In this essay, the author reflects on a decade’s old essay on baseball and bioethics inspired by a conversation with the late David Thomasma. In a reprise of his earlier paper, Fins worries that modernity has come to baseball with the advent of the pitch clock and that this innovation brings age discrimination to a timeless pastime.

Critics of medical aid in dying (MAID) often argue that it is impermissible because background social conditions are insufficiently good for some persons who would utilize it. I provide a critical evaluation of this view. I suggest that receiving MAID is a sort of “hard choice,” in that death is prima facie bad for the individual and only promotes that person’s interests in special circumstances. Those raising this objection to MAID are, I argue, concerned primarily about the effects of injustice on hard choices. I show, however, that MAID and other hard choices are not always invalidated by injustice and that what matters is whether the injustice can be remediated given certain constraints. Injustice invalidates a hard choice when it can, reasonably, be remedied in a way that makes a person’s life go better. I consider the implications of this view for law and policy regarding MAID.

A life of the mind can be lived only by creatures who know that they have minds. We call these creatures “persons,” and currently, all such persons THAT we know OF are “alive” in the biological sense. But are there, or could there be, either in the future or elsewhere in the universe, creatures with “a life of the mind” that are not “alive” in the sense that we humans usually understand this term today?

There are many authors who consider the so-called “moral nose” a valid epistemological tool in the field of morality. The expression was used by George Orwell, following in Friedrich Nietzsche’s footsteps and was very clearly described by Leo Tolstoy. It has also been employed by authors such as Elisabeth Anscombe, Bernard Williams, Noam Chomsky, Stuart Hampshire, Mary Warnock, and Leon Kass. This article examines John Harris’ detailed criticism of what he ironically calls the “olfactory school of moral philosophy.” Harris’ criticism is contrasted with Jonathan Glover’s defense of the moral nose. Glover draws some useful distinctions between the various meanings that the notion of moral nose can assume. Finally, the notion of moral nose is compared with classic notions such as Aristotelian phronesis, Heideggerian aletheia, and the concept of “sentiment” proposed by the philosopher Thomas Reid. The conclusion reached is that morality cannot be based only on reason, or—as David Hume would have it—only on feelings.

“You fooled me. I never dreamt,” George said to the pasty gray face in the mirror. As a child, he had worked out complicated schemes of how the world must be constructed. This led to that, and that led to this. When this and that no longer fit together, he began to squint, and limit his view to the essential. At any moment, the sky might break open and rain body parts and end times. He never imagined that it would be colors that would give way.

The role of power in healthcare can raise many ethical challenges. Power is ownership, whether given, ceded, or taken of another person’s autonomy. When a person has power over someone else, they can control or strongly influence the decision-making freedom of that person. From the principalist perspective1,2 of healthcare ethics, denying a person their freedom to choose, should only occur when justifying conditions related to beneficence and nonmaleficence are sufficiently satisfied. In healthcare, it is rare to be able to identify situations where paternalism is justified. However, experience suggests that abusive power in healthcare is used too frequently without justifying criteria.

Xenotransplant patient selection recommendations restrict clinical trial participation to seriously ill patients for whom alternative therapies are unavailable or who will likely die while waiting for an allotransplant. Despite a scholarly consensus that this is advisable, we propose to examine this restriction. We offer three lines of criticism: (1) The risk–benefit calculation may well be unfavorable for seriously ill patients and society; (2) the guidelines conflict with criteria for equitable patient selection; and (3) the selection of seriously ill patients may compromise informed consent. We conclude by highlighting how the current guidance reveals a tension between the societal values of justice and beneficence.

In the wake of the Dobbs decision withdrawing federal constitutional protection for reproductive rights, the United States is in the throes of federalist conflicts. Some states are enacting draconian prohibitions of abortion or gender-affirming care, whereas other states are attempting to shield providers and their patients seeking care. This article explores standard arguments supporting federalism, including that it allows for cultural differences to remain along with a structure that provides for the advantages of common security and commerce, that it provides a laboratory for confined experiments, that it is government closer to the people and thus more informed about local needs and preferences, and that it creates layers of government that can constrain one another and thus doubly protect rights. We contend that these arguments do not justify significant differences among states with respect to the recognition of important aspects of well-being; significant injustices among subnational units cannot be justified by federalism. However, as nonideal theorists, we also observe that federalism presents the possibility of some states protecting rights that others do not. Assuming that movement among subnational units is protected, those who are fortunate enough to be able to travel will be able to access rights they cannot access at home. Nonetheless, movement may not be readily available to minors, people without documentation, people with disabilities, people who lack economic resources, or people who have responsibilities that preclude travel. Only rights protection at the federal level will suffice in such cases.

