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Content Warning: This section includes discussion of mental illness.
After the moratorium on gene therapy following the second Asilomar conference, the field lapsed into temporary abeyance. In the 1980s, scientists attempted a workaround: The idea was to use viruses to deliver genes into human non-productive cells, such as regular neurons and blood cells. Richard Mulligan, a virologist who would come to be known as the pioneer of gene therapy, designed a strain of retrovirus that could sneak any gene into a human cell with relative safety.
In 1986, gene therapists William French Anderson and Michael Blease decided to use Mulligan’s vectors to transfer the ADA gene (crucial for making an enzyme vital for the immune system) into children born with the mutation. Two children, Cynthia Cutshall and Ashanti DeSilva, were chosen to participate in the trial. The changes induced by the gene therapy would not be permanent—since the genome was not altered—but doctors hoped repeated rounds of therapy would provide the patients relief from the frequent, alarming infections that characterize ADA deficiency. The experiment proved successful anecdotally, with parents of the children stating their condition had improved. Scientific data, on the other hand, was inconclusive.
Meanwhile, another trial conducted a decade later would apply the brakes on gene therapy. After Pennsylvania-based pediatricians Mark Batshaw and James Wilson began trials for OTC deficiency, a disease in which the body’s protein synthesis is impaired, 18-year-old Jesse Gelsinger raced to sign up. Born with OTC deficiency, Jesse could not process proteins, leading to a build-up of ammonia in his bloodstream. Jesse had managed to survive the disease till adulthood because of the mild nature of his mutation, and an extremely restrictive diet devoid of proteins.
Batshaw and Wilson’s plan was to take cells from Jesse, isolate and correct the gene, and insert the modified gene directly into the liver via a virus. Jesse was infused, but the experiment soon started going wrong, with the teenager spiking a high fever and contracting jaundice. Jesse’s condition deteriorated, and he was declared brain-dead four days after the infusion. Jesse’s death sparked a huge wave of concern around the use of gene therapy, leading to a consensus among doctors to hold back from trials.
Gene therapy may have repeatedly run into the roadblocks of ethics and feasibility, but the field of genetic diagnosis seems safer. However, Mukherjee questions the notion that genetic diagnosis is always ethical and useful. The applications of genetic diagnosis become particularly murky when it comes to diseases of a polygenic (influenced by many genes) nature. A case in point is the BRCA1 gene associated with breast and ovarian cancer. Geneticist Mary-Claire King identified the gene during the 1980s while studying women with a family history of the cancers. King found the cancers recurring across generations, with 30 women affected in one family of 150 members.
Over the next decade, it was obvious that the BRCA1 mutation led to an 80% lifetime risk of breast cancer. The gene could be detected by taking a swab of cells from a woman at risk, and cloning the genetic material through PCR technology (polymerase chain reaction, the same technology used in Covid tests). The millions of copies made it easy to detect the gene. However, the conundrum with BRCA1 testing is that despite the diagnosis of risk, it is impossible to say which woman will develop breast cancer. It is also yet impossible to predict the age at which the disease will develop, or its severity. This makes the preventive treatment for breast cancer—typically a double mastectomy and possible removal of ovaries—a fraught choice. For women who adopt a wait-and-see approach to cancer, the constant testing and worrying becomes all-consuming. The term for people who know of their risks for serious disease is previvors or pre-survivors.
Questions around genetic diagnosis have intensified with the widespread use of preimplantation genetic diagnosis (PGD) in IVF, where cells can be removed from early-stage embryos and tested for chromosomal normalcy. Only embryos which are chromosomally normal are then implanted in the uterus. PGD is a very useful tool when it comes to conditions like Huntington’s Disease or Trisomy 18, but also enters grey areas. In India, for instance, PGD was used to detect sex in embryos to choose only males for implantation, till the government banned PGD for gender selection. The dangers of PGD are that it can potentially be used to select embryos for traits like eye color, leading to Gattaca-like scenarios.
Despite hiccups, the field of gene therapy had been growing since the 2000s, the tools used in Jesse Gelsinger’s trial replaced by next-gen technologies. In 2014, scientists successfully used gene therapy to treat hemophilia. Similar therapies may also be developed for diseases caused by single gene mutation, such as cystic fibrosis.
Around the same time, a major discovery changed the field of human genetics forever. The discovery was the continuation of Paul Berg’s idea of using a bacteria’s mechanism for “cutting” a virus to insert genes in viral DNA. In the mid-2000s, French scientists Phillipe Horvath and Rodolphe Brangou isolated the cutting function to the bacterial enzyme Cas9. Biochemist Jennifer Doudna and bacteriologist Emmanuelle Charpentier seized on the Cas9 protein as a method to make an “intentional cut” in gene therapy. If a synthetic RNA (designed to match a specific DNA sequence) could be attached to a Cas9 protein and injected in cells, the Cas9 would cut the DNA sequence. As the cell’s natural repair and cloning mechanism kicked in place, it would also unwittingly copy the DNA sequence carried in the infusion, effectively replacing the old sequence with the new. Essentially, Cas9 gene therapy, called CRISPR, can be used to edit a mutated gene to its normal version, by cutting out the wild-type base in a sequence and replacing it with the regular type.
