The materialist view of the body sees it as just another asset owned by the individual, which entitles its owner to destroy it—to end their life with the help of a medical community that is supposed to save lives—under what is called euthanasia. It also entitles the individual to donate an organ, to change their gender surgically or hormonally whenever they wish, and to terminate what is in their womb as long as it has not yet been born. It is the same material view that sees possessions as something one can do with as they please.
This perspective contrasts sharply with the Islamic view of the human being, who is seen as a trustee on Earth, entrusted with what God has granted them—whether body or wealth. Here, moral and spiritual considerations rooted in sacred values override material concerns. A person has no right to end their own life or someone else’s except in self-defense or to protect an innocent life. One is not even entirely free to dispose of their wealth as they wish. So much so, that if someone squanders their money, they may be legally restricted from using it, and there is a divine right within it to the eight categories of zakat recipients, which the ruler may extract by force if the individual neglects to pay.
For example, according to Chapter 7 of the Organ Donation Act (Deemed Consent) of 2019 in the United Kingdom, the organ donation system is currently based on what is known as deemed consent. This means that any adult is presumed to have consented to donate their organs after death unless they have explicitly registered an objection or fall within an exempted group. This policy applies in England, Wales, Scotland, and Northern Ireland.
Despite the principle of presumed consent, families are always consulted before proceeding with organ donation, and in some cases, the donation may be cancelled if the family strongly objects—even if the deceased had registered consent. Importantly, organ donation in the UK is strictly prohibited for sale or commercial purposes. Religious guidance is provided in accordance with the donor’s background, including Islamic perspectives on donation, though it is not legally or religiously mandatory.
The most extreme expression of Darwinian materialist philosophy was championed by the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche in the late 19th century. It allows for killing the “other” simply because they are weaker—exactly as the Nazis did, categorizing humans under a supposedly scientific rationale into a superior race and a lower one unworthy of life.
Dr. Abdelwahab Elmessiri, in his article Nietzsche: The Greatest Philosopher of Secularism published in the first issue of Philosophical Papers, argues that Nietzsche’s philosophy—with its glorification of power and rejection of shared values—planted the intellectual seeds for the poisonous tree of Nazism. Concepts like eugenics, euthanasia, the right to power, and contempt for the weak were not merely political slogans but direct applications of Nietzsche’s call for a re-evaluation of values.
Elmessiri adds that a famous Nazi film about Hitler in the 1940s bore a Nietzschean title par excellence: Triumph of the Will. This “will” infiltrated politics, producing a state that saw itself as judge over who deserves to live and who should be erased from existence.
In his deep critique, Elmessiri goes beyond pointing out the similarity between Nietzsche’s thought and Nazi policies; he rings the alarm against any ideology that sidelines the human being and reduces them to a variable in the equation of power. The real danger, he asserts, lies not only in tyranny itself but in the philosophy that justifies it and cloaks it in majestic intellectual garb.
Thus, the “superior state” imagined by Nietzsche—as seen by Elmessiri—becomes a terrifying embodiment of the loss of human standards and a stark reminder that when philosophy detaches from ethics, it can be more dangerous than a weapon.
On the Indonesian website Amalia, dedicated to Muslim women, five women shared their personal experiences with abortion, revealing the complexity and coercion surrounding such decisions. Their stories paint abortion not as an easy choice, but as a path women are often pushed toward—out of fear, coercion, or profound loneliness.
One woman was threatened by a husband who denied paternity and manipulated her emotionally. Another couldn’t bear the burden of single motherhood amid her partner’s neglect. A third, trapped in an unstable relationship, found herself cornered by a society that offered neither forgiveness nor support.
Each story carries pain unseen by law and unacknowledged by society.
Though their situations differed, some women who once opposed abortion found themselves forced to consider it as an escape—from an unfaithful husband, or from a relationship outside of marriage that endangered their future.
Some sought religious counsel and prayed for guidance before proceeding, driven by a fear for their own survival that outweighed maternal longing. All agreed that social stigma was harsher than the medical procedure itself, and that a woman’s body in their societies remains a battleground between conflicting fatwas and silent laws—yet she alone bears the cost.
Indonesia is not far removed from the Arab world. When examining regional abortion laws, most Arab countries criminalize the act under various conditions and only allow it in narrowly defined circumstances. Still, some women are demanding greater legislative flexibility and room for choice.
The Euro-Mediterranean Women’s Initiative compiled a database of abortion laws across the Arab world. In nearly all the countries surveyed, abortion remains banned or heavily restricted—except in Tunisia, which stands out for permitting abortion during the first trimester, and extending this allowance if the woman’s physical or psychological health is at risk, or if the fetus has serious deformities.
In Algeria, abortion is permitted only in three cases: severe physical or psychological risk to the woman, or when the fetus is deemed non-viable. Interestingly, the law does not clearly define what constitutes a psychological disorder, though it is often interpreted in the context of rape.
