I have great sympathy for people that are infertile, but a life

Hear now the words of Mary Beth Whitehead, whose life was enmeshed in a storm of law, morality, and the aching desire of humanity to bring forth children into the world. She declared: “I have great sympathy for people that are infertile, but a life is not something you can give away.” These words arise from her own trial, for she was the central figure in the famous “Baby M” case of the 1980s, where the ancient questions of blood, love, and ownership collided with the new powers of science. In her words is the voice of a mother torn between compassion and the unyielding truth that life, once brought forth, cannot be bartered as property.

When she speaks of sympathy, it is real and profound. Whitehead did not dismiss the suffering of those who cannot bear children. She felt the depth of their yearning, as countless generations have known the sorrow of empty cradles. In her compassion, she offered her own body as a vessel of hope. Yet when the child was born, the truth of her own bond with that life came upon her like a storm. Her words remind us that compassion has limits when it encounters the sacred mystery of birth, for a life cannot be treated as one treats a gift of coin, nor as an object to be surrendered.

History itself echoes this truth. Recall the judgment of King Solomon, when two women claimed to be the mother of a single child. The king, in his wisdom, called for a sword to divide the infant, but the true mother cried out to spare the child, even if it meant losing him to another. For the bond of life is greater than any contract, greater than any arrangement devised by men. Whitehead’s cry—that a life cannot be given away—flows from this same well of truth: life belongs to itself, and the love that binds it cannot be severed by the hand of law alone.

Her statement also bears a tone of warning. The world of modern science, with its ability to intervene in matters once governed only by fate, tempts us to treat life as commodity. But Whitehead reminds us that though our tools may advance, the essence of life remains eternal and untouchable. A child is not a possession; it is not a gift that one can hand over and walk away from. To believe otherwise is to deny the sacred tie that joins flesh, spirit, and love in the mystery of birth.

There is also sorrow in her words, for she acknowledges the plight of the infertile with honesty. She does not condemn, nor does she mock their pain. Instead, she carries the burden of empathy. But empathy does not erase reality. Her own heart discovered that though sympathy may guide us to sacrifice, it cannot compel us to sever the most profound bond a human being may ever know: the bond to the life we have carried.

From this, beloved listener, arises a great lesson. In your dealings with others, let your sympathy be deep and true, but do not forget the natural limits written into the fabric of existence. Not all things can be traded, not all gifts can be given. Some bonds, like those of blood, of family, of life itself, are inviolable. To imagine otherwise is to build upon sand, and the waves will surely sweep it away.

Therefore, in your own life, hold sacred the things that cannot be surrendered. Respect the yearning of others, but know that compassion must be guided by truth. Let no law, no bargain, no persuasion compel you to give away what is beyond price. Guard the sanctity of life, the sanctity of bonds born in love, for these are the treasures that sustain the world.

Thus, in Mary Beth Whitehead’s struggle, and in her words, we glimpse the eternal truth: that while sympathy moves the heart, and science stretches the reach of human hands, the essence of life is beyond ownership. It is a mystery that cannot be given away, only honored, cherished, and protected.