Cloning around or bringing up me

Daniel Gaudet

I want to be cloned.

A bold statement? Yes.

However, I've been thinking -- considering the exponential rate of technological progress these days--it's not unfeasible that within my lifetime, or even in the next 25 years, cloning human beings will be commonplace, or at least, only available to those with a considerable disposable income, like high-definition TV or advanced rhinoplasty is today.

Actually, I hope cloning would remain a peculiar aberration of human development, and not lead to a sterile Brave New World-type environment. Something available for those who seek it, and not an inescapable global phenomenon.

I suspect those who would seek to be cloned would be a minority. I would be in that minority with bells on, because in my opinion, cloning offers a singularly intriguing opportunity to study what we call the human soul.

Here's a scenario: it's 2021, I'm 45, married with two children. My wife is aware of my desire to be cloned, and wholeheartedly agrees to gestate the fetal version of myself.

I must say that I don't want another version of me because I think I'm superior.

The idea of all the random possibilities generated through standard reproduction with a mate, and the variations in possible offspring, is still pretty cool and worthwhile. No, cloning myself is a different kettle of fish.

To make it simpler, I'll call this imaginary clone Nathaniel. Although my wife would give birth to Nathaniel, he would be, genetically speaking, me. A younger version of myself, destined to grow up in a radically different environment than I did. We would raise him along with our other children, as their younger sibling. Until he was old enough to understand, he would be, essentially, my son.

When it was appropriate, I would explain to Nathaniel, somehow, that he was my clone.

Today, that may sound like a unfathomable task, but, if you accept that cloning technology would be available in 2021, you can bet the popular culture of the day would have bombarded young Nathaniel with enough information to comprehend who and what he is.

And then what? Would he strive to be more like me, or distance himself immeasurably to forge his own identity? Would his personality mirror my own, distort it or reverse it? Would he be more or less successful in life? Would his career be similar to mine? Would his life be better or worse than mine?

Anyone who would hiss at my plan, and cry foul that I was manipulating Nathaniel like a solution in a laboratory test tube, would be hypocritical.

Most parents have these same questions, and are motivated to find the answers by bringing a life into the world.

The only factor that would be different in the case of cloned Nathaniel would be that he has one true genetic parent, and a mother that gives birth to him yet has no input in his genetic make-up. Basically, I would clone myself for the same reason most people do anything: because I could, and because I sincerely do not believe it would hurt anyone.

Subtleties of morality come and go with the passings of culture, philosophy and time.

The days of people passionately arguing against the fluoridization of public water supplies have given way to the fierce battle against toying with human genetics in the laboratory.

I say, send in the clones!