I have always supported a woman’s right to choose, not least because legal access to abortion once saved me from an untenable situation. I also believe that if a woman chooses to have an abortion, her wish should override any opposition from the father. The physical, practical and emotional effects on a woman forced to carry a child to term (and subsequently care for it) are, in my opinion, far greater than they are on the father.
But what about the opposite? What about a case in which the father (in this case, my son) is adamantly opposed to the idea of having a child, but the wife (his ex-girlfriend) wants to maintain the pregnancy? Although it has nothing to do with the moral issue, the pregnancy is incredibly unexpected given the father’s medical condition. And the couple’s relationship has almost no chance of succeeding, even without pregnancy. Given that the woman has neither a consenting partner nor a job and is already responsible for a child from a previous relationship, her decision to continue the pregnancy is considered by most of those around her to be reckless and would certainly put endangering his already precarious mental health. Here, her right to choose to carry the child will have a profound impact on three (soon to be four) people and is likely to be very difficult for all.
Is it right to force someone to be a parent, even if only in name? Many people, myself included, would say no if that person were a woman. Recent events have shown how delicate this issue is. And yet, a man who does not want to be a parent, has never wanted to be a parent and has been told that his chances of ever being a parent are nil can find himself in a situation where his opposition has no no weight. Even if it is obvious that he will have financial obligations, what could be his moral responsibility? — Name hidden
From the ethicist:
A majority of Americans believe that when a person learns they are pregnant, they should have the right to choose whether or not to carry the fetus to term. Many philosophers would say that this right is based, among other things, on the value of bodily autonomy. But doing something we have the right to do can be wrong. We have the right, for example, to spread hateful messages on the web – no one should be able to stop us – but we would rightly deserve blame for doing so. In short, exercising a right can be a mistake.
Would it be a mistake for this woman – putting aside, for the moment, your son’s involvement – to have a second child? I don’t know enough to say; she might have moral objections to abortion, which would naturally outweigh other considerations, although I suppose you would have said so if that had been the case. What I can believe is that it would be unwise for her to do so.
What happens when we take into account the biological father’s opinion? Often, a reluctant biological father was aware of the possibility of having a baby and may have behaved recklessly, although both women and men can be victims of birth control sabotage, a form of what the this is called “reproductive coercion”. Yet your son apparently thought he was infertile and acted responsibly given the medical advice he had received. (Given his medical situation, if this child were born, he would have reason to request a paternity test.)
Fatherhood has financial consequences. The law will expect a non-custodial parent to pay a certain amount of child support. But it can also have other consequences. Among the moral niceties of abortion is that a mother who is obliged to carry her pregnancy to term will, in the usual course of events, cherish the resulting child. She may logically want to be allowed to terminate her pregnancy without wishing that this particular child did not exist. This way your son may think that the child should not be born And that if the child is born, he must play a role in his life. His ex would have effectively imposed on him not only legal paternity, but also real parenthood.
So yes, it may be unfair to impose the legal – and perhaps emotional – consequences of fatherhood on your son. But none of this deprives women of this right.
A bonus question
A friend of mine was recently fined for speeding. He argued that the final amount should be reduced due to his poor financial situation. I argued that the offense was the same regardless of income. If he had been involved in an accident in which someone died, that person would be just as dead. He responded by saying that the impact of the fine was much greater for him than for someone rich.
Should the sanction reflect the seriousness of the offense or should it reflect the impact on the person punished? — Name hidden
From the ethicist:
The usual justification for punishment is a combination of retribution, which is a retrospective consideration, and deterrence, which is a prospective consideration. But whatever your exact opinions, the severity of punishment is best measured by its effects on the person being punished. A week in prison for a claustrophobic person seems like a more severe punishment than for the rest of us. Suspending the license of someone who drives for a living is a heavier imposition than suspending the license of someone who walks to work. And taking someone’s last hundred dollars as a fine is more serious than extracting that fine from a billionaire.
There are good administrative reasons why sanctions are rarely finely calibrated in this way; On the one hand, interpersonal comparisons of suffering are not easy to determine. But criminal fines against companies – and some individuals – have reached stratospheric heights, and part of that is because the prospect of retaliation and deterrence seemed to demand it. If you impose fines on two people who have committed an equal offense, you will want to impose roughly equivalent burdens on them, and a fine of the same amount will weigh more on a poor person than on a rich person. There may be practical reasons why your friend isn’t getting what he wants, but his argument, unlike his conduct, is impeccable.
Readers respond
The previous question came from a reader who was trying to figure out what to tell people about her husband’s health. She wrote: “My husband, who has struggled with his weight for decades, decided, on the recommendation of his doctor, to start taking Zepbound, an injectable specifically for weight loss. When he begins to lose weight, we know he will be praised and questioned by his friends, colleagues and associates, as he once did when he lost a lot of weight. Do we have to tell people how to lose weight? Would it be okay to be dishonest? »
In his response, the ethicist noted: “Your husband, you indicate, has good medical reasons for starting this treatment. This should make him healthier, and if so, your friends should be happy for him. But you would probably think that they would congratulate him by assuming that he lost weight by sticking to a diet or exercise program – through a new act of will – and that they would seem through if they knew he did it on drugs. This response would reflect a tendency to associate obesity with a character deficiency. Moralizing about weight management in this way is wrong and unnecessary. … The idea that people who take drugs like Zepbound – known as GLP-1 receptor agonists – take the “easy way out” may also reflect a misconception about how easy this is possible. …Is your husband obligated to reveal he’s on Zepbound? Of course not. His medical history is indeed his business. But if questions arise, I hope your husband will be honest. To combat moralizing about obesity, it might be helpful for those who have decided to lose weight to speak frankly about the strategies that have worked for them. (Reread the full question and answer here.)
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Even though I agree According to the ethicist’s response, if the letter writer is not comfortable being completely frank, one option would be to simply say that her husband is working with his doctor on a weight loss program. If asked further, she might explain that her husband’s medical information is confidential. — To M
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I agree with the ethicist’s advice to consider candor, but for a different reason. Being open about using the injection to help with weight loss helps normalize the process and remove any stigma that might be associated with it. It may also encourage other people to take the injections to lose weight and improve their physical and mental health. Personally, the injections changed my attitude from despair to positivity. — Viviane
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The problem of obesity is that the lay public considers this a condition of overeating and underexercising. As an internist, I must treat obesity as a disease like hypertension or diabetes. We are learning a lot more about obesity. This is a complex set of gut hormones that are commonly dysregulated in obese patients. There are other reasons why the patient may lose weight quickly, including treatment for an underactive thyroid, undiagnosed cancer, or treatment for Cushing’s disease, to name a few. It is therefore inappropriate for friends and family to jump to the conclusion that this patient is taking a GLP-1 medication. Everyone’s health is their own business. — Steve
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I used to run a post-bariatric surgery psychoeducational group and we discussed this topic regularly. If acquaintances asked how members lost weight, the suggested answer was “hard work,” sometimes adding “…and good medical care.” We then role-played how to change the subject. No one has a right to your personal health information. — Anne
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I fought with weight my entire adult life and at 72 I just started taking Ozempic. I haven’t even told my husband because I have a very strong sense of shame and failure, and if this doesn’t work, I’d rather not have to talk about it. When the positive comments start, as I’m sure they will (I lost 18 pounds in four weeks), I’ll have something vague and dismissive to say and I’ll change the subject. At this point, I just feel like it’s no one’s business. I know most people have good intentions, but the topic (pardon the expression) carries too much weight. — L.