Occupy Wall Street

For more than 30 years, I have mourned my country’s decline. When it comes to generating capital, the United States remains a leader, creating wealth at unprecedented rates. This meteoric rise in wealth, however, is accompanied by equally steep increases in indifference, poverty, and environmental degradation. Anyone who expresses concern or even sadness is mocked and rebuked. In an Orwellian turn, “compassion” is now “hating America.” Concern for declines in education and employment is now “liberal fascism.” As a nation, we have forgotten our humanity.

Like many in this country, I had given over to despair and resignation. Corporations are allowed to fund our elections as well as write and enforce our legislation. How can one resist a power that comprises the global economy and the governments of the developed world? Perhaps, it is still not possible, but the Occupy Wall Street protesters have sent one clear message: “By virtue of being a human being, you deserve a modicum of respect.” This belief, that people do matter, is common to every religion known to me. It is also common to every philosophical approach to ethics and morality that I can name. Even Ayn Rand’s exhortation to “selfishness” recognizes the demand that no one has a right to trample the needs of others. To pursue your own happiness entails concern for promoting good relations with others.

America has become a nation of talking points and PowerPoint lectures. When people ask what the protesters want, specifically, they are really demanding a “study sheet” for a humanistic movement. What do the protesters demand first? That humanity be recognized as something of concern. People must be treated as persons, first and foremost. From this assumption, policy decisions will flow. No simple solution exists, so no one can articulate it. Life is complex. Economies are complex. Legislation is complex.

If we can once again affirm the value of our humanity, however, we will live in a better, if imperfect, world.

Can philosophy matter?

In the last century, it seemed philosophy might disappear from public consciousness. Much of philosophy had become so technical and so removed from the problems of daily life that most people who were not professional philosophers could not even name a living and working philosophers. Philosophers hardly have the recognition of other public figures even now, but they are addressing concerns that are public–medical ethics, corporate ethics, how to live a good life, and so on.



In Stephen Toulmin’s book, Cosmopolis, he describes various aspects of modernism, and concludes that it is no accident that philosophers are beginning to take seriously concerns that Descartes thought had no depth. After centuries of theoretical and technical exploration, philosophers are returning to discussions of how to live and how to make life better for others. Toulmin says it is no accident that “more and more philosophers are now being drawn into debates about environmental policy or medical ethics, judicial practice or nuclear politics.”[1] He says some philosophers may fear being drawn away from the technical questions of academic philosophy, but he argues, “These practical debates are, by now, not ‘applied’ philosophy but philosophy itself.”[2] The problems facing the world now are not new. Wars, pollution, and poverty have been with us for centuries. But these same problems are acute, chronic, and critical. It is easy to despair at our lack of progress, but Martha Nussbaum reminds us that progress has been made. In Frontiers of Justice, she says, “Racial hatred and disgust, and even misogynistic hatred and disgust, have certainly diminished in our public culture, through attention to the upbringing of children and their early education. The careful attention to language and imagery that some pejoratively call ‘political correctness’ has an important public purpose, enabling children to see one another as individuals and not as members of stigmatized groups.”[3] As humanists, we cannot solve the world’s problems, but we can choose to contribute to moral progress and promote a common understanding and care for one another, regardless of how many people join us along the way.



[1] <!–[if supportFields]> ADDIN ZOTERO_ITEM {"citationItems":[{"uri":["http://zotero.org/users/141815/items/3W4MJ9MI"]}]} <![endif]–>Stephen Edelston Toulmin, Cosmopolis: The Hidden Agenda of Modernity, University of Chicago Press ed. (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 190.<!–[if supportFields]><![endif]–>

[2] Ibid.

[3] <!–[if supportFields]> ADDIN ZOTERO_ITEM {"citationItems":[{"uri":["http://zotero.org/users/141815/items/2R3RZAXP"]}]} <![endif]–>Martha Craven Nussbaum, Frontiers of Justice: Disability, Nationality, Species Membership (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press, 2006), 413.<!–[if supportFields]><![endif]–>

Hume on Circumstances of Justice

When I read Hume, I am never disappointed. With a little guidance from Martha Nussbaum, today I found this passage in Hume:

“It may happen, in some countries, at some periods, that there be established a property in water, none in land; if the latter be in greater abundance than can be used by the inhabitants, and the former be found, with difficulty, and in very small quantities.”

When Hume was writing this, he said that water was not an issue of justice because there was plenty of it to go around, but he could see the possibility of the future we now experience. Shifting resources cause our conceptions of justice to shift (according to circumstances). Thus, justice is always dynamic and never static.

On Lying

Anyone who has taught an introductory course in ethics has discussed the morality of lying, and most of us find that few people endorse an absolute prohibition against lying. Though we like to reject “situation ethics,” we tend to say that whether one should lie “depends on the situation.”

Lies
Lies (Photo credit: Gerard Stolk (vers l’Avent))

Against Kant’s absolute prohibition of lying, we offer the Murderer at the Door who wants to kill our innocent children. Surely, we should lie to throw the murderer off the trail of our children and, one would hope, into the hands of the police. This kind of lie is justified because it saves or has the potential to prevent great harm, or so it seems to some of us who don’t find Kant compelling.

On the other end of the spectrum, we find ourselves wanting to demand the truth even when dishonesty (or withholding the truth) appears harmless. We have the case of police who have taken embarrassing photos of an assault victim to be used as evidence against the perpetrator but who then use the photos for the amusement of themselves and their colleagues. The victim may never be affected by this secondary use of the photos so long as the victim remains completely unaware of them. Doing such a thing seems quite wrong, though, or at least it does for me.

In relationships, we have all kinds of information that could help or hurt our partners. Should we tell them what their friends have said about them behind their backs? Should we go so far as to tell a complete lie (“No, Susan has never said an unkind word about you!)? Learning every detail of what your friends and colleagues have said about you is likely to be painful at best. I personally recommend sheltering yourself from this as much as possible. I also think it is possible to share too much information.

On the other hand, if your friends are so hateful towards you that they cannot be considered friends, you might want to know that. So, we are tempted to say we want complete honesty except when it is more painful or harmful than a lie. This leads to the problem that we do not always know what is better or worse in the end. Lies have unintended consequences, and we feel responsible for their consequences while we do not feel personally responsible for the consequences of the truth, although many people have said something along the lines of “I never should have told the truth!”

So, we are left with decisions based on the context and situation. We must choose between protecting someone’s feelings and offering full disclosure. There are a number of things we can consider in our decisions. First, I think we may consider how the other person will react if the dishonesty is discovered. Many people have said that if their death is imminent, they would want their friends and family to lie to them.

