Beginning in the spring of 2001, Margaret, Jay, and Karl Rove—who was in close touch with advocacy groups on both sides of the issue—invited a series of distinguished scientists, ethicists, religious thinkers, and advocates to discuss embryonic stem cell research. The conversations fascinated me. The more I learned, the more questions I had. When I delivered the commencement address at Notre Dame, I brought up embryonic stem cell research with Father Ed “Monk” Malloy, the president of the university. When I spoke at Yale the next day, I raised the topic with Dr. Harold Varmus of the Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center. At a birthday party for a doctor in the White House Medical Unit, I asked all the physicians there what they thought. As word got out that I was seeking opinions, I was bombarded with input from Cabinet secretaries, staffers, outside advisers, and friends.
Of course, I asked Laura for her advice. Her father had died of Alz-heimer’s, her mother had suffered from breast cancer, and she held out great hope for the possibility of new cures. But she worried that advocacy groups would overpromise what embryonic stem cell research could achieve, leaving desperate families with dashed hopes.
Members of the scientific community presented two main arguments in favor of funding embryonic stem cell research. First was the medical potential. Researchers told me there were millions of Americans suffering from diseases that might be alleviated through treatments derived from embryonic stem cells. Experts believed that only a few stem cell lines would be needed to explore the science and determine its value. “If we had ten to fifteen lines, no one would complain,” Irv Weissman, a prominent researcher from Stanford, told the
A research team from the National Institutes of Health told me that several dozen stem cell lines were already under development. They also reported some preliminary research into alternative ways of deriving stem cells without destroying embryos. Their unanimous opinion was that denying federal support for embryonic stem cell research would result in a missed opportunity. Taxpayer dollars were important not only as a source of financing, they explained, but also as a seal of approval for scientific innovation.
The scientists’ second point was a practical one: Most of the embryos used to derive the stem cells would likely be discarded anyway. The primary source of these embryos was In Vitro Fertilization (IVF) clinics. When a couple signed up for IVF, doctors usually fertilized more eggs than they implanted in the prospective mother. As a result, some embryos would be left after the treatment was complete. They were usually frozen and stored by the fertility clinic. Since these so-called spare embryos were not going to be used to conceive children, scientists argued, didn’t it make sense to use them for research that could potentially save lives?
One of the groups most actively supporting embryonic stem cell research was the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation. In July 2001, I invited representatives from the organization to the Oval Office. Among the delegation were two friends of mine, Woody Johnson and Mike Overlock. Both men were political backers, and both had children suffering from diabetes. They were passionate, compelling advocates with an unmistakable devotion to their children. But their certainty about a rapid embryonic stem cell breakthrough surprised me. When I pointed out that the science was unproven and that there could be alternatives to embryo destruction, it was obvious that the advocacy group had left no room for doubt in their minds. The meeting was a window into the passions the issue could generate.
That same day, I also met representatives of National Right to Life. They opposed any research that destroyed embryos. They pointed out that each tiny stem cell cluster had the potential to grow into a person. In fact, all of us had started our lives in this early state. As evidence, they pointed to a new program run by Nightlight Christian Adoptions. The agency secured permission from IVF participants to place their unused frozen embryos up for adoption. Loving mothers had the embryos implanted in them and carried the babies—known as snowflakes—to term. The message was unmistakable: Within every frozen embryo were the beginnings of a child.
Many of the bioethicists I met took the same position. They acknowledged that most embryos frozen in IVF clinics would not become children. Yet they argued that there was a moral difference between allowing embryos to die naturally and proactively ending their lives. Sanctioning the destruction of life to save life, they argued, crossed into dangerous moral territory. As one put it, “The fact that a being is going to die does not entitle us to use it as a natural resource for exploitation.”
I heard some opinions that surprised me. Dr. Dan Callahan, a thoughtful ethicist, told me he was pro-choice on abortion but against embryonic stem cell research. He believed there was a moral distinction between aborting a baby for the direct benefit of its mother and destroying an embryo for the vague and indirect purpose of scientific research. Dr. Benjamin Carson, one of the world’s most respected surgeons, told me that stem cell research could be valuable, but that scientists should focus on alternatives to embryo destruction, such as collecting stem cells from the blood of umbilical cords. On the other hand, Orrin Hatch and Strom Thurmond, two of the most staunchly pro-life members of the Senate, supported federal funding for embryonic stem cell research because they thought the benefit of saving lives outweighed the cost of destroying embryos.
In July 2001, I visited Pope John Paul II at his beautiful summer residence, Castel Gandolfo. Swiss Guards in full regalia escorted us through a series of rooms and into the reception area. Pope John Paul II was one of the great figures in modern history. A survivor of Nazi and communist rule in his native Poland, he had become the first non-Italian pope in 455 years. With his call “Be Not Afraid,” he rallied the conscience of Central and Eastern Europe to bring down the Iron Curtain. As the distinguished Cold War historian John Lewis Gaddis later wrote, “When John Paul II kissed the ground at the Warsaw airport on June 2, 1979, he began the process by which communism in Poland—and ultimately everywhere else in Europe—would come to an end.”
Visiting Pope John Paul II at Castel Gandolfo in 2001. The Holy Father urged me to defend life in all its forms.
By 2001, the Holy Father’s vigor and energy had given way to frailty. His movements were deliberate, his speech soft and slow. Yet his eyes sparkled. He was filled with an unmistakable spirit. He gingerly walked Laura, our daughter Barbara, and me to a balcony, where we marveled at gorgeous Lake Albano below. He and I then retired to a simple meeting room, where we discussed a variety of issues, including stem cell research. He understood the promise of science—the Holy Father himself was stricken with Parkinson’s. Yet he was firm in his view that human life must be protected in all its forms. I thanked him for his example of principled leadership. I explained that the Catholic Church’s steadfast support of life provided a firm moral foundation on which pro-life politicians like me could take a stand. I told him I hoped the Church would always be a rock in the defense of human dignity.
When the Holy Father passed away in 2005, Laura, Dad, Bill Clinton, and I flew together to his funeral in Rome. It was the first time an American president had attended the funeral of a pope, let alone brought two of his predecessors. Shortly after we arrived, we went to pay our respects to the Holy Father while he was lying in state. As we knelt at the communion rail to pray over his body, Laura turned to me and said, “Now is the time to pray for miracles.” An unexpected impulse came over me. I prayed for Peter Jennings, the ABC News anchor who was dying of cancer.
The funeral mass was incredibly moving. The crowd in St. Peter’s Square cheered, sang, and carried banners celebrating the Holy Father’s life. After a homily by Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger—who eleven days later emerged from the conclave as Pope Benedict XVI—a group of Church officials carried the Holy Father’s casket up the stairs toward St. Peter’s Basilica. Just before entering the doors, they turned to face the crowd and lifted the coffin for a last time. As they did, the clouds parted and the sun shined through onto the simple wooden box.
After several months of listening and reflecting, I was close to a decision on stem cell research. A defining moment came in a conversation with Leon Kass on July 10. Leon was a highly respected physician and philosophy professor at the University of Chicago. He had written and taught in fields as diverse as evolutionary biology, literature, and the Bible. He struck me as a thoughtful and wise man.
I told Leon I had been wrestling with the decision. Embryonic stem cell research seemed to offer so much hope. Yet it raised troubling moral concerns. I wondered if it was possible to find a principled policy that advanced science while respecting the dignity of life.
Leon’s logical mind went to work. He argued that embryos—even those long frozen—had the potential for life and thus deserved some form of respect. “One goes with a heavy heart if we use these things,” he said. “We at least owe them the respect not to manipulate them for our own purposes. We are dealing with the seeds of the
