The successful cloning of an adult sheep, announced in
Scotland this past February, is one of the most dramatic recent examples of a scientific
discovery becoming a public issue. During the last few months, various commentators --
scientists and theologians, physicians and legal experts, talk-radio hosts and editorial
writers -- have been busily responding to the news, some calming fears, other raising
alarms about the prospect of cloning a human being. At the request of the President, the
National Bioethics Advisory Commission (NBAC) held hearings and prepared a report on the
religious, ethical, and legal issues surrounding human cloning. While declining to call
for a permanent ban on the practice, the Commission recommended a moratorium on efforts to
clone human beings, and emphasized the importance of further public deliberation on the
subject.
An interesting tension is at work in the NBAC report.
Commission members were well aware of "the widespread public discomfort, even
revulsion, about cloning human beings." Perhaps recalling the images of Dolly the ewe
that were featured on the covers of national news magazines, they noted that "the
impact of these most recent developments on our national psyche has been quite
remarkable." Accordingly, they felt that one of their tasks was to articulate, as
fully and sympathetically as possible, the range of concerns that the prospect of human
cloning had elicited.
Yet it seems clear that some of these concerns, at least,
are based on false beliefs about genetic influence and the nature of the individuals
that would be produced through cloning. Consider, for instance, the fear that a clone
would not be an "individual" but merely a "carbon copy" of someone
else -- an automaton of the sort familiar from science fiction. As many scientists have
pointed out, a clone would not in fact be an identical copy, but more like a
delayed identical twin. And just as identical twins are two separate people --
biologically, psychologically, morally and legally, though not genetically -- so, too, a
clone would be a separate person from her non-contemporaneous twin. To think otherwise is
to embrace a belief in genetic determinism -- the view that genes determine everything
about us, and that environmental factors or the random events in human development are
insignificant.
The overwhelming scientific consensus is that genetic
determinism is false. In coming to understand the ways in which genes operate, biologists
have also become aware of the myriad ways in which the environment affects their
"expression." The genetic contribution to the simplest physical traits, such as
height and hair color, is significantly mediated by environmental factors (and possibly by
stochastic events as well). And the genetic contribution to the traits we value most
deeply, from intelligence to compassion, is conceded by even the most enthusiastic genetic
researchers to be limited and indirect.
It is difficult to gauge the extent to which
"repugnance" toward cloning generally rests on a belief in genetic
determinism. Hoping to account for the fact that people "instinctively recoil"
from the prospect of cloning, James Q. Wilson wrote, "There is a natural sentiment
that is offended by the mental picture of identical babies being produced in some
biological factory." Which raises the question: once people learn that this picture
is mere science fiction, does the offense that cloning presents to "natural
sentiment" attenuate, or even disappear? Jean Bethke Elshtain cited the nightmare
scenarios of "the man and woman on the street," who imagine a future populated
by "a veritable army of Hitlers, ruthless and remorseless bigots who kept reproducing
themselves until they had finished what the historic Hitler failed to do: annihilate
us." What happens, though, to the "pity and terror" evoked by the topic of
cloning when such scenarios are deprived (as they deserve to be) of all credibility?
Richard Lewontin has argued that the critics' fears -- or
at least, those fears that merit consideration in formulating public policy -- dissolve
once genetic determinism is refuted. He criticizes the NBAC report for excessive deference
to opponents of human cloning, and calls for greater public education on the scientific
issues. (The Commission in fact makes the same recommendation, but Lewontin seems
unimpressed.) Yet even if a public education campaign succeeded in eliminating the most
egregious misconceptions about genetic influence, that wouldn=t settle the matter. People
might continue to express concerns about the interests and rights of human clones, about
the social and moral consequences of the cloning process, and about the possible
motivations for creating children in this way.
