finally, if you look at the dictionary definition of incubator it is as follows: “an apparatus with a chamber used to provide controlled environmental conditions especially for the cultivation of microorganisms or the care and protection of premature or sick babies.” Now obviously, on a technical level, a pregnant woman is not an incubator from the perspective of being “an apparatus.” Like our pre-born children, we are subjects and not objects. Having said that, the idea that it is our bodies that “provide controlled environmental conditions” that are all about “cultivation,” “care,” and “protection” should be hailed as a superpower, not denigrated as a burden.

The Pregnant Belly that Beckons, by Stephanie Gray Connors

“Can I touch your belly?” the 5-year-old boy asked.

His mom was embarrassed by his request but I was happy to oblige:

“Sure,” I said. “The baby is getting big.”

I was 7 months pregnant and my husband and I were on a road trip to Virginia where I was scheduled to give a pro-life presentation. We turned our travels into a bit of a babymoon and stopped off at the beautiful beach destination of Hilton Head, South Carolina. As we sat at a pool area, we met a vacationing family which included the inquisitive son.

The little boy’s curiosity and attraction to my child in the womb reminded me of an experience I had had a month prior. I visited a friend who has 3 children and when I was leaving, one of her daughters ran up to me and said, “Hugs!” I crouched down, assuming she wanted to hug me, but was taken aback (in a good way!) when she wrapped her tiny arms not around my shoulders, but around my pregnant belly.

She wanted to hug my pre-born child goodbye.

In our abortion-supporting world, it is the sweet gestures of these young children that teach a lesson to adults: A pregnant belly is different; it is set apart. Encountering a pregnant woman is to receive not just one person, but two.

Oh to have the eyes to see not just she who is visible, but to have awe and wonder at the precious life hidden within.

Living with ALS, by Stephanie Gray Connors

Hugh Whelchel

Earlier this year I was on Dr. Sean McDowell’s YouTube channel discussing my book on assisted suicide. One of the listeners, Doug, wrote in a question. He said that he’s an atheist and his sister died while on a feeding tube, suffering with MS, and had been living in extreme pain every day. He said things were so brutal that even family wished for her to die. He also disclosed that she was a Christian. I was asked to comment on a Christian suffering in the way this woman did, and what insight in particular I had to offer an atheist like her brother.

You can listen to my full answer here, which begins at 42:17, but I wanted to draw attention to this part I said in particular:

  “It sounds like,” I answered, “she held to her Christian faith, so I would encourage the listener, who is an atheist, to explore in the silence of his heart, to really think about if she could go through that brutal suffering and still believe God existed and that God was good, what was it that she knew or she felt or she believed that I could at least give some time and attention to? That's what has really touched me as I've studied people who’ve suffered... they not only didn’t get angry at God, they would thank God and love God.”

  And that brings to mind two Christians whose stories I encountered recently. Both men faced the brutal condition of ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. One man has already passed away while the other is fighting to live. One of the things that makes ALS so terrible is that while the body’s muscles waste away, the brain stays strong, meaning that with one’s advancing inability to move (or talk), he can become a mind trapped in a body.

  While this is undoubtedly scary, perhaps what is more incredible is the perspective some suffering souls have when faced with this condition. Take, for example, John Geiger.

  He wrote the following:

  Mucus (phlegm) is constantly swallowed by the average person. Due to ALS my swallowing is minimal and my ability to cough and clear my throat is practically nil. So, the mucus builds and lodges in my air passage (I have dubbed this — The Mucus Monster). The effort to clear this and breathe is traumatic. It is a real battle.

  During the five hour struggle [I experienced one day] my brain was still functioning well. A comforting thought kept going through my mind: ‘I am only gasping for air! I am only gasping for air! The important issues of life are settled.’

  I reminded myself I wasn’t gasping for truth — ‘Jesus said to him, I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’

  I reminded myself I wasn’t gasping for love — ‘This is love, not that we loved God but that He loved us and sent His Son [Jesus] as an atoning sacrifice.’

  I reminded myself I wasn’t gasping for peace — ‘Peace I [Jesus] leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.’

  I reminded myself I wasn’t gasping for salvation — ‘And there is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name [Jesus] under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.’

