Buchanan sees a number of areas where advances in these technologies could benefit humanity. The body could be made more efficient, allowing for the extraction of more nutrients from any food source. Increasing the body’s capacity for thermal regulation would allow for greater adaptability in response to severe changes in climatic conditions. The immune system could be strengthened so that the fear of cancer, pandemics, and plagues would recede into the distant past. Moral behavior could possibly be enhanced, leading to more altruism. Buchanan sees only benefits from advances in these technologies, and he discounts the possibility of any real danger.
One of Buchanan’s arguments that supports this positive attitude is that an organism is not a “seamless web.” By this he means that modifications in one area of an organism’s genetic makeup need not result in negative effects in other areas. Unfortunately, Buchanan’s position appears to ignore discoveries in genetics which demonstrate that even small differences in an organism’s genes can result in large and unexpected changes in its overall nature. This eagerness to embrace advances in medical science seems to take us down the road traveled by Dr. Frankenstein. Consider the following examples:
•Chimpanzees and human beings share, by one estimate, 98.7 percent of the same DNA,4 and yet, there is clearly a world of difference in both the physical and mental characteristics between the two species. Chimpanzees and their close cousins, the bonobo chimps, are even closer to each other genetically, yet their comparative social and sexual behaviors are astoundingly different. Bonobo chimps are known for their hypersexual behavior (it occurs constantly and indiscriminately, and may involve all age groups intermingling, adults as well as juveniles), whereas chimpanzees exhibit higher levels of aggression. Small differences in their genetic makeup have produced significant differences in their natures. Differences in their natures result in differences in behavior, and it is actual and expected behavior that defines morality. The morality of the bonobo chimps, for example, certainly does not reflect our morality. Neither does the morality of the creations of Koontz’s Dr. Frankenstein. The members of the “New Race,” created to replace humanity, lacked free will and empathy. Instead, blind obedience and an indifference to committing murder defined their morality.
•Dogs and wolves are considered to be members of the same species, but are different subspecies: dogs are members of Canis lupus familiaris, whereas wolves are members of Canis lupus lupus. Dogs and wolves diverged around 11,000 years ago, probably due to the fact that the ancestors of dogs that scavenged around early human settlements were able to digest starchy food in addition to meat. Dogs exhibit juvenile characteristics in adulthood: they bark, are relatively tame, sociable, and trainable. Wolves rarely bark in adulthood, and they are independent and difficult to handle. As dogs and wolves can interbreed and produce viable offspring, they are by definition members of the same species. However, their behaviors are vastly different. Small differences in their genetic makeup have produced great differences in their natures. Here again we see that differences in natures result in differences in behavior.
•In 1959, a Russian scientist, Dmitri K. Belyaev, wanted to see if behavior is determined by biology. He took wild silver foxes, and over successive generations of breeding, found that selecting for a single characteristic—tameness—resulted in many unexpected physical and behavioral changes. After forty generations of breeding ever more tame silver foxes (the only criterion that ensured selection for breeding was how aggressive the animal became in the presence of a human being), the animals were indeed made quite tame. However, the structure of their heads changed; their fur lost its natural luster; and the animals no longer had a musky odor. Most surprisingly, the animals behaved like puppies in the presence of their caretakers. In other words, like dogs, these adult silver foxes exhibited juvenile characteristics in adulthood. Thus, a change in one single characteristic of the nature of the silver foxes resulted in what has to be considered, for all intents and purposes, at least a different subspecies. Using only techniques of animal husbandry, and nothing more complicated than wire cages in a barn, Belyaev changed the nature of his silver foxes in just a few dozen generations. The selection of a single behavioral characteristic, tameness in the presence of human beings, resulted in many distinct physical and behavioral changes. Although Buchanan’s position is motivated by the benefits that he sees accruing from biomedical enhancements and genetic engineering, this example alone should caution us strongly against blindly following the path of Koontz’s Dr. Frankenstein.
Have We Arrived at Dr. Frankenstein’s Castle?
Who could possibly refuse the benefits that would result from these medical technologies, especially the chance to defeat disease and death? However, the peril of unintended consequences from biomedical enhancements and genetic engineering must give us pause, regardless of how enthusiastic we may be about the chance to defeat disease and death. Given the examples shown above, an organism’s genes are in fact more like a “seamless web,” and one which cannot be modified with impunity.
Suppose that genetic engineering could be used to enhance intelligence at conception. Parents would demand that their offspring have the advantages that accrue from superior intelligence. But what would be the unintended consequences of intentionally raising future generations’ intelligence by such an extraordinary amount? Would our descendants be living in a world of philosopher-kings, or would they all be carbon-copies of Koontz’s Dr. Frankenstein? This Dr. Frankenstein is a megalomaniacal genius with no moral qualms about killing innocent people or even destroying all life on Earth. In which of these two worlds would one find a human morality?
Given the examples above, we can see that changing genetics can change behavior, and thus the moral landscape. By changing our own genetics, we run the risk of changing the very basis by which we define morality. Could we find ourselves creating descendants who truly believe that murder would not be immoral? Koontz’s imagining of Dr. Frankenstein points to exactly that. Could we ever truly ensure that any changes in our genetic makeup would not destroy our human nature?