Interests and Rights
One set of ethical concerns about human clones involves
the risks and uncertainties associated with the current state of cloning technology. This
technology has not yet been tested with human subjects, and scientists cannot rule out the
possibility of mutation or other biological damage. Accordingly, the NBAC report concluded
that "at this time, it is morally unacceptable for anyone in the public or private
sector, whether in a research or clinical setting, to attempt to create a child using
somatic cell nuclear transfer cloning." Such efforts, it said, would pose
"unacceptable risks to the fetus and/or potential child."
The ethical issues of greatest importance in the cloning
debate, however, do not involve possible failures of cloning technology, but rather the
consequences of its success. Assuming that scientists were able to clone human beings
without incurring the risks mentioned above, what concerns might there be about the
welfare of clones?
Some opponents of cloning believe that such individuals
would be wronged in morally significant ways. Many of these wrongs involve the denial of
what Joel Feinberg has called "the right to an open future." For example, a
child might be constantly compared to the adult from whom he was cloned, and thereby
burdened with oppressive expectations. Even worse, the parents might actually limit the
child's opportunities for growth and development: a child cloned from a basketball player,
for instance, might be denied any educational opportunities that were not in line with a
career in basketball. Finally, regardless of his parents' conduct or attitudes, a child
might be burdened by the thought that he is a copy and not an "original."
The child's sense of self-worth or individuality or dignity, so some have argued, would
thus be difficult to sustain.
How should we respond to these concerns? On the one hand,
the existence of a right to an open future has a strong intuitive appeal. We are troubled
by parents who radically constrict their children's possibilities for growth and
development. Obviously, we would condemn a cloning parent for crushing a child with
oppressive expectations, just as we might condemn fundamentalist parents for utterly
isolating their children from the modern world, or the parents of twins for inflicting
matching wardrobes and rhyming names. But this is not enough to sustain an objection to
cloning itself. Unless the claim is that cloned parents cannot help but be oppressive, we
would have cause to say they had wronged their children only because of their subsequent,
and avoidable, sins of bad parenting -- not because they had chosen to create the child in
the first place. (The possible reasons for making this choice will be discussed below.)
We must also remember that children are often born in the
midst of all sorts of hopes and expectations; the idea that there is a special burden
associated with the thought "There is someone who is genetically just like me"
is necessarily speculative. Moreover, given the falsity of genetic determinism, any
conclusions a child might draw from observing the person from whom he was cloned would be
uncertain at best. His knowledge of his future would differ only in degree from what many
children already know once they begin to learn parts of their family's (medical) history.
Some of us knew that we would be bald, or to what diseases we might be susceptible. To be
sure, the cloned individual might know more about what he or she could become. But because
our knowledge of the effect of environment on development is so incomplete, the clone
would certainly be in for some surprises.
Finally, even if we were convinced that clones are likely
to suffer particular burdens, that would not be enough to show that it is wrong to create
them. The child of a poor family can be expected to suffer specific hardships and burdens,
but we don't thereby conclude that such children shouldn't be born. Despite the hardships,
poor children can experience parental love and many of the joys of being alive: the
deprivations of poverty, however painful, are not decisive. More generally, no one's life
is entirely free of some difficulties or burdens. In order for these considerations to
have decisive weight, we have to be able to say that life doesn't offer any compensating
benefits. Concerns expressed about the welfare of human clones do not appear to justify
such a bleak assessment. Most such children can be expected to have lives well worth
living; many of the imagined harms are no worse than those faced by children acceptably
produced by more conventional means. If there is something deeply objectionable about
cloning, it is more likely to be found by examining implications of the cloning process
itself, or the reasons people might have for availing themselves of it.