  Or consider what John’s son Soren said when John ultimately succumbed to death from ALS:

  His body was failing him, but his spirit remained as strong as ever, it even became more determined. He was focused on the finish line and the prize that awaited him. He would not waiver from the course. And he was a crowd favorite. He captured our attention, and he inspired us. We saw him and said to ourselves, ‘That’s how you run the race.’ And what else could we do but cheer him on, follow his example, and congratulate him on a race well run. Like Paul, he could say, ‘I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.’…

  ...The marathon my dad ran was a grueling one at the end, but that did not deter him from running hard, running straight, and running to proclaim with his last breath the joyous news that ‘we win.’ Remember 1 Corinthians 15: ‘But thanks be to God! He gives us the VICTORY through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.’

  Let me end by encouraging you with something my father shared with me after he learned that, due to his diminished lung capacity, he only had weeks to live. I asked him if he was scared. He said, ‘No,’ but he wished his family did not have to see him suffer because he knew that what would follow would be hard. But then he reminded me that Jesus even allowed his own family and loved ones to watch him suffer and die. My father’s point was not to compare himself to Jesus, but to remind me that Jesus knows our pain; he knows our hurt; he loves us through it; and he promises that one day sin and death will be no more.

  John Geiger knew something not everyone does. And his ability to embrace the truth of Christianity while suffering profoundly is a legacy of wisdom for us to explore and heed.

  I also think about Hugh Whelchel. As I write this, Hugh is still living with, and fighting, ALS. In March 2020 when he heard the doctor diagnose him with the condition, at the same time he heard God tell him it would be used for His glory.

  That Spring, Hugh wrote this in a blog:

  I began a Sunday school class I taught several weeks ago on ‘God’s Sovereignty and Our Responsibility’ with the following statement:

You will never be able to walk through the valley of the shadow of death and fear no evil unless you believe in God’s sovereignty.

  I believe that God is working out his master plan to restore the whole of creation, in all things, working for the good of those who love him (Rom. 8:28). At the epicenter of his plan is the event we will celebrate on Sunday, the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

  And yet, it was days after preaching those words that Hugh would receive the terrible diagnosis of ALS. He went on to say,

  You might think that this revelation has been a great challenge to my faith; if anything, it has reinforced it. That is not to say that I am excited about the turn my life has taken. I hate it. I hate the brokenness of this world now more than ever.

  But as I have turned to 1 Corinthians 15 to study over Holy Week, as has become my tradition, I am deeply moved by the power of the resurrection and the fantastic way in which Paul ends this chapter.

  It seems like Paul would say, ‘Since there is a resurrection, look forward to this glorious future?’ No. He says something quite different:

  Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain (1 Cor. 15:58).

  Even with declining health, Hugh writes, “Every morning we need to get up, lace up our shoes and run the race as hard as we can; that is our responsibility. It is God who lays out the path on which we run. We have no control over that, as I was reminded two weeks ago. The good news is that we can confidently run the race because Jesus, the pioneer, and perfecter of our faith, has already crossed the finish line, defeating the powers of sin and death.”

  Hugh reflects more on his experiences here. Like John, Hugh is living through suffering in this broken and sinful world with an attitude that our good God is not to be blamed but instead to be embraced. Both men are shining examples for us to follow.

Living with LaeLae: Thoughts on My Miscarriage, by Stephanie Gray Connors

“To love another person is to see the face of God.” –Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

  On October 8, a second line on a pregnancy test would declare that I was a first-time momma at the ripe age of 40.  My husband and I received this news with great joy, celebrating by opening the Scriptures to pray, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior…for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name” (Luke 1:46-47, 49).  Only a few weeks later, however, we would be devastated to lose our little one to miscarriage.  We named our baby Laetificat Judah (“LaeLae” for short). Laetificat, from Latin, means “I delight, cheer, gladden. I make fruitful; I fertilize, enrich.” Judah, from Hebrew, means “praised.” Jesus has been called the Lion of Judah.  As is typical with loss, those who care for us say all kinds of things to express their sorrow and to try to help. 

