Ralph Hurley ODwyer

Recycling of human body parts challenges human dignity

Word count(excluding title, name and word count):1,200
Invocations of dignity abound in contemporary bioethical discourse. Nowhere is
dignitys cry heard more loudly than in discussion of the moral interests of the human
body along the nebulous valley delineating life from death. When considering the ethical
implications of recycling human organs, many proclaim the intrinsic onslaught of such
actions on human dignity. Yet is it true that the recycling of human body parts
challenges human dignity? Is dignity still even a useful bioethical concept?
To proceed, it is necessary to define both the recycling of human body parts and
dignity. Here I define the recycling of human body part as the reuse of components of
the human organism. I shall consider principally the ethics of posthumous organ
transplantation.
Dignity could be defined as the unconditional rights to be respected and receive ethical
treatment, possessed by all persons, by virtue of being human. This definition of dignity
poses problems however, in its prescriptive determination of a person, a being with
moral interests and unalienable rights, as in being by distinction a member of the
human species. Based on an outdated Cartesian dichotomy between psyche and soma,
in this model, humans, possessing souls, have moral interests whereas other species,
being in the Kantian viewpoint mere things, have none. This inconsistency is worth
remembering when considering how human society recycles the organs of other
animals: meat consumption, leather production, animal testing etc.
When reflecting on the ethics of posthumous organ transplantation, many questions
arise. Do we have any moral duties to the dead? Do the dead possess rights and moral
interests? Perhaps most fundamental is the question of when we can consider someone
deceased.
Having moved from a cardiorespiratory definition of death to one based on an absence
of all brain activity, some ethical dilemmas, e.g regarding certain cases of euthanasia,
have been removed. Concomitantly however this new definition throws up equally if
not more problematic predicaments. Williard Gaylin explores this idea in his essay
Harvesting the Dead : For if it grants the right to pull the plug, it also implicitly grants
the privilege not to pull the plug, and the potential and meaning of this has not at all
been adequately examined. Traditionally, brain-dead individuals have only been kept
alive in a cardiorespiratory sense, long enough to allow posthumous organ donation
to occur. Imagining the prolongation of cardiorespiratory support for such bodies
should at one level pose few problems, the individuals being legally dead. Yet to deny
our visceral revulsion at such an idea would be nave.
In essence, this idea contravenes two fundamental rights of the dead in occidental
society : the deceaseds right to a finite farewell and to rest in peace. These beliefs
Ralph Hurley ODwyer

are illuminated when considering posthumous organ donation and the donation of
cadavers to medical schools. While their necessity is appreciated, neither are viewed as
permanent resting places for the dead. Donating ones organs to education or
transplantation, would be for many people inconceivable without the promise of an
eventual funeral and cremation/burial. Both acts are viewed as traumatic but
worthwhile preludes to eternal repose - an earthly purgatory of sorts.
With existing technology, the visceral function of brain-dead individuals could be
maintained for years, offering mankind a hitherto inconceivable resource for education,
research and treatment. Such neomorts, as Gaylin termed them, could play a
fundamental role in medical education. Pelvic exams could be learnt without infringing
patients privacy. Surgical skills could be perfected. Similar to modern blood banks,
neomorts could be catalogued for histocompatibility, providing a practically limitless
supply of organs for living patients. These bodies could also providing a constant source
of hormones, antitoxins and antibodies against disease.

Of course, such proposals seem inherently dystopian. By rendering the borders between
life and death even more blurred and by confronting us with this ambiguity, such ideas
incarnate our most primordial fears. Indeed the myths of all human civilisations are
haunted by a myriad of manifestations of the half-dead : vampires, zombies, ghosts
etc. To consider maintaining bioemporiums wards of dead yet warm, respiring,
pulsating bodies, from which we would harvest useful products, is to admit the
frighteningly utilitarian truth of the newly-dead a repository of organs with better
uses elsewhere.
Gaylin ends his essay, advocating caution: Sustaining life is an urgent argument for any
measure, but not if that measure destroys those very qualities that make life worth
sustaining. Yet how justified is Gaylins caution? Beyond our intrinsic horror, do logical
constraints exist to deter such uses of the human body? Does adopting such a
Benthamite approach to the body challenge human dignity? Even if this is the case, is
protecting the squishy, subjective concept of dignity a sufficiently valid reason to justify
preventing such procedures?

Perhaps our concern for the dignity of such bodies is simply misplaced. Crucial to this
question is our unconscious projection of self: our empathy when viewing others in a
situation in which we ourselves would feel hurt. This causes two principal problems:
misplaced empathy and a paternalistic model of dignity.
Being evolutionarily determined, our natural empathy is often irrational. We feel
sympathy for an oyster when seeing it twitch to lemon juice, thinking it being in pain.
However, not possessing a central nervous system, an oyster is no more sentient than a
cucumber. Its reaction is no more indicative of suffering than the shock proteins
produced in a plant when damaged. Similarly, our unease when contemplating the use
of neomorts is perhaps irrational and misplaced. Sentiment engendered through such
factual distortions, while a useful ethical speedbump and indeed crucial for human
compassion, should never be the ultimate arbiter of morality.
Ralph Hurley ODwyer

Moreover, this genetically-programmed compassion translates too easily in a
paternalistic prescription of what constitutes and infringes ones dignity: I would feel
denigrated by sadomasochistic sex or donating my kidney and so it must ensue that
everyones dignity would be infringed by participating in such an act.
Given the subjectivity of any conceptions of what constitutes bodily integrity, an
overarching emphasis on dignity is doomed to conflict with interests of autonomy. In
1980s Ireland, consensual homosexual sex was interpreted as infringing the
participants personal dignity. The fact that such behaviour was consensual and that
legal restrictions on such expressions of ones sexuality impinged ones autonomy did
little to silence this rhetoric. It could be argued that contemporary restrictions on
consensual adult incest, organ donation or indeed surrogacy, being similarly
prescriptive in their definitions of what constitutes an infringement of dignity, harm an
individuals autonomy. For concepts of dignity to hold any real ethical utility, such
models must incorporate elements of informed consent.
In conclusion, posthumous organ transplantation, particularly when visceral functions
are maintained for a prolonged period, is frightening. Its defiance of nature seems
perverse. Yet to reject an idea that offers such tangible benefits to the living, simply on
grounds of a naturalistic fallacy is perhaps even more obscene.
Should we reject however out of hand our atavistic misgivings? Being conservative
when faced with the possibility of causing harm is often a sensible strategy. Yet is this
conservatism justifiable when the benefits for living patients of embracing this
paradigm are clearly so high? Would foregoing such benefits not be the greatest affront
to human dignity of all?
Ralph Hurley ODwyer