ETHICAL ATROCITIES THAT PERMIT THE TAKING OF LIFE

This article is based on a Malayalam original by Fr. Dr. Michael Pulikkal CMI. It has been translated and adapted for clarity, style, and context; the wording is not a literal translation. The present version has been prepared solely for the use of my (non-Malayalee) students in the bioethics course.

The order of the Supreme Court of India dated April 24, 2026, is a recent example of how contemporary legal interpretations of motherhood and the right to life of the unborn are eroding the moral conscience of humanity. The observations made by the bench comprising Justice B.V. Nagaratna, while permitting the termination of the pregnancy of a 15-year-old survivor at 28 weeks (seven months), are not merely an emotional response to a particular case; they also set a precedent that may influence future legal frameworks.

The Court’s rejection of the humane and life affirming proposal of adoption, suggested by the Central Government, demands serious scrutiny. The Court clarified that the government’s argument, why a life should be terminated when mechanisms for adoption exist, cannot compel a woman to continue her pregnancy against her will. The use of the term “woman” in this context signals a broader legal trajectory, where motherhood may increasingly be treated as a purely personal choice, not only in the case of minors but for adults as well.

This judgment reflects a legal approach that prioritizes the physical autonomy of the woman while largely disregarding the rights of the unborn child. Such decisions suggest that humanity is paralyzed by the technicalities of the law. Choosing to end a life despite the real possibility of adoption raises serious ethical concerns.

When the Safety of Life in the Womb is Weakened

The amendments to the Medical Termination of Pregnancy (MTP) Act in 2021 have paved the way for such judgments. The original 20 - week limit under the 1971 Act was extended to 24 weeks. Since then, courts have frequently permitted termination even beyond this limit under exceptional circumstances.

The broad interpretation of “mental health” within the amended Act has made it easier to obtain permission for late - term abortions. However, in assessing such mental trauma, judicial reasoning often neglects the rights of the unborn child, as well as the possible psychological impact on the mother of terminating a life that is nearly fully developed.

A review of judicial decisions over the past five years reveals an increasingly lenient stance toward the right to life of the unborn. A landmark judgment in September 2022 extended the right to abortion up to 24 weeks to unmarried women, a provision previously limited to married women. While this was celebrated as a victory for individual freedom, it arguably weakened the protection afforded to life in the womb. The Catholic Church and prolife movements had already cautioned that such legal developments could lead to significant moral consequences.

“We Cannot Stop the Heartbeat of the Unborn”

In contrast, a judgment in October 2023 offered a more life affirming perspective. In a case involving a 26-week pregnancy, a three - judge bench of the Supreme Court observed that “we cannot stop the heartbeat of the baby” and ruled against termination after medical reports confirmed the viability of the fetus. However, the allowance of termination at 28 weeks in the present case highlights a troubling inconsistency in judicial reasoning. While some High Courts have recognized the identity and dignity of the unborn, often recommending adoption as a humane alternative, the Supreme Court has tended to prioritize individual liberty. This trend reinforces the concern that legal interpretations are increasingly guided by subjective considerations rather than consistent ethical and scientific principles.

The Right to Life: For the Born and the Unborn

The right to life guaranteed under Article 21 of the Constitution must extend not only to those already born but also to the unborn. The law cannot evade its responsibility to protect the most vulnerable. When courts dismiss meaningful possibilities such as adoption under the label of “forced motherhood,” the message it sends to the unborn child is terrifying. When the law implies that the interests of the mother outweigh the very existence of the child, it signals a dangerous shift in the foundations of justice. Adoption remains a noble and life-saving alternative; ignoring it reflects a collective moral failure.

Abortion is Murder!

The transformation of abortion from an exceptional measure into an asserted right has contributed to a moral desensitization within society. In the case of a 28-week-old fetus, one that is approaching viability, the ethical implications are profound. Sacrificing a life for the mistakes of adolescence cannot be justified in a civilized society. A society committed to justice must seek solutions that uphold both the dignity of the woman and the life of the unborn, rather than eliminating one in favour of the other. There is also a serious concern that such legal permissiveness may inadvertently protect perpetrators while further victimizing survivors. Justice cannot be served by silencing one life in response to another injustice.

