Philosophy of Health:
Ethics and the Meaning of Medicine Automatic translate

The philosophy of health is a field at the intersection of the philosophy of medicine, bioethics, and social theory, where debates arise regarding what constitutes health and illness, how medicine justifies its decisions, and what meaning people ascribe to treatment, care, and living with disabilities. Because these concepts are linked to resource allocation, patient rights, and the boundaries of "normal," debates here quickly become practical rather than academic.

Philosophy of medicine as a discipline

Philosophy of medicine addresses questions of the theory, practice, and language of medicine: what constitutes disease, how cause differs from explanation, what constitutes evidence, how clinical decisions are structured, and where the moral boundaries of intervention lie. It emerged as a professional field relatively late, but draws on a long tradition of interaction between philosophy and medicine, from antiquity to modern clinical science.

Within the discipline, a distinction is typically made between metaphysical questions (what is the "status" of illness and health), epistemological questions (how diagnosis and therapy are justified), and ethical questions (what is permissible to do with and for the patient). This trinity reflects real-life practice: the physician simultaneously considers the causes of a condition, the reliability of data, and the moral cost of decisions.

An important dividing line is between reductionism and holism: reductionism seeks to explain a condition through its elements and mechanisms, while holism considers the holistic life experience, social context, and meaning of the disease for the individual. At the clinical level, this manifests itself in the tension between "treating the disease" and "helping the person live with the disease," especially in chronic conditions.

The concepts of "health", "disease", "norm"

In the philosophy of medicine, there is no universal, uncontroversial definition of health and illness, and this is considered not a defect, but a consequence of the fact that biology, values, and social expectations are mixed into one word. Even if we accept that "disease" is something about the body, the question remains: where is the line between illness, injury, disability, risk, and simply a variation of human conditions?

One common approach is to interpret health as the absence of disease, that is, as a "default state" without pathology. The problem is that this makes it difficult to discuss degrees of health, predispositions, and what constitutes a good state in the face of incurable diagnoses.

Another approach is to view health as a positive state of well-being, not merely the absence of pathology. In this spirit, the WHO definition is often quoted: health is "a state of complete physical, mental, and social well-being and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity."

This formulation has a strong ethical intuition: a person can be "not sick" but still live in conditions that make it strange to talk about well-being. But the critical implication is also obvious: "complete" well-being is difficult to make a working criterion for clinics, insurance, and policy, because then almost everyone would be considered "unhealthy."

Another key issue is the distinction between "disease" and "disorder," especially in psychiatry, where the boundaries between suffering, dysfunction, and social norm have historically been unstable. Philosophical debate here often revolves around whether it’s possible to identify an "objective disorder" independent of assessments and culture, or whether a diagnosis always carries a normative imprint.

Naturalism and constructivism

The classic debate in the philosophy of illness is between naturalism and constructivism. Naturalism argues that illness is based on objective facts about the body’s dysfunction, and such facts can be scientifically determined; value elements, even if they exist, are secondary.

Constructivism, in response, argues that medical categories don’t arise in a vacuum: society decides in advance which conditions are considered problems and then searches for a biological mechanism that will explain "why it’s bad." In a strong version of constructivism, it is norms and interests that shape the boundaries of illness, not physiology alone.

The debate isn’t limited to slogans, because in practice, there are cases that appear to be "pure biology," and cases where the diagnosis has clearly changed due to moral and political processes. Therefore, mixed positions are encountered: naturalism regarding infections, but a more constructivist approach to a number of psychiatric and behavioral categories, where social reactions and labels can change the trajectory of life more than biomarkers.

An additional axis is the "conservative" and "revisionist" approaches. The conservative approach strives to stay close to everyday intuitions about illness and health, while the revisionist approach is willing to change language and conceptual boundaries for the sake of scientific clarity or ethical justice, even if this grates on the "ordinary" person.

Illness as explanation and as experience

Medicine often conceptualizes disease as an explanatory object: a diagnosis connects disparate symptoms and predicts the course of the disease. Philosophers note that this connection is not always purely logical: a diagnosis is constructed from data, practical experience, and a chosen model of causality — molecular, microbial, or population.

At the same time, two perspectives constantly clash in the clinic: "disease" as a pathological process and "morbidity" as an experienced state. Holistic approaches insist that suffering and the loss of integrity in life cannot be reduced to a mechanism, and without this component, treatment becomes a matter of servicing parameters.

This leads to a growing focus on chronic conditions: the doctor’s goal then often shifts from "returning to what was before" to "helping someone live an acceptable life," that is, to focusing on a person’s functions, self-description, and ability to function. This doesn’t negate biology, but it forces medical success to be measured not only by laboratory parameters, but also by what a person can actually do and how they feel.