We can also consider our own motivation for the lie. Are we lying to protect others or to protect ourselves from taking responsibility for our own actions? When we are only trying to cover our own footprints to avoid having to confront truths about ourselves or our actions, I think the lie is most likely not justified.

Finally, as much as consequences cannot be predicted, we really must think of what outcome we are trying to achieve. In many ways, this last consideration echoes the first two, but it deserves a little focus on its own. We must think of what good the lie may produce if it is believed and what pain it may produce if it is exposed. I suppose we must also attempt to evaluate what pain may result if a lie is believed. (E.g., what is the harm in telling people they will live 10 years when you know they have only a few hours left?)

How happy should you be?

I’ve never considered myself a strict Utilitarian in the narrowest sense of the term, but I always believed that suffering is generally a bad thing and that relieving suffering when possible is morally laudable. I still believe this for the most part, but lately I see myself in a dilemma of sorts. I have rejected all arguments for the necessity of suffering offered by theodicists, for I do not find belief in God to be more plausible based on the idea that suffering is the product of love and mercy from a being who only wants to motivate spiritual development and love for the good in people. I would be more able to imagine a merciful God who neglected to create life at all out of concern that life would entail suffering.

Given the fact that life with its attendant suffering is here (and unnecessary, in my opinion), I find myself agreeing that suffering does seem to be an essential element in developing any sort of moral worth. When I’ve met people, usually quite young, who have never faced financial difficulty, disease, or loss of a loved one, I generally find these people to be underdeveloped. They also seem unaware of the basic truths of life. The lack of suffering in their own lives makes them indifferent to the suffering of others. While most people believe we can’t take all the problems of the world on our shoulders, we also believe it is wrong to be “too happy” in the face of pain and suffering, but it is our own suffering that brings meaning to our experience of the suffering of others. We can never know the pain of others, but our own pain can make us care about what others may be experiencing. I realize some people experience pain and remain stubbornly egocentric, but I believe those who never experience any pain are likely to be incapable of placing any value on the pain of others. At least, they are unable to develop a fully empathic individuals.

All of this is said really to argue against the idea that we should be as cheerful as possible at all times. An old movie asked what is so bad about feeling good at a time when gloominess was trendy. Now, especially in the U.S., we have banished sadness, even when sadness is appropriate. We rush to the pharmacist when we experience the loss of a loved one, the breakup of a relationship, or even more minor life changes. We are attempting to deny the experiences that make us human.

My feeling on this surprises me. When I was much younger, I read many of the existentialist philosophers. I knew then that the brute force of one’s own existence could lead only to anxiety and, in the words of Sartre and others, anguish. I remember now that Heidegger would have us find an authentic existence by contemplating our own death, an experience that pushes the superficial features of life out of our consciousness. Camus would have us constantly justify our existence by defending our choice to not commit suicide every day. For Sartre, the happy people could not be said to even exist in any meaningful sense–just automata going through the motions of life.

When I think of what it means to love or care about someone, I can’t imagine this emotion without pain. (I must add that I wish I could write this without hearing the strains of “Love Hurts,” but so be it.) We love our parents, our children, and, of course, our lovers, and each relationship is laced with deep pain, fear, worry, and uncertainty. The joy we get from these relationships can’t possibly outweigh the pain, but we find it worth the effort. Perhaps the pain intensifies the joy. It may be that the more pain we feel, the more we love. The more we love, the more we care for others. The more we care for others, the less pain we hope they will feel.

I’ve led myself to a paradox I cannot resolve. And I feel vaguely peaceful about it.

Some basic ideas regarding knowledge

This is information for students and may be less than entertaining, provocative or illuminating for others. The following are some ideas related to knowledge and how philosophers regard knowledge:

Realism–This is a belief that there is a “real world” outside of our minds that has features corresponding to certain facts that are not dependent on our language, thoughts, beliefs, perceptions, or prejudices.

Anti-Realism–While it may seem that this would claim there is no such world as described by the realist, the anti-realist claims that whatever world exists outside of our language, thoughts, beliefs, perceptions, or prejudices, whether it exists or not, cannot be known.

Verificationism–Some feel that we should attempt to improve our knowledge by verifying what is true and what is not true. Verificationism typically involves testing our knowledge against our experience through observation, mathematical analysis, or, in some cases, our emotional responses to things (this last one is quite controversial and will be discussed later if I get around to it). While the attempt to verify knowledge seems an attempt to discover the “real world,” one may claim that any form of verificationism is a form of anti-realism, given that verification relies on our perceptions, observations, language, and beliefs to be practiced.

Relativism–Relativists believe that our beliefs and knowledge claims are formed by our individual or cultural experiences and that there is no unifying conception of reality shared by all humans. In its crudest form, relativism claims that no claim to knowledge is superior to another. If someone from one culture believes that disease is caused by angry gods and someone from another culture claims disease is caused by viruses and bacteria, then it is a kind of arrogance, or worse, cultural imperialism to claim that one view is better than another. A more nuanced view would claim that cultural perceptions form our descriptions of things and those descriptions form our thoughts, given that thoughts are expressed through language.

Skepticism–Skepticism is a view that it is impossible to know what is real or not real outside of our own minds. Skepticism manifests itself in a variety of ways. The skeptic may approach life with a great deal of humility, recognizing that claims to truth are ephemeral and fleeting. The skeptic may be committed to verifying truth claims with the understanding that any truth claim may be modified. Or, the skeptic may decided to focus on the only thing any individual can truly claim to know, the contents of one’s own experience. This last approach leads directly to something called phenomenology, which is not the subject of this blog.

As for myself, I attempt to approach life from a standpoint of skeptical humility. I think that beliefs should be based on the best available evidence, but I also believe that modifications to such beliefs are always possible and, indeed, necessary. With hard work and attention, we can improve our lives by discovering beliefs that enhance our lived experience rather than impeding it.

Postmodern Premortem

I’m here to announce the death of postmodernism. I’m slightly ambivalent about this as I’m not sure postmodernism is something that ever had any life in it in the first place. I’ve tried to get a handle on a good definition of postmodernism, and I think the best I can come up with is that postmoderns reject the enlightenment project of searching for absolute truth. This project is alleged to have begun, I think, with Descartes and carried on by people such as Spinoza, Leibniz, Galileo, and Newton. According to postmoderns, this project was a failure, as we all know that calculus, gravity, and Newtonian physics all turned out to just be socially constructed features of a peculiar language game (please don’t saddle Wittgenstein with the inanity of his followers).