Concerns about Process
Human cloning falls conceptually between two other
technologies. At one end we have the assisted reproductive technologies, such as in vitro
fertilization, whose primary purpose is to enable couples to produce a child with whom
they have a biological connection. At the other end we have the emerging technologies of
genetic engineering -- specifically, gene transplantation technologies -- whose primary
purpose is to produce a child that has certain traits. Many proponents of cloning see it
as part of the first technology: cloning is just another way of providing a couple with a
biological child they might otherwise be unable to have. Since this goal and these other
technologies are acceptable, cloning should be acceptable as well. On the other hand, many
opponents of cloning see it as part of the second technology: even though cloning is a
transplantation of an entire nucleus and not of specific genes, it is nevertheless an
attempt to produce a child with certain traits. The deep misgivings we may have about the
genetic manipulation of offspring should apply to cloning as well.
The debate cannot be resolved, however, simply by
determining which technology to assimilate cloning to. For example, some opponents of
human cloning see it as continuous with assisted reproductive technologies; but since they
find those technologies objectionable as well, the assimilation does not indicate
approval. Rather than argue for grouping cloning with one technology or another, I wish to
suggest that we can best understand the significance of the cloning process by comparing
it with these other technologies, and thus broadening the debate.
To see what can be learned from such a comparative
approach, let us consider a central argument that has been made against cloning -- that it
undermines the structure of the family by making identities and lineages unclear. On the
one hand, the relationship between an adult and the child cloned from her could be
described as that between a parent and offspring. Indeed, some commentators have called
cloning "asexual reproduction," which clearly suggests that cloning is a way of
generating descendants. The clone, on this view, has only one biological parent. On
the other hand, from the point of view of genetics, the clone is a sibling, so that
cloning is more accurately described as "delayed twinning" rather than as
asexual reproduction. The clone, on this view, has two biological parents, not one -- they
are the same parents as those of the person from whom that individual was cloned.
Cloning thus results in ambiguities. Is the clone an
offspring or a sibling? Does the clone have one biological parent or two? The moral
significance of these ambiguities lies in the fact that in many societies, including our
own, lineage identifies responsibilities. Typically, the parent, not the sibling, is
responsible for the child. But if no one is unambiguously the parent, so the worry might
go, who is responsible for the clone? Insofar as social identity is based on biological
ties, won't this identity be blurred or confounded?
Some assisted reproductive technologies have raised
similar questions about lineage and identity. An anonymous sperm donor is thought to have
no parental obligations towards his biological child. A surrogate mother may be required
to relinquish all parental claims to the child she bears. In these cases, the social and
legal determination of "who is the parent" may appear to proceed in defiance of
profound biological facts, and to subvert attachments that we as a society are ordinarily
committed to upholding. Thus, while the aim of assisted reproductive technologies
is to allow people to produce or raise a child to whom they are biologically connected,
such technologies may also involve the creation of social ties that are permitted to
override biological ones.
In the case of cloning, however, ambiguous lineages would
seem to be less problematic, precisely because no one is being asked to relinquish a claim
on a child to whom he or she might otherwise acknowledge a biological connection. What,
then, are the critics afraid of? It does not seem plausible that someone would have
herself cloned and then hand the child over to her parents, saying, "You take care of
her! She's your daughter!" Nor is it likely that, if the cloned individual did
raise the child, she would suddenly refuse to pay for college on the grounds that this was
not a sister's responsibility. Of course, policymakers should address any confusion in the
social or legal assignment of responsibility resulting from cloning. But there are reasons
to think that this would be less difficult than in the case of other reproductive
technologies.
Similarly, when we compare cloning with genetic
engineering, cloning may prove to be the less troubling of the two technologies. This is
true even though the dark futures to which they are often alleged to lead are broadly
alike. For example, a recent Washington Post article examined fears that the
development of genetic enhancement technologies might "create a market in preferred
physical traits." The reporter asked, "Might it lead to a society of DNA haves
and have-nots, and the creation of a new underclass of people unable to keep up with the
genetically fortified Joneses?" Similarly, a member of the National Bioethics
Advisory Commission expressed concern that cloning might become "almost a preferred
practice," taking its place "on the continuum of providing the best for your
child." As a consequence, parents who chose to "play the lottery of
old-fashioned reproduction would be considered irresponsible."