Teaching ethics is crucial to health sciences education. Doing it well requires a willingness to engage contentious social issues. Those issues introduce conflict and risk, but avoiding them ignores moral diversity and renders the work of ethics education irrelevant. Therefore, when (not if) contentious issues and moral differences arise, they must be acknowledged and can be addressed with humility, collegiality, and openness to support learning. Faculty must risk moments when not everyone will “feel safe,” so the candor implied in psychological safety can emerge. The deliberative and social work of ethics education involves generous listening, wading into difference, and wondering together if our beliefs and arguments are as sound as we once thought. By forecasting the need for candid engagement with contentious issues and moral difference, establishing ground rules, and bolstering due process structures for faculty and students, a riskier and more relevant ethics pedagogy can emerge. Doing so will prepare everyone for the moral diversity they can expect in our common life and in practice.

Poor health is not inherently a part of Black Americans’ bodies; poor health is not in our DNA. But as Linda Villarosa says in Under the Skin “something about being Black has led to the documented poor health of Black Americans.”1 Like many other scholars of Black health have said, Villarosa proposes, and evidence supports, that “the something is racism.”2 Villarosa attributes Black people’s generally inferior health outcomes in areas like pregnancy and birth, pain care, and cardiology to racism and not a lack of social resources such as money, education, and access to healthcare. Although not always explicitly stated in her text, the stories Villarosa uses to illustrate racism’s effects on health also demonstrate racism’s influence on who has access to the social resources that are needed to maintain health and treat illnesses. Villarosa is right that more education and more income cannot de facto give Black people better health. At the same time, we cannot ignore that although racism is the force, education, money, housing, and access to healthcare are the means by which racism adversely affects health. Education and other social goods only fail to confer better health to Black people because racism serves as a roadblock.

Current national and international guidelines for the ethical design and development of artificial intelligence (AI) and robotics emphasize ethical theory. Various governing and advisory bodies have generated sets of broad ethical principles, which institutional decisionmakers are encouraged to apply to particular practical decisions. Although much of this literature examines the ethics of designing and developing AI and robotics, medical institutions typically must make purchase and deployment decisions about technologies that have already been designed and developed. The primary problem facing medical institutions is not one of ethical design but of ethical deployment. The purpose of this paper is to develop a practical model by which medical institutions may make ethical deployment decisions about ready-made advanced technologies. Our slogan is “more process, less principles.” Ethically sound decisionmaking requires that the process by which medical institutions make such decisions include participatory, deliberative, and conservative elements. We argue that our model preserves the strengths of existing frameworks, avoids their shortcomings, and delivers its own moral, practical, and epistemic advantages.

Since its initial publication in 2018, Professor Anya Plutynski’s Explaining Cancer: Finding Order in Disorder has garnered a great deal of accolades.1 In 2021, The London School of Economics and Political Science conferred Professor Plutynski the Lakatos Award, recognizing the book’s significant contribution to the philosophy of science. On the heels of its recent reissuing as a paperback, it is an ideal time to revisit this remarkable work.

Psychedelics such as psilocybin reliably produce significantly altered states of consciousness with a variety of subjectively experienced effects. These include certain changes to perception, cognition, and affect,1 which we refer to here as the acute subjective effects of psychedelics. In recent years, psychedelics such as psilocybin have also shown considerable promise as therapeutic agents when combined with talk therapy, for example, in the treatment of major depression or substance use disorder.2 However, it is currently unclear whether the aforementioned acute subjective effects are necessary to bring about the observed therapeutic effects of psilocybin and other psychedelics. This uncertainty has sparked a lively—though still largely hypothetical—debate on whether psychedelics without subjective effects (“nonsubjective psychedelics” or “non-hallucinogenic psychedelics”) could still have the same therapeutic impact, or whether the acute subjective effects are in fact necessary for this impact to be fully realized.3,4,5

“Scleroderma,” the rheumatologist said after examining my stiff swollen arms and legs. “Unfortunately, given your biomarkers, it’s likely to get worse before it gets better, but you never know.” She gave a quick rundown of what I might expect—rapidly progressive skin and joint tightening, GI symptoms, high likelihood of multi-organ involvement…. “Let’s hope for the best.” She paused, then asked if I had any questions.

It took nearly two thousand years for society to recognize the Hippocratic insistence that “the doctor knows best”1 was an inadequate approach to medical decisionmaking. Today, patient-centered medicine has come to understand that the individual patient has a significant role in the decisionmaking process.2

This is a personal essay about breasts. It focuses on my experiences as a young girl, moving through adolescence to a history of breast cancer in my family, including my mother’s breast cancer diagnosis. As a physician, patient, and wife, I reflect on the choices that I have to make and what this means for my identity as a woman and mother.

We argued in a recent issue of this journal that if abortion is restricted,1 then there are parallel obligations for parents to donate body parts to their children. The strength of this obligation to donate is proportional to the strength of the abortion restrictions. If abortion is never permissible, then a parent must always donate any organ if they are a match. If abortion is sometimes permissible and sometimes not, then organ donation is sometimes obligatory and sometimes not. Our argument was based on the following ideas: (a) that a fetus has full moral status, (b) that parents have special obligations to their offspring, fetus or not, and (c) that this special obligation is to protect them. The result is the conclusion that abortion restrictivists cannot also consistently deny that organ donation should be compulsory.