Tod Chambers

This article argues for the importance of theoreticalreflections that originate from patients' experiences.Traditionally academic philosophers have linked their ability totheorize about the moral basis of medical practice to their roleas outside observer. The author contends that recently a new typeof reflection has come from within particular patientpopulations. Drawing upon a distinction created by AntonioGramsci, it is argued that one can distinguish the theorygenerated by traditional bioethicists, who are academicallytrained, from that of ``organic'' bioethicists, who identifythemselves with a particular patient community. Thecharacteristics of this new type of bioethicist that are exploredin this article include a close association of memoir andphilosophy, an interrelationship of theory and praxis, and anintimate connection between the individual and a particularpatient community.

Recently, bioethics has become interested in engaging with narrative, but in this engagement, narrative is usually viewed as a mere helpmate to philosophy. In this precis to his book The Fiction of Bioethics, Tod Chambers argues that narrative theory should not be simply a helpful addition to medical ethics but instead should be thought of as being as vital and important to the discipline as moral theory itself. The reason we need to rethink the relationship of medical ethics to narrative is that ethicists test their ideas by applying them to cases, and cases are a narrative genre. Recognizing the importance that cases have for the way medical ethicists do ethics is essential in order to appreciate the field as a form of applied philosophy. Like other forms of representation, narrative has distinct and defining features, which ethicists, in order to understand the data of their field, must learn to recognize and differentiate. Ethicists need to attend to the way decisions about the discourse of a narrative influences the kind of moral theories judged relevant to it. The author briefly examines six features of narrative discourse that rhetorically condition the way we understand medical ethics cases: filter, reportability, closure, characters, chronotope, and gender.

This narrative symposium examines the relationship of bioethics practice to personal experiences of illness. A call for stories was developed by Tod Chambers, the symposium editor, and editorial staff and was sent to several commonly used bioethics listservs and posted on the Narrative Inquiry in Bioethics website. The call asked authors to relate a personal story of being ill or caring for a person who is ill, and to describe how this affected how they think about bioethical questions and the practice of medicine. Eighteen individuals were invited to submit full stories based on review of their proposals. Twelve stories are published in this symposium, and six supplemental stories are published online only through Project MUSE. Authors explore themes of vulnerability, suffering, communication, voluntariness, cultural barriers, and flaws in local healthcare systems through stories about their own illnesses or about caring for children, partners, parents and grandparents. Commentary articles by Arthur Frank, Bradley Lewis, and Carol Taylor follow the collection of personal narratives.

Linguistic capital is what is at issue when we ask who can speak for a religion. But asking who has the linguistic capital to speak for a religious community in public policy forums is different from asking who has linguistic capital within the religious community. The first question forces us to examine the acquisition of linguistic capital in three separate — yet overlapping — fields of social discourse: academia, religion, and government. Each of these requires distinctive ways of earning the necessary social capital to be authorized to speak. The issue of who has the status to speak for a religion in a political forum is essentially a question of what types of linguistic capital gained in one field are deemed legal tender within another field.

It is pictures rather than propositions, metaphors rather than statements, which determine most of our philosophical convictions. Bioethics has been particularly attentive to the role of metaphors in the discourse on moral issues in medicine. In The Physician’s Covenant, William May discusses how the various metaphors of the physician influence the manner in which we analyze problems in clinical ethics. Meaghan O’Keefe and colleagues have argued that particular metaphors dominate and in turn mediate the representation of genetic modification to the public’. Craig Klugman has analyzed the power of various metaphors used in the discussion of...

The authors of “A Conceptual Model for the Translation of Bioethics Research and Scholarship” argue that bioethics must respond to institutional pressures by demonstrating that it is having an impact in the world. Any impact, the authors observe, must be “informed” by the goals of the discipline of bioethics. The concept of bioethics as a discipline is central to their argument. They begin by citing an essay that Daniel Callahan wrote in the first issue of Hastings Center Studies. Callahan argued in this 1973 piece that bioethics had yet to attain the status of a discipline, and he lauded the freedom of being able to define a new discipline. Callahan's essay shares with Mathews and colleague's a peculiarity: neither ever defines what it means to refer to something as a “discipline.” To define a discipline does mean attending to the intended end product of scholarly activity, so I concur with Mathews et al.’s focus on outcomes. But I am concerned that in their argument they confusingly entangle their understanding of an academic discipline's internal goals, its telos, with its potential to have an impact on the external world, its praxis. The confusion that this can bring exposes what I believe is a profound problem within bioethics, the discipline's peculiar and at times intellectually hazardous relationship with its institutional hosts.

When I heard that a laboratory in China had cloned two long‐tailed macaques, I thought of Mary Shelley's novel Frankenstein. When academics write about the novel, many point out that the reason the creature becomes a “monster” is not that he has any inherently evil qualities but that Victor Frankenstein, the creature's “mother,” immediately rejects him. All later problems can be traced to the fact that Frankenstein does not take responsibility for his creation. While I do not disagree with this, we need to think beyond (or before) Frankenstein's rejection to the reason he rejects it. I would like to suggest that this reason reveals something about how bioethics judges new biological technologies. I suggest that what causes Frankenstein to feel revulsion toward his creation is its unsettling mix of the beautiful and the ugly.