Towards a Culture of Life

Many such cases arise from hidden pregnancies, often involving adolescents, shaped by fear, social stigma, and lack of guidance. By the time these situations come to light, the pregnancy has often advanced significantly. What such young individuals need is not the option to end life, but compassionate support, counselling, and protection. Society must develop structures that safeguard both the mother and the child, offering alternatives rooted in care, dignity, and responsibility. Addressing the deeper causes, lack of moral formation, distorted understandings of human relationships, and harmful influences mediated through digital culture, requires a coordinated effort among families, educational institutions, voluntary organizations, and the government.

The Church’s Stand on the Dignity of Life

The Church has consistently upheld the sanctity of life from the moment of conception. Life is a gift from God, and no human authority has the right to destroy it. Scientific understanding affirms that what exists in the womb is not merely a lump of flesh, but a distinct and developing human individual. The rhetoric of “my body, my choice” often overlooks this fundamental reality. The Church seeks to remind society that another life, independent and worthy of protection, exists within the mother, and that both the state and the legal system have a responsibility to defend it. Though often challenged by those who identify as progressive, the Church’s position remains grounded in its commitment to the most vulnerable. Its mission is to be a voice for those who cannot speak, the unborn.

The Law Must Protect Life

Even in a context where systems exist to support motherhood and adoption, it is morally untenable to justify the termination of an unborn child as a form of justice. The legal system must correct interpretations that deny the personhood of the unborn. The misuse of provisions within the MTP Amendment Act of 2021 must be addressed. When abortion is framed solely as a right, detached from ethical responsibility, society risks losing its moral foundation. The Constitution must remain a guardian of life. Laws should protect life, not facilitate its destruction.

ANTHEM FOR ST JOSEPH’S SCHOOL CHERUKATTOOR

In the warmth of love, we learn and grow,
Where faith and wisdom gently flow,
Like Joseph guiding with humble care,
We bloom as one, with light to share.

        (Chorus)
        Minds awakened, souls refined,
        To serve the world with heart and mind,
        St. Joseph’s light, forever bright,
        Shine, let shine, with all our might.

Deep in this field, we plant our dreams,
Nourished by love’s unending streams,
Tomorrow’s flowers we will be,
With vibrant colours for all to see.

        (Chorus)

In quiet strength and radiant hope,
We bring His light to every place,
With willing hearts and voices clear,
We share our lives, both far and near.

        (Chorus)

Hearts enlightened, spirits strong,
In unity we march along,
With joyful steps and charity,
We rise in grace and humility.

        (Chorus)

Reaching Mount Tzofim (The Road to Jerusalem - Story 7)

The road had been long, winding through valleys, fields and hills, through shade and heat, through silence and song. Now, as the caravan climbed the final stretch, the land began to rise steadily beneath their feet.

At last, they reached the height.

The path opened, and before them the land fell away. From that height, the city came into view.

Jerusalem.

Its walls stood firm and wide, rising from the earth with quiet strength. Beyond them, the Temple Mount could be seen, lifting the gaze upward. Pilgrims who had walked this road year after year slowed their steps, as if the journey itself paused at that sight.

Joseph stood still for a moment.

“This place,” he said softly, “is called Mount Tzofim, the lookout. From here, pilgrims first behold the holy city.”

Jesus looked out with wonder. The long journey had led to this moment. In the distance, the Temple stood, drawing every eye and every heart toward it.

“In a short while,” Joseph added, “we will reach its gates.”

Around them, the caravan paused for a while. Pilgrims began to prepare themselves, changing their garments and readying their hearts as they approached the holy city.

As they continued walking along the slope, something along the city walls caught Jesus’ attention.

The walls of the Temple were covered with small yellow flowers.

