In the March 2006 issue of EMBO reports, Christof Tannert, a bioethicist at the Max Delbrück Research Centre in Berlin, Germany, presented a moral argument against human reproductive cloning on the basis of Immanuel Kant's categorical imperative (Tannert, 2006). In this article, I address some problems with Tannert's views and show that our concerns about this prospective procedure should prompt us to scrutinize carefully the conventional procreative practices and attitudes. Indeed, if we set aside objections that are grounded in genetic determinism, many of the offensive features of human cloning are identical to problems with procreation by more conventional means, including both old-fashioned procreation and assisted reproductive technologies (ARTs). Oddly enough, many see only cloning as problematic, whereas identical problems with everyday procreation continue to go unnoticed.

In his article, Tannert endeavours to provide us with a sound argument that human reproductive cloning “violates our basic moral principles”. He grounds his argument in Immanuel Kant's central moral principle of respect for all humanity, which the great philosopher formulated as: “Act so that you treat humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of any other, always at the same time as an end, never as a means only” (Kant, 1785). In essence, Kant's principle prohibits using rational creatures—humans—as mere instruments to attain one's own selfish goals. Tannert claims that human reproductive cloning—through somatic cell nuclear transfer or embryo splitting—is immoral because it violates this principle by using a human—the clone—for egoistical purposes. However, as I demonstrate, this assertion is problematic. Although treating people created by cloning as mere means—for example, as organ banks—would be morally unacceptable, it is misleading to identify cloning itself as the core problem. Furthermore, although Kant's respect for humanity is of great practical value, it does not provide us with adequate guidance with regard to cloning. His moral principle clearly applies to existing people, but it falls short in helping us to determine whether a particular means of creating people is morally permissible. As Deborah Johnson explained in another context, often “moral concepts and principles are ambiguous in their application to new technology” (Johnson, 2005).

If we ever hope to figure out why the prospect of human cloning, especially reproductive cloning, is so unsettling, we must first remove any marginal problems that infiltrate the arguments in this debate, including Tannert's. First, despite his explicit rejection of genetic determinism, Tannert ends up appealing to it. Second, he assumes that only selfishness and egoism could motivate someone to pursue reproductive cloning. Third, he makes the assumption that a cloned person would inevitably be treated as a mere means. Fourth, his appeal to Kant's moral principle fails to clarify where the line should be drawn with respect to research cloning.

Tannert finds it particularly problematic that a clone, unlike offspring created through the combination of genetic material from two individuals, is “the result of deliberate human decision and action… and is therefore, through this arbitrariness, an artefact”. Although a great deal of procreation occurs ‘accidentally', it is still the result of some deliberate human action, be it intercourse or several visits to an ART clinic. It is not clear why cloning should be considered either more or less arbitrary than decisions to procreate through more conventional means. The emphasis on the means of procreation also detracts from the more important criterion for determining the moral permissibility of procreation, namely, how offspring will fare once they are born. Merely creating people by cloning need not restrict their autonomy any more than procreation through intercourse or ARTs. Granted, as has been shown by cloning experiments with animals, creating humans by cloning at this stage is likely to be disastrous for the clone; it might be impossible to advance to a point at which cloning techniques do not present an unacceptable risk for individual clones, women, their fetuses and/or newborns. But if these risks of physical harm were eliminated, it is uncertain whether cloning would constrain autonomy any more than any other means of procreation.

Tannert claims that cloning is wrong because “it only fulfils the selfish interest of a creator”, but cloning need not be motivated by either selfishness or the desire to replicate a particular genotype. Although cloning, by definition, means the replication of an existing genotype, the motives to do so can vary. Along these lines, Dena Davis draws a distinction between duplicative and logistical cloning: in the case of duplicative cloning, “it is the genetic replication itself that is the attraction,” whereas the primary motive in cases of logistical cloning is to have a child (Davis, 2001). However, the motives for duplicative cloning are usually on the basis of gross misconceptions about cloning, which abound in films, television programmes—including those that claim to be news programmes—and science-fiction novels (Maio, 2006). There is a nearly universal agreement that duplicative cloning would be downright ludicrous as well as immoral, and only those in a state of intractable ignorance would want to pursue it. As shown in Kazuo Ishiguro's novel Never Let Me Go, even fictional characters no longer buy into genetic determinism. For example, the narrator Kathy H, herself a clone, makes the following observation: “Our models were an irrelevance, a technical necessity for bringing us into the world… It was up to each of us to make our own lives… It is daft to assume you'll have the same life as your model” (Ishiguro, 2005).