Ethical logic of medicine

Medical ethics isn’t limited to "do no harm": it concerns autonomy, justice, beneficence, and the prohibition against maleficence, which often conflict in real-life situations. A popular model in modern clinical ethics is the four principles (respect for autonomy, beneficence, nonmaleficence, and justice), which derives from the work of Beauchamp and Childress.

Autonomy means that the patient is not an object of repair: they have the right to make decisions about interventions if they have the capacity to consent and receive information without pressure. But autonomy doesn’t solve everything: sometimes "self-choice" comes up against issues of harm, risk, addiction, cognitive impairment, and social vulnerability, where formal consent can be empty.

Beneficence and non-maleficence form a practical pair: a physician must strive for benefit while simultaneously avoiding harm, with harm being physical, psychological, and social. In modern medicine, this is especially evident in prevention and screening, where interventions are aimed at reducing risk but can trigger overdiagnosis, anxiety, and adverse treatment effects.

Justice shifts the conversation to the level of systems: who gets access to treatment, how scarce resources are distributed, how different types of suffering and different patient groups are compared. Here, the philosophy of health intersects with political philosophy: decisions about normalcy, disability, and "quality of life" easily devolve into hidden discrimination if they are made without transparent criteria and public accountability.

Evidence, clinical judgment, and meaning

Medical knowledge is not just "facts" but also the process of obtaining and verifying them: collecting complaints, examining patients, testing, differential diagnosis, and assessing probabilities. The philosophy of medicine shows that clinical thought exists between statistics and intuition: statistics reduce errors, but a pure algorithm works poorly without context, and intuition is dangerous without the discipline of verification.

Even the concept of "treatment effectiveness" isn’t limited to laboratory results: therapy can improve outcomes while simultaneously worsening life due to side effects or social stigma. Therefore, discussions of the meaning of medicine often boil down to the question of what exactly it promises — to eliminate the mechanism, reduce suffering, restore function, maintain dignity, or all three, but in varying proportions.

The meaning of treatment for the patient is often linked to how the disease changes their life: their plans, their role in the family, their identity, their sense of control. A holistic perspective emphasizes that "healing" can mean restoring wholeness to life even without completely eliminating the pathological process, and this changes the language of goals for the doctor and the patient.

Informed consent and the limits of physician authority

Informed consent is a practical mechanism for respecting autonomy that protects individuals from "soft coercion," even when the physician believes they are acting in the best interests of the individual. The Declaration of Helsinki emphasizes that participation in research must be voluntary, and that individuals have the right to refuse or withdraw from the study without negative consequences.

It also states that potential participants must be informed of the study’s goals, methods, expected benefits, risks and burdens, funding sources, potential conflicts of interest, privacy protections, and the procedures for assistance and compensation in the event of harm. These provisions establish a minimum standard of transparency that serves as a convenient checklist for both the ethics committee and the clinician.

A special case is dependent relationships: a patient may consent out of fear of losing treatment or a desire not to let the doctor down. Therefore, the Helsinki Declaration requires particular caution and, in such situations, recommends obtaining consent through an independent, qualified professional.

When a person is temporarily or permanently unable to give consent, the document allows for the consent of a legal representative and adds the concept of assent: if the patient is able to express their position, it must be taken into account, and any disagreement must be respected. For urgent research in the absence of a representative, initiation without consent is permitted, but only if delay is impossible, the reasons are specified in advance, and approval is granted by the ethics committee. Consent to continue is then obtained as soon as possible.

The Belmont Report’s logic operates in parallel: respect for persons is linked to autonomy and the protection of those with diminished autonomy, beneficence to maximizing benefits and minimizing harm, and justice to the fair distribution of research risks and benefits. This connection is useful because it translates moral language into testable questions: who bears the risks, who benefits, and how the participant’s actual choices are structured.

Patient autonomy and the right to refuse

In the clinic, autonomy rarely appears as a solitary "I myself" decision, because illness alters cognitive abilities, willpower, access to information, and social support. Philosophical critiques of autonomy don’t negate it, but they require clarification: autonomy depends on conditions, meaning the system’s task is to create conditions where the patient’s decision is not fictitious.

One common conflict is refusing treatment that is statistically beneficial. Medical ethics here hinges on the question of what constitutes rationality: a patient may act not based on probabilistic benefit, but on the value of autonomy, religious beliefs, fear of complications, or the experience of a past injury.

On the other hand, autonomy does not grant a physician "moral license" to step aside when a patient is disoriented, psychotic, intoxicated, or in a state of acute life-threatening danger. In such cases, bioethical documents and practice typically seek a temporary model of protection, where intervention is minimal, transparent, controlled, and terminates immediately after the patient regains the capacity to make an informed choice.

