The Role of Human Nature in the Bioethics Debate
by Michael Suarez
Healthy and Happy
One of the most contested issues of bioethical discussion is the hotly debated distinction between therapy and enhancement. That is, the use of biotechnology for medical treatment of failing health or disease, versus its use in improving human nature and performance. While the President's Council on Bioethics concluded that this distinction is ultimately ambiguous and problematic, its importance is nonetheless understandable. There is a recognizable difference between screening embryos to avoid a baby with Down syndrome and screening for an athletic build, blonde hair and blue eyes ( Beyond Therapy chapter 1, sec. V). By this type of contrast we understand how biotech advance has, in the words of the President's Council, “revived ancient dreams of human perfection” ( Beyond Therapy chapter 1, sec. VI). And these “revived dreams” have ignited vigorous debate over the nature of human nature.
In our time, this “revival” has become a growing philosophical movement that goes by several names. One name is “transhumanism.” As conceived by its current proponents, transhumanism primarily maintains that humanity's destiny is bound with revolutionary technological development that should be diligently studied and warmly welcomed (“The Transhumanist Declaration” articles 1-4). The term, however, refers to more than just avid technophilia. We can fathom the essential philosophical ambitions of transhumanism by referencing a 1957 article that takes the term as its title. Written by Julian Huxley before the blossom of the biotech age, the article expresses a hopeful belief that a new, better species of human being will eventually emerge. “We need a name for this new belief,” explains Huxley. “Perhaps transhumanism will serve: man remaining man, but transcending himself, by realizing new possibilities of and for his human nature.” It is this belief, now envisioned according to emerging forms of technological power, that defines modern notions of transhumanism.
The belief that human nature can be transcended through technology is also commonly called “posthumanism” – a term with even greater conceptual impact as regards the reinvention of our species. Posthumanists imagine this new species as “potentially immortal beings […] with unprecedented physical, intellectual and psychological capacities, as well as the ability to self-program and self-regulate” (More qtd. in “Posthumanism”). This fantastic state is projected to evolve from young but quickly maturing sciences such as nanotechnology, neuropharmacology, neurological interfaces, wearable computers, artificial intelligence and genetic engineering (“Posthumanism”). While such futuristic propositions may initially seem to be mere fantastic imaginings, serious minds believe biotechnology holds the potential to produce some version of the transformation posthumanists yearn for. In these minds biotechnology is setting the stage for a new era of progress in which humanity will abandon the slow crawl of classical biological evolution for a “new, fast and directed technological evolution” (Cordeiro). Recognizing the horizon of such an age, subscribers to posthuman ambitions are pursuing its unfolding with passion common to the most vital political causes. “We must go bravely, calmly and responsibly into our new posthuman world,” they proclaim, since to do otherwise “would be inhumane and a grave injustice to ourselves and our descendants” (Dvorsky). Underlying such beliefs is the implication that human nature is either a meaningless concept or a highly malleable reality that invites our transformation, and in direct antithesis to such propositions are the views of religious conservatism.
A Battle for the Soul
In many minds the battle lines of the biotech debate are drawn between those who welcome technological revolutions and the conservative moral forces of the religious right. While such a sharp split is oversimplified, religious conservatives, many Christian, do form a substantial core of those either concerned or outraged by looming developments. Christians, of course, have concerns about biotechnology that are common to those without religious inclinations, a concern with potential social injustices for example (Hook 40). Still, the most prominent concerns of Christian thinkers are, unsurprisingly, theological. These concerns may be reduced to two core beliefs about human nature that form an interesting contrast: The belief that man is made in the image of God and the conviction that unredeemed man is inherently sinful.
Man, teaches the Book of Genesis, is made in the image of God (1:27). In this view man's nature is a divinely ordained identity. Thus, even without defining the specific attributes of that nature, the implication of technologies such as cloning, genetic engineering, cybernetic implants or cryogenics – each a significant artificial enhancement – is clear. Pastor and theologian Erwin W. Lutzer comments: “To experiment with creating a human being according to our liking is to tamper with that which is most sacred […] We dare not reconfigure human beings according to our whims and purposes.” From a Biblical perspective such sciences are tampering with a nature given by God and attempting to remake man's nature according to his own “image”. This manipulation is regarded as kin to Adam and Eve's reaching out for the forbidden fruit, lured by the promise that “you shall be like God” – a temptation leading to the destruction of the divine human identity (Lutzer).
The familiar narrative of the fall in the Garden of Eden (Genesis Chapter 3) depicts the origin of sin and implicates a second serious theological concern – human sinfulness. By consequence of the fall, says the scripture, the nature of unredeemed man has become hopelessly wicked and incapable, absent salvation, of true goodness (Romans 3:10-19). This sinfulness, being intrinsic to our nature, is regarded as pervading every human endeavor. Christian thinkers evaluating the advance of biotechnology accordingly admonish us to understand that all technological innovation “will not only fail to produce true happiness but also will be corrupted intrinsically by sin” (Hook 40). This scriptural view of human nature explicitly contradicts the belief that technology would or could make man “perfect” and implicitly suggests that tragic consequences could follow.
In accordance with these theological concepts about human nature Christian thinkers regard radical biotechnology such as cloning and genetic engineering as overstepping scripturally-defined boundaries and destined to some degree of corruption. From these beliefs it is easy to understand how distrust of human knowledge and the belief that we are “playing God” has arisen. Christians evaluate the world through the lens of Biblical scripture and measure technological development against this special view of God and man. Such arguments contain lines of reasoning, but are not assailable from a purely rational level, since they are ultimately based on faith. By consequence, the validity of such faith has become the topic of debate. Apart from debate however, even bioethical secularists acknowledge that religious values and views should not be rashly dismissed, since they reflect values also common to many non-religious individuals (Fukuyama 90). It is also worth noting that these religious thinkers, contrary to stereotype, do not propose abandoning all new technologies. Rather, most informed commentators endorse the pursuit and use of technology tempered by respect for the dignity of human nature – albeit an admittedly religious conception (Hook 40, for example).
