Do we really want a world without mothers?
What happens to a child born without a mother? We don’t yet know. For all of human history, every child has had a mother. But now we are contemplating a world where that may no longer be true; and while the psychological consequences are unknowable, they will be profound.
The Telegraph reported this week that American researchers have made a major breakthrough by successfully replacing the DNA from an egg with the genetic material from another person’s skin. Although this research is in the very early stages, that means it may soon be possible to grow an embryo without DNA from a biological mother. While surrogacy has made it possible to separate biological from gestational mothers, this new practice — if ever combined with artificial wombs — could mean the removal of both.
It should be noted that this is, of course, some way off being fully realised. But what is unsettling is that our cultural imagination is already adapting to this disembodied and motherless possibility. Instead of pausing to reflect on the consequences, it is cast as an inevitable milestone in the relentless march of progress. The language of liberation and choice is rolled out, while those who raise awkward questions about children’s health or emotional needs are dismissed as divisive or old-fashioned. Once again, we risk ignoring the wisdom of the ages in our rush to the next breakthrough.
The concept of the “unmothered child” is not new. The English psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott highlighted how an infant’s security depends on a consistent, attuned caregiver, who is usually the mother. A mother’s body, touch and gaze form the soil in which a child’s self first takes root. When this presence is disrupted, by abandonment, loss, or prolonged separation, children often describe an ache that is difficult to articulate but unmistakable in its depth. We used to see this as a tragedy for both mother and child. Now, astonishingly, we are wilfully creating it in the name of innovation.
For centuries, Roman law offered a simple truth: mater semper certa est, or “the mother is always certain.” Paternity might be disputed, but maternity was beyond question. Today, nothing is certain. The prospect of creating human eggs from skin cells and gestating babies in artificial wombs takes us beyond biology itself and into the realm of transhumanism.
While it promises liberation from the body’s limits with the potential for improved health and a relief from pain, it’s also true that transhumanism unsettles the very meaning of being human. If reproduction is outsourced to the laboratory, the most intimate act of human creation becomes a technical procedure, unmoored from the organic bonds that have always tied us to one another. Transhumanism may promise no more infertility and fewer tragic accidents of biology. But at what cost? Families come in all different shapes and sizes — that’s life. But it is quite a step further to normalise motherlessness, biological and gestational.
What, we might reasonably ask, does it mean for a child to grow up in a world in which motherhood is not a given? Could it mean increased anxiety, detachment and disrupted stress regulation for those without a mother’s care in early infancy? To worry about this is not to deny adult desires, but to suggest that children’s needs must be considered fully before any decision is made.
Giving birth to a child — if we can still use that phrase — should not be seen as a scientific achievement, but as the arrival of a fragile human being into the world, in need of mothering and fathering. This can never be replicated in a lab. This was spelled out decades ago when American psychologist Harry Harlow’s infamous experiments with rhesus monkeys showed that maternal warmth, touch and comfort matter just as much as food for healthy development. The baby monkeys clung to soft cloth surrogates rather than wire ones, desperate for nurture over mere sustenance. If such primal needs are obvious in monkeys, how can we dismiss them in human infants?
As technology gallops ahead, perhaps the most radical act of all will be to stop and ask the most basic human question: what does the child need? If we cannot answer that honestly, then all our clever innovations won’t actually be about improving the human condition. If innovation fails to do that, then what is its purpose?
This article was originally published in UnHerd on 1.10.25
Charlie Kirk’s death has exposed the bigotry of the ‘Be Kind’ brigade
The gleeful reaction to his killing proves that identifying as left-wing does not make you a good person.
Last week, I bumped into an old acquaintance, a man who proudly calls himself an ‘old lefty’. I knew him well once, well enough to remember that he was never especially kind, never particularly loyal, and not exactly a model brother or friend. But none of that seemed to matter, because he believed he carried the ultimate moral insurance policy: he was on the left.