We also know that no one before Descartes sought or claimed to have absolute Truth. Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Anselm, and Aquinas were just playing language games and posing riddles. And when Socrates and the others were on their quest for Truth (or not), a few other people were saying things along the lines of “man is the measure of all things” and “truth” is determined by your culture, but the “Pomos” are sure it all started with Descartes. And after Descartes, of course, no one questioned the reliability of sense data to determine truth (Hume who?).

But Modernism, that evil quest for verified truth, has oppressed everyone but dead, white, European men, or so we still hear (I really thought these things had been resolved). Back in the 1980s, Dale Spender wrote, “Multiple reality is a necessary condition for the acceptance of the experience of all individuals as equally valuable and viable. Only within a multidimensional framework is it possible for the analysis and explanation of everyone to avoid the pitfalls of being rejected, of being classified as wrong.” As nothing can be verified, this is a great theory for liars. We must all recognize the “truth” of anyone who disagrees with our position. The use of logic, reason, and observation only serve as forms of tyranny over those whose voices have been suppressed and whose experiences have been diminished.

Also in the 1980s, feminist Jean Grimshaw rejected the postmodern idea of unverifiable realities. She wrote, “The fact that one group has power over another cannot be reduced to anyone’s belief that this is so; nor does the fact that someone does not understand their own experience in terms of oppression or exploitation necessarily mean that they were not oppressed or exploited.” She rejected the idea that one reality cannot be judged better than another. A reality that identifies and eliminates oppression is better than a reality that enables oppression. The irony is that postmoderns claim to be trying to eliminate oppression, but how can you eliminate anything bad when you deny any value judgments related to ultimate “truth” or to dissenting voices?

Postmoderns sometimes quote Richard Rorty as if he is on the same team. This is because he is a pragmatist who rejects ultimate truth (much as Hume did in the 18th century). In 1999, Rorty said, “We have learned the futility of trying to assign all cultures and persons places on a hierarchical scale, but this realization does not impugn the obvious fact that there are lots of cultures we would be better off without, just as there are lots of people we would be better off without. To say that there is no such scale, and that we are simply clever animals trying to increase our happiness by continually trying to reinvent ourselves, has no relativistic consequences.”

The point for me, and that is the most important consideration for me, is that we can be tolerant and listen to marginalized voices without claiming there is no way to judge one opinion or observation as being better than another. We can recognize that no particular group or individual has a key to absolute knowledge without succumbing to the paralyzing belief that there is no truth and no way to improve our working in the world. Reason and observation have had their success and failures. Irrationality and lack of judgment cannot make the same claim (with regard to success). Finding the truths that work best for us takes effort and judgment and a little rationality. Some things and some beliefs are just better. What makes them better? They reduce misery.

Commodifying Mindfulness

I attended a presentation last week on the use of mindfulness in marriage and family therapy. I don’t know a lot about Buddhism and would never claim to be an expert. What I do know of Siddhartha Gautama leads me to view his writings as moral writings. In other words, I do not see them as a guide to the good life but as a guide to how to be good. I may have missed the point here, and I’m glad to be corrected, if anyone reads his words differently. I also realize there is room for interpretation. Nonetheless, I don’t think his goal was to teach people to have a more pleasurable existence or to achieve greater success in business. I also wonder as to whether he intended to help people improve their marriages, considering that he abandoned his wife and son when he left for his journey to confront suffering in the world.

Statue representing Siddhartha Gautama.
Statue representing Siddhartha Gautama. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The presenter I saw began by mentioning Siddhartha. He said, correctly, that there were four noble truths, but he did not mention what the first three were (they have to do with life as suffering or sorrow, the causes of sorrow, and the extinction of sorrow). The fourth truth is Siddhartha’s dharma, or teaching of “the way.” The word “dharma” is not specific to Gautama. Anyway, Buddha suggests we can achieve enlightenment by following an eightfold path. The presenter I saw mentioned only the seventh fork on the eightfold path, which is mindfulness.

By doing this, he ignored all the negative precepts of Buddha’s teaching. He left out the stuff about avoiding sexual misconduct (interpret how you will), lying, gossiping, killing animals (vegetarianism seems recommended), and a number of other things. Now, Buddhism, as I understand it, has no commandments, so no one is obligated to be a celibate vegetarian who never speaks, but these are suggestions as to how one might find enlightenment, the goal of which is extinction of individual consciousness. Once we are freed from the cycle of samsara, we will pass into a state of universal awareness, which negates the awareness of any individual.

Given that Buddhism does not recognize the existence of individuals and views all sorrow as universal sorrow, it seems unlikely that Gautama intended to help people achieve individual fulfillment. Indeed, when we take action to relieve suffering, the good of the action is not the good of an individual but the good of the universe. Similarly, the suffering of an individual is only (!) the suffering of the universe. To be freed from this suffering, we must no longer think of the individual, we must not think of our selves. So long as we do, life, which is sorrow itself, will continue.

A universe without suffering is a universe without life in it, least of all life that is conscious and driven by individual needs and desires. In Buddha’s scheme, mindfulness is one tool to help achieve this ego-less state. It is a moral guideline. It is not a way to focus on our goals and what is keeping us from them. It is not a way to relax. It is not a way to be happier. It is a way to be good and right. While I am not a Buddhist and will most likely never become one, I still respect the efforts of people to be better people. Buddha abandoned his family and friends to try to save the universe. Maybe he made the right choice, and maybe he did not, but I feel using mindfulness in a superficial manner is disrespectful of the effort. Using Buddha’s teaching to make money is even more offensive to me, but I suppose I’m easily offended.