Paternalism, care and clinical responsibility

Paternalism in medicine is often described as intervention "for the good" against the patient’s will. But in reality, there are also milder forms: the choice of words, the order in which options are presented, the selection of information, and how the doctor frames a "normal" decision.

The philosophical interest here is that medicine is an institutional practice: society delegates authority to doctors based on knowledge, license, and trust. Therefore, even "soft" forms of choice management require moral accountability, otherwise the clinic becomes a place where the specialist’s values subtly replace the patient’s.

Paternalism is sometimes justified through beneficence and nonmaleficence, but these same principles easily conflict if a physician overestimates the benefits and underestimates the harms of an imposed intervention. Hence, the practical criterion: the more irreversible the intervention and the weaker the evidence of benefit, the stronger the requirements for information quality and freedom of consent.

Fairness and distribution of health benefits

Justice in medicine does not mean general "benevolence," but rather the distribution of access to care, waiting lists, financial coverage, and specialist attention. In research ethics, justice is directly linked to ensuring that the risks of research do not fall on vulnerable groups while the benefits accrue to others, and that the selection of participants is ethically acceptable.

The Helsinki Declaration specifically discusses vulnerability as a contextual and dynamic status, not as a label, and reminds that excluding vulnerable groups is also harmful because it perpetuates inequalities and makes research findings inapplicable to those who are more likely to be ill. It also states that research involving people in particularly vulnerable situations is justified only when it meets their needs and benefits them, and when the research cannot be conducted on a less vulnerable group without compromising equity.

This framework is useful for the philosophy of health because it demonstrates that "ethics" is not a superstructure above medicine, but rather part of the criteria for the quality of scientific knowledge. If data is obtained at the cost of systematically disadvantaging some and benefiting others, the knowledge becomes socially toxic, even if statistically valid.

Public health and individual rights

The field of public health constantly weighs the individual’s well-being against the well-being of the population, and this conflict is not resolved by the simple slogan "society consists of people." The Helsinki Declaration clearly articulates this priority: the goals of gaining knowledge and improving public health cannot trump the rights and interests of individual research participants.

This thesis is also important beyond research, as an ethical "immunization" against the idea that individuals can be sacrificed for the sake of statistics. In clinical practice, a similar motive appears in quarantine measures, vaccinations, the allocation of intensive care beds, and in matters of mandatory action, but even there, ethical constraints typically require minimizing restrictions on rights and transparent justification.

Medicalization and its criticism

Medicalization is the process by which everyday phenomena come to be described and regulated by the language of medicine, with diagnoses, protocols, and interventions where moral, pedagogical, or legal frameworks previously prevailed. In clinical settings and health policy, this process is ambiguous: it can reduce suffering through access to care, but it can also expand control, increase reliance on experts, and create unnecessary categories of "pathology."

Ivan Illich’s critique centers on the concept of iatrogenesis, or harm arising from medical care itself. In his understanding, iatrogenesis can be clinical (side effects and complications of interventions), social (increased dependence on the system and decreased tolerance for discomfort), and cultural (the narrowing of ways to understand pain, aging, and death outside of medical language).

The philosophical point of this criticism is not a rejection of medicine, but a demand for moderation: every expansion of medical control demands an answer to the benefits it brings, the harm it creates, and who pays the price. The practical test is simple: if a new "medical" category increases diagnostics and treatment but does not reduce suffering or improve people’s functioning, this is a reason to reconsider the framework of the problem.

Normalization, risk and overdiagnosis

Modern medicine often treats risk rather than established illness, and this changes the meaning of normal. When "pre-disease" and "risk factor" replace diagnosis, a person can become asymptomatic, with real consequences for their psyche, self-esteem, and sense of self.

From a philosophical perspective, risk isn’t a disease, but a probabilistic statement, and it can easily be turned into a "near-diagnosis" if one forgets the difference between population statistics and the fate of a specific individual. Hence the debate about overdiagnosis: identifying conditions that meet the criteria but won’t cause harm or impact life if left untreated, even though the treatment itself can cause harm.

The ethical difficulty here is that a doctor formally provides care and prevention, but in reality, they can initiate a cascade of tests and procedures where the cumulative harm outweighs the expected benefit. Therefore, the philosophy of health requires focusing not on an "ideal norm," but on a balance: what risk is reduced, what risk is added, and how the patient perceives this trade-off.

Psychiatry and the boundaries of the disorder

Psychiatry is particularly sensitive to philosophical questions because its criteria for disorder are linked to behavior, experiences, and social expectations. ICD-11 guidelines emphasize that mental disorders are described as syndromes characterized by clinically significant impairments in cognition, emotional regulation, or behavior that reflect dysfunction in processes underlying mental functioning and are typically associated with suffering or impairment.

