Monthly Archives: May 2003

thinking about the fetus without analogy

Here’s a question prompted by a seminar discussion today. (The speaker

was my colleague Robert Sprinkle.) Would it be possible to consider the

moral status of a human fetus without analogizing it to something

else? The standard way to think about the morality of abortion is to ask

what fetuses are most like—babies, organisms (fairly simple

ones at first), or tumors. We know that babies cannot be killed, that

simple organisms can be killed for important reasons, and that tumors

can be removed and destroyed without regret. So an analogy can help us

to answer the fundamantal moral question about abortion. (It’s not necessarily

the end of the matter. Judith Jarvis Thomson, and many others, have argued

that you may kill a fetus even if it is like a person, because

it is inside another person.) But a fetus isn’t something else; it’s a

fetus. So could you simply consider it and reach moral conclusions?

One might reply: "There is no way of reasoning about this entity;

there is nothing to say to oneself about its moral status—unless

one compares it to another object whose moral status one already knows."

But how do we know the moral status of (for example) human beings? Presumably,

experience and reason have rightly driven us to the conclusion that human

beings have a right to life. Similarly, most of us have decided that insects

do not have rights. Couldn’t we reach conclusions about the moral status

of fetuses without analogizing them to anything else?

(Some religious readers may say: "Experience and reason are not

the basis of our belief in human rights—we get this belief from

divine revelation." But there is no explicit divine revelation about

fetuses, so the question arises even for religious people: Could we think

morally—and perhaps prayerfully—about fetuses, without analogizing

them to other things?)

at the White House

Today was the White

House Forum on American History, Civics, and Service, a big event

in my field. Our Civic

Mission of Schools report was distributed to all 250 of the White

House’s guests and received a lot of attention.

The Forum exemplified official Washington. The President delivered

an especially prepared greeting from a gigantic video screen. Much was

made of his new initiative to support history teaching. The First Lady

and Lynne Cheney, guarded visibly by the Secret Service, made speeches;

and everyone stood each time one of these women took the podium. (Some

of the sanctity of high executive office transfers to spouses, apparently.)

Patriotic video montages of American history were displayed on the screen.

A huge reproduction of a manuscript copy of the Constitution was the backdrop

all day. Teenagers were paraded (silently) on stage and bedecked with

medals—quite literally. Speakers were introduced with long recitals

of their achievements; there was also much thanks to funders and assembled

dignataries. Almost all the speakers quoted at least one framer of the

Constitution (often deploying little-known and highly relevant quotes—to

their credit). Martin Luther King Jr. was also cited widely; and many

sentimental stories were told about disadvantaged children. No one mentioned

the name of a political party or a major ideology, lest the spirit of

nonpartisanship be disturbed. There was general air of congratulation,

directed at the people and organizations in the room and at America itself—with

one exception: at least half the speakers wagged their fingers at young

Americans today for their shocking ignorance of history.

My academic training makes me want to rebel against this kind of show.

I want to ask: What do we know about the trends in historical knowledge

over time? What do we know about the factors that make historical education

successful? What is the impact of a historical education, or of historical

knowledge, on people over their lifetimes? What will the impact of the

new presidential initiative be? (At $100 million over three years, it

represents a vanishingly small commitment in the context of the federal

budget.) Since there are competing grand narratives of American history,

how do we know which one is more correct? Is Howard Zinn’s story of greed

and violence (which was explicitly criticized during the session) false?

Is it less valid than the "moderate triumphalist" narrative

that one speaker recommended as an alternative? What are the effects of

such stories on youth development?

Notwithstanding all these questions and doubts, I recognize that public

institutions are not academic seminars. Mutual praise is oil that probably

has to be poured periodically over civil society. Vague statements of

commitment from the President of the United States are not empty; they

are useful ammunition in struggles at the local level. And leaders are

entitled to make a big deal about $100 million programs that they have

proposed. You would have to be a kind of political puritan to expect them

not to capitalize on the symbolism of such initiatives. It doesn’t only

take truth and critical debate to make large institutions run; they also

need symbolism, ritual, and even etiquette. Washington does these things

well.