Abandoning “Futility” for Bioethical Discourse

Of the four principles of bioethics as enumerated by Beauchamp and Childress (autonomy, beneficence, nonmaleficence, and justice), autonomy tends to get the most attention from bioethicists. A central feature of the principle of autonomy is the right to refuse treatment, and the courts have consistently upheld the right of competent adult patients to refuse treatment. Even patients who are severely obtunded or unconscious have the right to refuse treatment through an advanced directive or a surrogate. The right of doctors to refuse to provide treatment, for any reason, is generally recognized as well as no one can compel a doctor to enter a contract. Even when doctors have agreed to enter a contract with a patient, they can choose to terminate the relationship. Problems arise when doctors refuse to provide treatment for patients who are no longer able to seek other health care providers. When doctors do this, they usually claim the treatment is inappropriate or futile. I will claim that the concept of futility is only useful when a treatment is known to be ineffective for achieving the goals of the patient and should not be used to resolve conflicts between patients and physicians. In cases of conflict, what is referred to as “futility” generally either involves a quality of life judgment or a cost/benefit judgment. The use of the word “futility” obscures significant ethical and legal issues that should be confronted in a forthright manner.
Some treatments are clearly inappropriate. If a patient demanded pectoral enhancement as a treatment for his tennis elbow merely so he can claim his cosmetic surgery on his insurance, the doctor would likely, one would hope, tell his patient to accept a reasonable treatment or find a new doctor. Even in cases where the patient does not ask the doctor to participate in fraud, the doctor may not wish to provide a particular treatment for various reasons. A surgeon may not offer a patient any other treatments than surgery, not because the treatments are inappropriate in themselves, but because it is inappropriate for a surgeon to provide treatments better administered by a non-surgical specialist. The problem of a doctor’s refusal to provide treatment typically only arises in cases where the patient cannot easily find alternative treatment and is near death. The doctor’s refusal to treat is a death sentence, and doctor’s in such cases will typically justify their refusal by claiming medical futility. I assert that in such cases, discussion should focus on the actual issues of the quality of life of the patient, cost of the treatment, and the likelihood that the patient might benefit from the treatment. Simply declaring a treatment futile obscures the value conflicts inherent in any conflict.
There are three classifications of medical futility: physiologic futility, qualitative futility, and quantitative futility. Cases of physiologic futility are the least controversial as they entail a patient requesting a treatment that is known to not be effective for the patient’s condition. Jerry Menikoff gives the example of a patient requesting an antibiotic for a viral infection, which would not respond to antibiotics. While antibiotics will have a physiologic effect, it is an effect desired by neither the patient nor the doctor. In other cases, however, the goal of treatment is not so clear. Qualitative futility is more controversial; on occasion a patient or the patient’s family will request a treatment that may achieve the patient’s physiologic goals while the doctor feels the patient’s condition is too poor for the patient to benefit from the treatment. These cases tend to center on quality of life judgments, even when no one will admit to it, and can be extremely controversial. With quantitative futility, a patient is requesting a treatment that has a slim chance of being effective. The doctor may feel that the chance of benefit is too low to justify the expense.
In re Wanglie is a case of a woman eighty-six years old (Helga Wanglie) who fractures her hip, suffers a respiratory arrest, and becomes ventilator dependent. She later suffers a cardiorespiratory arrest and falls into a persistent vegetative state. Her husband, Oliver Wanglie will not agree to cessation of treatment in spite of the opinion of her doctors that her treatment provided no benefit to her. It is clear that her doctors did not feel her quality of life was worth sustaining. Rather than arguing before the court that the hospital was not obligated to provide treatment that provided no benefit or that her life was of insufficient quality to prolong, the hospital sought to have Oliver Wanglie declared incompetent to make decisions about her medical care. As a result, the the court did not address questions of benefit and quality of life. The opinion by Judge Belois stated, “No Court order to continue or stop any medical treatment for Helga Wanglie has been made or requested at this time. Whether such a request will be made, or such an order is proper, or this Court would make such an order, and whether Oliver Wanglie would execute such an order are speculative matters not now before this court.”
The Wanglie case raised complex issues with no hope of resolving them. Claiming that Oliver Wanglie was incompetent only directed attention away from the issue of non-beneficial treatment. Had the court been eager to make a decision regarding physician autonomy or a patient’s right to non-beneficial treatment, it would have been frustrated in its desires. Judge Belois’s comments suggest the court may have felt eager to make a more definitive decision. At the least, the court was frustrated by the claim of the hospital. In addition to preventing any kind of court decision on futility, the hospital alienated the family of Helga Wanglie. The hospital had argued that her treatment was not beneficial to her not to show that it was not obligated to provide treatment but to claim that any conservator disagreeing with its judgment was not competent. In addition to alienating the family of Helga Wanglie, the publicity of the case likely made members of the public less trusting of the decisions their doctors or hospitals might make.
In an analysis of the case and of medical futility, Daniel Callahan argues that a joint lay-medical process should be developed to help resolve disputes before going to court. He says, “I happen to agree with [the Medical Center’s] judgment. But I also believe we should not override the moral values of the Wanglie family, whose judgment is different from both mine and the Medical Center. To allow the judgment of the Medical Center and its staff to triumph over that of the Wanglie family before a joint lay-medical process has been developed to make the combined medical-moral judgments is at least unwise and perhaps unfair.” While Callahan is correct to point to the complexity of the problem and suggest more attention be paid to joint decision-making, it is not at all clear that a lay-medical process would have resolved the issue. Nonetheless, more communication and respect for the beliefs and desires of patient’s families is always welcome and is often imperative.
The hospital did not describe Helga Wanglie’s treatment at futile. It refrain from claiming futility in light of the fact that the respirator could indeed prolong her life. Rather, the hospital claimed the treatment offered her no benefit. In actuality, the hospital had made a quality-of-life judgment and determined that Helga’s life was not worth prolonging. While it could be argued that saying her treatment offered her no benefit is tantamount to saying her quality of life is so poor that it is not worth living, a direct statement of the actual issues involved would, at least, promote legal and public discourse on whether physicians (or taxpayers) should be required to expend resources on someone whose life is deemed of no value by her physicians.
Another case that involved a claim of medical futility but did not yield a legal opinion on futility is the case of Causey v. Francis Medical Center. Sonya Causey was transferred to St. Francis Medical Center after suffering a cardiorespiratory arrest at a nursing home. She was a quadriplegic who was comatose and in end-stage renal failure. Her physician did not feel she would benefit from dialysis in spite of the fact that dialysis and ventilator support could keep her alive for another two years. The physician’s opinion rested on the fact he felt the treatment was quantitatively futile as she had only a one to five percent chance of regaining consciousness. The court in this case spent a fair amount of time discussing the concepts of futility in its opinion, authored by Judge Brown, but ended up concluding only that the case must be submitted to a medical review panel as the Medical Malpractice Act was applicable.
This case differed from Wanglie in significant ways. The action was brought by the patient’s family rather than by the physicians, and the physicians had argued that treatment offered no benefit to Sonya as it was quantitatively futile. The physician in this case attempted to find an alternative medical center to provide the treatment and consulted with the hospital’s ethics board. What was not stated clearly but was almost certainly a consideration was the cost of the treatment. The physician, Dr. Harter, claimed dialysis was not worth offering as Sonya had only a one to five percent chance of regaining consciousness by his estimate. If one of twenty people would regain consciousness by administering a treatment costing 10 dollars each day, few health care providers would deny the treatment.
Judge Brown’s opinion remarks that futility in this case is a matter of subjective value. It is clear that Sonya’s life was worth much more to the Causeys than to Dr. Harter. Judge Brown notes that arguments regarding the definition of “futility” result in polemical discussions, so the court turns instead to standards of medical care. Many ethicists feel that following the standard of medical care is the best guide to handling cases of futility when disagreements arise between physician and the patient or patient’s family. This is the approach Eric Gampel supports. He says,
“Health care providers need to follow norms established in the medical community regarding appropriate care: norms defined by a combination of actual medical practice, expert opinion, laws, and explicit guidelines promulgated by professional societies. So if there is argument for health care provider’s refusal of futile treatment, it is grounded not in the self-governance of individuals, but in the self-governance of the medical community.”
