On abortion and “argument by meme”

On abortion and “argument by meme”

In the increasingly heated debates over abortion, the following meme has been making its way around the inter-webs.

Kbell2
Don’t fault KBell for the missing apostrophe. #LetItGo

“Men shouldn’t be making laws about women’s bodies.”

In so many cases, I agree.

I have no desire to tell anyone (not least women) what to do with their bodies—so long as their bodily-choice does not involve depriving other “bodies” of their basic human rights.

THE TROUBLE WITH MEMES

But, of course, even this most basic of caveats cannot survive what I will now dub: “The meme-ing of the American mind” (i.e., the reduction of all ethical and political issues to a snappy bumper sticker that carries emotional freight but almost zero argumentative rigor [on another example, see here]).

To be clear, I would love to see the percentage of women increase in all branches of government, including courts and legislatures. And I have written forcefully about what I take to be the misogyny and sexism of certain evangelical “darlings.” The problem is real.

But the idea that laws are only valid if passed by someone who shares your “body-type” is just absurd. By that logic, only roosters could outlaw cock-fighting; only pit bulls could decide the fate of Michael Vick; and only female fetuses could have legal opinions on abortion.

Hogwash.

ALL LAWS REGULATE A “BODY”

A second faulty assumption in the meme is the implication that one can do whatever one wants with their own flesh and blood.

This too is nonsense.

Speed limits constrain what you can do with your body while driving an automobile.

Rape prohibitions regulate what you can do with your body when it comes to sexual consent.

And libel rulings say what you can legally publish with your body if it turns out to be knowingly false, defamatory, and damaging to others.

To repeat, every law in existence is designed to tell humans what they can and cannot do with their own bodies. Every. Single. One.

And that includes the ruling known as “Roe v. Wade”—a judicial fiat handed down by an all-male court. By the logic of the meme, “Roe v. Wade” would also be invalid, since it involved a bunch of old men issuing a decree that involved the “bodies” of both born and unborn women!

How many fetuses served on that judicial bench?

Should we then amend the viral claim as follows: “Non-fetuses shouldn’t be making laws about fetuses”?

CONCLUSION

The primary concern for any law is simple: Is it just for all parties?

And the bar of justice ought to mean that my bodily right to swing my fist ends where my neighbor’s nose begins. Hence the crucial question on abortion is precisely that once asked of Christ: “Who is my neighbor?”

Does that human category include those not yet born?

Whatever one decides on that final question (see my view here), it would better if both Pro-Life and Pro-Choice advocates chose to have this debate in a way that acknowledges (1) the real issues at stake, and (2) the real value of both the unborn and the pregnant women placed in difficult situations.

We can do both.

That will mean support for pregnant moms, improved adoption processes, a willingness to listen, and grace for those who have already had abortions (a group often overlooked).

All that is possible, but it will require something more than memes and blog posts* to accomplish it.

 


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But the anthem was recognizable

But the anthem was recognizable

I’ve always loved this line from Steinbeck (East of Eden) on the raucous brand of revivalistic Christianity that sought to “save” the American West.

Somehow it manages to be both an insult and a compliment.

They fought the devil, no holds barred, boots and eye-gouging permitted. You might get the idea that they howled truth and beauty the way a seal bites out the National Anthem on a row of circus horns. But some of the truth and beauty remained, and the anthem was recognizable.

The churches, bringing the sweet smell of piety for the soul, came in prancing and farting like brewery horses in bock-beer time…

The sectarian churches came in swinging, cocky, and loud and confident. … The sects fought evil, true enough, but they also fought each other with a fine lustiness. … And each for all its bumptiousness brought with it the same thing: the Scripture on which our ethics, our art and poetry, and our relationships are built.

they brought music—maybe not the best, but the form and sense of it. And they brought conscience, or, rather, nudged the dozing conscience. They were not pure, but they had a potential for purity, like a soiled white shirt (East of Eden, ch. 19:1).

It is far easier to (1) see only the church’s stains, or to (2) excuse those blemishes without recognizing their full seriousness.

Steinbeck does neither.

In his view, even this prancing, fighting, farting form of frontier Christianity had value; because while the “players” were often misguided, there was enough truth and beauty to make the anthem recognizable.

 


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Unqualified Condolence

Unqualified Condolence

Like many people, I was shocked and saddened to learn late last week of the sudden death of the popular Christian writer, Rachel Held Evans.

She was only thirty-seven, and she left behind a husband and two young children.

I didn’t know Rachel personally. Still, it was obvious that she was an incredibly gifted writer who gave voice to the nagging questions and concerns of many (former) evangelicals.

She was both kind and controversial—and that rare combination brought forth an unsettling tendency in the outpouring of condolences and sadness.

Let us call it the “qualified condolence.”

As I began to comment on several posts that mourned Rachel’s passing, I noticed a certain worry creep into my head that expressed itself in sentences that began something like this:

“I didn’t always agree with Rachel, but…”

“We didn’t see eye-to-eye on many issues, still…”

“Despite our differences, …”

In some cases, the “qualified condolence” may be benign. It may merely flag the possibility of having real affection for someone with whom you disagree.

But at least in my own heart, I sensed that these sorts of statements were a sign of something sad, and scared, and broken in me: a need to “signal” to my tribe that my grief did NOT equal a full endorsement of all Rachel’s views.

And that is to my shame.

We should not need to qualify our mourning at the loss of such a vibrant voice.

We need not mingle our condolences with fearful “smoke-signals” to the tribal border police as a way of reassuring others that we are still quite aware of “just how wrong she was” on this or that issue. To do so can betray the tragic reality that, in such polarized times, the only thing more sacred than life itself is our tribal affiliations.

An expression of solidarity and sadness should be enough.

Rest in Peace Rachel; Eshet Chayil.