One very supportive friend gently suggested that if my husband and I get pregnant again, we might consider waiting a little longer before telling people.  My friend meant well, but I have a different view.  People are unique, and life experience and personality are contributing factors to how we respond to things, but cultural influence is also a factor.  And our culture has established a norm to discourage disclosing one’s pregnancy until the first trimester passes.  Have you ever thought about why?  The truth is, it’s because miscarriage is common and although people aren’t often conscious of what they’re saying, it’s as though the message is this: “Your child might die, so don’t tell people until that’s less likely.”  The truth is, everyone will die, and if a child makes it past the first trimester there are no guarantees they will have a live birth.  And if a child makes it to birth, we have no guarantee of decades with one’s offspring.  How long must someone live before we celebrate them?  I have a friend who miscarried at 9 weeks and another who lost a child at 13 weeks.  My cousin miscarried at 21 weeks and my aunt had a stillbirth at 40 weeks.  One of my friends lost her child at 2 years old.  Another friend lost her son at 19 years old.  I don’t want to be quiet about my child’s existence because they might not live as long as someone else.  Instead, I want to live life fully with my beloved child for as long as they are present. 

A Life Fully Lived

The three weeks when we were aware of LaeLae’s life were absolutely glorious.  We happily told family and friends, and I shared the news with the world in three livestreamed presentations.  As one of my friends later wrote me, “Even though her life here was short, your baby brought joy to many people.”  There were so many adventures in a brief time: My husband and I returned to the island where he proposed just because we wanted to give LaeLae a beach outing.  Then there was the cool Florida evening where my husband and I, with little one in my womb, retreated to our backyard and were surrounded by the sweet smell of jasmine bushes; I strummed the ukulele, we prayed, and gave LaeLae her first family fire pit experience.  LaeLae was also part of our Canadian Thanksgiving celebration held south of the 49th parallel.  I loved writing notes and texts to “Daddy” to let LaeLae be the bearer of my various messages to my husband.

I loved introducing LaeLae to Jesus.  I would go to Mass and when I received The Body of Christ, I would imagine I was giving my child a “John the Baptist Experience.”  Just as he leapt in Elizabeth’s womb at the proximity of the pre-born Christ child entering his home in Mary’s body, my child got to experience the proximity of the Eucharistic Jesus entering the tabernacle of my body as my little one nestled nearby in my womb.

LaeLae was also my companion for major debates against two leading abortion supporters, on October 20 against abortionist Malcolm Potts and on October 22 against Princeton philosophy professor Peter Singer.  LaeLae helped me bear witness to the dignity of the child in the womb, and her existence even elicited, perhaps surprisingly, congratulations from both my opponents.

Entering the Vestibule of Heaven

I once read an inspiring article about a palliative care physician, Dr. Michael Brescia.   He said, “[W]hen someone is dying, you think that room [they are in] is part of this earth? No! You are not in this world. You have entered the vestibule of heaven.”

On Thursday, October 29, my husband and I entered the vestibule of heaven as our little LaeLae would begin to leave my body.  I heard from a Jewish friend that when a Jewish person dies, someone sits with the body and prays through the Book of Psalms (my spiritual director, a Byzantine monk, subsequently informed me the Eastern Catholic tradition is the same). Although we don’t know when, precisely, LaeLae died, that night, when my body was showing signs of miscarriage (which an ultrasound the next day confirmed), Joe and I prayed through the first 27 psalms to send Laetificat Judah to our Heavenly home.  I am struck by these passages:

•  “O Lord, our Lord, how awesome is your name through all the earth! You have set your majesty above the heavens! Out of the mouths of babes and infants you have drawn a defence against your foes, to silence enemy and avenger.” -Psalm 8:2-3

•  “You will show me the path to life, abounding joy in your presence” –Psalm 16:11

•  “Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings.” –Psalm 17:8

•  “He reached down from on high and seized me; drew me out of the deep waters.” –Psalm 18:17

•  “God’s way is unerring; the Lord’s promise is tried and true.” –Psalm 18:31

•  “One thing I ask of the Lord; this I seek: To dwell in the Lord’s house all the days of my life, to gaze on the Lord’s beauty, to visit his temple.” –Psalm 27:4

That night I sobbed, but even amidst the ache of losing my child I realized the deep sorrow was because I let myself deeply love.  I was reminded of a powerful scene in the movie Shadowlands and said to my husband, “The pain now is because of the happiness then.”

I Can Only Imagine

One rainy afternoon, before we had become parents, my husband and I watched the movie I Can Only Imagine. It tells the true story of musician Bart Millard who wrote MercyMe’s song, I Can Only Imagine. Bart had been brutally abused by his father growing up, but before his father’s death his dad became a Christian and reconciled with his son.  After his dad’s death, Bart composed, “Surrounded by Your glory, What will my heart feel? Will I dance for you, Jesus? Or in awe of You be still? Will I stand in your presence, Or to my knees will I fall? Will I sing hallelujah? Will I be able to speak at all? I can only imagine.”