For too many people, politics has become a kind of secular baptism, a ritual washing away of sins. You can be careless with those closest to you, even cruel, and still believe yourself virtuous. All it takes is spending a Saturday on X hurling righteous abuse at ‘right-wing bigots’ and, hey presto, you’re absolved.
That smug worldview might look harmless when it is just an old pal excusing his shabby behaviour. But since last week, we have witnessed the same mentality on the global stage, after American conservative activist Charlie Kirk was assassinated for his political beliefs.
And what was the response from the ‘Be Kind’ brigade? Not outrage. Not grief. Not even the faintest curiosity about how the alleged gunman could come to find Kirk’s conservative and Christian beliefs so dangerous that he believed those who advocated for them in public needed to be shot.
No, the reflex instead was tribal. The only question many cared about was: ‘Which side was he on?’
A more grotesque response is hard to imagine. If your first instinct on hearing of a murder in broad daylight is to reach for the ideological scorecard, you have already surrendered your humanity.
Across the progressive media, the script was familiar. Gleeful libels were spread about a 31-year-old father of two. Violence was suddenly rebranded as a legitimate moral option.
It’s worth considering what the response would have been had the roles been reversed – a left-wing speaker gunned down by a right-wing zealot. America would likely be in flames. There would be riots, candlelit vigils, sombre hashtags and earnest think-pieces drawing solemn parallels with every assassination from John F Kennedy to John Lennon. Instead, the Guardian and the Irish Times dusted off their sanctimonious lists of Charlie Kirk’s worst quotes, as if to say: ‘See? That’s what you get when you’re a right-wing bigot.’
And this is where the left-right charade collapses into farce. Once upon a time those definitions meant something. Now they are little more than Hogwarts houses for overgrown teenagers.
Today, to raise ethical concerns about medical experimentation on children is ‘right-wing’. To question the wisdom of men competing in women’s sports is ‘right-wing’. To say you like your own culture is ‘right-wing’, too. Patriotism is effectively cast as racism.
It wasn’t always this absurd. The concept of a political ‘left’ and ‘right’ began during the French Revolution, dividing those who wanted greater democratic rights, wealth redistribution and reform from those who defended the status quo and the monarchy. This was a genuine contest of ideas – change versus preservation.
Today, these distinctions have all but dissolved. ‘Right-wing’ is a catch-all slur for anyone with an unfashionable opinion. ‘Left-wing’ has become a badge of virtue. What was once a serious clash of philosophies is now a playground insult hurled at whoever irritates you.
Being a good person isn’t about flags or slogans. It’s about the hard, unglamorous stuff: telling the truth, being kind when you’re tired, listening in good faith, showing restraint and refusing to give in to cruelty. And hardest of all, finding the courage to be the lone voice asking, ‘Have you no sense of decency?’.
Yet the lefty still pats himself on the back, convinced he holds a permanent ‘good person’ pass – lifetime validity, no questions asked. But that’s the fantasy. Decency is tested when it costs you, when nobody is watching, when there is no applause.
Your politics don’t make you good. They never did. They never will.
This article was originally published in Spiked on 18.09.25
Understanding the Drive to Medically Transition as a Mental Illness
Since 2017, I’ve immersed myself in the complex and often painful realities of gender dysphoria—through research, dialogue with leading experts, and thousands of hours spent with families, detransitioners, transgender individuals, and those who feel “lost in transition.” I understand this condition not only as a psychotherapist, but also as someone who experienced profound gender-related distress as a child.
At Genspect, our team hears weekly from people aged 18 to 80 who regret undergoing irreversible medical procedures in pursuit of an identity that ultimately failed to bring them peace. Tragically, many now feel they’ve passed the point of no return.
After years of listening to those most directly affected, our conclusion has become unavoidable: the drive to transition is rooted in unresolved mental illness. Clinicians best serve trans-identifying patients not by affirming a medical pathway, but by addressing the underlying psychological distress with honesty, insight, and compassion.