Mukherjee deems the Cas9/CRISP system the most powerful and efficient gene-altering method to date (in 2020, four years after The Gene was first published, Doudna and Charpentier won the Nobel Prize for their discovery). Nevertheless, in 2015, Doudna herself was part of a group that called for a moratorium on gene-editing technology, following fears it could be used to permanently introduce mutations in embryos. Such projects are ongoing in China at the time Mukherjee writes the book, leading him to believe that soon the “first successful targeted genomic modification of a human embryo” would be achieved in a lab.
To ensure the ethical use of gene-editing in germline cells, what is required is a “manifesto—or […] a hitchhiker’s guide—for a post-genomic world” (479). Mukherjee provides 13 suggested guidelines, the most important of which is that genetic selection should only be practiced in cases where an organism’s genetic make-up is exceptionally mismatched with their environment, as in the case of chromosomal disorders linked with very poor quality of life.
If abhed, the term Mukherjee’s father used for genes, means indivisible, bhed, its antonym, means to divide, pierce, and cure. Mukherjee depicts the relationship between genes and scientists as strung along the bhed-abhed axis: Scientists try to pierce what is deemed impenetrable. In this search, they must be guided by three enormous projects that are the remit of human genetics. The first is the complete understanding of the human genome, as even though the genome has been sequenced, very few genes have been understood completely. A deep understanding of the genome will enable scientists and doctors to better unpack the mechanism behind diseases with polygenic roots.
The second is using the knowledge of genes to create a computational map of possible phenotypes, thus heightening the predictive power of the human genome. The third is the ethical use of gene-editing technologies in germ cells and embryos. In all these pursuits, science must be guided by the contradictory nature of genetics: Genes are meant to replicate, yet it is their ability to mutate that drives evolution. Genetics must aim to alleviate suffering while preserving the variable traits that make people human.
The Ethics of Eugenics and Gene Editing in Policy and Medicine dominates the last section, with Mukherjee carefully examining the far-reaching impact of gene-editing technologies. One of the facts Mukherjee makes clear in this section is that the world is already in possession of tools that can “edit” embryos and alter the genome of grown adults. The only reason the technology is not widely available is the moratorium imposed by scientists. Mukherjee is aware that the moratorium will not last, and it is not consistent. In China, for instance, some scientists have adopted a “Do first, think later” (479) approach, and are already working on modifying human embryos. The observation is prescient, since shortly after the book was published, the first gene-edited babies were born in China. The question which now arises is whether pushing genetic technologies in the margins will only lead to illegal gene-editing. Perhaps, the text suggests, it is more feasible to legalize gene-editing so it can be carefully monitored by scientists, governments, and advocacy groups.
These chapters also illustrate The Shifting Line Between Normalcy and Mutation. The text argues that the mismatch between mutation and environment that produces “illness” sometimes also produces qualities like empathy, creativity, and genius. If, in the quest for so-called normalcy, scientists solve the mutation or eliminate the embryo with the mutation, they could also risk eliminating what makes a person special or unique. The conundrum preoccupies Mukherjee when he attends a talk by 15-year-old Erika, who has two genetic mutations that translate into a distressing neuromuscular condition. Although Erika has dealt with debilitating tremors and insomnia all her life, she is also “utterly charming—modest, thoughtful, sober, mordantly funny” (451). Meeting her, Mukherjee knows that soon gene-editing technologies will reach a point where “we would certainly eliminate Erika’s mutation from the human gene pool—but we would eliminate Erika as well” (452).
Erika’s case also illustrates the text’s thematic preoccupation with genetic knowledge being a double-edged sword. Erika’s two mutations have been mapped, and she knows the exact nature of her condition, yet with no cure in hand, the knowledge is not really helpful to her. It could be argued that the knowledge may actually offer people like Erika a false sense of hope. In the case of women diagnosed with the BCRA1 gene that is linked with an 80% lifetime risk of cancer, the knowledge can again sometimes be self-defeating. It does allow for preemptive surgery, but for those who adopt a wait-and-see approach, the constant monitoring can be extremely stressful.
To return to Mukherjee’s family history of mental illness, the risk-determination and preemptive treatment of such conditions is even more complicated. Mukherjee narrates family lore about Rajesh, his father’s oldest brother, who dealt with bipolar disease. One of Rajesh’s earliest manic episodes was triggered when he stayed up all night to solve a puzzle that stymied his siblings. In Rajesh’s case, the manic energy and the skill to solve the difficult puzzle were indistinguishable, leading Mukherjee to ask if the hypothetical end of the genes involved in bipolar disease would also impact human creativity. In such a case, “curing” an illness based on future risk becomes even more of a conundrum.
In this context, the central question the book poses concerns which conditions necessitate interfering with the genome. Mukherjee suggests a manifesto for the post-genomic world, guided by the concept that illness is a statistical, rather than a normative, phenomenon. “A triangle of suffering”—extraordinary difficulties, highly penetrant genotypes, and justifiable therapies—has long bound gene-editing technologies. However, definitions of “extraordinary suffering” and “justifiable interventions” are not set in stone; they are subject to cultural shifts. Given the subjectivity of perception, he believes that “we need new biological, cultural, and social precepts” (483) to guide genetics into the future.



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