Our Posthuman Future: Consequences of the Biotechnology Revolution

Christian Century, July 26, 2003 by Richard J. Coleman

By Francis Fukuyama. Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 256 pp., $25.00.

POSTHUMAN," the newest buzz word, is beginning to eclipse "postmodern." Postmodernism consists of a philosophical reexamination of foundational suppositions of the Enlightenment: objectivity, realism, universal truths, rationalism, the blank slate, essences and meta-narratives (socialism, liberalism, etc.). But "posthuman" refers to biology, as thinkers grapple with the fact that we have entered a period of monumental advance in the life sciences. Just as splitting the atom in 1945 set the stage for the cold war, so the discovery of DNA in 1953 launched us into a new era of biotechnology. While postmodernism deconstructed the idealism of the Enlightenment, posthumanism is about constructing a new human. Ironically, it remains to be seen whether that reconstruction can happen without the ideals of the Enlightenment.

Francis Fukuyama's Our Posthuman Future is a retrospective of his bold declaration that we have reached the end of history; that is, the major alternatives to liberal democracy have exhausted themselves (The End of History and the Last Man, 1992). Fukuyama does not easily fit into a niche. He is sometimes a philosopher, sociologist, social psychologist, anthropologist or economist. But preeminently he is a social scientist interested in what makes us tick as social beings and in what political consequences our actions bring.

Fukuyama recognizes that history is reinventing itself--not politically or philosophically, but technologically. He spares us the obligatory purview of the latest genetic engineering promises. What he does, and does very well, is to examine the early stages of biotechnology: greater knowledge about genetic causation (the heritability of intelligence or homosexuality), neuropharmacology (Prozac and Ritalin), and the prolongation of life.

At each turn of the technological screw, bargains with the devil must be made because biotechnology, unlike many other scientific advances, "mixes obvious benefits with subtle harms in one seamless package." The further prolongation of the life span, for example, would disrupt the natural norm of one generation making way for the next. In the workplace, grandfathers would be competing with fathers, who would be competing with sons and daughters. One of Fukuyama's strengths is that he is continually asking what the political implications of the new technology are and how can we prepare for them.

As we contemplate a posthuman future we face the pressing issue of whether it will be necessary to post "No Trespassing" signs in order to protect ourselves from the incessant tinkering of biological engineering. It is instructive to compare Fukuyama's position on this issue with that of Leon Kass, another prominent thinker focusing on this issue. Kass presents an alarming metaphor. Human nature itself lies on the operating table, ready for alteration, enhancement, wholesale redesign. Kass takes his stand by the barricade of human dignity. Daniel Callahan writes that Kass's judgment calls about proper limits will come from weighing costs and benefits (see his review of Kass's Life, Liberty and the Defense of Dignity in the CENTURY, September 25-October 8, 2002). Kass opposes cloning because it is another step in the process of dehumanization (loss of human dignity).

Fukuyama's approach is different. He discusses both dignity and human rights as protective measures but counts them as secondary to defining what is essentially human. Kass is adamant about the clarity of boundaries. Clarity about your origins, for instance, is critical for self-identity. But when Fukuyama considers what constitutes the foundation of civilization, he issues another bold assertion. A more solid foundation for political order will rest upon "the most deeply felt and universal human drives, ambitions, and behaviors that are species-typical for our species."

Fukuyama is well aware of the postmodern conclusion that there is no such thing as a human essence. His arguments to the contrary are brief but well aimed. Philosophical giants such as David Hume and their followers will not allow us to commit the "naturalistic fallacy" of deriving an ought from an is, a moral obligation from an empirical observation about the natural world. How often have we heard that human nature is culturally conditioned, genetically determined, or not uniquely differentiated from animals? It is about time that someone stood up for the tenacity of human nature. If we are hard-wired for language, then let's acknowledge that there is a persistent human nature regarding matters of the heart and spirit. Fukuyama is not the only prophetic voice to rebut the mantra that nature gives no guidance as to what human values should be, but every voice is a welcome part of the chorus.

In the end, I think Fukuyama is right to argue that rights and dignity need the support of a coherent understanding of human nature. Human rights and dignity sit upon a slippery slope of cultural prejudice and political convenience unless they have roots sunk deep into our essential being. Unfortunately, many will be disappointed with the thinness of Fukuyama's understanding of those behaviors and characteristics that are uniquely human.