Gampel’s suggestion would give physicians a sense of physician autonomy while also preventing rogue physicians from denying appropriate care without fearing any consequences. However, it is likely that patients might feel distrust of the medical community to govern itself, especially in the wake of publicity from cases such as Wanglie. Callahan’s suggestion of a lay-medical process for establishing overall guidelines rather than resolving individual cases might help both patients and physicians feel a sense of autonomy, even if the autonomy is collective rather than individual autonomy.
While it is unlikely that consensus could be reached on every case where quantitative futility is asserted, a plurality of opinion of a representative group of lay and medical individuals might help avoid some confusion facing physicians and patients. Once again, the issue will be less confusing if the language of futility is avoided all together. This case is better presented as a cost/benefit analysis of the treatment given the probability of a desirable outcome. If this language sounds too blunt and offensive, it is only because the language of futility is the language of subterfuge and obfuscation. It does not appear that Dr. Harper mentioned the cost of dialysis to the Causey family, but it is impossible to imagine that cost was not a motivating factor for his decision.
One of the most discussed cases of futility in bioethics literature is In re Baby K. In this case, the hospital sought a declaration from the court that it was not required under the Emergency Medical Treatment and Active Labor Act (EMTALA) to provide more than warmth, nutrition, and hydration to an anencephalic infant. In this case, the hospital claimed that any care beyond so-called “comfort” care was futile, as it provided no chance of medical recovery for Baby K. Unlike the Causey case, where the chance of regaining consciousness was estimated to be between one and five percent, the chance of physiologic improvement for an anencephalic infant is zero percent. The hospital argued that the standard of care for infants with anencephaly was to provide only warmth, nutrition, and hydration. In this case, “futility” does not disguise the actual concerns of the health care providers. Although Baby K’s mother is an obvious exception, few would dispute the claim of physiological futility in this case, but a conflict of values is still present.
Baby K’s mother is an exception because her religious beliefs place a value on all human life, no matter how limited that life may be. Ms. H holds the sanctity of life principle, which prohibits anyone from killing a patient or letting a patient die. Stephen Post argues that we must respect the sanctity of life view even when a case is futile and expensive. He says:
“A religious rejection of medical futility judgments is neither sufficiently harmful nor socially repulsive to warrant the restriction of freedom, except when the burdens of treatment for the patient are clearly inhumane (that is, cause pain and suffering). While I lament overtreatment of Baby K, such treatment does not thwart the purposes of civil government, such as peace and tranquility, articulated in the Preamble of the Constitution.”
He argues that refusal to respect the religious liberty of patients and their families trivializes religious belief. Although he sets the question of cost aside in the beginning of his essay, Post eventually discusses the difference between asserting a negative right such as when a patient rejects treatment on religious grounds and asserting a positive right as Ms. H does with Baby K. If someone has a positive right to any treatment called for by religion, then society must be forced to provide the treatment. Post confounds the issue somewhat by considering the possibility of special (and more expensive) insurance pools for those holding the sanctity of life view. If the economic burden is shifted in this manner, it is no longer a matter of asserting a positive right, it is a libertarian concern of making free trades in an open market; one receives the treatment one can afford.
Post further confuses the issue by asserting, “No physician who dissents from ventilator support in the name of futility should be required to act against his or her personal convictions. The freedom of physicians also deserves respect.” It is quite likely that Ms. H would not find any physician willing to provide treatment to Baby K. If her religious freedom is respected along with respect for the doctor’s autonomy, the case will end up in court just as it did. Post is somewhat convincing in his argument that religious convictions ought to be respected and taken seriously, but he leaves us without resolution to the issue of treatment in a clear case of futility.
Alexander Morga Capron takes quite a different approach to the Baby K case. Capron argues that futility is not a necessary concept to curb patient autonomy in any circumstance, as patients do not have the right to demand treatment of physicians. With regard to Baby K, he says decision to provide medical intervention must “always involve the complete circumstances of the patient and the treatment setting. This principle applies as much to emergency treatments as to any other, and it can only be hoped that if other courts fail to incorporate this understanding into their interpretation of EMTALA, Congress will clarify that the act is intended to outlaw discrimination against poor patients, not command that patients be equated with their symptoms and be provided with every medical intervention known to have any physiologic effect on those symptoms regardless of the prospect of truly benefiting the patient.” He claims that use of the word “futility” is a way of hiding what is usually a value judgment; the quotation just cited refers to treatments that offer no chance of improving the patient’s chance of survival for more than a short time. A treatment that offers no hope of improving the medical condition of the patient is a case of physiologic futility, but a value judgment has entered the discussion once again. While there is a conflict of religious value in this case, there is no conflict of opinion of whether treating Baby K will cure her anencephaly. The court differed from the physicians in its opinion because it considered apnea to be the presenting condition rather than anencephaly. In this case, the doctors did not want to refuse treatment because they did not value Baby K’s life; they refused treatment because they felt Baby K had no life to value and that treatment provided no chance of recovery or improvement. Ms. H, however, valued any life of her baby, no matter what its limitations.
In 1999, Texas became the first state to address the problem of futility legislatively through the Texas Advance Directives Act. Under this law, when a health care provider wishes to withdraw or withhold life-sustaining treatment against the wishes of a patient or the patient’s family, the provider must follow several steps. The family must be notified of the decision and the provider’s ethics consultation process, the family must be invited to participate in the process, and the hospital must try to arrange transfer of the patient to a provider willing to continue the treatment. If the provider is able to find other providers willing to offer the treatment, then the provider is obligated to continue treatment until the transfer can be arranged. If no alternative provider can be found after 10 days, the provider may withdraw treatment against the wishes of the patient or the patient’s family.
Although people will sometimes refer to the Advanced Directives Act as the Texas futility law, the law avoids discussions of futility and essentially leaves the question to the standard of medical care in Texas. If any facility can be found that will accept the patient and offer requested treatment, then the treatment must be offered; only when no facility can be found may treatment be withdrawn. In a case such as Baby K, it seems unlikely that an alternative facility could be found, and the standard non-treatment of anencephalic babies would be supported by the law, an outcome quite different from the actual case. In 1995, Texas Children’s Hospital sought to withdraw treatment from Sun Hudson, who was born with a fatal form of dwarfism. This became the first case in which a judge permitted a hospital to discontinue care over the wishes of a child’s mother. As a result of a procedural error and appeals, Hudson’s care was extended four months after the judge made the initial decision.
While the Texas law has been criticized for some procedural issues, many in the medical community are relieved to have some legal definition for when care may be withdrawn or withheld. The law does not make exceptions for those who believe in the absolute sanctity of all life, and will most likely face challenges from vitalists for as long as it is in effect. The law requires a registry of agencies willing to assist in the transfer of patients, but the list of agencies in the registry is distressingly small. Patients challenging an institution are unlikely to find another institution willing to accept a patient that is using resources with little or no hope of recovery or benefit. If the law provided resources for the transfer of a patient that would protect institutions accepting such patients from financial loss, more successful transfers might take place.
Hudson’s case is again one of physiological futility as his condition is fatal without exception, and he died within moments of withdrawal of ventilator support as expected, but it is a value judgment as well. His mother may argue that his ventilator support is not a futile treatment as it can keep him alive; it does have a physiological effect. Thus, even in this case, the determination of futility is based on a value judgment. Just as in the case of Baby K, Hudson’s mother valued his life, in whatever state he was in, more than the hospital and his care providers. In response to the death of Sun Hudson, Dr. William Winslade, lawyer and professor at the Institute for Medical Humanities at the University of Texas Medical Branch, said, “This isn’t murder, it’s mercy, and it’s appropriate to be merciful in that way. It’s not killing. It’s stopping pointless treatment.” The treatment was not deemed futile because it could not extend life; it was deemed futile because it could not improve Hudson’s condition nor provide him with a chance for living a meaningful life as defined by his care providers against his mother’s definition of a meaningful life.
In his book, The Healer’s Power, Dr. Howard Brody anticipated that definitions of physiologic futility would not be value free. He says, “That no sense of futility can ever be value-free in the required sense is driven home by the goal-relativity stipulation. One can always ask, ‘Futile relative to what goal?’ and some values will have to be employed in the selection of the relevant goal from among a set of all possible or conceivable goals. Applied to the physiologic definition, it means that virtually no ‘futile’ intervention produces no physiologic change at all; but it does fail to produce the physiologic change that is desired.” The value judgment enters the discussion when the physiologic change desired by the patient or family is different from the physiologic change sought by the care providers.