If we accept such arguments for logistical cloning, then cloning does not necessarily mean “using one person—the clone—as the means to fulfil the desires of another person: the clone generator”, as Tannert claims. If fulfilling the desires of the procreator to have a child constitutes an immoral use of another person, we must also concede that a great deal of ‘natural' procreation is immoral for the same reason. It is not at all uncommon for individuals or couples to create children to fulfil several desires: to pass on one's genes; to ensure that there will be enough people to work the farm, carry on the family business, or care for the procreators in their old age; to produce a ‘saviour sibling' to save the life of an existing child; to make money, as in cases of full surrogacy; or simply to satisfy an inexplicable but intense desire to have a child. Cases of creating a child for its own sake are more the exception than the rule, if they exist at all.

The most likely reason for creating a child by cloning would be to carry on the family line. Although I find it mysterious that genetic connections are so highly prized—often more than social relationships among individuals—there is no denying the importance accorded to genetic ties. One of the reasons why ARTs are in such high demand is that people want a child who is genetically related to at least one member of the couple. Considering the prevailing attitude about the importance of genetic links, it should come as no surprise that some individuals might be interested in cloning themselves or a beloved family member, living or deceased.

There is probably no decision of similar magnitude that is more arbitrary than the one to have a child. On the face of it, rationality and procreation seem to be extremely odd bedfellows; indeed, it is often the absence of rationality that leads to conception. Although we might prefer individuals to be more thoughtful about their procreative decisions, they are rarely criticized when such careful deliberation is absent or when their decisions are obviously problematic.

Ultimately, the means of procreation are morally irrelevant unless they present a significant risk to offspring or parents, particularly the mother. This is true of cloning at present, and it is for this reason that we should refrain from creating offspring in this manner. But this is not to claim that cloning is morally impermissible because it involves using another as a mere means; instead the claim is that it would be wrong to create a person by cloning because that person would probably be born in what Joel Feinberg calls a “harmful condition” (Feinberg, 1984).

As logistical reproductive cloning would not automatically violate a person's right to self-determination or cut off a child's prospect of future autonomy, it is erroneous to conclude that cloning always constitutes using another person—the clone—as a mere means. Setting aside circumstances under which conception is likely to pose a risk to the offspring—for example, if either parent carries a devastating hereditary disease—there is nothing intrinsically wrong with bringing a person into existence by one means instead of another. It is important to place greater emphasis on the actual treatment of the offspring and not how he or she came to be; if cloning is the problem, then not only reproductive cloning but also research cloning is problematic. The latter could also be construed as being used for self-interested or selfish motives, such as to advance the researcher's career. But there is a more pressing problem related to research cloning, to which I will now turn.

Although legally, in some countries, the limit until which human embryos can be destroyed to harvest stem cells is drawn at 14 days, it does not follow from Tannert's argument that researchers are morally required to stop there. In fact, given the significance Tannert places on implanting an embryo in a woman's uterus, combined with his claim that an artificial uterus would deprive an embryo of “an essential condition for becoming a human”, the implication is that research on embryos or fetuses beyond 14 days would be justifiable. Clearly, if such a being is missing a necessary condition for becoming a person, it cannot become a person; hence, a being that develops to 40 weeks or beyond by ectogenesis would not be protected by Kant's principle of respect for people. Undoubtedly, using cloned embryos and fetuses in research would provide us with more and better information about the efficacy and safety of cloning, and Tannert's view gives us no reason to refrain from doing so. In the end, his view about research cloning could be construed as too permissive, and his argument provides a great deal of ammunition for those who advocate a ban on all types of cloning, including therapeutic cloning.

We should refrain from making assumptions that the means by which one was conceived or the conditions into which one is born entail anything about what sort of people they will become or how we should treat them. As humans, we should make use of our unique capacity for moral agency, in particular our capacity to have and fulfil obligations. As Kant put it, the very act of bringing another person into existence means that parents have an obligation “to make their children—as far as their power goes—as contented with the condition thus acquired” (Kant, 1790). Treating clones as inferior to other humans is still safely in the realm of fiction, and it should stay that way. Fortunately, it is well within our grasp to ensure that it does.