A theme that runs throughout Koontz’s novels is Dr. Frankenstein’s belief that he never makes mistakes in creating new life forms, regardless of the fact that this narcissistic view is repeatedly disproven. In the first three novels, the members of the “New Race” created to replace humanity are constantly turning away from their programming, falling prey to mental breakdowns, and on occasion suffering from bizarre physical metamorphoses. In the fourth and fifth novels, the Communitarians fall victim to obsessive-compulsive disorder, whereas the Builders’ bodies undergo chaotic and unpredictable changes. Yet Koontz’s Dr. Frankenstein never accepts that he may have erred. “He knew that his genetic formulations and flesh-matrix designs were brilliant and without fault.”5
Behold! The Monster! IT IS US!
Johann Konrad Dippel (1673–1734) was a wandering student of theology and alchemy who is believed to have been the basis for Mary Shelley’s Dr. Frankenstein. Born in Castle Frankenstein, overlooking the Odenwald in Germany, he was condemned for his unorthodox religious views. He spent years attempting to create the elixir vitae that would confer everlasting life. Thus, the ideas of manipulating nature and cheating death are not new. What is new is that we now have a clearer understanding of the natural world through modern science. Today, fantastic advances in medical science, perhaps even the immortality that eluded the real Dr. Frankenstein, are now distinct possibilities.
What will these advances in medical science mean for us? With different people choosing different biomedical enhancements, will there be common points of reference that people can use to relate to one another? Can human nature, and thus morality, have any meaning in the world of Dr. Frankenstein?
Bioconservative philosophers like Michael Sandel see biomedical enhancements as potentially destructive of human nature. Yet destructive or not, they are here to stay, and will become even more incredible in the years to come. They will also become
pervasive, as the cost of providing these enhancements can only fall.
Bioprogressive philosophers desire the fruits of advances in medical science, but they have perhaps not sufficiently thought through to the potential problems that might arise. Allen Buchanan argues that biomedical enhancements and genetic engineering promise more benefits than risks, and that there is no viable argument that absolutely proscribes their use. However, as was noted above, an organism is more of a “seamless web” than Buchanan and others may want to accept. Small differences in an organism’s genes can result in large changes in physical characteristics and behaviors. The examples noted earlier show that unintended consequences can indeed occur with changes in an organism’s genes. Who would want to gamble with our human nature, only to lose it completely, as did Koontz’s Dr. Frankenstein?
Surveying the current state of philosophy regarding biomedical enhancements, we find ourselves in a curious position. The great philosophers all spoke about the importance of human nature and its connection to morality. Contemporary philosophers are divided on whether biomedical enhancements and genetic engineering would have either no effect on, or merely enhance—or perhaps even destroy—human nature.
The role of morality in a world where everyone could be like Dr. Frankenstein is uncertain. Taken to the extreme, the posthuman world of Dr. Frankenstein has the potential to be quite bleak. Until now, people have been unable to change their “human” nature. We are born with our physical limitations and our moral frailties, and live constantly with the specter of death hanging over us. As human beings, we all share the same nature. No man is an island, but, if we were all Dr. Frankenstein, with easy access to biomedical enhancements and a chance at immortality, all that one might find on the map of morality would be islands.
In the final book of Dean Koontz’s Frankenstein series, The Dead Town, one of the replacement humans muses about the difference between its kind and the soft, messy, troublesome humans that they will soon completely destroy. “Efficiency equaled morality; inefficiency was the only sin their kind could commit.”6 Thus, the world that Koontz’s Dr. Frankenstein is attempting to create, a world without illness, or physical or mental imperfection, messy emotions, even death, would be a world devoid of human morality. There would be no common ground, no shared rules of behavior or clear expectations, for like creatures to act upon.
The great philosophers, unencumbered by our dazzling scientific advances, knew human nature all too well. Intoxicated by our intellectual successes, and driven by our unquenchable curiosity, we are rushing headlong in order to change ourselves and that which makes us human—perhaps even destroy it in the process. Perhaps we shouldn’t be so eager.
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1The Case against Perfection: Ethics in the Age of Genetic Enhancement (Belknap, 2007).
2Dean Koontz and Kevin J. Anderson, Prodigal Son (Bantam, 2005).
3Better than Human: The Promise and Perils of Enhancing Ourselves (Oxford University Press, 2011).
4Ann Gibbons, “Bonobos Join Chimps as Closest Human Relatives,” Sciencemag (13th June 2012).
5Dean Koontz, Dead and Alive (Bantam, 2009).
6Dean Koontz, The Dead Town (Bantam, 2011).
25
Why It’s Wrong to Make Monsters—or Babies
JOE SLATER
When Dr. Frankenstein created the monster, he did something wrong.
Most of us accept this. Perhaps you think he was wrong because he was playing God, or because he was playing with body parts of the deceased. Perhaps you think he was acting too recklessly or that his real crime was abandoning the creature, leaving it to find its own way in a dangerous and hostile world.
