GREGORY STOCK has written an enthusiastic book in support of germ-line manipulations -- that is, making genetic modifications to eggs, sperm and embryos that can be passed on to future generations. Like previous explorations of the subject by the ethicist Joseph F. Fletcher, the lawyer John Robertson and the biologist James Watson, among others, ''Redesigning Humans: Our Inevitable Genetic Future'' serves as an apologia for those scientists and physicians who are already edging toward such work in a piecemeal fashion in research labs and in vitro fertilization clinics around the world. It advocates the wholesale adoption of genetic manipulations with the purpose of finally taking control of human evolution. This, the author writes, ''is the ultimate expression and realization of our humanity.'' Deoxyribonucleic Acid Trip
By GINA MARANTOREDESIGNING HUMANS
Our Inevitable Genetic Future.
By Gregory Stock.
277 pp. Boston:
Houghton Mifflin Company.
$24.
Because of the breadth of his scientific knowledge and his considerable flair as a writer, Stock -- who heads the program on medicine, technology and society at the School of Medicine of the University of California, Los Angeles -- is a forceful advocate. First and foremost, he says, such manipulations are inevitable -- an assertion he makes not only in his subtitle but repeatedly throughout his book. Stock may be correct, for many factors are driving genetic experimentation forward, including professional ambition, greed and the desperation of infertile couples who will submit to just about anything in order to have a child.
And it should be added that eugenic considerations have already entered into this enterprise (even though Stock states at one point that in the infertility field, no one ''cares about such wild notions as human redesign''). Numerous practitioners of in vitro fertilization, starting with Robert Edwards of Baby Louise Brown fame, have discussed their goals for ''improving'' the species. Meanwhile, would-be parents readily buy into schemes to improve birth outcomes -- as they have done at least since the days of ancient Greece.
But to argue the inevitability of all this is to sidestep the paramount issue, which is how to balance the desires of researchers and of the potential consumers of laboratory technologies against the good of society. After all, scientists, when asked, will nearly always say that they would like to get on with their work unhampered by any sort of regulation.
However, unfettered science has not historically shown itself to be in the best interest of society, any more than unfettered government, religion or business have. The fact that biomedical tinkerings have brought benefits for some does not constitute a sufficient reason for concluding that the practitioners of the embryonic arts should have the right to pursue any and all lines of experiment. Nor is it an adequate argument to say that if banned, germ-line manipulations would simply move offshore or go to the black market. That may be true. But if the fact that people will seek to avoid the law were a reason not to have a law, we would have no laws at all.
Stock's overarching claim is that germ-line modifications will ''write a new page in the history of life, allowing us to seize control of our evolutionary future,'' an echo of the classic eugenicist dream. New technologies will allow humans to make fundamental alterations to their individual genetic compositions and those of their children. The net effect, he says, will be to draw ''reproduction into a highly selective social process that is far more rapid and effective at spreading successful genes than traditional sexual competition and mate selection.'' In the future, he claims, we will be ''much more than simply human.''
But Stock's assumptions regarding population biology and evolution are suspect. For example, he assures us that we needn't worry about any impact that germ-line alterations might have on the gene pool (like reducing genetic diversity) because the number of altered children would be quite small. But if the net effect of all those laboratory-engineered births is so negligible, how then can there be the major evolutionary changes he predicts? Moreover, while it is clearly possible to affect the genetic circumstances of small, reproductively isolated populations, most population geneticists would agree that the goal of bringing about substantial changes in a pool of six billion humans (and growing) is near to impossible, especially any time soon.
So the great collective enterprise Stock envisions will in all likelihood be limited only to the small percentage of people who can afford or gain access to these technologies. And then the issue becomes what these bermenschen might do with the rest of us.
STOCK frequently acknowledges problems with a particular line of experimentation, or impediments in the way of some of his predictions. But in each case, once he is done listing objections, he proceeds to a bold proclamation that effectively moots them all.
Nor do moral and ethical concerns slow him down for long. He declares, ''If biological manipulation is indeed a slippery slope, then we are already sliding down that slope now and may as well enjoy the ride.'' The lesson he takes from history is that eugenics itself wasn't wrongheaded, just the nationalistic, totalitarian applications of it. ''Given Hitler's appalling foray into racial purification,'' he writes, ''European sensitivities are understandable, but they miss the bigger picture.''
For Stock, this bigger picture is clear. The future is a time in which individuals will be able to go into a clinic and, through a simple procedure, obtain embryos fitted with chromosomal modules that will slow aging, eliminate disease and enhance personality, temperament, intellect and beauty. It's a pleasant enough fantasy. But even if evolution could be steered in a positive direction, why presume that humans have the wisdom to do so? ''Redesigning Humans'' is an act of both boosterism and reductionism. It admits but then ignores the enormous complexity of biological systems; it places biology firmly above social, ecological and economic considerations; and it reduces concepts like success in life to the purely physical, as if health and longevity were the only issues that mattered. Isn't it pretty to think so?
Gina Maranto is the author of ''Quest for Perfection: The Drive to Breed Better Human Beings.''