By contrast, countries like Egypt, Lebanon, Morocco, Jordan, and Palestine maintain strict criminalization of abortion, with some narrow exceptions. In Jordan, Article 12 of the Public Health Law allows abortion only if the mother’s life is in danger.
In Morocco, Article 453 of the 2019 Penal Code stipulates that abortion is not punishable if necessary to protect the mother’s health, provided it is performed openly by a physician with the husband’s consent. If the physician deems the woman’s life in danger, the husband’s consent may be waived, though a notification must be sent to the chief regional medical officer.
The same article states that if the husband is absent or refuses to give consent, or is otherwise unable to do so, the physician may not proceed with the abortion unless a written declaration from the chief regional physician affirms that the mother’s health can only be preserved by such intervention.
Furthermore, Article 554 punishes any woman who intentionally aborts, attempts to do so, or consents to being aborted, with imprisonment from six months to two years and a fine between 200 and 500 dirhams.
From the feminist perspective expressed on platforms like Amalia, women are believed to have full autonomy over their bodies, and governments should not restrict them with legal, moral, or social constraints.
Faced with dangerous and humiliating options to end unwanted pregnancies, feminists argue that Arab laws claim to guarantee sexual and reproductive rights, but in practice, the right to abortion is treated as an exceptional emergency—when it should be recognized as a core human right.
In a televised debate on the Moroccan program Azmat Hiwar (Crisis of Dialogue) aired on Medi1 TV, Professor Chafik Chraïbi, president of the Moroccan Association for Combating Clandestine Abortion, and Dr. Khalid Fathi, a legal scholar and specialist in obstetrics and gynecology, presented divergent perspectives on the issue of abortion.
Both participants agreed on the necessity of legislating abortion in four specific cases, already approved by a royal commission: pregnancy resulting from rape, incest, severe fetal malformation, or when the mother suffers from a serious physical or mental illness.
However, the disagreement arose when Professor Chraïbi questioned the exclusion of other equally tragic circumstances, such as extreme poverty, forced motherhood, pregnancy in minors, or even conception despite contraceptive use.
He argued that abortion is not murder but can sometimes be a means of saving a woman’s life—physically, psychologically, or socially. He cited field data collected by graduate students indicating that clandestine abortions occur daily in Morocco, making it a reality that cannot be ignored. He added that class disparity makes safe abortion accessible to the wealthy but deadly for the poor, who often resort to life-threatening traditional practices.
On the other hand, Dr. Khalid Fathi adopted a more cautious approach rooted in the right to life. He viewed the fetus as a distinct being whose fate should not be decided solely by a woman’s bodily autonomy. He warned that the legalization of abortion in Europe did not solve societal problems but led instead to demographic aging and the erosion of family values.
Dr. Fathi also rejected the expansion of the term “social health” to include reasons such as poverty, fear of divorce, or psychological distress. He cautioned that such an approach opens the door to abortion on arbitrary grounds and turns it into a way of avoiding responsibility.
He emphasised that the physician remains the final advocate for the unborn child and can, through dialogue with the mother, persuade her to keep the pregnancy—something he had successfully done in multiple cases.
Both participants presented vital arguments. Professor Chraïbi highlighted a painful reality that cannot be buried under the weight of legislation alone, while Dr. Fathi defended a moral framework he considers essential for the long-term stability of society.
Islamic jurisprudence appears to be clearer on the issue, having granted broader allowances for abortion than many modern legal systems. According to a fatwa published on the IslamWeb site, the four major schools of Islamic law unanimously prohibit abortion after the soul is believed to have been breathed into the fetus—that is, after 120 days of pregnancy.
At this stage, the fetus is regarded as a fully human soul, sacred and inviolable. Aborting it is considered a criminal act requiring both expiation and blood money (diyya), except in cases where the pregnancy poses a threat to the mother’s life. In such cases, scholars agree that the life of the living mother takes precedence over the incomplete life of the fetus—this is a matter of consensus without dispute.
Before the soul is breathed into the fetus, however, the schools diverge in their views. The Maliki school is the strictest, prohibiting abortion unconditionally from the moment the sperm settles in the womb. They consider any termination—even at the earliest stage—to be a punishable offense requiring blood money, as they hold that the embryo is sacred from its inception, and may only be aborted in cases of absolute necessity.
The Hanafi school shows relative leniency. Some jurists within this school permit abortion before 40 days of gestation, provided no physical formation has begun. They base this on the idea that the embryo at this stage is far from having human features. However, the dominant opinion still requires a valid reason for abortion, such as serious psychological or physical harm to the mother, or if she is unable to breastfeed and the father cannot afford a wet nurse.
The Shafi‘i school adopts a middle position. Some scholars allow abortion before ensoulment if there is a compelling reason, particularly in cases of illegitimate pregnancy or severe harm. Others, however, view abortion as reprehensible or even forbidden, especially as the fetus approaches the stage of formation, seeing it as an infringement on a life nearing realization.
