This week the Ethicist (a.ka. Randy Cohen) fields a question from Roberta Osborne of Toronto:

“I have M.S., for which there is at present no cure. My doctor has invited me to participate in studies of existing and potential treatments. I admire those who volunteer for such research, but I am concerned about the potential long-term health consequences. Is it ethical to benefit from medicines developed through research studies but not participate in them myself?”

The Ethicist’s answer: No one can be forced to volunteer for medical research, but Roberta should give back to the M.S.-medical community in some way. “It would be parasitical for any of us to benefit from a community without contributing to its well-being. But the particular means of giving back are left up to us.”

“Look at it this way,” the Ethicist continues. “You may walk over the Brooklyn Bridge without shame even though workers suffered and died in its construction while you did not pitch in (what with your not being from around here or being born at the time).”

The Re-Ethicist’s response: Wrong!

Well, half-wrong, anyway.

We shall begin by pointing out the essential silliness of Cohen’s Brooklyn Bridge analogy.

There.

Now, Cohen is of course correct that no one can or should be forced to “volunteer” for medical research. We know where that road leads.

Nonetheless, he is letting Roberta off the hook rather too easily for her fear of science. The question of her participation in research directed at helping her and millions of other people isn’t just a question of compulsion, it’s a question about the quality of one’s life, about one’s attitude towards living. Will Roberta conquer her fear? Will she overcome her instinct for self-preservation by rising to a higher standard of spirituality and living?

Because let’s face it—what Cohen is really doing is saying that while it’s unfortunate for Osborne to act in a cowardly fashion, no one can force her to be courageous.

And so it is. But we can encourage Osborne to be brave.

It’s a bit like checking the organ donor box on your driver’s license. No one can force you to do it—but that doesn’t mean that it’s all right not to. People should be encouraged to conquer their irrational fears. Because sometimes, living an ethical life isn’t just about playing by the rules; it’s about doing the things that scare you but benefit others.

A postscript: Incidentally, you can get a hint of Roberta’s (quite understandable) fear in her language. She writes: “I have M.S., for which there is at present no cure.”

Extraneous words in a sentence often indicate an emotional hedge, a reluctance to confront a difficult truth. Notice Osborne’s use of the words “at present.” Omit them. The sentence now reads: “I have M.S., for which there is no cure.”

Means exactly the same thing, right? And yet it’s tougher, more honest; the “at present” is a flinch, a way of implying that a cure is right around the corner.

I would certainly not fault anyone with a terminal disease whose fear seeps into her language. But I would have admired Osborne particularly had she written “I have M.S., for which there is no cure.” And I wonder if we don’t see her flinch not only in her language, but also in her fear of volunteering in medical tests.