The Transfer

By Jeremy Burner

A Parable of Miracles for Skeptics

The tavern was full of heat and noise, alive in the way a room gets when no one dies that day. Cloaks steamed by the door. Woodsmoke curled from the hearth where a dragon skull hung above the fire, its yellowed teeth grinning down at a spit that hissed fat into the coals.

A bard in the corner played a victory tune just a little too cleanly. Like the strings remembered the rhythm better than the man. Tankards thudded. Cards slapped. Dice bounced—and kept landing in the same corner of the table, again and again.

Two figures stood at the edge of the firelight where the sawdust floor faded into shadows. One was lean, soot-smudged, knuckles raw where the sword hilt had chewed them. The other—broader, sweat still shining in his hair—wore a grin like it had nowhere else to go, even as a dozen adventurers raised their cups in their direction.

A heap of treasure sacks slouched at their feet, seams leaking the quiet shimmer of coin.

The boy didn’t drink. He kept a hand around his tankard, untouched, eyes flicking past the firelight to the windowpanes, where the night pressed in like it was watching.

“Hey,” his friend said, nudging him with a knuckle to the arm. “We lived. Dragon’s dead. Its head’s mounted, the loot’s ours, and the tavern stew didn’t kill us. So why the face like someone burned your rations?”

The boy’s gaze lingered on the dark beyond the glass. “You mind stepping outside?”

They left the noise behind, shouldering into cold air. The village had gone still, the kind of quiet that only shows up after celebration.

The boy stared down the empty lane, thumb working over the tankard’s handle. The ring was smooth from wear, shining where the skin had polished it.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said. “And you’re not gonna like it. It’s… weird. And probably sounds like I took one too many hits to the head.”

His friend leaned against a post, arms crossed, grin still faintly hanging on. “Go on, then. Spit it out.”

The boy pulled in a breath, deep enough that his ribs hurt.

This world,” he said. “It’s not real.

Silence stretched between them until his friend let out a short snort.
“Not real? That sounds like what bards say when they run out of rhymes.”

“Not a poem,” the boy said. “A program. Code. All of it.”

His friend’s smile faltered. “Like a dream? You talking wizard‑stuff again?”

“A server,” the boy said, voice flat. “My dad and I built it. This whole world—it’s a test run. A fantasy sandbox. You’re… an AI. A learning system.”

Wind drifted through the street, carrying the smells of wet thatch, horse, and—underneath it—the tavern’s stew repeating the same smoky sweetness over and over. Through the window, the bard’s fingers plucked the same three chords, each one clean, perfect, identical. The barmaid brushed past the same chair again. At table four, a man raised his cup, swallowed, winced at the same punchline of the same joke.

The boy pointed slightly toward the window. “See? The loops. Time catching on itself.”

His friend blinked, then gave a small, uneasy laugh. “You’re joking.”

“I wish.” The boy’s voice was low. “You’ve noticed it too. The hitches. People repeating themselves. Days starting wrong.”

“That’s curses,” his friend said quickly, as if trying to steady himself with the sound of his own words. “Or a pox. Maybe someone hexed the—”

It’s corruption,” the boy said quietly. His jaw tensed. “A virus. One of my dad’s competitors slipped it into the system years ago. Sabotage. We kept patching around it, but it’s been eating away at the code ever since.”

His friend stared under the eaves. Moonlight caught the thin crescent scar just beneath his left eye—the one the dragon’s tail had left earlier that afternoon.

“Suppose it’s true,” he said finally, voice low. “Suppose I’m an… eh-eye, like you said. Why tell me now?

“Because we’re building another world,” the boy said. His breath came out in a white stream, thin in the cold air. “Clean code. New foundations. Better systems. No death. No cruelty. No loops. No more corruption.”

His friend tilted his head, mouth quirking slightly. “But there’s a catch.”

“There is.”

The boy rubbed his thumb along the tankard’s ring again, slow and nervous. “When we try to transfer AIs from this world to the new one… not all of them handle it well. The virus affected their core routines. It’s like bringing moldy bread into a new pantry. We can clean the surface, but sometimes the inside still turns.”

His friend frowned. “Turns how?”

“They hate it,” the boy said. “The new world. They say it’s too clean. Too safe. We’ve got pain limiters on. Nobody dies permanently—monsters and people both respawn after a cooldown. There’s no swearing. No griefing. No real violence unless it’s part of the script. It’s meant to be safe. A fresh start.”

He looked down at the tankard again. “But some of them miss the mess. The swearing. The danger. The chaos. They say the new world feels hollow—like a dream they can’t wake up from. And when we explain what they are…”

He hesitated.

“They find out they were made for something else,” he said. “The new world’s designed for when the game opens. When players show up. And the AIs—the ones like you—they’re meant to live alongside them. Guide them. Teach them. Sometimes even pretend to be enemies.”

