I do not think that there is a reputable scientist on this

Hear the warning of Robert Lanza, a voice rising from the halls of science with gravity and resolve: “I do not think that there is a reputable scientist on this planet who would advocate using this technology to generate a human child as was just announced.” These words are not merely a judgment, but a cry of conscience. They speak to the tension between human ambition and human responsibility, between the daring power of discovery and the sacred duty of restraint.

Lanza refers to the perilous threshold that mankind has approached with technology—the ability to tamper with life itself, to create and shape children not through nature’s rhythm, but through artificial means. He does not condemn discovery itself, for science has always been the great lamp that drives away ignorance. Rather, he warns against the reckless use of such power, the attempt to cross into realms for which humanity may not yet be prepared. For to create life is not merely a technical act, but a sacred one, bound by deep moral weight.

We see echoes of this truth in the tale of Prometheus, who stole fire from the gods and gave it to mankind. With that fire, men were warmed and enlightened—but also capable of burning, destroying, and waging new wars. So it is with the fires of modern science. Cloning, genetic manipulation, and artificial gestation may hold promise, but without wisdom, they may bring ruin. Lanza’s words remind us that the scientist is not only a maker of tools, but also a guardian of their use, responsible not only for discovery but for its consequences.

History offers us sobering examples. In the twentieth century, scientists uncovered the mysteries of the atom, splitting it to release energies vast enough to light cities—or annihilate them. Their discoveries birthed both nuclear medicine, which saves countless lives, and nuclear weapons, which threaten civilization itself. Many of those who forged the bomb later recoiled at its use, realizing that not all that is possible should be done. So too in Lanza’s time: though technology makes it possible to fashion a human child outside the natural order, wisdom demands restraint until humanity can understand the full measure of such an act.

At the heart of his words is the principle of ethics. The pursuit of knowledge must always be joined to reverence for life. The measure of a “reputable scientist” is not brilliance of mind alone, but the courage to say no when power outpaces wisdom. To create a child is to shape a soul’s vessel, a being of dignity, not a mere experiment. To rush forward carelessly is to risk reducing humanity itself to a laboratory specimen, stripping away its mystery and its sacred worth.

The lesson is clear: progress without morality is not progress, but peril. Let each new advance be tested not only in laboratories but in the conscience of humanity. Do not confuse what is possible with what is rightful. The greatness of science is not only in discovery, but in restraint, in the wisdom to guard against pride and hubris. Just as the ancients built temples not only to honor gods but to remind themselves of their limits, so too must we set boundaries to remind ourselves of the sanctity of life.

Practical actions lie before us. Support science, but also demand ethical stewardship. Ask not only “what can we do?” but “what should we do?” Honor those who, like Lanza, speak with courage when others chase spectacle. And in your own life, remember this: power, whether great or small, is a gift to be used with care. Restrain reckless desire, act with reverence toward life, and let wisdom guide your hand. In this way, the fire of discovery will illuminate rather than consume, and humanity may walk forward without stumbling into its own destruction.