Even with such a definition, a boundary remains: where does the normal variant end and a "clinically significant" disorder begin? Philosophers discuss the extent to which this threshold is determined by biology and the extent by social demands for productivity, communication, and self-control, and how to avoid a situation where diagnosis becomes a tool of discipline.

A separate ethical issue is forced treatment and hospitalization, where autonomy conflicts with the risk of harm to oneself or others. Here, the debate is not about "whether it is ever permissible," but about procedures and guarantees: minimum sufficiency, judicial and professional oversight, respect for the patient’s voice, and cessation of coercion at the first possible opportunity.

Disability: Medical and Social Logic

The discussion of disability shows that "biology" and "social environment" are intertwined: the same impairment can cause minimal limitations in an accessible environment and severe limitations in an inaccessible one. The social model of disability emphasizes barriers, attitudes, and exclusion, rather than a "body defect" as the sole cause of limitation.

Within the ICF, the WHO describes disability and functioning as contextual phenomena and emphasizes that environmental factors must be considered in addition to the individual’s condition. The ICF is a framework for measuring health and disability at the individual and population levels, adopted by WHO Member States as the international standard for describing and measuring health and disability.

This is philosophically important for medicine, because the goal of care is no longer limited to "fixing the body" and expands to ensuring participation in life: accessibility, assistive technologies, training, and changes in working conditions. This also changes ethics: justice no longer means treating everyone equally, but rather removing barriers that make some people "less treatable" simply because of their environment.

Suffering and the Meaning of Clinical Care

Medicine encounters suffering before it encounters "pure" pathology, because a person arrives not with a molecule, but with pain, fear, and loss of control. This makes the meaning of care two-layered: one layer is intervention in the disease process, the other is working with suffering as an experience and as a social fact.

The WHO describes palliative care as an approach that improves the quality of life of patients and their families facing life-threatening illness through the prevention and relief of suffering, early identification, assessment, and treatment of pain and other physical, psychosocial, and spiritual problems. The WHO also explicitly states that early symptom control is an ethical imperative to alleviate suffering and respect the person’s dignity.

This position is philosophically important: it places the relief of suffering alongside the goals of "cure" and "prolong," and sometimes even above them if interventions produce little benefit and much harm. Moreover, palliative care is not limited to the final days of life: the WHO emphasizes the effectiveness of early palliative care interventions during the course of illness and its link to a reduction in unnecessary hospitalizations.

Pain as a phenomenon, not just a signal

In 2020, the International Association for the Study of Pain (IASP) revised its definition of pain: it is "an unpleasant sensory and emotional experience associated with actual or potential tissue damage, or similar to the experience associated with such damage." In its notes, the IASP clarifies that pain is always a personal experience influenced by biological, psychological, and social factors, and that pain cannot be inferred solely from sensory neuron activity, as pain and nociception are distinct phenomena.

The IASP specifically emphasizes the principle of respect for patient communication: if a person describes an experience as pain, this communication should be taken seriously. Another important point is that the inability to communicate does not rule out the presence of pain, which impacts the care of infants, comatose patients, people with dementia, and veterinary ethics.

Philosophically, this definition supports the shift from "pain as a sensor of damage" to "pain as an experience," where treatment means addressing the body, perception, and living conditions. This shift also protects against moralizing, which attempts to discount a complaint of pain if it fails to detect "sufficient" pathology in imaging or tests.

Quality of life and the conflict of metrics

In medicine, quality of life is not a single number, but a set of dimensions that depend on values: mobility, clarity of thought, symptom control, relationships, and autonomy. When discussing palliative care, the WHO associates its goal with improving quality of life, not just reducing pain as a single symptom.

The problem begins where the system is drawn toward standardization: hospitals, insurers, and regulators want to compare cases, but comparison requires scales and indicators. The philosophical criticism here is that metrics tend to replace the goal: what is easy to measure begins to seem important, and what is difficult to quantify gets lost in management reporting.

At the bedside, the conflict of metrics appears simple: the patient may prefer fewer side effects at the cost of less life extension, or vice versa, and both positions are rational given different values. Therefore, clinical ethics brings the conversation back to autonomy and informed consent, not in the form of a signature, but rather in the form of collaborative work with goals and acceptable burdens.

Death as the boundary of medical control

In modern medicine, death often becomes a point where two moral dictionaries compete: "fight to the end" and "preserve dignity and reduce suffering." The WHO emphasizes that palliative care supports the ability to live as actively as possible before death and views it as part of the natural process, while placing the relief of suffering at the center of professional duty.

