A Clone is Just a Clone...Right?
In Never Let Me Go, it quickly becomes clear just how similar the clone children of Hailsham are to regular kids, and yet they are consigned to a cruel fate. They die early, either under a surgeon's knife or wasting away in a bed, and yet they are told, as the reader is, that this is a noble thing, that their deaths will let someone else live on. Ishiguro did not want to write a story of rebellion, but one of quiet acceptance and stoic resolve in the face of death, and I respect this decision. However, the story put forth in Never Let Me Go encourages me to wonder if such a solution could one day be implemented in reality, and what that would mean for humanity.
Ultimately, the clones in Ishiguro's novel are considered as lesser beings, likely less than human, by the majority of society. They are literally created to die, and though Hailsham is somewhat humane in seeking to give them some form of a normal life, it is heavily implied that many clone houses express this contempt for the clone children far more explicitly, and though we do not receive any details of these places, I cannot help but recall what conditions are often like when the human race considers another person as less than human.
Perhaps Ishiguro did not intend to create such a terrible world, perhaps all he wanted was a story to give hope and strength to people facing certain unpleasant inevitability, and this was the story he wrote to do so, but by creating a cast of clones we are supposed to learn from, supposed to admire for their resolve and their compassion, supposed to come to know through this story, he inadvertently created characters that are so human we cannot help but feel empathy for, and when our empathy is bound to people whom are suffering such horrid fate, our sense of justice is quick to move in their name.
The world Ishiguro describes is an example of a strictly utilitarian philosophy, where morality is a function of the difference between the values of bad and good; if you cause x bad to achieve y good, and y-x > z good which harms no one, then there is a moral imperative to inflict x to obtain y. I like to think humans are better than this, on the whole.
Ultimately, the clones in Ishiguro's novel are considered as lesser beings, likely less than human, by the majority of society. They are literally created to die, and though Hailsham is somewhat humane in seeking to give them some form of a normal life, it is heavily implied that many clone houses express this contempt for the clone children far more explicitly, and though we do not receive any details of these places, I cannot help but recall what conditions are often like when the human race considers another person as less than human.
Perhaps Ishiguro did not intend to create such a terrible world, perhaps all he wanted was a story to give hope and strength to people facing certain unpleasant inevitability, and this was the story he wrote to do so, but by creating a cast of clones we are supposed to learn from, supposed to admire for their resolve and their compassion, supposed to come to know through this story, he inadvertently created characters that are so human we cannot help but feel empathy for, and when our empathy is bound to people whom are suffering such horrid fate, our sense of justice is quick to move in their name.
The world Ishiguro describes is an example of a strictly utilitarian philosophy, where morality is a function of the difference between the values of bad and good; if you cause x bad to achieve y good, and y-x > z good which harms no one, then there is a moral imperative to inflict x to obtain y. I like to think humans are better than this, on the whole.
No comments:
Post a Comment