So as part of my grieving and healing, I let myself imagine.  I’ve thought of my friend Anita who I had done pro-life projects with.  She was a post-abortive woman who came to regret ending the life of her child.  She repented, experienced God’s mercy, and shared her testimony through Silent No More Awareness and Rachel’s Vineyard.  She passed away a couple years ago at the age of 76.  I imagine her in Heaven with a grandmother’s delight in LaeLae, telling her stories that would start with, “Your mom and I worked to save babies your age, and there was this one time…”

Miscarriage is common, and various friends and family who walked this rocky path before me were like flashlights steering me through the darkness.  Many of them named their little ones too, and now I imagine LaeLae playing in a Heavenly park with her tiny new friends: Hope, Paul Francis, Karol Agape, Pierre, Grace, Miriam, Judith-Ann, Faith, Providence, Karol, Owen, Asis Gabriel, and Pieta Marie, to name a few.

And then I imagine how, one day in the future, I will stand at the gates of Heaven and see my Savior, a kindly Jewish rabbi named Jesus, holding the hand of a little girl who has thick, curly brown hair and who’s wearing a blue dress, and she’ll whisper to me,

  “Welcome home, Mommy.”

“Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.” –Victor Hugo

Final Note: For anyone who may experience the tragedy of miscarriage, know that no matter how young your child, you can collect the blood and bury it.  Your baby may be so tiny that no body is discernable; you may not even know how early your child died, but out of an abundance of caution you can bury whatever you collect.  You may find, as was my experience, that you pass a discernable gestational sac and you can bury that.  No matter why your child died—whether your baby was so disabled she or he didn’t keep growing, or your body had a hard time sustaining a pregnancy, or some other reason—no matter how little time your child lived, you can hold a funeral.

Photo by Julia Wallin on Unsplash

Reflections on Debating Peter Singer, Part 7, by Stephanie Gray Connors

God

Although Peter Singer and I argued our positions from non-sectarian perspectives, I couldn’t help but feel, after the debate was done, that something—Someone—was missing.

Peter is known for being an atheist, and in a conversation with Andy Bannister he points to the existence of suffering in the world as being proof of the non-existence of God.  Otherwise, he asks, how could an all-powerful, all-loving God not intervene to stop the suffering in the world?

A whole other debate would need to be had on this topic, and I point readers to the insights of philosopher Peter Kreeft as a great place for in-depth reflections on the question of God’s existence.  I would, however, like to share these few thoughts:

First, if the presence of evil in the world is a sign God doesn’t exist, how do we explain the presence of good in the world?  Couldn’t we say that the presence of good is a sign of God, and the presence of evil is a sign of an arch enemy of God, namely Satan?  As we see in The Lord of the Rings or The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, these forces of good and evil fight against each other and do battle, but the good eventually wins. 

  Second, God has intervened to stop the suffering in the world—He sent His son Jesus to take on the punishment of our sins for us.  A world of eternal life awaits we who choose it and that world is free of suffering and will have no more tears.  Why hasn’t that world come yet?  Why hasn’t the suffering on earth ended already?  I don’t have an answer for that but I do have an explanation for my ignorance: I am a mere human and I don’t know it all.  Just as a child simply cannot comprehend everything her parent does, I do not have the capability, with my limited nature, to comprehend everything God does.  I am not all-knowing and not all-seeing, but God is.  And because He is all-good, then I trust Him when I don’t understand (just as children ought to do with their loving parents).  As mentioned above, Peter would cite the ongoing presence of evil as a sign God cannot be all good.  But not everyone with that observation comes to that conclusion.

  Take, for example, an article Peter wrote in 2011 about the death penalty.  In particular, he commented on the possibility that some people who are given the death penalty may be innocent.  He cited the story of Michael Morton who was unjustly incarcerated for 25 years for a murder he didn’t commit.  I don’t know how much Peter has looked into Michael’s story beyond the bare facts, but I have studied Michael’s experience extensively, speaking and writing about it on various occasions.  Michael suffered brutally, not only losing his wife to murder, not only being put in prison for a crime someone else committed, not only being deprived of raising his only son, but he endured more than two decades of lost freedom and horrific conditions in jail.  If anyone could use the presence of suffering as grounds to say God doesn’t exist, it could be Michael. And yet, Michael doesn’t.  In fact, he does just the opposite.  In his memoir he writes, “I know three, little, simple things.  One, God exists.  Two, He is wise.  And three, He loves me.”