The ethical challenge here isn’t the pros and cons of technologies, but the precision of choice: intensive care can be both a lifesaver and a prolongation of agony, and in both cases, the outward appearance is the same — machines, infusions, monitoring. Therefore, the philosophy of health discusses the meaning of medical intervention through proportionality: how proportional is the severity of the intervention to the expected benefit, and how is this benefit determined — by the patient or the system.

A separate issue is sedative therapy in palliative care: it is associated with the relief of refractory symptoms and raises questions about the boundary between alleviating suffering and inadvertently shortening life. Such discussions typically adhere to the principles of beneficence, nonmaleficence, and respect for autonomy, as well as strict clinical documentation of goals and dosages.

Truthfulness, trust, and "therapeutic privilege"

Truthfulness in medicine maintains trust and makes consent meaningful, because without information, choice becomes a formality. In ethical literature, "therapeutic privilege" is described as a physician’s withholding of information out of the belief that disclosure would cause harm or suffering to the patient.

Criticism of this practice is based on the fact that withholding information from a competent patient violates the physician’s fiduciary duty and undermines autonomy, and may cause more long-term harm than the short-term stress of truth. It is important to distinguish between physician privilege and a patient’s refusal to know details: in the case of refusal, the patient, not the physician, initiates the process, and this changes the moral picture.

Evidence and the limits of "pure" fact

In Sackett’s classic formulation, evidence-based medicine is "the conscientious, explicit, and judicious use of the best current evidence in making decisions about the care of individual patients," and practice means integrating individual clinical experience with the best external data from systematic research. This formula is important because it doesn’t reduce clinical practice to statistics: clinical experience and research data are placed side by side, and this sets the professional standard for choice.

The philosophical problem begins when the word "evidence" is understood as a universal answer without context. Any study focuses on groups, while a clinic focuses on a single individual, and the gap between population effects and individual outcomes must be bridged through judgment, values, and discussions about treatment goals.

Another boundary is causality: many strong data are probabilistic and correlational, and patients and doctors want to hear "why." Therefore, medicine constantly switches between explanatory models: mechanisms at the molecular level, causal chains at the behavioral level, and probabilistic predictions, which are suitable for risk management but sound poorly like "explanations."

Conflicts of interest and trust in the system

A conflict of interest in biomedical science is defined as a situation in which professional judgment about a primary interest (e.g., patient welfare or the validity of a study) may be influenced by a secondary interest (e.g., financial gain). This definition is important because it encompasses both the "potential for influence" and the perception of others: even if a person is confident in their integrity, the incentive structure itself can undermine trust.

The ethical purpose of disclosing conflicts of interest is not moral condemnation, but rather to enable readers, patients, and regulators to assess the risk of systematic bias. In clinical settings, this becomes a communication issue: patients often find it difficult to distinguish information based on independent data from information fueled by commercial incentives, and so transparency becomes a matter of care.

For the philosophy of health, a simple connection is important here: trust is a resource of medicine, and it is destroyed not only by lies but also by opaque motivations. When trust declines, patients are less likely to adhere to therapy, report symptoms less well, and are more likely to engage in self-interpretations, which worsens outcomes even with good treatment.

Diagnosis as a tool and as a label

A diagnosis serves several functions: it explains symptoms, guides treatment, facilitates communication between specialists, and provides access to resources such as sick leave, insurance coverage, and benefits. But a diagnosis also creates social identity: a person may begin to perceive themselves through the category of illness, and others may perceive them through expectations of "patient" behavior.

This is especially evident in borderline states and at risk, where "being a patient" can begin before suffering occurs. Philosophical criticism insists here: since diagnosis distributes resources and status, the debate over the boundaries of diagnosis is not a debate about terminology, but a debate about justice and power.

Overdiagnosis and "too much medicine"

Discussions of overdiagnosis emphasize that it "unnecessarily renders people patients," for example, by identifying conditions that would otherwise cause no harm or by medicalizing ordinary aspects of life. This concept is linked to screening, expanding diagnostic thresholds, and the growing role of biomarkers, where tests begin to guide clinical decisions even when their correlation with well-being and prognosis is weak.

The ethical problem with overdiagnosis isn’t a "doctor’s error," but a systemic one: expanding diagnostics often seems humane because it promises early intervention, but it creates cascades of testing and treatment with side effects, anxiety, and unnecessary costs. Here, the philosophy of health returns to the question of meaning: if medicine adds burden to the patient without providing commensurate benefit, it violates the principles of beneficence and non-maleficence, even with appropriate protocols.

One practical implication is that decisions about testing or diagnosis should be linked to action: what will change in treatment and in a person’s life if the result is positive or negative. This approach disciplines the clinic and helps distinguish "knowledge for its own sake" from knowledge that actually improves outcomes and reduces suffering.

