For some odd reason, a couple of the newer blog I read have been kicking around cloning this week.
Scott Adams felt the need to reassert his position as intellectual gadfly, going into the pesky theological and grammatical challenges this whole concept brings.
Meanwhile, Stingflower over at Harshly Mellow brings up a great point — cloning merely duplicates your own genetic material, while the more tradtional (and fun) processes offer what they called in Star Trek “infinite diversity in infinite combinations.” She seems quite pleased with her daughter, who’s the product of only half or so of her genetic material, and sees no reason to simply copy when one can improve.
In my case, it’s pretty simple. I have so many genetically-related conditions that I decided a while ago I wouldn’t risk inflicting them on a child. In the case of cloning, unless they offer to also do some clean-up work on my genes, no thanks. I’ll be quite happy to be a self-selected genetic dead end. I happen to believe in Darwin’s “survival of the fittest,” and my genes most certainly do NOT qualify.
But the best thing I think I’ve ever read about cloning was a little ditty whipped up by Isaac Asimov:
Oh give me a clone
A clone of my own
With its Y chromosome changed to an X
Then me and my clone
My clone of my own
Will soon have nothing but sex.