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“In your world,” he spat out angrily, “I wouldn’t even exist!”

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Huh?  I was confused.  But rather than just give him a puzzled stare, I asked for clarification: “What do you mean?”

This was part of an exchange I had with a philosophy student a couple years ago.  And we got to that point in the conversation because he was arguing that the pre-born aren’t persons because they cannot function as older humans do.  I sought to point out that his definition of a person was arbitrary and discriminatory and then I said,

“In your world, you could be a victim of your own philosophy—someone else could come along with another arbitrary and discriminatory definition of ‘person,’ but one that has criteria that excludes you!  But in my world, you have dignity, and value, and worth which cannot be annulled by a feature or ability.  In my world, you’re to be respected and protected simply for what you are—and no one can take that from you.  In my world, you’re safe.”

And that’s when he said it—in my world he wouldn’t exist: “My mom had an abortion!” he burst out.  “She got pregnant with me just a few months after that abortion—if she’d never aborted my sibling she would never have conceived me.”

My heart broke for him.  In his mind, his very existence—his very reason for being—was entirely tied up with the silent slaughter of his sibling.

That does something to you psychologically.  Consider the words of child and family psychiatrist Dr. Philip Ney who has done extensive research on the effects of abortion on siblings, something he calls post-abortion survivor syndrome:

“[Siblings of aborted children] have in common many of the conflicts that were found in those people who survived the Holocaust. For instance they have survivor guilt. They feel it is not right for them to be alive. And they wonder why they should be selected when their little siblings were selected to die … which is precisely what happened to the people from the Holocaust. Why were they selected to live and some of their friends, relatives, and family were selected to die? And it leaves this deep sense of guilt. And that is a difficult, difficult thing to treat, because it is so deeply embedded. And of course with that is how can you trust your parents? Are they capable of killing you too?”

Take all this, and throw into the mix the natural love and affection one has for his or her parents, now tainted by an instinctive disgust at the thought that those you love would do such a horrifying thing, and you have a perfect recipe for denial. For to admit that truth is far, far too painful for many.

This is a significant problem.  Consider for a moment Canada’s population of 35 million.  Three million are missing as a result of being directly killed through abortion since its legalization in 1969.  The oldest of those three million would be 44 today.  How many of the six million parents of those three million are still alive?  How many of the 12 million grandparents are still alive?  How many living siblings, cousins, aunts, and uncles do those three million have?

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Is there any wonder the pro-life message gets such resistance?  If abortion kills children, then what else does it mean?  It means many Canadians will be saying, “My mom or my dad or my sister or my cousin or my aunt or my grandparents or perhaps even myself killed a defenseless child.”  That is no easy admission.  Grief, anger, shock, horror, suspicion—emotions like these are what is to greet that fact.

If that weren’t bad enough, it gets worse.  While speaking to a young female college student, my colleague was having a difficult time convincing her of the scientific fact that our human lives began at fertilization.  My colleague invited me into the conversation, hoping I could convince the young lady. 

In our conversation I learned that the student was conceived through in-vitro fertilization (IVF).  And in that moment, I realized I had a nearly insurmountable task ahead of me.  It was no longer easy to explain that life begins at fertilization—not because it doesn’t, but because of what it means

In directly making the case that life began at fertilization, I’d be indirectly making the case that siblings she’d always longed for actually existed.  I’d be indirectly making the case that the parents she loved froze her brothers and sisters, or had them experimented on, or had them killed—either right away or some time later.  I’d be indirectly making the case that countless numbers of little boys and little girls—her family—had their lives robbed all in an effort to make her life come to be.

When young people ask me what I recommend they study, I used to say history or philosophy.  I don’t say that anymore.  My new recommendation is psychology.

Reprinted with permission from Unmasking Choice