Cases of health care providers wishing to withdraw or withhold treatment over the objections of patients are relatively rare, but they produce powerful emotions generated by love, religious devotion, and grief. Respect for such powerful emotions is a moral imperative. Respect does not, however, entail that care providers become enslaved to the emotions or values of patients and their families. Care providers should not mask their value judgments by invoking futility to resolve disputes between patients and care providers when patients demand treatment that seems to be of insufficient benefit or causes too much suffering to warrant its cost or effort.
William Harper offers a critique of Lawrence Schneidermans’ and Nancy Jeckers’ arguments in Wrong Medicine that physicians are obligated to withhold treatments that are futile. Harper points out that doctors already recognize a duty to withhold futile treatments in the sense that treatments have no hope of achieving the goals of the patient or physician. As an example, Harper says that no physician should offer copper bracelets to patients to cure arthritis because there is no evidence that copper bracelets have any effect on arthritis. Harper’s claim is that Schneiderman and Jecker are not really arguing for the duty to withhold useless treatments; they are actually trying to expand the number of treatments regarded as futile. He says their “position on withholding treatment is best advanced by arguments that directly support their intuitions that certain treatments (which they label ‘futile’) do not benefit the patient.” In most of the cases Harper cites in his article, conflict arises when doctors feel a patient can receive no benefit from a treatment that family members want to continue. As in the cases I’ve discussed above, family members often place a much greater value on the life of a loved one than do some health care providers. In some cases, the issue appears to result from an unequal distribution of knowledge. In such cases, patient education is sometimes effective. Indeed, thoughtful and compassionate family meetings avoid many conflicts over withdrawal of treatment. In Harper’s conclusion, he says, “Any successful treatment of these issues will have to include a determination of what counts as benefit to the patient. This will require a determination of the kinds of lives worth living, and this, in turn, an identification of the sources of worth for human life.” Except in cases where a treatment simply cannot help either the patient or the physician achieve their medical goals, discussions of futility almost always rest on either a misunderstanding or conflicting values. Harper’s argument is that discussions of conflicting values must take place in open and frank discussions and not behind the veil of futility. To determine whether it is worthwhile to keep an anencephalic baby alive for a week with a ventilator requires a determination of the value of that baby’s life. Determining the value of such life requires discourse that may include representative health care providers, religious and spiritual leaders, secular philosophers, and bioethicists.
In a constructivist analysis of the “utility of futility” language, Franco Carnevale uncovers similar issues. He says, “What emerges is not a debate about the permissibility of futile intervention but, rather, struggles over differing conceptions of a ‘good enough life,’ as well as tensions over trust, respect, and power among the many agents. Framing these issues in terms of futility discourse disregards this inherent strife over trust, respect, and power; indeed, futility talk seems to perpetuate these problems further.” In the cases examined in this paper, the assertion of physician autonomy resulted in power struggles where the patients’ families felt their values had been trivialized or ignored. In these cases, futility was asserted as a fact, concealing the real source of dispute. The use of futility by physicians diverted attention away from the issues of the religious values of patients, the financial costs of treatment, and the value of enabling families to take time to adjust to the passing of a loved one. No source of discourse or communication will eliminate disagreement, but an honest and straightforward statement of what values are in conflict is more likely to preserve trust in professional health care providers than a blanket appeal to futility.
This is more than a mere discussion of semantics. Paul Hofmann and Lawrence J. Schneiderman quote Edmund Pelligrino saying that “some operative way of making a decision when ‘enough is enough’ is necessary. . . . Some determination of futility by any other name will become a reality.” It is misleading to say that a determination of futility will become a reality. Rather, a determination of when life should be prolonged will be made a reality. A discussion of what kind of life is of value to a patient, to a patient’s family, to society, or to God is quite different from a discussion of what treatments are futile. In the cases of Helga Wanglie, Sonya Causey, Baby K, and Sun Hudson, the health care providers had deemed their lives to be worth less than the cost of extending them. In some of the cases, one can imagine that if the families had opposed treatment, they would probably argue that the treatments were burdensome and painful. Providers often attempt to avoid difficult conversations by invoking futility, but their refusal to acknowledge the real motivations for their actions only produces distrust and resentment.
Issues
Several issues seem to be shrouded repeatedly by discussions of futility. I will discuss these below.
Autonomy—Neither patients nor physicians have unlimited autonomy. Patients are sometimes rescued against their will, and their rescuers are not liable for malpractice or even lack of professionalism. Patients also do not have the right to demand any treatment they think might benefit them. Physicians have an obligation to protect patients from inappropriate treatments. Refusing to provide such treatments is a part of professional responsibility, not physician autonomy. Nonetheless, physicians do have a great deal of autonomy. Physicians are not obligated to treat patients under most circumstances. Patients may not be excluded as a result of illegal discrimination, but may be excluded for most other reasons. Physicians also have the power to terminate their relationships with patients under most conditions. All four cases in this paper involve patients who are dependent on life support and have no alternative means of sustaining life. This is a rare restriction on physician autonomy just as there are rare restrictions on patient autonomy. It is misleading to construct debates of futility as debates of physician autonomy.
Rationing—Often, when health care providers claim that a treatment is futile, they mean that it is not worth the cost. Less expensive treatments offering no better outcomes would likely be offered. It appears this was the issue in the case of Sonya Causey, but the issue of cost was not discussed directly. When a physician says outright that a patient’s life is worth less than the money it would take to preserve it, families and others may be offended by the harshness of the language. Such harshness is needed, however, if doctor’s, patients, and society are ever to come to terms with the real issues of rising health care costs and the expense of offering treatments that offer little benefit to patients and may even be a burden to them.
Religion—It is said that we should avoid discussion of religion and politics in polite company, but many cases such as Baby K involve a conflict of religious values. Some physicians are strict vitalists, and some patients are strict vitalists. These lead to physicians sometimes wanting to impose unwanted treatments while in other cases physicians want to withhold wanted treatments. Simply claiming that a treatment is medically futile can obscure the differences among physicians regarding what care is appropriate and what care is not. Neither physicians nor patients should feel the need to obscure their religious feelings when discussing whether treatment is beneficial or burdensome. Of particular concern are issues of the sanctity of life. Even those who hold that human life is sacred and that all human lives are of equal value usually recognize exceptions. Compassion tends to motivate even the most religious to choose to let people die when their continued life causes extreme pain and suffering. Given that almost everyone recognizes exceptions, conversations about the value of a patient’s life may not be in vain. Open discussion is not likely to end all conflicts, but it will expand understanding.
Quality of Life—Saying that a life worth living creates powerful emotions in many, especially as it is reminiscent of the words of Nazi doctors. Nonetheless, many claims of futility are centered around whether the patient’s life is a life that anyone would want to live. In the case of unconscious patients, it is impossible to tell whether they are receiving benefit from their lives. Sometimes, it is their families or loved ones who are receiving benefit from their lives. This does not justify keeping them alive, but it helps to frame questions of quality of life. Someone’s life may be valuable because it is in that person’s interest to stay alive, or it may be valuable because someone else is interested in keeping that person alive. Disputes over quality of life should be stated as such.
Conclusion
The concept of physiological futility is useful when discussing whether a particular treatment will help a patient meet particular health goals. Menikoff’s example of the futility of using antibiotics to treat viral infections is a workable example. It is futile to give antibiotics for viral infections because they will have no effect. This kind of futility is not an issue for the law, however, as doctors are completely free to refuse to prescribe antibiotics for viral infections without any fear of legal challenges from patients, who are free to seek other medical opinions. Instead, legal problems arise when doctors invoke futility to withdraw or withhold treatment that is achieving some result, usually the prolongation of a seriously impaired life. The treatment may be futile in curing the patient’s condition or even improving it, but it is not futile in sustaining life. The real question is not over futility but over whether the life is worth sustaining. When legal problems arise, discussions of “futility” should be avoided, and issues of quality of life, costs, benefits, and religious value should be discussed openly.