The Hanbali school permits abortion during the “nutfah” phase—before the embryo transforms into a “clinging clot” (‘alaqah)—but they become stricter once formation begins, even before ensoulment. This indicates that the more the fetus develops, the greater its sanctity becomes in their view.
Thus, Islamic jurists unanimously protect the fetus after ensoulment, while differing in their views on abortion prior to that based on the stage of development and the woman’s circumstances. This diversity in opinion does not reflect contradiction but rather the flexibility of Islamic law in accommodating human conditions and balancing the sanctity of life with real-world complexities.
This legal inconsistency across the Arab world has helped open a market for abortion services in countries like Turkey, which cater to those seeking solutions they cannot find in their home countries. Turkey welcomes them by offering clinics and hospitals equipped with the latest technology, all under the umbrella of what is known as medical tourism—a highly profitable business, without a doubt.
Turkey’s regulations are more permissive. Abortion is governed by the Family Planning Law No. 2827 of 1983, which remains the country’s primary legislative reference on reproductive health and is commonly referred to as the Population Regulation Law.
This law was enacted as part of a broader national policy aimed at population control and family planning, thus rendering abortion a legal matter subject to clear conditions, particularly regarding timing, procedures, and required consents.
Article 5 of the law stipulates that abortion is legally permitted up to the end of the 10th week of pregnancy, solely based on the woman’s request, provided there are no medical contraindications. If the pregnancy surpasses this time limit, abortion is allowed only in specific cases—such as when the pregnancy endangers the mother’s life or if the fetus is confirmed to have severe deformities. In such situations, a medical report from a qualified physician is mandatory.
Article 6 outlines the consent requirements. The procedure must have the woman’s consent. If the woman is a minor or lacks legal mental capacity, consent must be obtained from her legal guardian or custodian, and in certain cases, court approval may also be necessary. If the woman is married, her husband’s consent is also required, except in emergencies where the woman’s life is at risk and timely consent cannot be secured.
In terms of implementation, the law mandates that all abortion procedures be performed in officially licensed medical facilities and under qualified medical supervision, following strict guidelines. Physicians must provide a medical report justifying the procedure and notify the relevant health authorities within 24 hours of its execution.
For those unable to afford the cost of travel and medical care for abortion, many turn to the black market to purchase medications that might succeed with low probability—but often endanger both the fetus and the mother.
Using such medications without certified medical supervision exposes women to serious health risks. These include the possibility of severe bleeding, intense pain, infections, and in some cases, complications that may lead to death or infertility.
According to the World Health Organization (WHO), a large number of women who undergo abortions without qualified medical oversight experience complications such as continuous bleeding and the need for surgical intervention due to incomplete abortion. Incomplete abortions can result in retained tissue in the uterus, leading to long-term health problems. Medical reports have even documented rare cases of pregnancies continuing after the use of abortion pills, increasing the risk of severe birth defects.
In certain situations, such as lack of access to urgent medical care, a woman’s condition can deteriorate rapidly—especially in cases involving sepsis, low blood pressure, or pulmonary embolism. WHO warns that unsafe abortions are responsible for more than 22,000 deaths annually, in addition to millions of lasting injuries.
The danger doesn’t lie in the medication itself, but rather in the absence of medical evaluation before use and lack of follow-up afterward. Therefore, abortion without medical supervision is a health gamble that endangers a woman’s life and exposes her to complications that could easily be avoided under proper medical care.
Abortion cannot be reduced to a medical procedure, nor can it be definitively resolved by a fatwa or a legal article. It is a crossroads where a woman’s will intersects with societal norms, where conscience clashes with authority, and where the body trembles with burdens too heavy to bear. In this sensitive issue, freedom collides with the sacred, reason contends with emotion, and everyone claims to speak on behalf of life.
Islamic jurisprudence has laid out precise boundaries rooted in reverence for the soul—even before it is breathed into the fetus—but it also leaves space for necessity, circumstance, and mercy. However, states differ in how they engage with these religious opinions. Some grant women the right to choose within certain timeframes, others limit the decision to a list of exceptions, while still others retreat into fearful silence. Each approach reflects an implicit view of the body: is it a trust or private property? Is it governed by conscience or by custom?
In contemporary experiences, abortion emerges as a complex reflection of tension between the individual and the state, between values and change, between personal pain and collective narrative. Women who have undergone the experience often find themselves isolated—from the law, from religious guidance, and even from their families. No one lives the anxiety quite like they do, and no one carries the burden of long-lasting regret on their behalf.
When a potential life becomes a burden, and a postponed death becomes a decision, the need arises for a more balanced ethical and legal framework—one that does not permit blindly, nor forbid without compassion, but weighs matters in light of reality, dignity, and the right to care rather than punishment.
Thus, the issue remains open—not because resolution is impossible, but because every life in the womb arrives with its own story, requiring wisdom deeper than ready-made answers.