Where treatment ends and care begins

The boundary between treatment and care is not the same as the "there is therapy"/"there is no therapy" dichotomy, as care also includes active interventions: symptom management, nutrition, respiratory support, family support, psychological and spiritual support. The WHO describes palliative care as an active approach to alleviating suffering and improving quality of life, meaning that care is not "passive surrender" but a different goal of medical care.

The ethical knot here is tied to language: the word "treat" often sounds like "restore normalcy," and the word "care" sounds like "stop trying," although both can be clinically complex and morally demanding. Therefore, the philosophy of medicine suggests speaking about the goals of care in terms of benefit for the individual patient, rather than in terms of the symbolic "success" of the system.

Prevention and the morality of "healthy behavior"

Prevention seems neutral, but it quickly becomes a moral norm: "A good person takes care of themselves," while a "bad person" has only themselves to blame. This creates the risk of stigma and shifting responsibility to the patient in situations where decisive factors lie beyond personal control, such as employment, housing, food availability, and safety.

The WHO Ottawa Charter views health as a resource for everyday life, and describes health promotion as a process that helps people gain control over and improve their health. It also explicitly states that health promotion is not solely a task for the healthcare sector, but a broader societal process.

This position is convenient for the philosophy of health: it prevents prevention from becoming an "individual duty" because it returns the conversation to the conditions that make choices real or fictitious. If a person lacks access to a safe environment and a stable income, the demand to "lead a healthy lifestyle" becomes rhetoric rather than practical advice.

Social determinants and "causes of causes"

The WHO defines social determinants of health as the conditions in which people are born, grow, live, work, and age, as well as the broader forces and systems that shape everyday living conditions. The WHO also links these determinants to health inequalities, emphasizing that unequal access to power, money, and resources significantly impacts the risk of illness and death.

Philosophically, this means that medicine as a clinical service is not the same as "health," because health depends on factors higher than a doctor’s visit. This creates a tension between the physician’s individual ethics and social ethics: the physician sees the patient "here and now," while the causes of illness may lie in social policy, economics, and discrimination.

A practical dilemma arises when a clinic begins to "treat poverty" with medical means, for example, by prescribing medications where the primary problem is lack of housing or food. In such cases, the philosophy of health requires honesty: one can alleviate the consequences, but one cannot pass off replacing the causes as treatment.

Global Justice and Access to Medicines

Global health ethics is confronted with the fact that basic treatments are extremely unevenly distributed, and this is not limited to differences in individual behavior. The WHO defines "essential medicines" as medicines that address the priority needs of the population and emphasizes that they must be accessible, affordable, and of guaranteed quality at all times.

The WHO also specifies criteria for selecting such drugs: public health importance, the balance of benefits and harms based on evidence, and consideration of cost and availability. This demonstrates that the "drug list" is both a scientific and ethical document, as it links evidence, budgets, and principles of fairness.

Philosophically, the question of access is a question of what constitutes the minimum duty of states and international institutions to address human vulnerability. In practical terms, this means that the discussion of treatment effectiveness cannot be separated from the discussion of supply chains, prices, patents, manufacturing quality, and delivery infrastructure, otherwise the "treatment" will remain a dead letter.

Patient responsibility and system responsibility

The rhetoric of "responsible patient" is useful when it enhances a person’s agency, helping them plan sleep, nutrition, physical activity, and therapy. But it becomes harmful when it obscures structural limitations and turns illness into a moral judgment, especially in the context of addiction, mental illness, and poverty.

The WHO, in describing social determinants, effectively establishes a counterbalance: personal choice matters, but it is shaped by the environment, meaning society bears some responsibility for what choices are available. This makes clinical language more honest: a doctor can speak about a patient’s actions, but should not dismiss the role of the conditions that made the disease probable.

In clinical ethics, this brings us back to fairness: identical recommendations given to people with different resources offer unequal chances of compliance and success. Therefore, health care in a real sense includes both adapting advice to a person’s resources and referring them to social support where a medical prescription fails to address the underlying problem.

Restricting freedoms for the sake of health

Public health ethics permits restrictions on individual rights, but requires strict conditions: the lawfulness of the measure, a legitimate aim, necessity, proportionality, non-discrimination, time limitation, and reviewability. The review of human rights in pandemics links this to the Circus Principles, which set precisely these criteria for restrictions on rights in the event of threats to public health.

An important practical idea is "minimal disruption": if there are several ways to mitigate risk, the one that limits freedoms the least while being equally effective should be chosen. This norm shifts the discussion from the binary "for/against quarantine" to the engineering question: which measures are effective, what is their cost to rights, and whether they can be replaced with more lenient ones.

Philosophically, two types of obligations clash here: the obligation not to harm others and the state’s obligation not to abuse its power. Therefore, the legitimacy of measures depends not only on the epidemiology but also on procedures — transparency, the possibility of appeal, the quality of communication, and support for those whose rights are limited.

