Today, multiple legal theories of parenthood interact to encompass all sorts of families. Adults and children bound through adoption, step-parenting, and assisted reproductive technologies (ART) demand familial recognition through some combination of biology, functionality, technology, and intent.

In the context of children born through ART, many scholars have proposed a more robust use of intent as a rule for identifying legal parents. When used to identify parents, intent asks who planned to become the parent of a child, and is often helpful when multiple adults simultaneously agreed to bring a child into the world. For example, in the case of surrogacy, as many as five adults — two intended parents, a gestational surrogate, and both a sperm and egg donor — could all contribute to bringing a single child into the world. Not only does intent provide a practical answer to such modern parentage dilemmas, but it recognizes the often-minimized emotional investment of men who wish to be fathers.

A word, first, about the religious sensibility that I have found helpful to describe the care professionals owe to dying patients, particularly patients with advanced dementia.

That word is covenant. It is a biblical term; but, today, it covers such dubious devices as real estate covenants. A real estate covenant often operates below the moral level of a contract to wall some people out of a neighborhood. Classically understood, however, the word covenant helps probe the obligations of doctors to their patients more deeply than the notion of a contract. Covenants of the sort I have in mind and contracts appear to be first cousins; they both include an agreement and an exchange between parties. But, in spirit, contracts and covenants differ markedly. Contracts are external; covenants are internal to the parties involved. We sign contracts in order to discharge them expediently. Contracts are limited and time-bound — whether a contract to fix plumbing or to charge such and such for a medical procedure.

I sometimes wonder whether some proponents of physician-assisted suicide (PAS) or physician-assisted death (PAD) think they own the copyright to such catchy phrases as “death with dignity” and “a good death” so that if you are against PAS or PAD, then you must be against a dignified death or a good death. If one removes the quotation marks around phrases like “aid-in-dying” or “compassionate care for the dying,” I am not opposed to such end-of-life care either. Indeed, how could anybody be against this type of care?

I do not want to abandon dying patients anymore than Dr. Timothy Quill does. Although, unfortunately, it will not always be easy to achieve the desired result, I agree with him that it ought to be a goal of medicine “to help people die well, to help them receive a good death” — or at least “the best possible” death under the circumstances. I part company with Professor Quill, however, when he urges us to change the law in the majority of our states so that in some circumstances patients may achieve a “good death” or a “dignified” one by means of lethal drugs.

An Institute of Medicine (IOM) panel charged with reviewing the system for overseeing research involving children concluded in 2004 that Institutional Review Boards (IRBs), institutions engaged in research, and study sponsors should “adopt explicit written policies on acceptable and unacceptable types and amounts of payments related to [children’s] research participation.” We previously reported data on practices and policies in the U.S. regarding payments to children who participate in research and their parents. Here, we report additional results from our study and identify some of the decisions that must be made in developing payment plans and on which payment policies will be expected to offer guidance. We conclude that further conceptual analysis and empirical research are necessary before IRBs, institutions, and sponsors can develop specific rules on numerous aspects of payment. Nevertheless, payment policies that promote the ethical treatment of children in research and their parents can be developed. We propose a structure for such policies.

Australia is a multi-cultural society with a population of nearly 24 million. The Aboriginal heritage traces back some 40,000 years and continues to influence Australian culture as a whole. A large proportion of Australian citizens were of British descent or birth at the outset of the last century, but post-World War II there was significant immigration from other European nations, particularly from Greece and Italy. In the last decades, there has been a significant intake of migrants from Asia.

This well known position of the AMA Judicial Council implies that the distinction between intentionally causing death and letting a patient die is conceptually clear and ethically significant. Most opponents of active voluntary euthanasia accept the validity of this distinction; proponents inevitably do not. The President’s Commission for the Study of Ethical Problems in Medicine and Biomedical and Behavioral Research is a notable exception.