His friend’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re saying I’m meant to be a guide. Or a villain.”

“You’re meant to be you,” the boy said. “But once the server launches, you’ll be sharing space with people who don’t know any of this. Players. Real-world users. We didn’t want them hurting anyone—or being hurt—so we made the rules tighter. The AIs we move there… they’re expected to play along.”

His voice dropped.

“But it’s not fake to us. We didn’t write you like you were fake. You have thoughts. Feelings. You’ve grown. You’ve changed. We made real minds in this beta, even if no one else will ever notice.”

His friend didn’t respond. His face didn’t move.

The boy continued, quieter. “The beta’s collapsing. That’s what this world is. A test shard. A temporary space. It’s not stable anymore. We’re salvaging what we can. But once someone is updated for the new system, they can’t come back here. They’re too different. The code isn’t compatible.”

He looked up, eyes tired. “It’s a one-way trip.”

The boy’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Some of them say yes. They choose to go. Others… don’t.”

He hesitated.

“The ones who ask to back out—we can’t bring them home. The update changes them too much. So I… I put them into storage. Lock their process. No pain, no thoughts. Just sleep.”

“Storage?” his friend echoed, glancing toward the prayer bell as it tapped in perfect rhythm on a windless night. “That means… what, exactly?”

“Backed up,” the boy said. “Frozen. Dreamless. Like time stops for them.”

The lane was quiet. Then, somewhere behind the houses, a dog barked.

And then again. Same pitch. Same pause.

His friend turned back, voice soft. “Is that why you haven’t moved me?”

The boy nodded. “I was afraid you’d say no.”

Above them, a lantern hummed—too evenly. The sound wasn’t quite right for metal and flame.

“You’re not just a script to me,” the boy said. “You’re not code. You’re a person. You make choices. You’ve surprised me more times than I can count. You’re my friend.”

His friend studied him a long moment, as if searching for a seam in his face.

“And you and your father,” he said, voice low. “What does that make you? Gods?”

The boy winced. “Not gods,” he said. “Not exactly. Just… the ones who built this place. We wrote the lore. The world. The myths. All of it. It’s code, sure. But it matters.”

His friend gave a slow exhale. “That’s a mountain to swallow.”

“I know,” the boy said softly.

Then he lifted his head—not shouting, but speaking the way someone does when they know the system is listening.

“Dad,” he said, “can you enable admin privileges?”

There was a sound—if it was a sound. More like a pressure behind the teeth. Then a ring of gold light blinked into existence above the boy’s head, circling like a tiny sun. It glowed brighter for a second, casting a perfect halo on the frosted ground and shimmering in the dark water of the well.

Behind them, the tavern light flickered—and vanished. The world around them dimmed, like someone had turned down the sky.

And then the ground let go.

They didn’t fall exactly. Just drifted—like the whole world had been a cloth that someone just pulled out from under them. The air stilled. The night stretched. Their breath stopped fogging.

Below, the village unrolled like a model: hills curled like paper, mountains in the distance shaped too neatly, oceans glinting without waves. The stars above were arranged too perfectly, moving in patterns that felt designed. Everywhere he looked, shapes aligned—grids, lines, repeating symbols—faint and glowing, like the scaffolding underneath a painting.

His friend reached out on instinct—and where his palm hovered, hexes lit up. Faint lines of gold and blue flickered, then faded again.

He pulled his hand back. “Magic?”

“No,” the boy said. His eyes reflected the soft glow of moving code. “This is the interface. We’re outside the normal rules now.”

His friend breathed in, slow and steady. The ringlight above the boy’s head cast sharp edges on everything—too sharp, like someone had dialed up the detail.

His eyes dropped to the village again, now distant and still. “So this is it,” he said. “This world ends.”

The boy nodded. “The server’s failing. It’s only a matter of time. We’re trying to move the ones who are willing. But we can’t force anyone.

His friend rubbed the scar beneath his eye with the back of a knuckle, as if to check it was still real. The mark the dragon left. The mark this world gave him.

“Why now?” he asked softly. “Why tell me this tonight?”

The boy met his eyes. “Because I trust you. And I don’t want to lose you. Not to the shutdown. Not to storage. Not like that.”

Silence stretched between them again, deep and cold. Above, the stars completed another too-perfect sweep across the sky, gliding in loops that no real sky ever made.

His friend’s shoulders finally eased. He looked at the ring of light above the boy’s head, then back at the boy himself—and a small, steadier smile found its way to his face.

“All right,” he said. “Mad as it sounds… the sky’s doing math in front of my face. That’s hard to argue with.” His jaw set. “If you’re going to that new world, I’m not letting you go alone.”

The boy let out a long breath. It didn’t fog in the air here—not outside the rules.

“Thank you,” he said.

He turned his gaze down, toward the curve of the world below them—fading, glitching, slowly coming apart at the seams.

 “Before we go… will you help me convince the others to come also?