Such fears, however, seem more warranted with respect to
genetic engineering than to cloning. By offering some people -- in all probability,
members of the upper classes -- the opportunity to acquire desired traits through genetic
manipulation, genetic engineering could bring about a biological reinforcement (or
accentuation) of existing social divisions. It is hard enough already for disadvantaged
children to compete with their more affluent counterparts, given the material resources
and intellectual opportunities that are often available only to children of privilege.
This unfairness would almost certainly be compounded if genetic manipulation came into the
picture. In contrast, cloning does not bring about "improvements" in the genome:
it is, rather, a way of duplicating the genome -- with all its imperfections. It
wouldn't enable certain groups of people to keep getting better and better along some
valued dimension.
To some critics, admittedly, this difference will not seem
terribly important. Theologian Gilbert Meilaender, Jr., objects to cloning on the grounds
that children created through this technology would be "designed as a product"
rather than "welcomed as a gift." The fact that the design process would be more
selective and nuanced in the case of genetic engineering would, from this perspective,
have no moral significance. To the extent that this objection reflects a concern about the
commodification of human life, we can address it in part when we consider people=s reasons
for engaging in cloning.
Reasons for Cloning
This final area of contention in the cloning debate is as
much psychological as it is scientific or philosophical. If human cloning technology were
safe and widely available, what use would people make of it? What reasons would they have
to engage in cloning?
In its report to the President, the Commission imagined a
few situations in which people might avail themselves of cloning. In one scenario, a
husband and wife who wish to have children are both carriers of a lethal recessive gene:
Rather than risk the one in four chance of conceiving a
child who will suffer a short and painful existence, the couple considers the
alternatives: to forgo rearing children; to adopt; to use prenatal diagnosis and selective
abortion; to use donor gametes free of the recessive trait; or to use the cells of one of
the adults and attempt to clone a child. To avoid donor gametes and selective abortion,
while maintaining a genetic tie to their child, they opt for cloning.
In another scenario, the parents of a terminally ill child
are told that only a bone marrow transplant can save the child's life. "With no other
donor available, the parents attempt to clone a human being from the cells of the dying
child. If successful, the new child will be a perfect match for bone marrow transplant,
and can be used as a donor without significant risk or discomfort. The net result: two
healthy children, loved by their parents, who happen [sic] to be identical twins of
different ages."
The Commission was particularly impressed by the second
example. That scenario, said the NBAC report, "makes what is probably the strongest
possible case for cloning a human being, as it demonstrates how this technology could be
used for lifesaving purposes." Indeed, the report suggests that it would be a
"tragedy" to allow "the sick child to die because of a moral or political
objection to such cloning." Nevertheless, we should note that many people would be
morally uneasy about the use of a minor as a donor, regardless of whether the child were a
result of cloning. Even if this unease is justifiably overridden by other concerns, the
"transplant scenario" may not present a more compelling case for cloning than
that of the infertile couple desperately seeking a biological child.
Most critics, in fact, decline to engage the specifics of
such tragic (and presumably rare) situations. Instead, they bolster their case by
imagining very different scenarios. Potential users of the technology, they suggest, are
narcissists or control freaks -- people who will regard their children not as free,
original selves but as products intended to meet more or less rigid specifications. Even
if such people are not genetic determinists, their recourse to cloning will indicate a
desire to exert all possible influence over the "kind" of child they produce.
The critics' alarm at this prospect has in part to do, as
we have seen, with concerns about the psychological burdens such a desire would impose on
the clone. But it also reflects a broader concern about the values expressed, and
promoted, by a society's reproductive policies. Critics argue that a society that enables
people to clone themselves thereby endorses the most narcissistic reason for having
children -- to perpetuate oneself through a genetic encore. The demonstrable falsity of
genetic determinism may detract little, if at all, from the strength of this motive.