  When I think of Michael’s story as it relates to God, I imagine the following: What if it didn’t take 25 years to find the actual murderer of Michael’s wife?  What if the guilty man was found within days?  What if there had been clear evidence of his guilt and he was charged with murder?  What if, when the guilty man was being sentenced to prison for life, Michael were to have stood up in the courtroom?  What if Michael had said to the judge, “Your honor, I know this man is guilty of killing my wife.  I know the just punishment for his crime is life in prison.  But I would like to take his place.  I would like to take on his punishment for him.  Send me to jail instead.”  We cannot even imagine Michael saying that.  And yet, that’s what Jesus did for us.  All of us are imperfect, and all of us have violated God’s laws.  There are consequences for doing the wrong thing (read Chapter 1 of The Bible’s Book of Genesis).  And if each of us were on trial in a courtroom for our various misdeeds, we’d be found guilty as charged.  Imagine a just judge dealing out the punishment to us that aligned with our crimes.  Then imagine Jesus entering the courtroom.  Imagine Him saying, “Excuse me, your honor.  I know that’s the consequence she deserves for the crimes she’s committed.  But I’m here to take the consequence on for her so she doesn’t have to.  Whatever her sins deserve, do it to me instead.”  What innocent person knowingly takes on the consequences of the guilty?  A Jewish rabbi named Jesus.  If you’ve ever wonder if God is all-loving, think of that.

  Third, although it takes faith to believe in God, it also takes faith to not believe in God.  For example, imagine you discover an exquisite piece of artwork and say, “Wow, who made this?” and I replied, “No one. It just appeared.”  You would think I was mad.  You would say, “Such design cannot just appear from nothing.  It couldn’t have fallen from the sky.  It must have a designer!”  To believe that art exists without an artist takes great faith, and involves believing in the stuff of leprechauns and unicorns.  I would suggest it takes less faith to believe in God.  Granted, if all design requires a designer, then eventually we will trace everything back to creation’s beginning and say, “God made it” at which point someone could fairly ask, “Well who made God?”  Because God is all powerful we can reasonably say, “Because He’s God He’s always been and always will be.  I can’t fully understand it because I’m not God.”  An atheist has to rely on faith and explain how the complexities of the human body, other species, nature, etc., came to be literally from nothing while not providing the explanation of a higher power orchestrating it.

  Fourth, when labelling things as “good” or “evil” we are implying a known standard we measure things by.  If there is no God, who, or what, determines what is evil and what is good?  Without God, we are left to humans deciding, and humanity’s long standing history of human rights violations makes us less than good authorities on this matter. 

  Peter doesn’t seem to like the idea that all humans are special because it implies a belief in God who says we are special.  So what’s the alternative?  One could not believe in God but still think humans ought to be treated kindly by their fellow humans.  This would be the assumption I mentioned in part 1 which we come to through intuition or because it is self-evident.  It is the most inclusive position for even atheists to hold, because no humans get left out by this standard.  Just as someone could be atheist and against racism, one could be atheist and against killing fellow humans (particularly believing it’s wrong for parents to kill their offspring).  Having said that, human weakness often causes us to depart from the standard that we should treat members of the human family equally and kindly.  All too often when a human gets in another human’s way, or has something we want, we come up with qualities, criteria, and features that includes ourselves and excludes those whose elimination we wish to justify.  Whether it’s ethnicity, religion, sex, sexual orientation, disability, cognitive level, or age—determining whether a human is protected based on qualities like these inevitably excludes some humans.

  The fifth, and final, point is this: God could have made us like robots so we were forced to choose Him and never disobey His commands.  But such choosing wouldn’t be authentic; it would be programmed.  It would therefore be meaningless.  No person wants to marry a beloved who is forced to say “I do.”  Instead, we want to know the other party, in freedom, willingly chooses a lifetime together.  The pursuer may romance his love interest, and entice her with all kinds of things like flowers, love notes, and gifts, but at the end of the day, she still must decide in freedom if she wishes to give her assent.  Likewise, God romanced humanity by blessing us with relationship and beauty of all kinds, but He still gave us the opportunity to choose Him—which meant we also could reject Him.  God had forewarned Adam and Eve of the consequences of violating His command and, as a person of integrity, was a man of His word and followed through when they rejected Him.  But at the same time, as a Father and lover, He got creative about both following what He said and giving His creatures a path of redemption—salvation.  As with Adam and Eve, we each have an unfolding story and we, like them, are given a choice—To choose God or reject Him.  And as the history of the world shows, rejecting him leads to all kinds of devastation and suffering—the very things Peter is concerned about.