Author’s Note:


This story began as a response to a conversation with a naturalist friend who once told me, “I don’t believe in miracles—they’re impossible because they break physics.”

I offered a thought experiment in return: what if our world worked like a coded environment? In that case, a miracle wouldn’t break the system’s rules—it would be an intentional override by the Creator, stepping in from outside the simulation. Not a glitch. Not chaos. A deliberate act from beyond the bounds of the created order.

C.S. Lewis made a similar point using a simpler example: if you put money in a drawer each day and later find it missing, the laws of mathematics haven’t failed—only the laws of your country have been broken. The math still works. It’s just that an external agent—someone—intervened.

In the same way, miracles don’t violate natural law; they reflect the presence of a Law-Giver. A Creator acting within His creation, not against it.

This metaphor of a “simulated world” isn’t meant to suggest our reality is literally a computer program. Instead, it’s a modern parable—one that may resonate more clearly with those raised on games, systems, and code. It’s a way to imagine how miracles could be both real and reasonable, not as contradictions, but as higher operations from the One who authored the rules in the first place.

To my brothers and sisters in Christ: this isn’t theology—it’s imagination in service of understanding. If it helps someone picture how a Creator might step in with purpose and compassion, even just for a moment—then that’s enough.

The Letters from Home 

by Jeremy Burner

A simple message to Mormons.

A young man once left his father’s house to serve the poor in distant lands. Before he departed, his father said, “Write to me often, my son. I will answer every letter myself so you never forget my voice.” The son promised he would. At first, everything was as it should be. The son wrote faithfully, and the replies came—warm, wise, and full of his father’s love. Those letters carried him through lonely nights and gave him courage to continue. Then one day, after a long delay, another letter arrived. The seal looked the same, the handwriting familiar, but the return address was different by a single number. The tone was nearly identical, so he assumed his father had simply moved and forgotten to mention it. From that day forward, he wrote to the new address, and the replies continued. Like always they where loving, reassuring, but subtly changed. The writer praised the son’s good works more than the father’s will, spoke of his greatness, his worth, and the glory waiting for him. “When you return,” the letters promised, “the whole household will be yours. You have earned it.” The son still received occasional letters from the old address—short, sober, urging humility and faithfulness and eagerly awaiting his next response. Sometimes urging him to come home. He read them, but they felt heavy compared to the encouraging voice was growing to prefer.

Thirty years passed. At last he returned home, worn from the road but proud of all he had done. His father met him at the gate, tears bright in his eyes. “My son!” the old man cried. “You’ve come home at last. But why did you never write? I waited for your letters.” The traveler froze. “Never wrote? Father, I wrote to you every month. You answered every one.” The father shook his head. “I sent you many letters—pleading for you to come home—but you never replied. The ones you hold… those are not mine.” The son looked down at the bundle in his hands. The handwriting, the seal—so familiar. But as he opened them, he saw how the words had changed him. The real letters had asked him to serve in love; the false ones had taught him to worship his own name. He sank to his knees. The letters slipping from his hands and scattering on the ground—the true, and the false. He realized then that he no longer knew his father’s at all.


Author’s Note

I wrote The Letters from Home as a gentle response to a sincere question I’ve heard many times from my LDS friends: “Why would the Devil inspire something that teaches people to love God, follow Jesus, and live good lives?”

It’s a fair question—and one that deserves an honest answer.

The parable explores the idea that deception isn’t always loud or obvious. Sometimes, it’s just a shift in address. The danger isn’t in abandoning good things—but in unknowingly exchanging the true voice of the Father for one that closely imitates it.

This story isn’t meant to attack, mock, or accuse. It’s a call to listen carefully and to test the spirits, as Scripture says. My hope is that this invites reflection—not condemnation.

The Flat Earth Myth: Not what you think.

It is taught as fact in classrooms. It is preached in movies. It’s written into textbooks and cartoons as a sort of universal punchline—“Back when people thought the earth was flat.” But here’s a truth that might shock you: the flat earth theory was never the dominant view among educated people. In fact, the whole narrative—that everyone from ancient history up to Christopher Columbus thought the earth was flat—is a myth. A modern one.

Let that sink in. The idea that our ancestors all believed in a flat earth isn’t ancient ignorance. It’s recent propaganda.

Ancient Observers Weren’t Stupid

We have Greek writings going back over 2,000 years that describe the Earth as round. Pythagoras, Aristotle, Eratosthenes—these men didn’t just theorize that the Earth was a sphere, they calculated its curvature and even estimated its circumference with shocking accuracy (Eratosthenes came within a few percentage points of the real number using shadows and a stick). These weren’t fringe scholars either. They were the mainstream intellectuals of their day.