Whether or not clones will have a grievance against their parents for producing them with
this motivation, the societal indulgence of that motivation is improper and harmful.
It can be argued, however, that the critics have simply
misunderstood the social meaning of a policy that would permit people to clone themselves
even in the absence of the heartrending exigencies described in the NBAC report. This
country has developed a strong commitment to reproductive autonomy. (This commitment
emerged in response to the dismal history of eugenics -- the very history that is
sometimes invoked to support restrictions on cloning.) With the exception of practices
that risk coercion and exploitation -- notably baby-selling and commercial surrogacy -- we
do not interfere with people's freedom to create and acquire children by almost any means,
for almost any reason. This policy does not reflect a dogmatic libertarianism. Rather, it
recognizes the extraordinary personal importance and private character of reproductive
decisions, even those with significant social repercussions.
Our willingness to sustain such a policy also reflects a
recognition of the moral complexities of parenting. For example, we know that the motives
people have for bringing a child into the world do not necessarily determine the manner in
which they raise him. Even when parents start out as narcissists, the experience of
childrearing will sometimes transform their initial impulses, making them caring,
respectful, and even self-sacrificing. Seeing their child grow and develop, they learn
that she is not merely an extension of themselves. Of course, some parents never make this
discovery; others, having done so, never forgive their children for it. The pace and
extent of moral development among parents (no less than among children) is infinitely
variable. Still, we are justified in saying that those who engage in cloning will not, by
virtue of this fact, be immune to the transformative effects of parenthood -- even if it
is the case (and it won't always be) that they begin with more problematic motives than
those of parents who engage in the "genetic lottery."
Moreover, the nature of parental motivation is itself more
complex than the critics often allow. Though we can agree that narcissism is a vice not to
be encouraged, we lack a clear notion of where pride in one's children ends and narcissism
begins. When, for example, is it unseemly to bask in the reflected glory of a child's
achievements? Imagine a champion gymnast who takes delight in her daughter's athletic
prowess. Now imagine that the child was actually cloned from one of the gymnast's somatic
cells. Would we have to revise our moral assessment of her pleasure in her daughter's
success? Or suppose a man wanted to be cloned and to give his child opportunities he
himself had never enjoyed. And suppose that, rightly or wrongly, the man took the child's
success as a measure of his own untapped potential -- an indication of the flourishing
life he might have had. Is this sentiment blamable? And is it all that different
from what many natural parents feel?
Conclusion
Until recently, there were few ethical, social, or legal
discussions about human cloning via nuclear transplantation, since the scientific
consensus was that such a procedure was not biologically possible. With the appearance of
Dolly, the situation has changed. But although it now seems more likely that human cloning
will become feasible, we may doubt that the practice will come into widespread use.
I suspect it will not, but my reasons will not offer much
comfort to the critics of cloning. While the technology for nuclear transplantation
advances, other technologies -- notably the technology of genetic engineering -- will be
progressing as well. Human genetic engineering will be applicable to a wide variety of
traits; it will be more powerful than cloning, and hence more attractive to more people.
It will also, as I have suggested, raise more troubling questions than the prospect of
cloning has thus far.
--Robert Wachbroit
Sources: National Bioethics Advisory Commission,
"Cloning Human Beings: Report and Recommendations" (June 9, 1997); James Q.
Wilson, "The Paradox of Cloning," Weekly Standard (May 26, 1997); Jean
Bethke Elshtain, "Ewegenics," New Republic (March 31, 1997); R. C.
Lewontin, "The Confusion over Cloning," New York Review of Books (October
23, 1997); Leon Kass, "The Wisdom of Repugnance," New Republic (June 2,
1997); Susan Cohen, "What is a Baby? Inside America's Unresolved Debate about the
Ethics of Cloning," Washington Post Magazine (October 12, 1997); Rick Weiss,
"Genetic Enhancements' Thorny Ethical Traits," Washington Post (October
12, 1997).