To return to the start of this series, click here.

Photo by Mads Schmidt Rasmussen on Unsplash

Reflections on Debating Peter Singer, Part 6, by Stephanie Gray Connors

Lessons from Little Wang Yu

In a TED Talk Peter Singer gave, he told the story of 2-year-old Wang Yu, a little girl in China who was killed after being struck by a van.  He shared horrifying details, namely that the driver did not get out of the vehicle and that various passersby disregarded the child’s plight.  During the cross examination portion of our debate, I asked Peter if Wang Yu had been a little younger, namely 6 months old (the age, according to him, when an infant wouldn’t have moral standing) if it would have been immoral to kill her then.  His response was that yes, it would be, because her mother wanted her.

  His reply is troubling because it does not place the value of Wang Yu in Wang Yu herself.  Instead, it places her worth on the feelings and interests of others.  That creates a problem; after all, what if her mother didn’t want her?  Would that make killing her moral?

  In fact, I asked him to imagine the mother wasn’t alive and the father had wanted a male child, not a female one.  Would it have been immoral for her to be struck dead if those were the circumstances?  And all he could say was that he thought disregarding someone because of their sex was wrong.  It is.  I agree, but I would add this: So is disregarding someone because of their level of development—which is what he does by denying the pre-born, and some born, their right to life if they aren’t currently manifesting human skill to the level he’s decided is satisfactory. You cannot control your sex and you cannot control your level of development (in other words, your age).

Age Discrimination

On several occasions I suggested that Peter’s view makes him guilty of age discrimination, because the only reason the pre-born and newborns are not manifesting desires, thoughts, etc., like us, is that they haven’t lived long enough to adequately develop the physical structures necessary for such intellectual development.  Peter said that my charge was false because if someone was born and allowed to grow up to age 50 but was extremely disabled so that their capabilities were those of, say, a pre-born child, that he would be okay with that individual’s life being ended.  So he said it’s therefore not about age but is instead about having certain capacities and qualities.  While I realize that, on the surface, it doesn’t appear he is picking on the pre-born because of their age, a closer look reveals that he is.

  If we ask why the pre-born do not manifest desires, thoughts, pain, etc. (at least early in pregnancy) it is not due to a developmental disability but rather simply because they are too young.  The criteria he has selected is, in their case, qualities tied into how old they are; so, at least for the group of pre-born humans and infants, it is a type of age discrimination.  Sure, his criteria also includes some older humans, but when it applies to younger humans it’s because of their age. 

  By way of analogy, imagine if someone said this: “You are a person if you don’t have a uterus.”  Men do not have a uterus and generally women do, so one could say that such a definition of personhood is sex-discrimination.  Imagine if someone responded, “Actually, sometimes there are women who don’t have a uterus, so while that definition includes all men, it includes some women so it’s not sex-discrimination.”  Although a few women would be protected if they lack a uterus, the reality is most women, by virtue of their femininity, do have a uterus and would therefore be excluded.  In those cases, the criteria is tied into a female feature, and one could fairly label that sex-discrimination.

Wrapping it all Up

In short, Peter didn’t deny my claims of the humanity of the pre-born; instead, he questioned the foundational standard of all civil societies and the United Nations and rejected the assumptions I laid out at the beginning: He rejected the idea that all humans are equal and that all innocent humans have a right to life, and that parents ought never to kill their children.  As I mentioned at the beginning when quoting his 1972 essay, a position like his, to use his word, should be disregarded as “eccentric.”  The tragedy, however, is that someone who holds such eccentric views is an individual of great prominence and influence.  I can only hope the analysis provided in this series sheds light on how, even though in many ways Peter is a kindly man who I think cares deeply for suffering souls, when it comes to abortion, infanticide, euthanasia and his view on my two basic assumptions, he is off the mark.

To read Part 7, click here.

