George Ace, a crusty old dairy farmer I once knew, had an expression: "The big print gives it all to you. The fine print takes it all away." That's rather much the way it is with Francis Fukuyama.
Fukuyama, a Johns Hopkins University professor and philosophical gadfly, lays on us provocative titles like Our Posthuman Future: Consequences of the Biotechnology Revolution, or, The End of History, his earlier book, and then starts chiseling away at definitions so as to say, in effect, "Oh, I didn't really mean THAT," telling you instead that his definition of "human" or of "history" really means only his little narrow, contrived (and maybe marketable?) definition that fits his argument.
George Ace wouldn't have had time for it. Probably only academics and policy wonks would, and that's the dangerous part--dangerous because they might actually buy-into Fukuyama's contrivances. Still, the book is an intellectual pot of coffee: "Good morning! Wake up! There's an issue out there!"
Let me get right to the point, something Fukuyama never does. The book is a call for government to apply the brakes to biotechnology because he fears the nature of Man if an elite class unleashes its super-babies upon society.
The trouble is, it takes him 218 pages to get to the point, although it's a fascinating detour through the Philosophy Hall of Fame: Heidegger, Hegel, Mill, Rousseau, Nietzsche, Locke, and on into Jefferson and Lincoln, for at its core, this is NOT a book about biotechnololgy. It is a book about humanity, human nature, human rights, and therefore the question: What right have we to be tampering with "nature"?--whatever that is.
Indeed, the bulk of the book toys with terms, as the reader watches Fukuyama carve hand-crafted definitions that suit his purpose and shove aside those that--though perfectly logical--block his chosen path.
And where is it he wants to go? To a philosophically-sound-even if contrived or intellectually-cooked basis for saying biotechnology is too scary to be left unregulated, especially when it touches this magical, mystical thing called "human nature."
Fukuyama serves as intellectual tour guide through three schools of thought on human nature and its connection to human rights. The first school (my term, not his) is theology-based; that is, human rights are granted by God, a superior being. This school is no longer in control of western civilization, and hasn't been for a long time, says Fukuyama.
The second school, represented by and perhaps culminating in Jefferson and the Declaration of Independence, says human rights come from human nature, though Fukuyama gets remarkably fuzzy when trying to link this human nature to genetics.
The third school says human rights are whatever a political body says they are. And that's what's wrong with society today, says Fukuyama in effect, because it lacks the moral compass of either of the first two schools.
Fukuyama begs us to return, please, the "human nature equals human rights" school of thought, while continually failing to close the deal intellectually as to how human nature automatically gets us to human rights (or even defining human nature in a way that solidifies his argument).
Indeed, his subsequent and perhaps accidental praise of civic control of pharmacology and agricultural biotechnology leave the reader thinking, "Gee, maybe human rights ARE whatever we agree they are," thereby supporting what he wants us to reject.
In the end, maybe it doesn't matter. Even if Fukuyama and his six research assistants cook the philosophical books, they are fascinating books. And even if they do get a few facts wrong here and there-too often citing activist-group propaganda as fact-in the end Francis Fukuyama puts on the table-almost despite himself-an interesting question. Would we accept a biotechnology-granted "soft tyranny" as envisioned in Brave New World, in which everyone is healthy and happy, but has forgotten the meaning of hope, fear, or struggle?
In so asking, he forgets he already gave us the answer, 50 pages back, and the answer is Yes.