The news that Japanese researchers have successfully induced skin cells to behave like viable eggs, which have then been fertilised to create a new generation of mice, may well come to be seen as a scientific milestone.  And if it’s not that, it’s definitely very, very cool.  (The original paper is here.)

Though the research does not necessarily translate into humans, it appears to demonstrate that the genetic material found in every cell in the body can be put to use in the creation of offspring. In principle, this offers infertile women the opportunity to have children that are genetically related, even if they do not have viable eggs of their own: cells from another part of the body could be used and “reprogrammed” to behave as eggs would.  (Putting the procedure to use in humans would be illegal under current UK law, since the synthesised eggs would not be what the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Act calls “permitted”.  But the law is, after all, just the law.)

There will probably be concerns raised; but they aren’t obviously any more serious in relation to this technology than they would be in relation to others.

The most obvious concern – and, prima facie, the most powerful – would be about the safety of the procedure were it to be used in humans. more…

Readers are probably aware of the consultation that the HFEA launched this week on the use of mitochondrial replacement to prevent certain illnesses.  John Harris has a piece on it in The Guardian – and by gosh golly, he’s right*; the article is well worth a quick look.

My own ha’p'orth: some of the stuff in the consultation is a bit odd.  One of the sets of questions it asks has to do with what such a procedure would do to a child’s concept of identity.  But why is this a concern?  Suppose a child discovers that she’s been the recipient of a mitochondrial transplant: so what?  Why would that make the blindest bit of difference to her sense of identity?  Isn’t it wholly plausible that, if there is any impact, it’s not because of the source of the genes qua genes, but because of all the people around her telling her that it’s tremendously important and she should give a stuff?  But they might be wrong.  I’d stick my neck out and say that they probably are.  Genetic origins simply don’t matter.

(Ah – but if she’s brought up to think that they’re imporant, isn’t that enough to establish that they’re important to her – and so are important in some sense after all?  Well, no.  Imagine someone is brought up to think that the fortunes of West Ham United are important; they’ll be important to him.  But it doesn’t follow that they’re important; and it might be that, in treating them as important, our hapless Hammers fan ends up making himself much more miserable than he need be by worrying about things that don’t merit worry.  It could be that he ought not to think the football important.  The same applies to genes: if a person’s genetic origins are important to her, it doesn’t follow that they’re important, or that there’re no good reasons to think them less important.)

But lots of people seem to think that genes do matter, and so we get questions like this; and asking questions like this perpetuates the idea that it’s a question worth asking… and so it goes on.

*I’ve found myself saying that increasingly often of late.  Scary stuff.