“You wait till Larry comes and I tell him my theory!” The bids, duly sealed, were given into the keeping of the commissary officer to be put in his safe, and kept until the day of judgment, when all being opened in public and in the presence of the aspirants, the lowest would[Pg 188] get the contract. It was a simple plan, and gave no more opportunity for underhand work than could be avoided. But there were opportunities for all that. It was barely possible—the thing had been done—for a commissary clerk or sergeant, desirous of adding to his pittance of pay, or of favoring a friend among the bidders, to tamper with the bids. By the same token there was no real reason why the commissary officer could not do it himself. Landor had never heard, or known, of such a case, but undoubtedly the way was there. It was a question of having the will and the possession of the safe keys. "Well, I believe our boys 's all right. They're green, and they're friskier than colts in a clover field, but they're all good stuff, and I believe we kin stand off any ordinary gang o' guerrillas. I'll chance it, anyhow. This's a mighty valuable train to risk, but it ought to go through, for we don't know how badly they may need it. You tell your engineer to go ahead carefully and give two long whistles if he sees anything dangerous." "Fine-looking lot of youngsters," he remarked. "They'll make good soldiers." "That's just what he was, the little runt, and we had the devil's own time finding him. What in Sam Hill did the Captain take him for, I'd like to know? Co. Q aint no nursery. Well, the bugler up at Brigade Headquarters blowed some sort of a call, and Skidmore wanted to know what it meant. They told him that it was an order for the youngest man in each company to come up there and get some milk for his coffee tomorrow morning, and butter for his bread. There was only enough issued for the youngest boys, and if he wanted his share he'd have to get a big hustle on him, for the feller whose nose he'd put out o' joint 'd try hard to get there ahead o' him, and get his share. So Skidmore went off at a dead run toward the sound of the bugle, with the boys looking after him and snickering. But he didn't come back at roll-call, nor at tattoo, and the smart Alecks begun to get scared, and abuse each other for setting up a job on a poor, innocent little boy. Osc Brewster and Ol Perry, who had been foremost in the trick had a fight as to which had been to blame. Taps come, and he didn't get back, and then we all became scared. I'd sent Jim Hunter over to Brigade Headquarters to look for him, but he came back, and said they hadn't seen anything of him there. Then I turned out the whole company to look for him. Of course, them too-awfully smart galoots of Co. A had to get very funny over our trouble. They asked why we didn't get the right kind of nurses for our company, that wouldn't let the members stray out of their sight? Why we didn't call the children in when the chickens went to roost, undress 'em, and tuck 'em in their little beds, and sing to 'em after they'd said 'Now I lay me down to sleep?' I stood it all until that big, hulking Pete Nasmith came down with a camp-kettle, which he was making ring like a bell, as he yelled out, 'Child lost! Child lost!' Behind him was Tub Rawlings singing, 'Empty's the cradle, baby's gone.' Then I pulled off my blouse and slung it into my tent, and told 'em there went my chevrons, and I was simply Scott Ralston, and able to lick any man in Co. A. One o' their Lieutenants came out and ordered them back to their quarters, and I deployed the company in a skirmish-line, and started 'em through the brush toward Brigade Headquarters. About three-quarters o' the way Osc Brewster and Ol Perry, when going through a thicket, heard a boy boo-hooing. They made their way to him, and there was little Skidmore sitting on a stump, completely confused and fagged out. He'd lost his way, and the more he tried to find it the worse he got turned around. They called out to him, and he blubbered out: 'Yes, it's me; little Pete Skidmore. Them doddurned fools in my company 've lost me, just as I've bin tellin' 'em right along they would, durn 'em.' Osc and Ol were so tickled at finding him that they gathered him up, and come whooping back to camp, carrying him every step of the way." And the rush stopped. Cadnan waited for a second, but there was no more. "Dara is not to die," he said. Then he saw Orion hanging over him, very low in the windy sky, shaking with frost. His eyes fixed themselves on the constellation, then gradually he became aware of the sides of a cart, of the smell of straw, of the movement of other bodies that sighed and stirred beside him. The physical experience was now complete, and soon the emotional had shaped itself. Memory came, rather sick. He remembered the fight, his terror, the flaming straw, the crowd that constricted and crushed him like a snake. His rage and hate rekindled, but this time without focus—he hated just everyone and everything. He hated the wheels which jolted him, his body because it was bruised, the other bodies round him, the stars that danced above him, those unknown footsteps that tramped beside him on the road. Farewell to Jane and Caroline!" HoME大香蕉色人阁 ENTER NUMBET 0017
Refs
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BLTC Research
Liberal Eugenics
Superhappiness?
Utopian Surgery?
The End of Suffering
Wirehead Hedonism
The Good Drug Guide
The Abolitionist Project
The Hedonistic Imperative
The Reproductive Revolution
MDMA: Utopian Pharmacology
Transhumanism: Brave New World?
Critique of Aldous Huxley's Brave New World
Redesigning Humans: our inevitable genetic future
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