The escalating cost of health care has forced people to confront the possibility of rationing—forgoing beneficial care for patients so that the resources might be used either for other current or prospective patients or for entirely different things in life than health care. Rationing of some sort makes eminent sense, not just economically; only those who are fanatics about health and medicine would urge that everything possible be spent on health care for even the slightest marginal benefit. Yet actual rationing of health care is usually thought to exact high, or at least disturbing, ethical costs.

I will examine four of these costs here: (1) the sacrifice of physician loyalty to patients, (2) the substitution of misleading and discriminatory numerical measurements of medicine's human benefit for more sensitive qualitative judgments, (3) the unfair bite that rationing is likely to take first out of poor people's care before it affects wealthier patients, and (4) the general Substitution of public, group standards about life and health for the values and decisions of individuals.

Until the fourth decade of this century, British and American patients who could afford physician services paid for them out of their own pockets; those who could not relied on charity care or simply went without. Doctors functioned as independent contractor private practitioners in both Great Britain and the United States, allocating medical services in response to paying-patient demand — and their own consciences.

Beginning in the 1930s, health care financing on both sides of the Atlantic was restructured in dramatically different directions, and physicians’ allocational roles in their respective countries began diverging. Under the National Health Service (NHS), British general practitioners became essentially gatekeepers to health services, funneling patients to appropriate hospital and specialist care. As time went by they came more to resemble lockkeepers, regulating the queue for secondary and tertiary treatment resulting from governmental limits on health care spending — and from the limitations and inefficiencies of a system of rationing by waiting. In the U.S., on the other hand, efficiency was not at first a concern.

Mitochondrial replacement therapy (MRT), also called nuclear genome transfer and mitochondrial donation, is a new technique that can be used to prevent the transmission of mitochondrial DNA diseases. Apart from the United Kingdom, the first country to approve MRT in 2015, Australia became the second country with a clear regulatory path for the clinical applications of this technique in 2021. The rapidly evolving clinical landscape of MRT makes the elaboration and evaluation of the responsible use of this technology a pressing matter. As jurisdictions with less strict or non-existent reproductive laws are continuing to use MRT in the clinical context, the need to address the underlying ethical issues surrounding MRT’s clinical translation is fundamental.

The Open Access Movement maintains that all scientific and scholarly literature should be available to all for free via the Internet. This concept is not new. Some scholars trace its roots as far back as 1963 when “hypertext” was first introduced. Although the Open Access Movement may have originated more than fifty years ago, it has been fueled by more recent events, including the unremitting escalation of journal subscription prices over the last two decades, resulting in massive cancellations of journals by academic libraries; the ubiquitous nature of the Internet and the parallel explosion of electronic resources; and the desire of authors to find a new publishing model which continues to offer the benefits of peer review while providing for more rapid publication and wide-spread distribution than the current labor-intensive, time-consuming model.

The Open Access Movement has resulted in a number of online repositories devoted to legal analysis and policy. This column explores the genesis of the movement, its value to researchers and policymakers, and provides an overview of the two principal open access products in the legal arena.

The ethics sections of Critical Care Societies have issued position statements and proposed a variety of position papers and policies describing the appropriate use of critical care services. These policies describe the goals of critical care provision — to support a patient through an acute, potentially reversible, life-threatening illness — and provide broad guidance on physiological and hemodynamic criteria that require the specialized care of an ICU environment. In recent years, many critical care professionals have, however, reported providing care they felt was inappropriate or futile even though most felt they should not have done so. Futile care encompasses treatments that will not work or treatments that have no chance of providing any benefit. ICU teams define care as inappropriate when it fails to restore a person to an awareness of self, and an ability to interact with their environment particularly when a lot of critical care resources are required. When patients experience significant amounts of pain and suffering, such care seems even more inappropriate.