Ethics of Life

In 1971, Van Rensselaer Potter published Bioethics: Bridge to the Future and defined “bioethics” as an ethics based on biological survival. In his first book, he dealt with subjects such as stress, toxic hazards, ecology, biotechnology, and population growth. In his 1988 book, Global Bioethics, Potter added topics discussed by more mainstream bioethicists: disabled newborns, organ transplantation, euthanasia, and contraception. However, the later book maintained an interest in ecology, population change, and an emphasis on human survival. Potter’s vision of bioethics concerns healthcare and healthcare providers, but it also encompasses ethical duties of all members of society. The fact that he did not write specifically on the ethics in medical care facilities may explain why his work is little more than a footnote in most bioethics texts.

Potter poses two challenges to bioethics as generally practiced or presented. First, he presents bioethical duties as human duties rather than professional duties, although some duties or specific actions are of course related to one’s profession. Second, bioethical duties extend beyond health care to care for the living earth. He challenges doctors to look beyond the bedside, and enjoins lay people to accept responsibility for improving the chances for biological survival. Had his work been taken more seriously, bioethics may have reached beyond topics related to medical dilemmas and instead have comprised diverse subjects such as war, famine, genetically modified food, corporate responsibility, and individual responsibility. Such an approach may have better prepared us for substantial threats to global health in the twenty-first century.

Christian Frei’s 2001 film, War Photographer, is a documentary of the work of photographer James Nachtwey. The film depicts scenes of suffering resulting from poverty, famine and war: the sorts of issues Potter would define as bioethical concerns. In a sense, the film poses a sort of double aesthetic; it is beautifully filmed and exposes the viewer to the achingly attractive photography of James Nactwey. The aesthetic qualities of the film place the viewer in a bind, however, as the images are generally of horrific events of human cruelty and suffering. Nachtwey has made a career of filming the effects of famine, war, disease, and poverty. To his mind, this is a moral act, but his narration reveals ambivalence. He assures his interviewer that he only photographs with the complicity of his subjects, that he only shows his subjects in a respectful manner, and that his only motivation is to improve the plight of humans in this world as Potter exhorts us to do when he says, “I will try to adopt a lifestyle and to influence the lifestyle of others so as to promote the evolution of a better world for future generations of the human species.”

Nachtwey’s attempts to explain and justify his career only highlight the underlying issues. How can a person dying of cholera or starvation give consent to be photographed? Is it possible for a mother who has just learned of the death of her son or husband to make an informed decision about how images of her might be used in the media? Nachtwey wants his subjects to be joint contributors to his cause of publicizing events in the world and, with a bit of luck, bringing some relief. Indeed, he tells us he will only film victims of famine when relief workers are present. Nachtwey clearly would hate to make his fame and fortune exploiting the suffering of his fellow human beings. The film does not reveal Nachtwey’s net worth or his contributions to relief in the form of donations or volunteering, but he is presented as a dedicated individual with little concern for his personal comfort or safety.