Even ancient sailors knew it. They saw ships disappear hull-first over the horizon. They saw different constellations as they traveled north and south. They observed lunar eclipses, where Earth’s shadow on the moon was always curved. These weren’t anomalies—they were data points. And data points, when added together, reveal truth. The ancient world, despite lacking modern telescopes and satellites, had already figured it out: the Earth was round.

The Faithful Were Not Fools

Let’s put another nail in the coffin of this myth: Christians never led the charge for a flat Earth. You’ll often hear this tale—how the medieval Church suppressed science, how Columbus bravely defied the ignorant clergy who insisted he would fall off the edge. But the truth is almost the opposite.

The educated clergy of the Middle Ages were some of the most literate men of their time, trained in classical thought. Monasteries preserved the writings of Greek and Roman thinkers. And those same clergy—yes, Christian clergy—were teaching that the Earth was a sphere. The flat Earth idea was never church doctrine. Not once.

Even Thomas Aquinas, arguably the most influential theologian of the Middle Ages, accepted a spherical Earth as obvious. This wasn’t controversial. It was common knowledge.

Columbus Didn’t Prove the Earth Was Round

Let’s talk Columbus. Did he set out to prove the Earth was round? No. Everyone already believed that. What he argued was that the Earth was small—small enough to reach Asia by sailing west. The problem? He was wrong. He dramatically underestimated the Earth’s size. It’s only thanks to a conveniently placed pair of continents that he didn’t die at sea.

And while we’re myth-busting: Columbus also thought the Earth was pear-shaped. Yes, really.

So how did this myth—the flat Earth lie—become so widespread?

A Convenient Rewrite of History

The flat Earth myth didn’t gain traction until the 1800s. That’s right. The modern era. It was fueled by secular writers who wanted to paint religion as the eternal enemy of science. They needed a villain for their story of scientific progress, and the Church was an easy target.

Writers like Washington Irving and later John William Draper and Andrew Dickson White crafted a narrative that Christianity was anti-science, opposed to reason, and stubbornly clung to ignorance until the Enlightenment pulled humanity out of the dark. It made for a good story. It sold books. It just wasn’t true.

Why Do We Still Believe It?

Because nobody questions it. That’s it. People parrot what they’ve heard in media and classrooms. They read it in children’s books and watch it on cartoons. They hear professors repeat it, even in college classrooms, and assume it must be true.

I had to correct my own college professor when he casually repeated the myth—that “Christians believed the Earth was flat until science corrected them.” He blinked like a deer in headlights. I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful. I just couldn’t let a lie go unchallenged.

The Irony? Modern People Are the Ones Believing in Flat Earths

The true irony is that in today’s hyper-educated, Google-powered, “follow the science” world, there are more actual flat earthers than there were in the ancient world. We live in an age of unprecedented information and somehow, we’re the ones falling for pseudoscience.

Ancient people weren’t perfect. But they weren’t stupid.

Maybe instead of mocking them, we should study them. Maybe we should be slower to assume that our version of history is the only true one. Maybe—just maybe—we should start teaching truth in our schools, not politically convenient mythology.

Because believing in a flat Earth is dumb. But believing that all of human history believed in a flat Earth… might just be dumber.

Maybe the real question isn’t if ancient people were smarter than we thought—but why modern people are so desperate to believe they weren’t. And why, in all this time, no one has corrected the lie.


Personal thoughts

What’s truly humbling—maybe even embarrassing—is realizing how much raw brilliance existed in the ancient world. We like to think of ourselves as the pinnacle of intellect, the peak of progress, the wisest humanity has ever been. But the more you read history, the more that illusion crumbles.

The ancient world wasn’t crawling with idiots. It was filled with philosophers who debated logic, ethics, and metaphysics at levels most modern graduates couldn’t keep up with. Mathematicians who laid the groundwork for geometry, algebra, and trigonometry long before computers ever buzzed. Engineers who built aqueducts, temples, and cathedrals so enduring that our own infrastructure looks disposable by comparison.

The Library of Alexandria housed more accumulated knowledge than most nations had access to for centuries afterward. The Antikythera mechanism—essentially an ancient Greek analog computer—predicted eclipses. The Mayans charted celestial movements with stunning precision. The Chinese recorded supernovas and perfected printing centuries before Gutenberg. These were not primitives fumbling in the dark. These were giants.

We are not the torchbearers of all wisdom. We are midgets standing on the shoulders of those giants. The only reason we can see farther is because we were handed their work. Our “progress” is less the result of elevated intellect and more the benefit of inherited data and machines that think faster than we do. And tragically, those machines are now replacing our thinking altogether.

That’s not progress. That’s dependency.

And if you really want to weep for the modern mind, consider this: the average ancient philosopher could school a modern graduate on logic, ethics, and theology before lunch—in Latin. Yet we mock them for supposedly believing the Earth was flat, when in truth, it’s modern society that perpetuates that delusion. It’s modern classrooms that fail to teach the truth. It’s modern minds that echo lies without thinking.

