Abortion is largely accepted even for reasons that do not have anything to do with the fetus’ health. By showing that (1) both fetuses and newborns do not have the same moral status as actual persons, (2) the fact that both are potential persons is morally irrelevant and (3) adoption is not always in the best interest of actual people, the authors argue that what we call ‘after-birth abortion’ (killing a newborn) should be permissible in all the cases where abortion is, including cases where the newborn is not disabled.
This is an abstract from something called The Journal of Medical Ethics. I have long ago reached the conclusion that the proper and legal definition of an ethicist of any stripe is : “A person who, for a nice fat fee, will tell you that whatever you wish to do, no matter how bizarre, repugnant, illegal, immoral or fattening, you may do. ”
“That? Sure, you can do it. That’ll be $250.00. Pay my girl Nausea on the way out. No checks without two forms of picture ID, please. Next!”
There’s an article here. You can read a bit more about the story…if you have the stomach for it. But, all you really need to know is contained in the abstract from JME. These guys love acronyms, and I want to please them. At my age, I figure I’ll be next to be okayed for the trip to the Release center. Oh, wait, I already have that “right”.
It would take a more sober, reasoned and smart person than me to look at that abstract and take it apart bit by bit; exposing it for the outrageously smug, insipid and stupid thing that it is. I simply want to blow it up, and punch out the authors, the editors and anyone vaguely connected with the thing. I can probably get a bunch of ethicists to tell me that it’s the epitome of ethics to do so.
But, I won’t do that. For one thing I haven’t got the plane fare to Australia. I’m wondering, now though, if its ethical to ask for donations. Hmmm.
While I was sitting here trying to get the best of my gag reflex a couple of things occurred to my mind. I imagined a couple of scenes from the near future:
The first is a quiet little corner in Portland, OR, the place first in love with death here in the Untied States. It’s about 6:00pm on a lovely day in May. The sound of a garage door closing is heard and then the door opens into a bright, neat, modern kitchen. A young woman stands at the central work station obviously preparing something for the evening meal. She smiles as a tall slim fellow walks through the door and gives her a hug and a kiss.
YW: Sorry, Brutus, my hands are so yucky. I’ve been working all afternoon on this. I thought we’d have something special. I hope you’ll like it.
YM: That’s just fine Gladiola. I’ll fix us a drink. Where’s Benjie?
YW: Oh, he’s probably asleep on the rug inside. He had a busy day outside today running around chasing butterflies.
YM: I love that little fella. So, what’s for supper?
YW: Well you know we had to decide today…
YM: Oh, yes. So did you? I would have been happy to stay home, but BIFFING Steel has this big job they were interested in having us handle and Smothersworth wanted me to look it over. I was out there all day. Sorry I’m a little late. Anyway, it looks like we’ll take it, and you know what that means.”
YW: Oh, now we can go to Fiji for my sister’s wedding t0 Allred. It’s her 7th and it means so much, and I can wear that lovely thing I have been so wanting to ever since..”
YM: Honey, isn’t that sauce…?
YW: (Looking over at the stove.) Oh, no, everything’s fine. I’ll just need you to get the lumps out later. Anyway, I really didn’t need you today. I spoke with Polonia across the street. She said I could do it myself, everyone does these days. So I did. It was so easy and kind of fun.
YM: Oh, here’s the dog! Hey Benjie, you lucky guy. I wish I had your life chasing butterflies all day long. C’mere you little dickens.
YW: Anyway, afterward, I cleaned it and prepared it for tonight’s supper. I used Polonia’s mother’s recipe since you liked it so much when we had it over there for the 4th of July last year.
YM: Great! I’ll make us a drink, now and get outta this straight jacket. Hey, what are you gonna call your version of the dish?
YW: Well we were going to name it Bobbie before we decided it would really be funner in Fiji, so I’m calling it Bobbicued Kid.
YM: (Laughing and petting the dog) That’s great. I love your sense of humor. I hope we have plenty of leftovers.
And, here is the second scene:
“Good morning, East Bluegill Public Works Department.”
“Hello. Is this where I arrange for a trash pickup.”
“Yes, Ma’am. What is it?”
“I have a dead kid in my refrigerator. I did it this morning, and I want it out. I’ve got some shopping to do this afternoon and need the room. I checked and I can’t bury it out side where we put Sniggles last year.”
“No, your right. Besides raccoons might dig it up and leave a mess.”
“I don’t want that for sure. When can you come?”
“Just wrap it good in some plastic and leave it by the curb before 6:30 tomorrow morning. Or, if you want, you can bring it to the dump before 5 this afternoon. Anyway. Whatever’s easier for you.”
“I think I just leave it at the curb. Thank you.”
You may want to write to the JME, I don’t know. I though of doing so and asking if they had any good recipes.