The fact remains that Nachtwey has garnered fame[1] and attention for his photographs, and he may well violate Kant’s injunction against using others as a means to one’s own ends. Without dealing with Kant explicitly, Nachtwey claims that his goal is merely to help his subjects meet their own ends. He assumes his subjects do not want to be victims of war, poverty, and famine, so he makes every effort to publicize their plight in hopes of securing relief. If we fault Nachtwey for his project, then we may also fault writers (bioethicists among them) who publicize tragic events in order to publish in journals and advance their careers. It may be that Nachtwey is merely a more effective bioethicist (at least in the sense intended by Potter) than those who publish in journals or even the popular press. Publishing in internationally distributed magazines such as Geo and Time Magazine, Nachtwey reaches millions of affluent individuals and confronts them with compelling images.

Nachtwey’s work could be compared to that of philosopher and ethicist Peter Unger. Author of Living High and Letting Die: Our Illusion of Innocence, Unger is a successful academic whose work has reached somewhat beyond the walls of the academy. Unger shares Nachtwey’s desire to motivate action to relieve the world’s suffering. Unger begins with an optimistic assumption that any rational reader would agree that it would be morally repugnant to stand by and let someone lose a limb when such a loss could be prevented by a relatively small sacrifice. For example, if I could prevent the loss of limb by giving someone a dollar, I would be morally wrong to keep my dollar. Unger realizes, however, that there is a point where we will no longer give up our dollars. Even if I agree that a child’s life is worth more than $200, I may not be willing to give up $200 each week even if I can afford it by abstaining from all luxury and recreational spending. We are left with a form of the sorites paradox. Anyone who would give up a dollar to save a child would probably give up two dollars. Finding the point where moral motivation encounters selfish (egoistic) resistance is the challenge of ethicists and relief agencies. Unger and others leave us with a challenge that we must make greater demands on ourselves than most of us are currently making.

Nachtwey appears to assume, also, that most of his viewers in affluent societies will feel it is inappropriate to witness preventable suffering and take no action to alleviate it. He enters no debate as to how much any one person should do; he merely attempts to make suffering visible and personal. He believes this is an action required of him by basic morality. In this sense, Nachtwey is both moral agent and ethicist. He is attempting to both act morally and to motivate others to adopt his moral position. The endeavor is somewhat risky. Some individuals involved in attempting to provide relief to the poorest people in the world warn against the use of “disaster porn.” One fear is that some viewers will feel that by watching the images they have somehow done something significant on the face of it without actually taking action to alleviate suffering. Affluent people may watch the images, comment on the beauty of the photography, praise the dignity of those suffering, cry a few tears, exhort others to view the images, and then go about their normal routine.

Another concern is that the photographer, film makers, and viewers are all using the individuals depicted to their own ends. From a consequentialist, or Utilitarian, perspective, the ends may seem to justify the means. If distribution of disturbing images brings relief to victims of war, famine, and poverty, then the use of the images seems not only justified but noble. Complications arise, however, if we cannot be sure the images are bringing relief. We may feel the effort is good, but it is only a good if it has a good result, and verification of such results is difficult at best. More troubling is the fact that we may be viewing (or making) the images for reasons that have nothing to do with relieving suffering. The images are beautiful and bring some pleasure to those viewing. As a result, the images sell movies, books, and magazines in addition to winning awards.

In War Photographer, Nachtwey reads letters he received from some of his viewers who were moved to help the individuals depicted in published photographs. Viewers of the film are reassured that the images are having a positive effect. We do not know, however, whether profits from Nachtwey’s images and Frei’s film are used to help the individuals depicted in the film and the photographs. One would guess not as the people in refuge camps, famine relief camps, and battles are most likely anonymous to Nachtwey and the filmmakers. Even if they are not anonymous, many are too ill or too busy fighting to give consent to be filmed, have their images displayed internationally, or to even support relief efforts. As mentioned above, Nachtwey says in the film’s narration that he could not do his work without the collaboration of his subjects. At times, it seems he is trying as hard to convince himself as he is to convince his viewers. One particularly disturbing scene is of a man in Indonesia who is being murdered for no real reason. While taking the photographs, Nachtwey pleas with the aggressors to stop their violence. He tells them there is no reason to kill the man, and he continues taking pictures. It is impossible to imagine that the victim of this senseless violence consented to have his murder filmed and sold. Nachtwey is not the only one who recorded the event, and other photographers probably did not consider their actions unethical. In fact, they were probably glad of their good fortune to be present for the event. Nachtwey, however, suffers some moral crises and invites his viewers to suffer these moral crises with him.

In the end, we must all decide the value of recording and viewing extreme suffering with or without the consent of those suffering. We may view victims of famine as objects of care more than as moral agents. They have lost the ability to make autonomous decisions regarding their images and have also lost the ability to be joint collaborators in the projects of Nachtwey and Frei. We may use surrogate judgment and claim that they would want to be given a voice to the outside world, and this conclusion seems reasonable. If affluent citizens will respond to the suffering, they will be motivated by their knowledge of the suffering, and the disturbing images are likely to provoke at least some people to take positive action. While watching the film or simply viewing Nachtwey’s photographs, we may feel guilty for not doing more to end suffering, for violating the privacy and dignity of those depicted, and for taking pleasure in the beauty of the photographs. Our guilt may motivate us to examine our moral impulses and actions, and we may become better as a result.

Bioethics is not simply medical ethics, and the obligations of bioethics apply to everyone. Potter, Unger, Nachtwey, and Frei have a single message in this regard: improving the conditions for human life requires a collective will, not just the concern of healthcare providers. At the same time, healthcare providers have the same obligation to look beyond the walls of the clinic or hospital to the suffering, preventable or not, that exists in the world. They are not obligated to do so out of professional duty; they are obligated to do so out of human duty. If bioethicists generally recognized this shared duty to recognize and respond to suffering, public and professional views on moral responses to public health, infectious diseases, pandemics, pollution, and poverty might be framed quite differently. If a global community of moral agents does not exist, it may be imperative to make an effort to form one.


[1] His wesite, www.jamesnachtwey.com, lists the following awards, “the Common Wealth Award, Martin Luther King Award, Dr. Jean Mayer Global Citizenship Award, Henry Luce Award, Robert Capa Gold Medal (five times), the World Press Photo Award (twice), Magazine Photographer of the Year (seven times), the International Center of Photography Infinity Award (three times), the Leica Award (twice), the Bayeaux Award for War Correspondents (twice), the Alfred Eisenstaedt Award, the Canon Photo essayist Award and the W. Eugene Smith Memorial Grant in Humanistic Photography. He is a fellow of the Royal Photographic Society and has an Honorary Doctorate of Fine Arts from the Massachusetts College of Arts.