The United Kingdom is a leader in genomics research, and the presence of numerous types of biobanks and the linking of health data and research within the UK evidences the importance of biobank-based research in the UK. There is no biobank-specific law in the UK and research on biobank materials is governed by a confusing set of statutory law, common law, regulations, and guidance documents. Several layers of applicable law, from European to local, further complicate an understanding of privacy protections. Finally, biobanks frequently contain data in addition to the samples; the legal framework in the UK generally differentiates between data and samples and the form of the data affects the applicability of legal provisions. Biobanks must be licensed by the Human Tissue Authority; certain projects must be reviewed by Research Ethics Committees, and all projects are encouraged to be reviewed by them. Data Access Committees in biobanks are also common in the UK. While this confusing array of legal provisions leaves privacy protections in biobanking somewhat unclear, changes at the EU level may contribute to harmonization of approaches to privacy.

There is a national movement supporting the retention and use of bio-specimens from deceased individuals for the purpose of genetic testing. This manuscript discusses the significance of postmortem genetic testing in the context of death determination by medical examiners (i.e., public molecular autopsies). We highlight distinctive concerns that are raised in the areas of consent, confidentiality, and return of results when genetic testing is performed as part of a public molecular autopsy. We believe our manuscript will contribute to the development of a robust ethical and legal framework for genetic testing in this context.

In the March 2010 edition of Mayo Clinic Proceedings, Drs. Rose and Curry declared that resident physicians have an ethical duty to reduce error during periods of fatigue. Problematically, however, they argued this means ingesting a stimulant for performance enhancement and sleep avoidance (hereinafter “PESA”) during a shift when a resident physician is experiencing fatigue as the more ethical choice than forgoing ingesting a stimulant. Rather than accepting enhancement as an unstoppable technological imperative, this article will examine the underlying motivations for enhancement embedded in our culture and the corresponding legal framework relating to stimulant drugs. Although our society seems to be engaged in a pharmacological arms race of efficiency, competition, and self “betterment,” the FDA has not approved stimulant drugs such as modafinil for PESA. As a result, the off-label use of modafinil for PESA means these individuals are part of a large-scale experiment that poses serious immediate and long-term side effects to the individual user as well as society.

There is something about the debate over reproductive technologies of all kinds—from coerced use of Norplant to trait-selection technologies, to issues surrounding in vitro fertilization (IVF), to fetal tissue transplantation—that seems to invite dubious analogies. A Tennessee trial court termed Mary Sue and Junior Davis's frozen embryos “in vitro children” and applied a best-interests standard in awarding “custody” to Mary Sue Davis; the Warnock Committee drew an implicit analogy between human gametes and transplantable organs in its recommendation of a voluntary, nonprofit system for collecting and distributing gametes in the United Kingdom; Owen Jones compares the right to trait-selection to the right to abortion; Robert Veatch once claimed that if a woman had signed an organ donation card and then died while pregnant, she had in effect given consent to the attempt to sustain the pregnancy after her death; John Robertson has argued that contract pregnancy poses no problems we have not already encountered with adoption; and Andrea Bonnicksen has compared the wonders of preembryonic genetic screening to the riches housed in the gold museum in Bogota, Colombia.

DNA evidence has rapidly become a significant and routine feature of modern criminal prosecutions. The first introduction of DNA evidence in a U.S. Court occurred in 1987. By 1994, 42 percent of local prosecutors reported that they had used DNA evidence in a felony case at least once. By 2001 that number had increased to 68 percent. Moreover, from a technical point of view, the potential benefits of DNA testing are substantial. Early hurdles to admissibility during trial have been overcome by the adoption of rigorous standards for DNA analysis. Rapid development of identification technology, fueled in significant part by the Human Genome Project, and the resultant development and expansion of national forensic DNA databases, has increased the potential of DNA to play a major role in crime solving. Indeed, over three million offender profiles, collected by state and federal authorities, now reside in the National DNA Index System (NDIS). This number is likely to increase as more states and the federal government are expanding compelled DNA collections to individuals arrested for certain crimes.