They clung to the stones, spreading across the surface like a living tapestry. The dry path they had traveled lay behind them, dusty, rough, and often bare. Yet here, upon the very walls of the city, these flowers shone brightly, like a golden covering in the light.

As they drew closer to the walls, a gentle sweetness lingered in the air, the faint fragrance of the flowers that clung to the stone.

Jesus slowed down, gazing at them.

“Appa… look,” he said softly, “the walls are covered with flowers. After all the dry places we passed, they are so bright… so beautiful.”

Joseph followed his gaze.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then he spoke gently, “These flowers grow close to the walls of the Temple… close to the place where we experience the presence of God and He is worshipped.”

Jesus continued to look at the golden spread across the stones.

“They are very charming,” he said.

Joseph nodded. “Yes, my son. There is a radiance that comes from being near to God. Even what seems dry can become full of life.”

They walked a few steps in silence.

Then Joseph added, “Those who remain close to God are like that. Even if the land around them seems dry, they will not wither. They will remain alive, and they will bear fruit all times.”

The city walls drew nearer. The flowers seemed even more radiant in the fading light.

Then Joseph began softly, his voice low and steady, reciting from the Book of Psalms:

“Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked
or stand in the way that sinners take  or sit in the company of mockers,
but whose delight is in the law of the Lord, and who meditates on his law day and night.

He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season

and whose leaf does not wither, whatever he does prospers.”

(Psalm 1:3)

As they walked, others in the caravan slowly joined in, their voices rising together. The song spread gently among the pilgrims, and soon it became a shared prayer as they moved toward the holy city. The words rested gently in the air.

Jesus walked quietly beside him, his eyes still drawn to the flowers.

After a while, he said, “Appa… they grow even on these stones....”

Joseph looked at him and smiled.

“Yes, my son.... Those who remain close to God, will bloom like this.”

The gates of the Temple were now close. The long journey had brought them to its end.

But something of the road remained within them, 

the valleys, the lessons, the quiet words spoken along the way.

And with hearts gathered in silence and expectation, they continued forward, 

toward the Temple of Jerusalem,

toward the presence of God.

Through the Fields of Gefanim (The Road to Jerusalem - Story 6)

As the caravan moved forward, the landscape slowly began to change. The rough and shadowed paths gave way to a valley filled with life. Green vines stretched across the land in neat rows, their branches heavy with clusters of ripe grapes. The air felt warmer, and a gentle sweetness lingered around them.

Travelers walking along the path began to reach out to the vines, plucking a few grapes as they passed. It was the season of harvest. In such fields, it was customary for wayfarers to eat and satisfy their hunger, though they were not allowed to carry anything away.

Joseph plucked a small cluster and handed it to Jesus.

Jesus tasted the grapes, and his face brightened. “Appa, it is very sweet.”

Joseph smiled. “Yes, my son. This is a blessed land.”

They walked a little further, and Joseph added, “People have come to call this place the Field of Gefanim, the field of vineyards. The Lord has given fruitfulness to this land.”

Jesus looked around, taking in the rows of vines, the workers moving among them, the baskets filled with harvested fruit.

As they continued, they came upon another vineyard. Here the harvest was already over. The ground was scattered with trimmed branches, and the workers were cutting away parts of the vine.

Jesus slowed down, watching them closely. His face grew thoughtful.

After a moment he asked, “Appa, why are they cutting those branches? These vines gave such sweet grapes… why are they removing them?”

Joseph paused and looked at the workers, then back at the child.

“It may seem strange,” he said gently, “but this is how the vine is cared for. The farmer removes some of the branches so that the vine may grow better.”

Jesus looked again at the cut branches lying on the ground.

“But they look good,” he said softly.

Joseph nodded. “Yes, they do. But if the vine keeps all its branches, it will not bear good fruit. Its strength will be scattered. When the farmer prunes it, the vine grows stronger and gives better fruit in its time.”

They walked slowly past the vineyard. The image remained before them, the cut branches, the careful hands of the workers, the quiet order of the field.

