The greatest destroyer of peace is abortion because if a mother

“The greatest destroyer of peace is abortion because if a mother can kill her own child, what is left for me to kill you and you to kill me? There is nothing between.” These words of Mother Teresa pierce the heart with their simplicity and weight. She, who walked among the poorest of the poor, saw not only hunger of the body but hunger of the spirit, and from her lips came a truth as sharp as a double-edged sword. For she declared that the deepest roots of violence are not found in the clash of armies, but in the quiet unraveling of love at its most sacred bond—the bond of mother and child.

The ancients would have understood this with trembling reverence. For in every civilization, the bond between parent and offspring was deemed holy, the fountain of life upon which the survival of the people depended. To sever that bond is to strike at the heart of trust, to poison the very soil from which peace grows. If the sanctuary of the womb—life’s first dwelling—is not safe, then how can any dwelling, any city, or any nation be secure? Mother Teresa’s words are not mere rebuke, but a cry: when the most vulnerable are unprotected, society itself is built upon sand.

Consider the story of Sparta and Athens. The Spartans, who often cast aside the weak, built a city of warriors, fierce but merciless. In contrast, Athens, though imperfect, nurtured life more broadly and became the birthplace of philosophy, democracy, and art. History itself bears witness: a culture that reveres life creates foundations for peace, while one that discards it sows only conflict. Mother Teresa reminds us that this truth is not buried in the past but lives in the choices of our own age.

Her words also echo the teaching of Christ: “Whatever you do to the least of these, you do to me.” The unborn child, defenseless and unseen, is the very image of “the least.” To harm them, she argued, is to open the door to all forms of harm. If a mother may reject her own child, then the wall that restrains violence between brother and brother, neighbor and neighbor, begins to crumble. Without that sacred reverence for life at its smallest and most fragile, peace becomes a hollow word.

Yet her cry was not one of condemnation, but of compassion. She did not stand above the brokenhearted but knelt beside them. To the women who felt alone, frightened, or abandoned, she offered not judgment but love, adoption, shelter, and care. In this she showed the true way of peace: not merely to forbid death, but to create a culture where life is welcomed, protected, and supported. Her challenge to the world was not only against abortion itself, but against the indifference and selfishness that leave mothers to face such choices alone.

The lesson for us, then, is this: peace begins not in treaties between nations, but in the daily reverence for life itself. If we wish to end war, we must first end the violence that begins in hidden places. If we wish to heal the wounds of our societies, we must protect the smallest among us, for they are the roots of our future. Without this, all proclamations of peace are illusions.

Practical wisdom flows: cherish life in all its forms. Support mothers, uplift families, protect the weak, and show compassion to those in despair. Choose words and deeds that build, not destroy; that heal, not wound. Do not let selfishness close your heart, but let love overflow into action, so that none may be left alone in their time of need.

So let the words of Mother Teresa resound as both warning and invitation: “The greatest destroyer of peace is abortion.” If we wish for peace, we must defend life; if we long for a world without war, we must guard love at its first cradle. For only when life is sacred in its smallest form will it be sacred in its largest, and only then will peace endure upon the earth.