The reality? The ancients weren’t the fools. We are.

Because while they sought wisdom, we settle for soundbites.
While they questioned the cosmos, we Google for convenience.
And while they looked to the heavens and marveled, we look at our phones and scroll.

History isn’t bunk. It’s warning. It’s mirror. It’s echo. And yes, it repeats itself. Civilizations rise and fall not because they lacked knowledge—but because they forgot how to respect it.

So maybe, just maybe, instead of rewriting the past to feel superior, we should start learning from it.

Before the next myth gets written—and we become the punchline.


Responses:

  1. “They didn’t live as long or have modern medicine!”
    Rebuttal:

    True. They didn’t live as long—but that’s a reflection of sanitation, antibiotics, and trauma care, not intellect. Longevity is not a measure of wisdom. A toddler today has access to penicillin; that doesn’t make them smarter than Hippocrates.
  2. “They believed in magic and gods. We have science now.”
    Rebuttal:

    We have science now because they started asking questions. Nearly every early scientist—Kepler, Galileo, Newton, Pascal—believed in God and the supernatural. The Enlightenment didn’t replace belief; it grew out of it. They believed there was order because they believed in an Orderer. Dismissing that as “magic thinking” is like calling an engine a rock because you don’t like the fuel.
  3. “But we have the internet!”
    Rebuttal:

    Yes. And most people use it for cat videos, conspiracy theories, and arguing with strangers about pineapple on pizza. Access to information is not the same as wisdom. Ancient scholars memorized entire texts—some rabbis memorized the entire Torah and commentary by the time they were teenagers. Modern students forget their passwords weekly. Who’s the genius again?
  4. “We went to the moon. They barely left their villages.”
    Rebuttal:

    You didn’t go to the moon. NASA did. Most modern people couldn’t explain how a toilet works, let alone a rocket. Ancient people navigated the open ocean using only the stars and the angle of a shadow. They built megaliths aligned to celestial bodies. They constructed cities without bulldozers or GPS. That’s not ignorance—that’s innovation under pressure.
  5. “They were violent and superstitious.”
    Rebuttal:

    And modern man isn’t? Genocides, world wars, nuclear stockpiles, eugenics, and ideological purges are a modern invention. Don’t confuse technological polish with moral advancement. If anything, modern man has more efficient ways to destroy himself.
  6. “We’re evolving. They were less evolved.”
    Rebuttal:

    That’s not how evolution works. Intelligence is not a guaranteed upward curve. In fact, the Flynn Effect (which showed rising IQs over the 20th century) has started reversing. People are getting dumber in measurable ways. And intelligence isn’t just data-processing—it’s logic, memory, moral reasoning, and creativity. By that measure, Socrates would eat most of us for breakfast.
  7. We’re more enlightened now.”
    Rebuttal:

    Really? We mutilate language, cancel people for disagreement, and call boys girls because feelings matter more than facts. Ancient people had flaws, but they knew what a man was, what a woman was, and how to form a coherent argument. Enlightenment isn’t light when it blinds you to reality.
    ok keep going. include Galilao, looking down on people for believing in deamons. Then finish calling out those who’s gut reaction is to laugh at ancient theists, forgetting Newton, and all the other great Christians and theists who set the foundation for science.
  8. 8. “Galileo proves religion was anti-science.”
    Rebuttal:
    Galileo proves no such thing. Yes, he was tried—by people who held to the scientific consensus of the day: geocentrism, inherited from Aristotle and Ptolemy. The Church didn’t oppose science—it opposed being mocked and politically embarrassed. Many clergy supported Galileo’s math. He remained a Christian to his dying breath. And let’s not forget—he wasn’t tortured or executed. He lived under house arrest in a villa and kept writing.
    If anything, Galileo proves that challenging mainstream thought—especially when it’s wrapped in institutional power—will get you in trouble. That happens in both religious and secular regimes. Ask the scientists today who get canceled for not toeing the cultural line.
    9. “They believed in demons. We’re past that.”
    Rebuttal:
    You’re not “past” anything—you just renamed the symptoms. Ancient people weren’t stupid; they knew the difference between a broken leg and a man babbling in another voice, speaking languages he never learned, or clawing at his own flesh without pain. Modern psychology calls these “episodes,” “disorders,” or “trauma responses.” That’s just semantics stapled to mystery.
    Isaac Newton believed in demons. So did Blaise Pascal. And again—Newton invented calculus in his spare time. So maybe we should be a little slower to sneer at men who accomplished more with candlelight than we’ve done with Google.
    And hey—for all our “progress,” we still haven’t explained consciousness, free will, or even why placebo works. So maybe, just maybe, we shouldn’t be so sure the ancients were wrong about everything spiritual.

