"Jin, Calvin, and Lisa" by Chicago artist Iñigo Manglano-Ovalle, is from The Garden of Delights, a series of large color photographic portraits of DNA. Commissioned in 1998 by the Southeastern Center for Contemporary Art.

Religious responses to the prospect of human cloning have ranged from the thoughtful to the predictable to the hysterical. Cloning is a very new issue, and it will be a while before the various traditions have made much headway in grappling with it.

Traditions that have come up with something that looks like a definitive response include those, like Roman Catholicism, that already have a theological construct—in this case, "the right of every human person to be conceived and born within marriage and from marriage"—into which cloning fits reasonably well, and thus it joins the list of illicit reproductive technologies, such as gamete donation. On the other hand, other religious leaders, such as the Southern Baptists, do not blanch from making statements devoid of argumentation, i.e., the statement Against Human Cloning, which simply says that Baptists are known for "their strong affirmation of the sanctity and uniqueness of human life," and therefore request that cloning be made illegal. Not surprisingly, the definitive statements are negative, while more positive approaches tend to be tentative and open-ended.

In any case, I would like to offer an analytic structure with which to approach the study of religious responses to cloning. Negative reactions, generally, are tied to the story of Dr. Frankenstein—a tale which expresses our fears about humans getting into the creation business. More positive reactions are linked to what I will call the golem approach, based on the lesser-known Jewish legend.

Given that most people are familiar with the story of Dr. Frankenstein and his Monster, there is no need to summarize it here. But I will recount quickly the legend of the golem of Prague.

The Golem of Prague
Although the idea of a golem has long existed in Jewish legend, it crystallized with the stories created by Rabbi Judah Loeb in 16th century Prague. Prague in those days was a mystical and magical place, full of creative people ranging from the great astronomers Tycho Brahe and Johannes Kepler to a crowd of alchemists who claimed they could turn lead into gold. Presiding over all this was the Emperor Rudolph, often thought to be mad, certainly erratic in his on-again, off-again protection of his Jewish subjects. Rabbi Loeb, whose grave you can see today if you go to the Jewish cemetery in Prague, was the most important rabbi, and indeed the most important Jew, in the ghetto. He was a renowned miracle worker and magician. There are many, many stories about how Rabbi Loeb saved his people, and he came to be known as Judah the Lion.

Once when he was High Rabbi of Prague, the people felt more threatened than usual by hostile Christians. The elders of the community went to him for help. Rabbi Loeb prayed long into the night and then fell asleep, during which he dreamed that he received a command from heaven to create a golem, a man made of clay, to protect his people. Over the course of a week, the Rabbi, his son-in-law, and a pupil prayed, fasted, and went to the mikvah [ritual bath]. Finally, in the dead of night, they molded a creature from wet clay, and put in his mouth a paper on which they had written the name of God. The three men bowed to all the cardinal points, while pronouncing the following: "Lord made a man from the clay of the Earth and breathed the breath of life into his mouth." When next they looked, they were no longer three but four. The Golem had come to life.

The Rabbi named the golem Joseph, dressed him in some old clothes, and took him to his house where he lived as a servant. The Rabbi made sure that, just as ritual objects cannot be used for mundane purposes, Joseph would not be used for domestic tasks like bringing in wood. He was only to be used for the purpose of protecting the Jewish people. He did a very good job at this, particularly around the time of Passover, when some Christians persisted in trying to revive the "blood libel"—the slander that Jews murdered innocent Christians in order to make matzoh.

The reason for the golem's destruction varies with different accounts. In one legend, relationships between Christians and Jews in Prague improved so much that he was no longer needed. In another, the golem frightened the people by running amok in the ghetto until he was stopped by Rabbi Loeb. In any case, Loeb and his two assistants killed the golem by removing the name of God from his mouth, and by doing backwards all the rituals they had initially performed in his creation. Supposedly, the golem's clay remains still exist in the attic of the Altneschul (Old-New Synagogue) in Prague, and various stories recount the misadventures of lesser men than Rabbi Loeb who sought to revivify the golem for their own venal purposes.

Discussion
There is, of course, much in both the Frankenstein and golem stories that does not pertain to cloning. It is clear in all the accounts that the golem, which lacks intellect in some stories and the power of speech in others, is not considered a full human being. (Otherwise, of course, Rabbi Loeb would have been guilty of murder when he killed him!) Obviously, this is not a path we want to walk down today, as all religious commentators have affirmed that the child born of cloning, or of any other assisted reproductive technique for that matter, is fully human. James Childress, one scholar of religious ethics, affirms a "strong consensus, perhaps even unanimity, among Jewish and Christian thinkers, that a child created through somatic cell nuclear transfer cloning would still be created in the image of God." Nothing I have seen from other religious traditions suggests that there is disagreement on this point.

I want to mine these two stories for attitudes toward technology and toward human uses of power. If we compare these two legends, we see that the Frankenstein myth exhibits an attitude of fear toward this transgressive act of creation—and by extension to technology and science in general—while the golem legend expresses a much more positive attitude. This calls to mind Kabbalist scholar Moshe Idel's hypothesis that "modern man, alienated as he is from the divine, is afraid of the inherent theological implications of his creative powers; the medieval masters, probably because of their sense of closeness to God, were able to strive toward. . .aims that are beyond the modern frame of mind."

The Actors
The actors in the two legends are as different as night from day. In Mary Shelley's book, Dr. Frankenstein is a callow youth, intellectually precocious but emotionally and socially retarded. His reasons for creating his creature are purely those of pride and power—he wishes to push the boundaries of science merely to show that he can do it. He gives no thought whatever to the consequences of his actions.