The principle of reciprocity and the duty of the state

Restrictions on rights for the sake of public health create a duty of reciprocity: if society asks an individual to sacrifice freedom, it must mitigate the collateral damage with support, access to care, income protection, and clear rules. Commentaries on the Circus Principles formulate this as a requirement that restrictions not become a "punishment for vulnerability" and not leave individuals alone to bear the losses.

This is especially important during isolation and quarantine, where restricting freedom acts as a medical measure, but has social consequences — loneliness, risk of violence, job loss. If reciprocity is ignored, people begin to hide their symptoms and contacts, and the measure loses its effectiveness, making it both ethically and practically weak.

Professionalism as a moral practice

The Physician’s Charter (ABIM Foundation, ACP Foundation, European Federation of Internal Medicine) describes professionalism as the foundation of medicine’s "social contract," which requires putting the interests of the patient above those of the physician, maintaining competence and integrity, and providing expert advice to society on health matters. It also emphasizes that public trust depends on the integrity of individual physicians and the profession as a whole.

The Charter articulates three fundamental principles: prioritizing patient well-being, respect for patient autonomy, and social justice. These are not abstract slogans: the text explicitly states that market forces, societal pressure, and administrative demands must not undermine the priority of patient interests.

The following lists professional responsibilities, including honesty with patients, confidentiality, maintaining proper patient relationships, improving quality of care, improving access to treatment, equitable distribution of limited resources, and managing conflicts of interest through their recognition and disclosure. Importantly, the document links equitable resource distribution with the avoidance of unnecessary tests and procedures, as unnecessary services harm patients and reduce resources for others.

Emotional Labor, the Limits of Empathy, and Burnout

A doctor’s professional ethics presupposes empathy, but empathy doesn’t mean constantly being emotionally "dissolved" in someone else’s pain. In practice, a doctor constantly maintains a balance: being close enough to hear the patient, yet focused enough to make decisions and not project their own fears and fatigue onto the patient.

The Charter speaks of professional competence as a duty, and competence includes teamwork skills and the constant maintenance of quality care. In this logic, maintaining one’s own boundaries and preventing burnout become not a personal matter but an element of patient safety, because an exhausted professional is more likely to make mistakes and communicates poorly.

Confidentiality as a condition of treatment

Confidentiality is the expectation of control over the disclosure of information a patient shares with a privileged individual, and it differs from privacy, which is associated with access to the body, choices, and personal data. Ethics literature emphasizes that a patient’s trust in confidentiality supports their willingness to share sensitive information and allow a physician to conduct a physical examination, which directly impacts diagnosis and treatment.

A breach of confidentiality is dangerous not only because of the direct harm caused by a leak, but also because of the erosion of trust, without which medicine loses some of its effectiveness. It is also noted that expectations of privacy and what is "shameful to disclose" are culturally fluid, and doctors should not assume rules based on a family’s dress code or language, but rather should explore the individual patient’s preferences.

A practical conflict arises from the "systemic" nature of modern care: information is accessed and used by multiple team members, and patients may have no idea how many people actually see their data. This makes privacy ethics not a matter of the physician’s personal virtue, but a matter of designing processes for accessing, storing, and transmitting data.

Genetic information and the risk of discrimination

Genetic data carries a particular social cost because it relates not only to the individual but often to relatives as well, creating the temptation to use disease risk as a pretext for exclusion. In the United States, the GINA Act aims to reduce genetic discrimination in two areas — health insurance and employment — by prohibiting, for example, the use of genetic information to deny insurance coverage or change premiums, as well as in employer decisions.

The philosophical tension here is that genetic knowledge is often probabilistic, yet social institutions tend to treat it as a death sentence. Hence, the ethical challenge for the clinic is to explain the uncertainty and limits of prognosis, so that patients don’t live under the "label of a future illness" and make decisions in a fatalistic manner.

Another dilemma concerns "who owns" genetic information: the individual, the family, the healthcare system, or a research project. Under confidentiality, a physician is generally obligated to protect the interests of the individual patient as a trustee. However, situations where information could prevent serious harm to relatives are ethically significant, and then the debate revolves around the boundaries of exceptions and procedures, not arbitrary "good intentions."

Digital medicine and new forms of leaks

Digitalization increases the risk of leaks and unauthorized access because electronic records are technically copyable and transferable, and the circle of people with access is expanding. Research on confidentiality emphasizes that the problem cannot be solved by a doctor’s promise alone, as it is built into the infrastructure — databases, interfaces, access logs, and information sharing policies.