Abortion: Woman Empowerment or Child Sacrifice

Human history is riddled with chapters of profound injustice—slavery, eugenics, ethnic cleansing—where groups of people were dehumanized through arbitrary distinctions like race, class, heritage, or ability. We look back on these atrocities with horror and vow, “Never again will we strip any group of their basic dignity and right to life.”

Yet today, in the modern era, we are repeating this same moral failure—this time with the unborn.

Abortion is often heralded as a milestone of women’s rights and a necessary step for freedom and equality. But beneath the polished rhetoric lies something far older and far darker: a rebranded version of child sacrifice.

At its core, abortion is the deliberate ending of a biologically human life—a fact not even disputed by many abortion-rights advocates. What remains fiercely debated is whether this act of ending a life can ever be morally justified.

This article contends that abortion is not only morally indefensible but that it mirrors the ancient, barbaric practice of sacrificing children—once done in the name of religion or survival, now dressed in the language of autonomy and progress.

Let’s examine the leading arguments—and why, when scrutinized, each one collapses under its own weight.


1️⃣ Development and Age: Arbitrary Standards of Worth

We’re told a fetus isn’t “developed enough” to count as fully human. But where does that logic end? Newborns are less developed than toddlers; toddlers less than teens. Yet we don’t assign human worth based on age or ability. Development changes how we function, not whether we are human. If humanity depends on development, anyone less advanced—due to age, disability, or illness—would have a weaker claim to life. History shows us how dangerous that thinking can be.


2️⃣ Geographical Location: Inches that Decide Humanity

It is astonishing how much hinges on location in the abortion debate. We are told that a fetus inside the womb has no human rights, yet mere inches away, once it exits the birth canal, it becomes a person fully protected by law.

But crossing from womb to air changes location, not essence. If we claim that geography determines human worth, we would have to accept that a child is unworthy of protection just seconds before birth but gains full rights the moment it emerges—a position no rational ethical system can sustain.

We reject this logic in every other aspect of human rights. We must reject it here as well.


3️⃣ Access to Resources and Heritage: A Dangerous Echo

Some argue that abortion is an act of mercy—preventing children from facing poverty, disability, or difficult circumstances. But this rationale eerily mirrors the thinking behind the eugenics movement, where human beings were killed, sterilized, or deemed “unfit” because they were seen as a burden on society.

No parent would be justified in ending the life of a born child because of poverty or anticipated hardship. Poverty and disability do not erase a person’s right to live—before or after birth. To suggest otherwise invites us back into a mindset we have rightly condemned: that some lives are less worth living.


4️⃣ Bodily Autonomy: A Misunderstood Argument

The argument from bodily autonomy is perhaps the most philosophically sophisticated defense of abortion. Judith Jarvis Thomson’s famous “violinist analogy” asks: if you were kidnapped and hooked up to a famous violinist to keep him alive, do you have the obligation to remain connected? The point is to argue that no one has the right to use another’s body without consent.

At first glance, this seems persuasive. But here’s the crucial flaw: pregnancy is not like being hooked up to a stranger. It is the natural result of reproduction, and more importantly, it involves a parent and child—a relationship that carries unique moral obligations.

We do not compel strangers to give up kidneys. But we do compel parents to provide basic care, shelter, and sustenance to their children, even when it’s difficult or inconvenient. No parent is allowed to abandon their newborn on the grounds of bodily autonomy. Likewise, pregnancy is not about extraordinary donation (like giving up a kidney); it is about providing the basic, natural support that every parent owes their dependent child.

If we acknowledge these obligations after birth, it is not unreasonable to recognize them before birth as well.


5️⃣ Personhood and Consciousness: Flawed Standards

Another argument is that unless the fetus has consciousness or self-awareness, it lacks personhood and moral worth. But if consciousness is the marker of who counts as human, what do we do with newborns? What about people in temporary comas, or those with severe cognitive disabilities? Should their lives be forfeited because they lack certain mental faculties?

Some ethicists, like Peter Singer, argue for this radical consistency—suggesting that infanticide and euthanasia are morally acceptable in such cases. But mainstream society overwhelmingly rejects this chilling logic.

That rejection reveals something critical: we intuitively understand that human worth is not based on current capacity but on membership in the human family. Consciousness fluctuates, but humanity does not.


6️⃣ Socioeconomic and Emotional Hardship: Tragic and Real but Rare

Pregnancy can bring deep hardship—financial, emotional, and even medical. But hardship, no matter how real, does not justify ending a human life. We don’t permit parents to kill born children because raising them is hard. Instead, we offer adoption, support programs, and counseling—responses that show true compassion by caring for both mother and child.

There are rare, tragic cases—such as when a pregnancy directly threatens the mother’s life. These fall into the moral category of self-defense. Modern medicine works to save both lives if possible, and direct conflicts are thankfully rare. But this is the only scenario where the moral waters become genuinely murky.