After a few steps, Jesus asked, “Appa… does it hurt the vine?”

Joseph was silent for a moment before answering.

“It may seem so, my son,” he said. “But the one who tends the vine knows what is needed. Nothing is taken away without a purpose.”

They continued along the path, the sweetness of the earlier grapes still lingering.

Then Joseph spoke again, his voice softer, as though remembering something deep within.

“Before you were born, I and your mother Mary also passed through many difficulties. There were moments of uncertainty, times when we did not understand what was happening. It was not easy.”

He did not say more.

“But now,” he continued quietly, “I see that God was preparing something greater than we could understand then.”

Jesus listened in silence.

Joseph placed his hand gently on his shoulder.

“In our lives too,” he said, “there are moments when something is taken away, or when we are led through quiet and difficult times. We may not understand them. But God, who cares for us, knows how to bring forth good fruit.”

“Sometimes, my son, there are things in us that must be let go, so that what is good may grow stronger,” Joseph added.  

The path opened slightly as they moved beyond the vineyard.

Then Joseph softly recited from the Book of Psalms:
“Return to us, O God Almighty; look down from heaven and see!
Watch over this vine, the root your right hand has planted.”
(Psalm 80:14–15)

The words lingered in the stillness.

Jesus walked beside him, thoughtful and quiet. After a while, he looked once more at the fields behind them, the fruitful vines, the cut branches, the patient hands of the workers.

Then he said softly, “Appa… the vine does not understand… but the one who tends it does.”

Joseph looked at him and nodded.

“Yes, my son.”

The fields slowly receded behind them, but its meaning remained, as they continued their journey toward Jerusalem.

Through the Pass of Rachamim (The Road to Jerusalem - Story 5)

The road to Jerusalem narrowed as the caravan moved forward, slowly leaving behind the open hills. Tall trees rose on either side, their branches spreading wide and thick, covering the path above. The light of the sun began to fade beneath the dense canopy, and the air grew cooler and still.

Joseph looked ahead with care. His steps became more alert, his eyes watchful.

After a while he turned slightly toward those walking near him and said in a firm but calm voice, “From here, the path becomes narrow and dark. It is a forest. People call this place the Pass of Choshek, the place of darkness.”

Jesus listened, holding Joseph’s hand.

“We must walk quickly,” Joseph continued. “Do not stop along the way. Stay close together. There are wild animals in these parts… and sometimes men who hide in the shadows to harm travelers.”

There was a quiet seriousness in his tone, especially as he glanced toward Mary and then at Jesus. His grip tightened slightly around the child’s hand.

The caravan moved faster now.

The forest deepened. The sounds of the outside world faded, replaced by the rustling of leaves, the distant cry of unseen creatures, and the steady rhythm of hurried footsteps. Shadows stretched across the path, and the light grew dim.

At times, Jesus slowed down, looking around at the unfamiliar darkness, his eyes drawn to the shapes and movements within the forest. The long journey had begun to tire him.

But each time, Joseph gently but firmly guided him forward, never letting go of his hand.

They had reached nearly halfway through the forest when a faint sound broke through the silence. It was a cry. Soft… weak… almost lost in the wind.

Jesus stopped slightly and turned his head. “Appa… it seems someone is crying.”

Joseph heard it too, but he did not stop. His face remained steady, though his eyes grew more alert. “Keep walking, my son,” he said quietly.

The caravan continued. But the cry came again, this time clearer, though still feeble.

“Appa… there is someone,” Jesus said once more.

Joseph hesitated. His steps slowed, but he did not yet turn. A shadow of concern passed across his face. In such places, cries could be traps. Thieves sometimes used deception to stop travelers. He looked ahead… then to the sides… weighing the risk. Again the cry came, faint, but filled with pain. This time Joseph could not ignore it. He stopped.

Some of the travelers looked at him with surprise. He himself had urged them not to slow down.

Gently, he placed Jesus’ hand into Mary’s hand. “Stay here,” he said softly.