Another risk is the "secondary use" of data: information collected for treatment can be used for analytics, insurance assessments, or commercial purposes, and patients are often unaware of this chain of events. Therefore, ethics requires clear rules: who has access, on what basis, for how long, and how patients can limit the dissemination of particularly sensitive data.

AI in Healthcare and the Moral Hazards of Automation

In its guidelines on the ethics and governance of AI for health, the WHO outlines principles including protecting autonomy, ensuring well-being and safety, transparency and explainability, responsibility and accountability, inclusiveness, and fairness. These principles demonstrate that AI is not viewed as a neutral tool, but as a technology that changes the distribution of responsibility and the risk of discrimination.

The key practical question is who is responsible for the error: the developer, the clinic, the physician, the regulator, or "nobody," because the decision was statistical. The WHO specifically discusses the risks of bias and discrimination, the digital divide, and transparency issues when a system makes a recommendation without a clear rationale, while the patient is asked to "trust the algorithm."

The philosophy of health here adheres to a simple criterion: automation should not impair autonomy and fairness, even if it speeds up patient flow. If a model reduces the quality of communication, encourages unnecessary examinations, or impairs access for groups with fewer digital resources, then this is an ethical defect, not a "side effect of progress."

Doctor’s conscience and refusal to participate

Conscientious objection in healthcare is typically described as a situation where a professional refuses to perform a legally required service requested by a patient due to moral or religious beliefs. Ethical debate emphasizes that this is not a private act, as it impacts the patient’s access to care and can create delays that are harmful in themselves.

Therefore, even authors who acknowledge the place of conscience in the profession typically demand limitations: refusal should not block access, should not become pressure on the patient, and must be accompanied by harm minimization, such as prompt referral or transfer of care. In emergency situations with the risk of serious harm, priority is often given to the professional obligation to provide assistance over personal refusal, because the patient did not choose this vulnerability and cannot wait.

From a philosophical perspective, the debate revolves around what should be considered the core of the profession: the physician’s personal morality or the obligations they assume with their license. This tension is particularly evident in small communities and in systems with staff shortages, where one specialist’s "right of refusal" easily becomes a de facto ban for an entire region.

International standards of medical ethics

The WMA International Code of Medical Ethics states that physicians must respect the dignity, autonomy, and rights of patients and act with conscience, honesty, integrity, and independent professional judgment. It also sets forth requirements to recognize and avoid real or potential conflicts of interest, and if avoidable, to declare them in advance and manage them appropriately.

The Code specifically stipulates the obligation to respect the patient’s privacy and confidentiality, even after death. It also permits the disclosure of confidential information with the patient’s voluntary, informed consent or, in exceptional cases, when disclosure is necessary to protect a significant and overriding ethical obligation and all other options have been exhausted. Such disclosure must be minimal in scope, recipients, and duration.

These norms are important for the philosophy of health because they translate shared values into operational criteria of behavior that can be discussed in committees, in court, and at medical conferences. At the same time, they demonstrate that patient autonomy and confidentiality are not absolute, but are limited only under strict conditions, not based on the convenience of the system.

Reproductive ethics as a zone of conflicting norms

Reproductive medicine often becomes a field of conflict between patient rights, medical professionals’ beliefs, and political norms, as decisions affect the body, parenthood, and the status of the embryo. In such debates, the philosophy of health typically balances two questions: to what extent is it acceptable to incorporate a specialist’s personal beliefs into access to a legal medical service, and what guarantees are needed to ensure that patients are not held hostage to someone else’s morality.

When refusal is permitted, its ethical acceptability is often linked to the extent to which the system effectively provides an alternative without delays and humiliation for the patient. If there is no alternative, refusal ceases to be a matter of "personal conscience" and becomes a mechanism of restrictions that operates through the medical infrastructure.

Healing without cure

In clinical philosophy, a distinction is made between "cure" and "heal": to cure means to eliminate a disease or correct a problem through the efforts of a specialist, while healing is described as a process that occurs within the patient and leads to greater integrity and inner composure in response to illness or injury. This distinction emphasizes the distinct roles of the doctor and the patient: in "cure," power and activity typically lie with the doctor, while in "heal," the focus shifts to the patient’s resources and decisions, with the doctor acting as a supportive partner.

This distinction is useful when a disease is chronic or incurable, and medicine can alleviate symptoms, maintain function, and help a person rebuild their life without promising a return to "the way things were before." Then, the purpose of medicine is associated not with conquering the disease at any cost, but with reducing suffering, strengthening autonomy, and preserving dignity amid real limitations.

Philosophical caution is needed here, lest the word "cure" become a way to absolve the system of its obligation to treat where treatment is available and needed. In medical ethics, this means: "support" is permissible only when accompanied by honesty about the prognosis, realistic measures of care, and respect for the patient’s choice.