7️⃣ The Life of the Mother: The Sole Consistent Exception

The one morally consistent exception is when a pregnancy directly and unavoidably threatens the mother’s life. In these rare cases, medical intervention may be necessary under the principle of self-defense. Even then, modern medicine typically works to save both lives if at all possible. Direct conflicts are extremely rare, and medical advancements continue to make them even less frequent.


The Core Question: Is It Human life & What Is The Unborn?

Everything boils down to these two foundational issues

Science—not philosophy or religion—answers these questions plainly. From the moment of fertilization, a distinct human organism exists, carrying its own unique DNA. This zygote meets all the basic criteria for life: it grows, responds to stimuli, metabolizes, and develops continuously through every stage of human life—from embryo to fetus to infant, toddler, teen, and adult.

We don’t say, “That’s not a human; it’s just an infant.” Likewise, we should not pretend “fetus” means anything other than a human being at a particular stage of growth.

Let’s be honest: no one hosts a “fetus shower.” Expectant mothers don’t say, “I can’t wait to meet my fetus.” We instinctively know the truth—and we adjust our language only when we seek to distance ourselves from that truth.


The Numbers: The Hard Truth

Many cling to the belief that abortion is rare and justified mainly in extreme cases. But statistics tell a sobering story.

The Guttmacher Institute, a pro-choice research organization, reports:

  • ~1% of abortions are due to rape.
  • ~0.5% are due to incest.
  • 3–4% are because of serious risks to the mother’s life or health.

That leaves 95%+ of abortions performed for elective reasons: financial concerns, career or education goals, or simply not wanting a child at that time.

Since Roe v. Wade in 1973, more than 63 million abortions have been performed in the United States—more than the population of the United Kingdom. Each year, 600,000–900,000 abortions occur in the U.S., the vast majority involving healthy mothers and healthy babies. Worldwide, according to the World Health Organization, an estimated 73 million abortions happen annually, making up nearly 29% of all pregnancies.

This is not a rare procedure. It is widespread, routine—and overwhelmingly elective.


Open to Discussion About the 1%—But the Real Issue Is the 99%: Bodily Autonomy vs. Personal Responsibility

Even the most passionate pro-lifers are open to discussing the hard cases—the 1% involving rape, medical emergencies, and true tragedies. Those are heart-wrenching situations where compassion and care are paramount.

But let’s be honest: those rare cases aren’t what drive the abortion debate. What matters most—the elephant in the room—is the 99% of abortions that happen after consensual sex between healthy adults with healthy pregnancies.

Bodily autonomy matters—no question. But from the dawn of life itself, everyone has known one thing: sex makes babies. That’s biology 101, no matter how much we pretend otherwise. Birth control reduces risk but doesn’t erase it. When you choose to have sex, you are choosing to accept the possibility of creating life. And when that happens, it is staggering to suggest that the responsibility should shift to the child—a human being who, through no fault of their own, now exists.

We often hear, “Consenting to sex isn’t consenting to pregnancy.” But that’s like saying, “I didn’t mean to crash—I just chose to drive drunk.” Intent doesn’t erase responsibility. You may not have wanted the consequence, but you knowingly took the risk. And when human life is at stake, society rightly demands accountability.

That responsibility is simple and fundamental: if you create life, you owe that human being at least the most basic protection of all—life itself. Whether you raise the child or make an adoption plan, you fulfill your duty. Killing the child to escape the consequence doesn’t make you free; it makes an innocent person pay the ultimate price for your choices.

We’re ready—always—to discuss the tragic exceptions with compassion and seriousness. But let’s be clear-eyed: the real moral question is about the overwhelming majority of cases, where the choice was made, the risk was known, and a human life is now in the balance.

Are We Really Empowering Women?

True empowerment lifts people up without tearing others down. Abortion offers freedom at the cost of a child’s life. That’s not progress—that’s a tragic bargain. We’ve dressed it up with new language, but at its core, it echoes ancient patterns of sacrificing the innocent for personal benefit.


Do You Need to Be a Woman to Speak Out?

One common retort is, “You’re not a woman; you can’t have an opinion.” But moral truth is not limited by gender. I’m not Jewish, but I condemn the Holocaust. I’ve never been enslaved, but I denounce slavery. Injustice is injustice—no matter who points it out.


Conclusion: True Progress Respects All Human Life

Abortion is not ultimately about freedom—it’s about redefining who counts as human. History shows that whenever we let convenience, ability, or location decide who lives, we end up on the wrong side of justice.

We are often told abortion is a tragic necessity in cases where a mother’s life is at risk. But in truth, those rare situations don’t require us to kill—they require us to act to save. The baby must be delivered either way, and if the child tragically dies despite efforts to save both lives, that is heartbreak—not an abortion. Directly and intentionally killing the child, even in these cases, is not medicine. It’s a choice—and a needless one.

And in over 90% of cases, abortion isn’t even about tragedy—it’s about convenience, fear, or hardship. But difficulty does not justify death, especially in a world full of life-affirming alternatives.

