As I get closer to the end of this pregnancy, I've been thinking more and more about what this little person inside me will actually be like. There are the usual idle thoughts about hair color and sleep patterns, then the more insidious worries about various illnesses that are more common for babies born to older parents. Intellectually I know it's unlikely he will be just like Jonah, either in looks or in temperament, but Jonah is the only little boy I have, so I find myself assuming they will be similar.
It's easy to forget just how much I do know about this baby. I know an amazing amount about this baby, more than anyone ever knew about their unborn children until just a few years ago. I remain amazed that a simple blood test revealed not only his sex but also whether he carried a number of genetic diseases, and all before I was out of my first trimester.
Even when I was doing these tests, though, I wasn't entirely sure they were a good idea. Josh and I had decided a long time ago that we wouldn't terminate a pregnancy because of something like Down syndrome. With some other diseases it was harder to imagine what we would decide. But I wasn't sure I really wanted to know in advance.
When the doctors became concerned about markers for spina bifida, they suggested we get genetic counseling. I still don't understand why, because spina bifida is not a genetic condition. But I met with the woman, mostly because I was curious. She went through all the heritable diseases on our family trees — an exercise that revealed we actually have pretty good genetics. I tried to be polite, but mostly rushed through it so I could get to my actual question: why did we need this counseling when the baby's genetics were already determined and most of the diseases she was asking about had no cure?
Even as I the words left my mouth, I realized that the answer was obvious! The point was to help us determine whether we should be intermingling our genetic material in the first place. Just like the point of genetic testing in your first trimester is to see if you should remain pregnant at all. The point, in other words, is eugenics. Right? A softer, more modern version — a version that happens before you're even born — but eugenics nonetheless.
In the midst of all this I had a conversation with someone who told me that she would definitely abort an autistic fetus. But there was no prenatal test for that, I said. Not yet, she replied. She didn't know I was pregnant at this point, but I imagine she will feel pretty bad if my baby ends up being autistic. I guess I should just try and forget this conversation ever happened.
Catholicism has a very good answer to all this, which is that eugenics is wrong in all cases. But if you want to accept that argument, you need to accept everything that comes with it, including the prohibition against all abortion and birth control. I commend the Catholics for being philosophically consistent on these points! But I do not favor the absolute prohibition of abortion or birth control, so I guess I cannot say I am against eugenics in all cases.
I don't know what other philosophies there are about modern eugenics — everyone else seems either mildly or extremely muddled. The modern position appears to be two-fold: first, abortion for any genetic abnormality is totally fine. Second, for those abnormalities that are not yet identifiable through genetics (autism, obesity, schizophrenia) we should conclude these are not actual illnesses but special gifts to be celebrated.
I guess most people don't think much about this weird muddled argument because we never end up having to make these decisions. But it's not hard to see that as these tests become easier and cheaper and more advanced, more and more pregnant women will need to figure out if they favor eugenics, and on what grounds. It's a big responsibility. If there is a genetic screening for autism some day, will it no longer be a neurodivergence to be celebrated, but instead, like Down syndrome, something we can eliminate from the gene pool?
When I was dealing with the genetic testing and genetic counseling, I went back and found an essay by Michael Sandel that I remembered reading many years ago. It's still good:
To appreciate children as gifts is to accept them as they come, not as objects of our design or products of our will or instruments of our ambition. Parental love is not contingent on the talents and attributes a child happens to have. We choose our friends and spouses at least partly on the basis of qualities we find attractive. But we do not choose our children. Their qualities are unpredictable, and even the most conscientious parents cannot be held wholly responsible for the kind of children they have. That is why parenthood, more than other human relationships, teaches what the theologian William F. May calls an "openness to the unbidden."