I will give you another reason why he was wrong to do it. This argument, however, applies not only to creating monsters in a laboratory, but also conceiving of children naturally.
On the original cover matter of Frankenstein: Or, the Modern Prometheus, Shelley quoted Milton’s Paradise Lost, with the following:
Did I request thee, Maker from my clay
To mould me man? Did I solicit thee
From darkness to promote me?
This highlights an important parallel between the positions of every human being ever to have existed, and that of the monster. Nobody asked to be born—or made. Why then is it okay to make someone go through that?
What Is Anti-Natalism?
Anti-natalism, generally speaking, is the view that human beings should stop having children. A wider scope of anti-natalism, which I will consider here, claims that we should stop creating offspring, including monsters.
There are several types of anti-natalist argument. One holds that human beings are bad for the planet, environmentally speaking, so the best thing for Earth would be if there were no humans. The Voluntary Human Extinction Movement follows an argument of this variety. You can argue for anti-natalism in lots of ways. You might just think children are bad, so people shouldn’t have children (but that argument is unlikely to convince anyone!).
Anti-natalism has received some serious attention in philosophical circles recently as a result of a 2006 book by David Benatar called Better Never to Have Been: The Harm of Coming into Existence. In his book Benatar makes a strong claim that coming into existence is always a serious harm and that, as the title suggests, it would better if no one had to endure it. Benatar provides an extended and sophisticated series of arguments. In this chapter I’ll provide a short, simple argument for anti-natalism. Though I won’t appeal to any of Benatar’s specific arguments, much of what follows is informed by his book.
Because of the annoyance of constantly referring to a creation like that of Frankenstein as “the creature,” “the monster” or something of the like, I will refer to it as ‘Adam,’ as in the graphic novel adaptation, I, Frankenstein, and will refer to lab creations of that sort by the plural ‘Adams’.
A Sentient, Autonomous Monster
Sentience and autonomy are two important concepts when acting in ways that affect others. “Sentience” is the quality philosophers often cite when considering whether something counts as a moral agent. If a being is sentient, there is something it is like to be that thing. It makes sense to ask of sentient things “what was that like for them?” but the question seems misplaced, silly (or like some poetic device) when applied to a non-sentient thing. We can sensibly ask what it is like for Boris Karloff to have bolts in his neck, but if someone were to ask what it is like for the bolts to be inside his neck it seems as if something has gone wrong. Sentience seems to be a requirement for pain or pleasure.
In practical ethics, sentience is seen as very important. If a being is sentient, this seems to give us some reason to respect its interests, as it has interests to be respected. Peter Singer is an advocate of animal rights, who suggests that the equal consideration of interests is the fundamental basis of equality. It seems as if it would be wrong to kick a dog (or a Frankensteinesque dog-like creature) if it will feel pain as a result. If a character is sentient, they should be considered when they are affected by a decision.
As well, as being susceptible to physical pleasure or pain, people (and monsters) can be harmed in other ways. They can be disappointed, scared, bored, or depressed. They can have plans, dreams, and hopes, and be harmed by these not coming into fruition. Not all sentient beings will be able to do this. In our communities we associate with people who can, and we follow certain rules that make our existing together easier or more pleasant. A being who’s able to analyze situations and give himself rules to follow in accordance with them is not only sentient, but also autonomous. How autonomy is best defined is controversial, but for present purposes, let us say someone who is able to consider options, evaluate them reasonably, and freely choose among them is autonomous.
Adam is certainly sentient; he describes the pain of being shot in the shoulder. He is also autonomous. We know this because of the reasons he provides for his actions. He tells of how he weighed up his options after human society
shunned him and why he decided to do various things. Creatures that are autonomous are different to those that are merely sentient in that we hold them responsible for their actions, and we would also treat them differently.
A Simple Argument
The argument I will provide has only two premises, and a conclusion which follows from them.
1.The Harm Premise: In normal circumstances, it is wrong to knowingly inflict harm, or do something with the knowledge that it will impose harm, upon an autonomous being without their permission.
2.Inevitability Premise: All autonomous beings do suffer harm (harms, really), and we know this.
3.Conclusion: Creating autonomous beings is wrong.
The second premise, that sentient lives just do involve harms, I take to be a fairly obvious one. Everyone does experience sadness, injury, or ill-health. Unless we suffer a premature death, we will suffer the ageing process. Most people are likely to witness friends or family members suffer or die, and will therefore suffer vicariously. Anyone who reaches an age at which they are appropriately self-aware inevitably suffers harms in their lives.
Any life can be seen as continuing degrees of harm, until ended by death. As Adam said in Shelley’s Frankenstein, “I learned that there was but one means to overcome the sensation of pain, and that was death—a state which I feared yet did not understand.” Anyone considering parenthood, or attempting to construct an autonomous life-form in a laboratory, knows this if they think about it. We might think that the good things in a person’s life outweigh the harms, but all that matters for this argument is that there are harms in every autonomous life. That’s all I’ll say about this for now, as I think what I have labeled the Harm Premise is both more controversial and interesting.
Frankenstein and Philosophy Page 27