Apolitical Rights, Technology and Human Nature
While religious principles are a well-known source of arguments for technological restraint, they are not the only source. The capacity of human nature has produced sophisticated technological powers, and the long history of these powers reveals their advance to render significant, sometimes disruptive, social and political consequences. Reflection on the future possibilities of biotechnology reveals similar potential, and from such reflection concerns for sociopolitical stability emerge as another source of calls of technological restraint. Conservative bioethicist Francis Fukuyama articulates just such a call in Our Posthuman Future , but grounds his concerns not simply in biotechnological advance, but in the relation between this advance and human nature. This concern is expressed in the balanced context of what Fukuyama regards as the great dilemma of the biotech revolution: great promise paired with great threat (84). The essence of this promise is the betterment of humanity, while the heart of the threat is the possibility of destroying a shared human nature that founds shared human rights (101-2).
Fukuyama's early discussion reviews three “pathways to the future”: Brain sciences, neuropharmacology (that is, the use of psychoactive drugs such as Prozac), and sciences advancing the prolongation of life (chapters 2-4). Yet while Fukuyama notes that these pathways are important sciences whose application is of more imminent concern, he devotes much of his energy in spelling out the consequences of what he regards as the most significant of potential biotech developments – genetic engineering (81-2). This technology is currently of two important types: somatic gene therapy, which involves the alteration of individual genetic makeup, and germ-line engineering, which includes the alteration of inheritable genes. It is the latter science that most concerns the author (76-77). While acknowledging that the wildest imaginings of this science are still distant, Fukuyama explains that we must nevertheless begin to confront the possibility of a “new eugenics” which can redesign human nature (72).
Fukuyama's conception of human nature is at first glance strange, but with explanation, reasonable. He gives what he calls a “statistical definition” of human nature, which he describes as a more precise terming of traditional philosophic conceptions (133). An example is Aristotle's famous declaration that “man is a political animal by nature.” Aristotle, argues Fukuyama, did not mean that all human beings were political. Rather, the statement is either probabilistic or conditional, as when we say “it's human nature to betray.” Such comments refer not to how all people are, but to how most are likely to behave in common circumstances (133). While the details of this argument are tenuous, the point, I think, is clear: when we describe a certain nature as having a particular attribute, we are referencing most of that kind. I can assert that it is human nature to love your children and yet find humans who do not.
Fukuyama thus defines human nature as “the sum of the behavior and characteristics that are typical to the human species, arising from the genetic rather than environmental factors” (130). The key to this definition is the underlying concept of “species-typical behavior”, which includes a wide variety of traits, emerging through a complex evolutionary history. These traits Fukuyama categorizes according to classic philosophical notions of accidental and essential characteristics (148-9). Accidental traits are those that occur in human beings, but do not define them as such. For example skin color or height. Essential traits are those without which a human being could not be so identified – what makes a human a human. This elusive essential trait Fukuyama calls “Factor X”. While the content of such a designation may be criminally vague, the role of this idea is clear in and critical to Fukuyama's argument. Equal rights, he explains, demand human equality, which demand a common human essence justifying “a certain minimum level of respect” (149). Of course the aforementioned vagueness allows for quick dismissal of such a supposed essence. But, Fukuyama warns, the rejection of a common human nature opens the door for serious social and political discrimination. Without this common ground, differing groups of human beings may be regarded as different types of creatures with different rights (1`53). In an age revolutionized by technology, such a belief structure could lead to what is arguably the most feared biotechnical invention: the creation of a genuine “genetic aristocracy” (156-7). The rejection or denial of the “X” factor therefore leads down “a very perilous path” (160).
The obvious question is what is “X” and where does it come from? Fukuyama answers that Factor X is not simple or reducible to one thing; instead, it is “a genetic endowment” that allows each human “to become a whole human being” (171). The continuation of an understandable but nebulous conception is obvious here, perhaps indicating its unavoidability, certainly implying Fukuyama's primary concern for practical sociopolitical stability. In harmony with this concern, Fukuyama's unequivocal recommendation for dealing with biotech power is not philosophy but political regulation. While acknowledging that certain practices such as cloning should be “banned outright”, his general formula for regulation revisits the distinction between therapy and enhancement: biomedical therapy should be researched, biotechnical enhancement restricted (207-8). This need for political action Fukuyama expresses in urgent tones, admonishing us that
we are poised to enter a time in which technology will provide us with the capacity to alter our human essence. This alteration may in turn cause us to lose any clear idea of what a human being is, and with it any notion of a “shared humanity” (216-7).
The outline of Fukuyama's argument is clear. Human rights are based on the idea of a common human nature, but this idea may be destroyed by technology that can radically alter our genetic makeup. The concept of human nature is thus the foundation for his “bioconservatism”. But is this foundation sound? The need for the postulation of a common nature seems agreeable. It was not that long ago many Americans were enslaved on the argument that though they seemed human, they were not. They were sub-human, meaning they had a different nature. Yet Fukuyama sounds unsure as to whether such a nature really exists. In fact, he concludes Our Posthuman Future by noting that our political stability rests not on the existence of a human essence, but on belief in this essence (217). This equivocation corresponds to what seems like an inherent contradiction in Fukuyama's conception. He implies the need for a fixed idea of a common human nature, yet argues this nature is created by evolutionary processes and is susceptible to future change. While Fukuyama's intellectual aim is admirable, this tension may not be philosophically reconcilable.