Angels dancing on the head of a pin
Back in the Middle Ages, theologians were mocked for debating how many angels could dance on the head of a pin. The phrase became a metaphor for intellectual exercises so detached from reality that they bordered on the absurd. Today, many mental health professionals are engaged in a similarly futile pursuit—except the debate is not about angels, but about gender identity.
A person’s sense of gender identity cannot be tested, proven, or disproven. It is unfalsifiable, beyond the reach of evidence-based scrutiny. This elusive, 21st-century notion of self can only be declared by the individual. Yet such nebulous internal feelings have led to deep psychological anguish for many. Across the Western world, at high-level conferences, experts agonise over how best to respond to gender dysphoria: Should puberty blockers be offered to a carefully selected few? Should cross-sex hormones be withheld until a certain number of psychotherapy sessions have taken place? When should a person be given the green light for genital surgery?
The Genspect team takes the position that medical transition is a harmful intervention lacking a robust evidence base. As Carl Sagan famously put it, extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence. Yet despite years of research and growing international scrutiny, we still lack the extraordinary evidence needed to justify recommending that any individual undertake the life-altering and often irreversible process of medicalising their sense of inner identity.
While we have many self-reports from individuals who express satisfaction with their decision to transition, this type of testimony, though interesting, is not equivalent to rigorous scientific evidence. Human beings are naturally inclined to affirm the choices they have made—particularly when those choices come with high personal, social, or physical cost.
However, we do not support banning medical transition outright. Prohibition is unlikely to serve anyone’s best interests and would inevitably drive vulnerable individuals toward unregulated and unsafe alternatives. The world needs fewer DIY hormone clinics operating without oversight, not more.
Instead, Genspect proposes a more responsible path: medical transition should not be publicly funded, nor should it be offered in hospitals under the banner of healthcare. Rather, it should be recognised for what it is—cosmetic intervention performed in response to psychological distress. In essence, it is extreme body modification, not medically necessary treatment.
Whether someone identifies as non-binary, demi-girl, genderfluid, agender, or any other label from an ever-expanding lexicon, many therapists now believe it is inappropriate to question a patient’s identity. Often, they are swayed by the patient’s fervent certainty. Even though certainty itself is a red flag—rigid conviction is frequently a symptom of mental illness. Few are more certain than the anorexic who insists she is fat and greedy. By contrast, psychologically healthy individuals tend to express doubt, nuance, and ambivalence.
What was once recognised as a "therapeutic process" has been reduced to mere "therapeutic support"—focused not on psychological inquiry or analytical depth, but on affirmation. Even when gender-critical clinicians suspect that such validation may lead to irreversible and harmful medical interventions, many still feel compelled to honour the patient’s declared identity rather than investigate the deeper distress driving it.
Yet the underlying truth is difficult to avoid: the desire to irreversibly alter a healthy body through hormones and surgery—driven by a subjective sense of self—is not a medical issue, but a manifestation of profound psychological distress. It should be recognised and treated as a mental illness. To pretend otherwise is to legitimise an elaborate and institutionalised form of self-harm.
The shift in the DSM
In a more grounded time, this was the prevailing view. Until 2013, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) classified the condition as Gender Identity Disorder (GID). This diagnosis recognised the mismatch between one’s biological sex and internal identity as a psychological disorder, rooted in internal conflict. Treatment typically involved psychotherapy, aimed at helping the individual understand their distress and, ideally, resolve it. Medical transition was considered a last-resort intervention, offered only after all therapeutic avenues had been thoroughly exhausted.
But then came the DSM-5. In 2013, the American Psychiatric Association replaced GID with Gender Dysphoria. At first glance, this appeared to be a minor rewording. In reality, it marked a radical shift: the identity itself was no longer considered disordered, only the distress it caused. The result? If someone believes they are the opposite sex and experiences no distress, they are considered mentally well. And if they are distressed, the recommended treatment is no longer to work with the mind, but to alter the body. Meanwhile, the World Health Organization (WHO) asserted “that trans-related and gender diverse identities are not conditions of mental ill-health, and that classifying them as such can cause enormous stigma.” Yet this position is itself stigmatising, as it implies that mental illness is inherently shameful and best avoided altogether.