Then, with careful steps, he moved toward the side from where the cry was coming. The ground sloped downward into a shallow hollow. Joseph descended cautiously, his eyes scanning the surroundings. There, lying among the stones, was a man. He was wounded, his clothes torn, his body weak. Nearby lay a donkey, dead, partly eaten by wild animals. It was clear what had happened.

Joseph knelt beside the man and held his hand. The man spoke faintly. He had been traveling with a caravan. They were attacked. In fear, the others had fled, leaving him behind. He could not walk.

By now, a few from the group had come closer, though many remained on the path.

“Joseph,” a voice called from the path, “it is dangerous. We must move on.”

Another traveler leaned in, whispering harshly, “He is a Gentile. He is not of our people.”

Joseph’s hands, already stained with the man’s blood, stilled. The word Gentile hung in the damp air, a centuries-old boundary between “us” and “them.” For a fleeting second, the weight of his own safety and the laws of his youth pulled at him. Joseph looked back at the wounded man, not a stranger, but a fellow creature gasping for breath. The flicker of doubt died. 

He looked up at Jesus, who stood watching with a gaze that saw no difference between people, only a soul in pain.

He met Mary’s eyes; she gave a single, firm nod. That was enough. The boundary was crossed.

He gave the man water. With care, he cleaned and bound his wounds as best as he could. He remained there, waiting, though the danger of the place had not passed. Some travelers left, unwilling to stay longer. A few others remained.

Joseph stayed by the man’s side, but his heart raced with every sound. The minutes felt like hours.

Time passed slowly. The shadows deepened, and the forest grew more silent, yet more threatening. Those who remained began to look around with unease, aware that every moment of delay carried its own danger.

While they stood in anxious silence, it was as if God had sent a ray of hope; a distant caravan slowly came into view, moving in the direction the wounded man had been heading.

Joseph approached them and explained the situation. They agreed to take him with them and care for him.

With quiet gratitude, Joseph said to them, “You are very kind. I have nothing to give you… but you will always have a friend. If you ever pass through Nazareth, do not forget to visit us.”

When the man was finally lifted and taken away, Joseph stood still for a moment, his heart at peace. Then he returned to Mary and Jesus. The journey resumed.

After some time, Jesus looked up and asked, “Appa, why were the others not ready to help him?”

Joseph walked in silence for a few steps before answering. 

“They were afraid, yes,” Joseph continued, “But more than that, their hearts were closed. Where there is no love in the heart, fear takes up all the room.”

He paused, then continued, “But a true human being is one whose heart is open, ready to serve others, even at the cost of life.”

Jesus asked, “Appa, I heard someone say he is a Gentile… what does it mean?”

Joseph said quietly, “People divide themselves by land, by customs, and by beliefs. They forget that before God, all are His children.”

Jesus listened intently. “How does that happen, Appa?” he asked.

Joseph looked ahead, his voice calm but firm. “Our greed, our desire for power, our pride, these create divisions. They lead to hatred, to conflict, to seeing others as strangers or enemies. But in truth, we are all brethren.”

Then he softly recited from the Book of Psalms:

“Behold, how good and how pleasant it is

for brethren to dwell together in unity!”

(Psalm 133:1)

They walked on. The forest was still dark, but something within the moment had changed.

After a while, Jesus spoke again, his voice quiet but clear. “Appa… till now this was called the Pass of Choshek, the place of darkness…”

Joseph looked at him.

“…but now,” Jesus continued, “it should be called the Pass of Rachamim, the Pass of compassion; because you have shown us a model of compassion.”

Joseph gazed at the child. There was a quiet firmness in his face, a depth beyond his years. For a moment, Joseph said nothing.

Then he nodded gently. “Yes, my son.”

The path ahead was still shadowed, and the forest had not yet ended. Joseph looked toward the fading light beyond the trees. “Come,” he said softly. “We must walk quickly. We have to cross this forest before sunset.”

Holding Jesus close, with Mary beside them, they moved forward with renewed strength, continuing their journey toward Jerusalem.