A group of friends are at a party. They're discussing embryos, abortion, stem cell harvesting. Someone mentions the 14 day rule of ethics committees shutting down. Sort of like the three second rule about food on the floor. Nobody can tell which is grosser.
Questions are asked, speculated upon, but not answered. At what point does a human embryo become human enough to qualify for the human right to life? It's the kind of question a sober person asks a room full of drinkers. Just like a cell, the question divides into more questions that then divide again.
Is it a matter of total number of cells? Then by that logic an elephant should be more entitled to human rights than a human.
A matter of complexity then? By that logic the internet is more human than you are. The cosmos too. Silly.
Someone heard they take stem cells from these embyros for treatments.
What if they cut the embryo in half and one half was bigger than the other, but the smaller half contained the brain. Which half would the human be in? The consensus of brains unanimously says it would be the brain half.
But does the spark of life exist before the brain forms? So there's more than just brain involved isn't there.
What about the heart? No, that's just a pump. People get their hearts transplanted all the time, and they're still the same person.
One party-goer says he knows the answer. One of the drinkers, naturally. It's very simple. Take any amputee. Person loses a leg at the knee, let's say. But the leg isn't the person, that's just rubbish, maybe some literal kind of white trash. But the part with the person is the bit that the person decides it is for themselves.
Grumbling. Someone calls it a cop out.
The question-answerer shrugs. He'll demonstrate. Amputate himself right here and you'll see what he means. You'll find me in the amputated part, he assures them.
There's a round of come on now, be serious. Let's not hurt ourselves. There isn't even a hacksaw in the house.
But the sewing scissors are already in his hand.
With a ceremonial flourish he raises the scissors and cuts his tip of the finger nail of his left thumb.
Arms, legs, and skull collapse inert on the floor in a tangle. The part of the body containing the man flicks off the scissors and skitters across the floor, an entire person trapped hopelessly in a sliver of keratin.
Quick, pass me that sewing kit. I need a needle and thread.
10 December 2016
Michael Pritchard
Questions are asked, speculated upon, but not answered. At what point does a human embryo become human enough to qualify for the human right to life? It's the kind of question a sober person asks a room full of drinkers. Just like a cell, the question divides into more questions that then divide again.
Is it a matter of total number of cells? Then by that logic an elephant should be more entitled to human rights than a human.
A matter of complexity then? By that logic the internet is more human than you are. The cosmos too. Silly.
Someone heard they take stem cells from these embyros for treatments.
What if they cut the embryo in half and one half was bigger than the other, but the smaller half contained the brain. Which half would the human be in? The consensus of brains unanimously says it would be the brain half.
But does the spark of life exist before the brain forms? So there's more than just brain involved isn't there.
What about the heart? No, that's just a pump. People get their hearts transplanted all the time, and they're still the same person.
One party-goer says he knows the answer. One of the drinkers, naturally. It's very simple. Take any amputee. Person loses a leg at the knee, let's say. But the leg isn't the person, that's just rubbish, maybe some literal kind of white trash. But the part with the person is the bit that the person decides it is for themselves.
Grumbling. Someone calls it a cop out.
The question-answerer shrugs. He'll demonstrate. Amputate himself right here and you'll see what he means. You'll find me in the amputated part, he assures them.
There's a round of come on now, be serious. Let's not hurt ourselves. There isn't even a hacksaw in the house.
But the sewing scissors are already in his hand.
With a ceremonial flourish he raises the scissors and cuts his tip of the finger nail of his left thumb.
Arms, legs, and skull collapse inert on the floor in a tangle. The part of the body containing the man flicks off the scissors and skitters across the floor, an entire person trapped hopelessly in a sliver of keratin.
Quick, pass me that sewing kit. I need a needle and thread.
10 December 2016
Michael Pritchard
