At lunch today, I was telling Don Quixote about the abortion debate going on here. I added, jokingly, that I really regret the fact that logic, morality and life experience had inevitably pushed me into a pro-Life (or, at least, mostly pro-Life) position. After all, with a beautiful teenage daughter, parenting would be much simpler if I was unabashedly pro-abortion, as I once was.
Under my old standards, if my daughter showed up pregnant, I would hug her to my breast, and drag her off to the doctor for an abortion. With the new moral me, if she shows up pregnant (something I very much hope never happens), I’ll have to do battle with my better self. The mom in me won’t want her exposed to the humiliation of pregnancy (since there are no pregnant teenagers in our pro-abortion community), won’t want her exposed to the risk of pregnancy, and won’t want her exposed to the burdens of parenthood or the pain of adoption. But the moralist in me won’t be able to say “Well, dear, let’s just take care of that little problem.” I now am forced to acknowledge that it’s not a little problem, it’s a little person.
Principles are hard.