Whether to write this chapter or not was the first ethical dilemma. Had it not been this editor who asked I might not have done so, given there are other writers and editors with whom I do not as regularly agree. Steven Pinker is one example—with whom I agree, but also more regularly disagree. The question I ask: Is that a problem? Perhaps the answer to that question is the basis of empathy. It certainly seems more ethical to admit disagreement than not to admit it. But whom do I tell this truth? That too is a question. I am constantly writing, creatively. Ethical dilemmas abound. I wrote a poem about a hen. I do not know if the storyline is ethical. How responsible are creative writers anyway, for our subjects and our themes, for the way we depict a hen or a person, for the personal impacts of our poems, our stories, our scripts? There are many times a creative writer has invented places, situations and people, and that invention itself presents ethical questions. Do our imaginations have responsibilities? Thoughts turn to the relationship between invented people and real people and whether real people have rights in an unreal world. Or a right not to be there, perhaps. If Steven Pinker calls me, what should I do?