This is an excerpt from Wiker and DeMarco’s book, the Architects of the Culture of Death, (pp 155-158):
Thomson’s approach to philosophy is curious. She abandons existential realities and takes flight into the realm of the phantasmagoric. There, ensconced in that self-created world, she makes pronouncements about how people should live and act in our real world. Her view of things proceeds independently from any recognition of an order of either reality or Providence. People-seeds blow into our houses, take root in our carpets, and ask us to be their caretakers. This is science fiction, not the real world. The greatest danger in her thinking, however, is not her approval of abortion, but her portrayal of a world that is so frightening in its arbitrariness and utter inhospitality that the only refuge we can take is within our own isolated will. Thomson’s defense of abortion is also, perhaps unwittingly, a defense of Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, and Freud. “This body is my body”, she exclaims, indicating that what she wants to safeguard is not motherhood or children or the family, but her body. It is not so much that this moral view is selfish as the fact that it is born of fear, fear that the normal processes in life might turn against us with savage fury and utter irrationality. This is not philosophy, but hysteria.
At any rate, Thomson’s series of analogies brings her to the conclusion that the right to life does not include the right to occupy another person’s body. Again, she has a point, but it is an irrelevant one. It is irrelevant because her concept of “right” does not capture what is primary in the sphere of morality. One might consider the following scenario to test the practicality and even degree of humanity of her position.
The Carpathia arrives at a specific location off the coast of Newfoundland, where it finds the survivors of the Titanic. Through his bullhorn, the captain announces to the sick, anxious, and grieving survivors that he fully respects their right to live, but regrettably, since they do not have tickets, they have no right to board and occupy his ship. There really is not sufficient room, he goes on to explain, and adds that it would be unfair to the paid passengers to deprive them of the pleasant sea voyage they had in mind when they purchased their tickets. How would history remember such a captain? As a pro-rights, pro-choice naval officer? As a clear-eyed, rigorous moral philosopher? Or as a sociopath who is entirely devoid of human sympathy?
The above analogy, however imperfect, is far closer to the situation of a mother with an unwanted pregnancy than is the violinist case. A world of individual rights where each person imagines himself to be a kind of Robinson Crusoe is not livable in any human sense. We can respect individual “rights” and still be inhumane. A world of “rights only” is stunted, inhuman, and tragic.
Morality begins when people are generous and loving, when they exercise their duties to be decent, rather than their rights not to be inconvenienced. Thomson asserts that “we are not morally required to be Good Samaritans or anyway Very Good Samaritans to one another.” Her mindset is always legalistic. She completely misses the point that personal love and generosity are primary and that law, rights, and obligations are secondary.