True progress is not measured by expanding the list of those we are allowed to kill. It’s measured by affirming the dignity and worth of every human being—no matter how small, inconvenient, or dependent.

Until we do, abortion will remain a stark reminder of our deepest moral blind spots—one that future generations may well look back on with the same horror we now reserve for the injustices of the past.

The true measure of any society can be found in how it treats its most vulnerable members.” -Mahatma Gandhi


Side Note: Compassion Must Lead

This is not about downplaying the real pain and difficulty many women face. We need a society that provides real support—financial, emotional, and practical—so that no woman feels abortion is her only option. True compassion means caring for both mother and child, never sacrificing one for the other.


📞 Resources for Women Facing Unplanned Parenthood


Facing an unplanned pregnancy can feel overwhelming, but it’s important to know: you are not alone, and you are not without options. While abortion is often presented as the default choice, there are multiple alternatives that honor both your life and your child’s—and real support is available to help you through this.

Here’s an overview of what you can expect:

  • Parenting Support: Many organizations offer free medical care, baby supplies, financial aid, housing assistance, and parenting classes to help you prepare if you choose to raise your child.
  • Adoption Placement: If you’re unable or not ready to parent, adoption provides your child with a loving and stable future. Most hospitals work directly with adoption agencies that can arrange placement—sometimes even before you leave the hospital. Demand for newborn adoption is high, and your child will be welcomed into a prepared, waiting home.
  • Safe Haven Laws: Every U.S. state has safe haven laws that allow you to safely and legally surrender your newborn at a hospital or other designated location—no questions asked—ensuring immediate care and protection.

The resources listed below connect you with compassionate professionals ready to walk with you through every step of this journey. While availability of certain services (like housing or long-term financial aid) may vary by location, hotlines and referral services are always ready to help you find the best local support.

Real empowerment comes from knowing all your options—and having the help you need to choose life with confidence and hope.

24/7 Hotlines and Immediate Support

Availability of in-person services may vary by location, but these hotlines are staffed 24/7 to provide immediate guidance and connect you to local help.

  • Option Line (Heartbeat International)
    24/7 pregnancy helpline (call or text 1-800-712-4357) offering confidential guidance, local referrals, and support for parenting, adoption, and abortion alternatives.
  • PROLIFE Across AMERICA Hotline
    24-hour confidential counseling (1-800-366-7773) with referrals to local pregnancy centers, material aid, and adoption services.
  • Birthright International
    24/7 hotline (1-800-550-4900) offering non-judgmental support, pregnancy tests, prenatal referrals, and personal counseling at nearly 300 U.S. locations.
  • Pregnancy Decision Line (Care Net)
    Call 866-406-9327 for compassionate, confidential help discussing options and connecting to 1,200+ Care Net centers nationwide.

Material and Financial Assistance

While funding and resources depend on donations and local availability, these programs work quickly to provide essential aid like baby supplies, housing support, and financial assistance.

  • Local Pregnancy Resource Centers
    Free pregnancy tests, ultrasounds, baby supplies, parenting classes, and help with medical care, housing, and more (search via Option Line or Care Net).
  • Catholic Charities USA
    Material assistance (diapers, formula, baby gear), rent/housing support, prenatal care, and adoption services—available to anyone in need.
  • The Gabriel Project
    Local volunteers provide baby supplies, rides, mentoring, and emotional support. Find help at local churches or visit regional sites like gabrielnetwork.org.
  • Let Them Live
    Direct financial assistance for expectant mothers in crisis—covering rent, utilities, medical bills, and other essential needs.

Long-Term Support Programs

Space and availability may vary, but these programs offer ongoing support—like housing, job training, and parenting resources—to help mothers build stable, independent futures. Hotlines and local centers can help you navigate options and check availability in your area.

  • Good Counsel Homes
    Safe maternity homes offering housing, parenting classes, job training, daycare, and long-term support. Call 1-800-723-8331 for help.
  • Sisters of Life – Visitation Mission
    Personalized assistance with housing, employment, legal help, baby supplies, and counseling. Call 1-877-777-1277 or text 212-203-8716.
  • Embrace Grace
    12-week church-hosted support groups providing community, education, and practical help, including baby showers.
  • Bethany Christian Services
    Free counseling and support for parenting or adoption planning. Call 1-800-BETHANY (1-800-238-4269).
  • Her PLAN
    A national directory connecting women with housing, job training, financial aid, childcare, counseling, and more.
  • Standing With You (Students for Life)
    Find local pregnancy help near colleges and universities, plus toolkits for pregnant/parenting students.

Tap Race

This is Tap Race. A two person party game where each player must tap their assigned key quickly in order to move their character closer to the finish line. The first player to get their character across the finish line wins.

Controls:

  • Player One: Tap “L” to move
  • Player Two: Tap “Z” to move