Since the Supreme Court’s Dobbs decision overturned Roe v. Wade in June 2022, the hope we had placed in the ruling has not been realized. Statistics show that in 2023 the number of abortions had actually increased by 11 percent since 2020. Also, the use of abortion pills is increasing, often replacing clinical procedures. Drug-induced abortions now account for about two-thirds of all abortions. We can be confident many of those DIY at-home abortions are not recorded in the statistics.
In other news, I have shared research before showing that pro-life efforts in twenty-three states to enshrine laws requiring physicians to provide accurate, balanced, and up-to-date information after a prenatal Down syndrome diagnosis have failed. Not only are these laws seemingly ignored, families report a lack of compassion in the way such diagnoses are delivered and that medical professionals are increasingly encouraging abortion after a prenatal screen reveals a fetal anomaly.
As the saying goes, insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results. While the pro-life movement has achieved victories by focusing on abortion—and Dobbs was a huge victory—the persistent and formidable influence of our pro-abortion culture has been confirmed. It’s time to look for new ways to promote a culture of life in the United States. We must expand the lens of what it means to be pro-life beyond our isolated opposition to abortion and assisted death and approach the problem within the broader context of integral human development.
I suggest we till the soil of a culture that supports life throughout the span of life, one in which the decision to abort becomes a rare and regrettable last alternative. After Dobbs, abortion and assisted death are winning in almost all states where they’re brought to a vote. What is left to us is to build a culture that values life and works to support women and families who are vulnerable to abortion. We do that by removing the vulnerability—by supporting all human lives between the defining points of conception and natural death.
Almost fifty years ago, in their prophetic 1978 Pastoral Statement on Persons With Disabilities, the US bishops encouraged us to expand our understanding of what it means to be pro-life. They wrote that
defense of the right to life . . . implies the defense of other rights which enable the individual with a disability to achieve the fullest measure of personal development of which he or she is capable. These include the right to equal opportunity in education, in employment, in housing, as well as the right to free access to public accommodations, facilities and services.
The bishops were writing in the context of disability and the Church, but disability is a good place to start a conversation about cultural change. Abortion after prenatal diagnosis is called “selective abortion.” Selective because abortion is used to eliminate a human person whose genetic traits, or even sex, parents find unacceptable. Another name for selective abortion is eugenic abortion. For a nation that has managed to retain even a vestige of conscience, overcoming eugenic practices should be an imperative.
Imagine a world where concern for the integral development of all people was heartily embraced and became the rallying cry of the pro-life movement.
Those “other rights” the bishops list as important to include in our pro-life advocacy are rights necessary for all human persons to thrive. Most of us take our affluence for granted, but the elements the bishops list contribute to our integral human development. Pope Paul VI introduced this concept in section 14 of his 1967 social encyclical, Populorum Progressio. Without using the term explicitly, he wrote,
the development We speak of here cannot be restricted to economic growth alone. To be authentic, it must be well rounded; it must foster the development of each man and of the whole man. As an eminent specialist on this question has rightly said: “We cannot allow economics to be separated from human realities, nor development from the civilization in which it takes place. What counts for us is man—each individual man, each human group, and humanity as a whole.”
Pope St. John Paul II used the phrase “integral human development” in his 1987 encyclical Sollicitudo Rei Socialis (32), Benedict XVI used it twenty-two times in Caritas in Veritate, and Pope Francis used it seven times in his 2020 encyclical, Fratelli Tutti. Each pope since Pope St. Paul VI, with the exception of the brief reign of John Paul I, has reinforced the importance of countering human exploitation brought on by poverty, unbridled capitalism, and Marxism by focusing on the universal and basic needs of the human person—those things that stabilize society and allow for individual growth not only materially but also in faith and holiness.
So, what happens when these basic human needs are not met—our need for employment, economic security, housing, healthcare, and education? We feel threatened and hopeless—especially women living precariously and facing pregnancy. Further, our social and existential dignity are compromised. The consequence in a culture that provides death as a remedy is that people become vulnerable and make regrettable decisions to accept the offer of abortion, euthanasia, or physician-assisted suicide.
Most Christians accept that human dignity is inherent in the gift of our creation in God’s image and our redemption in Christ. Some, however, may push back against what I have just written—that human dignity can be compromised by adverse circumstances.
The declaration Dignitas Infinita, promulgated in 2024 by the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith, renamed what we have always called “inherent” human dignity to “ontological” dignity. The dicastery also expanded our concept of what we have traditionally called “attributed” human dignity to include more specific categorical terms: moral, social, and existential dignity. Just as we can compromise our dignity as human persons (what Dignitas Infinita calls moral dignity) by grave sin, our dignity can also be compromised by circumstances. Consider those who live in extreme poverty and those who suffer unemployment or disability. Think also of so many who are in an existential crisis—those who have lost hope because of mental illness, loneliness, addiction, chronic depression, or extreme and crippling anxiety. When lives run out of control, others need to help them regain control. The parable of the Good Samaritan is apropos here (Luke 10:25–37). Christ gave us an example to follow. We have an opportunity to assist those in crisis out of these circumstances and restore their dignity.
Catholic social teaching responds to the loss of social and existential dignity by answering the question that is ever ancient yet ever new: “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Catholic social teaching and the USCCB statement quoted above both say yes! We are all responsible for one another. Benedict XVI taught us that “openness to God makes us open towards our brothers and sisters and toward an understanding of life as a joyful task to be accomplished in a spirit of solidarity” (Caritas in Veritate 78). Solidarity binds us as Christians to actively work for the integral human development of all our brothers and sisters, regardless of our national, racial, ethnic, economic, or ideological differences, or disability status. Remember Jesus’ words: “Just as you did it to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me” (Matt 25:40).
Imagine a world where concern for the integral development of all people was heartily embraced and became the rallying cry of the pro-life movement. We must certainly continue our opposition to abortion and assisted death, but we must add our generous support for the weak and vulnerable—for the social and existential dignity of all people. Maybe, just maybe, we could change the world. It has happened before, when Christianity was brand new and the early followers of Christ were ablaze with love and zeal to follow him regardless of the personal cost.
Catholic social teaching tells us that “solidarity is . . . not a ‘feeling of vague compassion or shallow distress at the misfortunes of so many people, both near and far. On the contrary, it is a firm and persevering determination to commit oneself to the common good; that is to say, to the good of all and of each individual, because we are all really responsible for all’” (Compendium 193, quoting Sollicitudo Rei Socialis 38).
Yes, we are our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers.