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. White House/Eric Draper
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 next generation.”
I shared an idea: What if I authorized federal funding for embryonic stem cell research—but solely for existing stem cell lines? The embryos used to create those lines had been destroyed. There was no way to get them back. It seemed logical to let scientists use them to pursue treatments that might save other lives. But that raised another question: If I allowed federal funding for research that relied on destroyed embryos, would I be tacitly encouraging further destruction?
Leon said he believed that funding research on already destroyed embryos would be ethical, with two conditions. I must reaffirm the moral principle that had been violated—in this case, the dignity of human life. And I must make clear that federal funds would not be used in the further destruction of embryos. So long as I did both, he said, the policy would pass the ethical test. “If you fund research on lines that have already been developed,” he said, “you are not complicit in their destruction.”
The conversation with Leon crystallized my thinking. I decided that the government would fund research on stem cell lines derived from embryos that had already been destroyed. At the same time, I would ask Congress to increase federal funding for alternative sources of stem cells that brought no ethical controversy. And I would draw a firm moral line: Federal tax dollars would not be used to support the destruction of life for medical gain. I also created a new presidential bioethics council, composed of experts from all backgrounds and chaired by Leon Kass.
The next step was to announce the decision to the American people. Karen suggested a rare primetime speech to the nation. When the president addresses the nation in primetime, he usually speaks as commander in chief. In this case, I would be speaking as educator in chief. I liked the idea. Stem cell research was a serious issue for the nation, but an obscure one for most citizens—as it had been for me in January. Explaining my decision would be almost as important as making it.
On August 9, 2001, I addressed a nationwide network TV audience from Crawford, Texas—definitely a first in presidential history. The night before the speech, Laura and I had dinner with Jay, Karen and her son Robert, and a family friend, Fort Worth interior designer Ken Blasingame. I asked Jay to say a prayer before we began the meal. He delivered some thoughtful words. As he finished, we all kept our heads bowed, waiting for the amen. After a few seconds of hanging, Jay told us that Jewish prayers don’t always end with amen. It was a fitting conclusion to a process filled with learning.
“Good evening,” I began my address, “I appreciate you giving me a few minutes of your time tonight so I can discuss with you a complex and difficult issue, an issue that is one of the most profound of our time.” I outlined the dilemma: “While we must devote enormous energy to conquering disease,” I said, “it is equally important that we pay attention to the moral concerns raised by the new frontier of human embryo stem cell research. Even the most noble ends do not justify any means.”
Near the end, I pivoted to my decision:Embryonic stem cell research offers both great promise and great peril. So I have decided we must proceed with great care. … I have concluded that we should allow federal funds to be used for research on these [existing] stem cell lines, where the life-and-death decision has already been made. Leading scientists tell me research on these sixty lines has great promise that could lead to breakthrough therapies and cures. This allows us to explore the promise and potential of stem cell research without crossing a fundamental moral line, by providing taxpayer funding that would sanction or encourage further destruction of human embryos that have at least the potential for life. … I have made this decision with great care, and I pray it is the right one.