The Strongest Boy in the World and Other Adventures in Genetics, The Case against Perfection
2007; Yale University Press; Volume: 80; Issue: 4 Linguagem: Inglês
ISSN
1551-4056
Autores Tópico(s)Science Education and Perceptions
ResumoOne of our greatest fears about genetic enhancement is that if we tinker with our inner code we will lose something essential to our humanity. Consider the protein myostatin, which inhibits the proliferation of muscle cells and stimulates adipose tissue. Athletes are interested in anti-myostatin drugs so they can build the lean muscle mass necessary for extraordinary achievement. But does this nullify everything we hold dear about sports: that a human being can, through sweat and dedication, transcend our shared limitations to run a two-hour marathon or throw a perfect game? Or is a seemingly superhuman performance no less riveting if it is executed by someone with a few engineered traits? The ideas surrounding genetic enhancement may be new in their power, but in other ways they are utterly traditional, argues Philip R. Reilly, a physician, lawyer, and former biotech executive whose excitement for genetics is, if not congenital, certainly contagious. He proposes that we scrutinize what we mean by humanity itself: We have been tinkering with the code for ages in our agriculture and our relationships, and we routinely enhance human performance via conditioning and supplementation. Genetic engineering and enhancement is only different in the matter of technique. The essays Reilly has collected in The Strongest Boy constitute a broad spectrum, popular history of genetic medicine and an appeal to the general public to consider the profound social improvements offered by gene therapy, genetic engineering, and other new technologies. Although his thoughts can stray toward philosophizing, Reilly’s work overall adds valuable narrative detail to debates often trapped in cliche and moralism. The Strongest Boy’s best chapters cover the human stories underlying diseases such as Huntington’s Disease, Charcot-Marie-Tooth Syndrome, hereditary deafness, and Severe Combined Immune Deficiency, among others. These historical narratives play to Reilly’s optimism, which is imperturbable even while discussing tragic setbacks such as the death of Jesse Gelsinger. Although the book lacks the rigor of a systematic history like Paul Rabinow’s Making PCR, it clearly comes from rich direct experience of the science. (Technically, the book does not go beyond introductory college-level biology, but professional scientists will be nonetheless entertained by Reilly’s storytelling.) Reilly’s casual tone does not equally suit his attempts at social commentary. After a fascinating consideration of the technology of pre-implantation genetic diagnosis, Reilly attempts to prove the broad acceptability of such reproductive technology by explaining that the Bible never addresses conception, only implantation: It only uses the term “womb” when talking about the business of human proliferation (256). If only it were so easy. Good that Reilly attempts to engage with traditionalism on its own terms — too often scientists believe they’re speaking the only language that matters — but his theology is shallow. In The Strongest Boy’s title essay, Reilly tells the story of a German newborn whose strangely muscled physique is due to a frame shift mutation in the aforementioned muscle inhibitor, myostatin. As a result, his 7-month-old thighs look like those of a miniscule Lance Armstrong. His mother, a heterozygote and professional athlete, already has hidden him from public view, shielding him from scrutiny undue a boy who is, for all his extraordinary muscle mass, just a boy. This wise decision would be applauded by the Harvard political philosopher Michael Sandel, whose brief work The Case against Perfection attempts to articulate why we might find Reilly’s brave new world so distasteful. Sandel believes genetic enhancement has the potential to capitalize on our insecurities. His discussion of the rise of off-label prescriptions of human growth hormone show that parents may jeopardize their children’s health and safety to help them fit some fantasy of normal. For Sandel, what should scare us most about genetic enhancement of human beings is that this practice is an extension — a mutation, if you will — of a pre-existing desire to cure, embellish, and fix ourselves into people who are less vulnerable to disease, more competitive, and better overall. Genetic technologies may allow those with the means to act out our neuroses — that our children should be the fastest, tallest, and smartest — which society should not systematically enable, lest we forget about unconditional love and acceptance of one’s neighbor, differences and all.
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