Reflections on Debating Peter Singer, Part 5, by Stephanie Gray Connors

On Our Human Capacity to Love

After the debate, an audience member e-mailed me saying, “I've been wrestling with the sentiments Peter shared around suffering and humans with compromised capacities. Some of what he said greatly troubled me. What occurred to me this evening is that I think killing humans who present profound suffering or need profound care is not only an assault on that person, but one on our very selves. What I think many, including Peter, miss is that without these people calling forth love and care from us, we ourselves are diminished and hurt. I suppose like all great evils, it's masquerading as a good, a kind of cruelty clothed in false mercy, which makes it all the more difficult to unmask.”

  This viewer’s sentiment expresses my observation too.  Regarding his last point about cruelty clothed in false mercy, as I prepared for my debate against Peter, one of the things I found most challenging was that Peter doesn’t come across as monstrous the way some of his views are, which then makes his views that are monstrous appear as not so bad.

  Peter and I had a private Skype call in advance of the debate, just to get to know each other as people without discussing contentious topics, a practice I’ve developed for my various debates in the last several years.  We discovered a number of things in common, including our love of travel and hiking.  He is an avid surfer and I have no doubt that my husband and he would have a smashing good time riding waves together.  When my parents watched the debate, my mom observed that Peter seemed like a friendly and calm type of person (his soothing Australian accent is certainly to his advantage), and someone she could have an enjoyable conversation with, if she were to overlook his views on abortion and euthanasia.  Moreover, Peter promotes “effective altruism” where he encourages people to share their wealth with the world’s poor; in fact, Peter himself is known for doing that with significant percentages of his income.

  I don’t deny he has good qualities, and this is where there is an important lesson for we who disagree with him: Peter is no different than any of us; every single one of us is a flawed human being.  We all have good sides, and corresponding bad sides.  We all have qualities, beliefs, and behaviors worthy of emulating, and those that are not.  The challenge is to have the discernment to not overlook the bad when someone demonstrates a good.

  For example, Peter is known for propagating the drowning child thought experiment.  If you see a child drowning in a pond, but in order to save the child you’d have to wade into the water and ruin your expensive shoes, should you do so?  The obvious answer is yes, and Peter’s perspective here that we should rescue the child at personal inconvenience is a good one.  On that, Peter and I agree.  But just because he’s right about that doesn’t mean he’s right about abortion.  In fact, his support of abortion would be analogous to having a child and then seeing a pond and subsequently intentionally placing the child into the pond to drown.  If it’s wrong to leave a child to drown because you don’t want to ruin your shoes in rescuing the child, all the more it should be wrong to intentionally create a situation where you drown a child!

  Of course, Peter would point out that if the child is aware and would suffer, then that should stop us from drowning the child.  He would then point out that since pre-born children do not suffer from abortion (at least early abortion), then it is permissible.  As mentioned previously in this series, something can be wrong even when it doesn’t inflict suffering.  But I would also add this:

  Holocaust-survivor and psychiatrist Viktor Frankl once said, “The salvation of man is through love and in love.”  He also said, “The more one forgets himself—by giving himself to a cause to serve or another person to love—the more human he is…”

  How can one be “more” human?  Aren’t you either of the species homo sapiens or not?  I think what Frankl is getting at here is, in a sense, what Peter Singer is getting at—that there are qualities or features that go beyond the physical reality of us.  Peter focuses a lot on whether a being is rational, aware, has desires, or suffers.  But even a psychopath can demonstrate all of those qualities.  I would say there is something more to us humans than just those qualities.  What that “more” is, is our capacity to love.  And the more we love, the more we live up to our nature, the more we reach the fullness of what it means to be human (hence we would associate the word “inhumane” with cruel, unloving acts). 

  So what of those who are not developed enough to love?  What of the child in the womb, or the newborn infant?  Their inability to currently manifest love (or interests and consciousness to the level we know it) shouldn’t make them candidates for destruction.  On the contrary, their immaturity in this regard should make we who are already mature be candidates for helping form them, for showing them what love is.  And once someone comes to know love through receiving it, they can return love.  Of course, even if someone doesn’t live long enough to develop the awareness needed to love back, it doesn’t absolve us of our responsibility to love them, to treat them with kindness, not cruelty.

Peter would perhaps consider this view utopian, but I fully recognize we live in an imperfect world and our call to love will not always be lived out properly. I am merely suggesting that while acknowledging that, it doesn’t justify intentionally inflicting (or promoting, or justifying) homicide on the youngest of our kind.

To read Part 6, click here.

Photo by Steve Halama on Unsplash