By contrast, Rabbi Loeb is a mature man when he creates his golem. This act of creation is simply one more step in a life of protecting his people from injustice and destruction. Although the Rabbi, too, seems a bit of a show-off, he subordinates his magical powers to the single goal of protecting his people.

Moral Themes
The moral themes expressed in these two legends are also completely different. Young Dr. Frankenstein recognizes no limits to human endeavors, no sense of encroachment on sacred turf; perhaps more accurately, he sees limits only as challenges to be surmounted. When he succeeds in creating the monster, he is terrified by its weird and misshapen aspect. He runs from it, never expressing any concern about where it might be or what it might be up to, either in terms of its own needs for food and shelter, or in terms of its danger to other people.

"Jane, Lori, and Naomi" by Iñigo Manglano-Ovalle

The golem is created within a context of limits, surrounded by sacred rituals that acknowledge God as creator, and in response to the mandate from God that Loeb receives in his dream. Loeb both acknowledges the fearsome, liminal nature of the act of creation and comfortably fits it into the strong moral structure of his daily life.

With regard to cloning, a number of religious thinkers, primarily from outside the Western traditions, have echoed the themes of limits and responsibility. An editorial on cloning in Hinduism Today argues that "Hinduism neither condones nor condemns the march of science. . .the simple rule is this: Cause no injury to others and let dharma—the law of good conduct and harmony with the universe and its many forces and creatures—be the guide for all such explorations." Buddhist writer Damien Keown can see no purpose for cloning, except to use the cloned individuals in ways in which we would not normally use human beings, and thus he concludes that Buddhism ought to oppose it. Ronald Nakasone, however, has a different perspective:

Since, for the Buddhist, change is the nature of reality, the questions are how to accommodate change and expand our moral imaginations. Change pushes the boundaries of what we once considered to be the norm. . .the cloning of human beings. . .is really about expanding our notion of humanity and our moral parameters.

The Meaning of Co-Creation
Although Mary Shelley's novel is not overtly religious, the key theme is Dr. Frankenstein's transgression of boundaries and "playing God." Mary Shelley herself, in her introduction, describes her protagonist as a "pale student of unhallowed arts," and describes his actions as "mock[ing] the stupendous mechanism of the Creator of the world."

When Rabbi Loeb calls the golem into being—out of clay, as God created Adam—he is participating in an act of co-creation that is not only permitted but required by Judaism. As Jewish ethicist Elliot Dorff points out, people are "God's 'partners in the ongoing act of creation' when we improve our lot in life." At every step of the story, Loeb is acting in partnership with God.

From this concept of humans as co-creators with God comes Judaism's extraordinary commitment to medicine, as well as the lack of respect for the "natural" as a moral category. Thus, it is no surprise to find that Jewish ethicists have been cautiously positive about the potential of cloning of humans both for medical purposes and as a way of overcoming infertility. As Rabbi Barry Freundel said, "Judaism affirms an optimism in the face of scientific uncertainty about unanticipated consequences that is rooted in divine control and care." Part of this optimism is expressed in one of the Golem stories, where Joseph runs amok and begins to destroy the ghetto. By pulling the name of God out of the golem's mouth, the Rabbi is able to render him harmless. The human, with God as partner, is in control even when the consequences are unforeseen and unintended.

A similar optimism is expressed in the Hinduism Today editorial I mentioned before:

For many religionists, it is frightening to have humans tinkering with God's universe. There's no manual, they fret. What if we break something permanently? The Creator made it with loving intent and divine intelligence, they offer, and it is arrogant, foolhardy and downright sinful for humankind to play God with something as profoundly consequential at the human genetic instruction.

It is possible to understand such a prudent warning and still disagree. While the argument makes sense with a Biblical God, Hinduism does not separate man and woman from God so completely. Humanity is God; and God is humanity. Indian yogis and mystics speak of the cocreative process of evolution. Humans are not merely following a distant Diety's decrees in fulfillment of the Divine Plan; they are engaged, alongside the Architect, in engineering that Plan; or you could say God is working His will through humankind, including scientists.

Conclusion
It is still too early to say anything definitive about religious responses to cloning. And it is probably not a good idea, however tempting, to try and draw any conclusions from such early work as the 1998 cloning report to the National Bioethics Advisory Commission, solicited by President Clinton. It's interesting, for example, that all the Christian views in that report are dramatically negative—but I don't know why the more liberal denominations are not represented there. I also think it's interesting that a predominant theme in the conservative Christian responses is the one set forth by Stanley Harakas:

Cloning would deliberately deny by design the cloned human being a set of loving and caring parents. The cloned human being would not be the product of love, but of scientific procedures. Rather than being considered persons, the likelihood is that these cloned human beings would be considered "objects" to be used. Given the fallen and sinful condition of our personal and social lives, it is easy to project selfish, greedy, and heartless uses of "manufactured" human clones.

Harakas' view has much in common with Mary Shelley's. His reaction reminds me of Shelley's goal in her book, to "speak to the mysterious fears of our nature and awaken thrilling horror." In contrast, all the Jewish commentators I have been able to find are insistent that, to save a life, it is permissible to clone a child in order to, for example, donate bone marrow to an older sibling. They appear to share Rabbi Dr. Moshe Tendler's conviction that a child created for this purpose "would then be doubly loved."

As we continue to observe—and perhaps take part in—the religious debates over the cloning of animals and humans, I submit that keeping the stories of Frankenstein and the golem in the back of our minds will help us understand.

This work appears with the permission of the Hofstra Law Review Association and is substantially derived from "Religious Attitudes Toward Cloning: A Tale of Two Creatures" which will appear as part of a Symposium on Human Cloning to be published in Volume 27, Issue 3 of the Hofstra Law Review.