Medical interventions have come to function less as cautious, last-resort measures and more as seductive solutions—akin to offering liposuction only to the anorexic who can convince her therapist that “skinny” is not a symptom of illness, but an identity she is entitled to embody.
Millions of people live with mental illness. Many are sensitive, thoughtful, brilliant, and compassionate. To attempt to dissociate from mental illness—as though it were inherently shameful—is profoundly offensive. Psychological distress does not diminish a person’s worth. Those who suffer deserve the same respect, care, and dignity as anyone else.
Since the DSM shift, the situation has only grown more surreal. Therapists increasingly surrender clinical judgment, allowing patients to define not only their identities but also their treatment plans. Some vulnerable individuals—often neurodiverse and struggling with internalised homophobia—now identify as therians (non-human animals such as wolves or cats) or otherkin (non-human beings such as elves, dragons, or other fantastical creatures). While it is considered unethical to dehumanise a client, reinforcing such identities arguably does just that—it affirms a distorted self-concept rather than helping the person reconcile with reality.
This erosion of rationality has occurred alongside the growing glorification of the term identity. In our post-religious age, identity has become sacred—a sense of self that must be honoured without question. Yet clinicians would better serve their patients by remembering that identity is neither divine nor immutable.
People often identify as Irish despite never having set foot in Ireland. Such identification is usually harmless; it does not require surgery or medical intervention. But when identity becomes the basis for irreversible treatments that can result in infertility or impaired sexual function, the stakes are immeasurably higher. Identity is a subjective, fluid construct. It should never be mistaken for a diagnosis.
While people are free to identify as they wish, clinicians are bound by ethical standards. Affirming a patient’s self-perception without scrutiny is not compassionate care. No ethical therapist would affirm a person with OCD who believes their hands are permanently contaminated. They don’t validate the patient’s perceptions. They treat the illness, not the obsession.
The DSM’s reclassification was not driven by clinical insight but by political activism. It facilitated access to medical transition while recasting it as personal liberation. The result is a new kind of stigma: it is now taboo to treat gender-related distress as a mental health issue. The mind is off-limits; only the body may be altered.
Should we change our minds or our bodies?
Why is irreversible surgery now considered more ethical than a careful psychological process?
The mental gymnastics surrounding "conversion therapy bans" have paralysed clinicians. They are no longer permitted to ask why a girl hates her body, or why a boy spends hours in the bathroom obsessively removing every hair from his body in a desperate attempt to feel female. Such questions are now labelled "conversion," while approving mastectomy or castration is celebrated as affirmation.
This is a catastrophic failure of mental healthcare.
For decades, therapists helped patients explore the roots of internal conflict. Many who felt alienated from their sex came to recognise deeper causes—trauma, shame, family dysfunction, or internalised homophobia. But today, that therapeutic path is blocked.
Instead, growing numbers of vulnerable individuals—especially adolescent girls—are being fast-tracked onto a medicalised pathway.
This shift reflects a profound misunderstanding of human suffering. The desire to escape one’s body is not a harmless variation of human experience—it is a cry for help. A symptom of deeper distress that demands understanding, not surgical endorsement.
It’s time for mental health professionals to stop counting angels on the head of a pin and confront reality. The drive to medically transition is, at its core, a mental health issue—one that demands not ideology, but compassionate and ethical care.
A compassionate way forward
Join Stella and the Genspect team this September at The Bigger Picture conference in New Mexico. After nearly a decade of well-intentioned but deeply damaging practices carried out in the name of kindness, Stella will address the stark realities of medical transition. With clarity and courage, we’ll explore how to navigate the path ahead with integrity—and why telling the truth, now more than ever, is essential to real progress.
Tickets selling fast - secure your seat now.
