The subject of Henrietta Lacks remains an enduring mark of criticism on Hopkins as a reminder that scientific advancement has often come at the cost of ethical accountability. This legacy continues to be honored and examined today through events such as the annual Henrietta Lacks Memorial Lecture at Hopkins, an event that occurred recently on Oct. 4. This recent conversation sparked my renewed interest in one of my favorite books, Next by Michael Crichton.
In 1951, without her knowledge or consent, doctors at Hopkins Hospital took cells from Lacks, a woman receiving treatment for cervical cancer. Those cells, later known as HeLa cells, became one of the most important tools in biomedical research, contributing to vaccines, cancer treatments and gene mapping. Yet, for decades, neither Lacks nor her family knew that her biological material had been immortalized and commercialized across the world.
The story of Lacks’ cells raises ethical questions about consent and ownership in biomedical research, issues that Crichton explores fictionally.
Crichton’s novel Next acts as an exploration into the ethics of biomedical research, asking the question “to what extent does science serve humanity, and when does it begin to exploit it?” Through a blend of satire and speculative fiction, Crichton crafts a world where innovation and exploitation blur beyond recognition.
The novel’s premise revolves around the commodification of human biology — the idea that genes can be patented, sold and litigated over. The vision mirrors real-world controversies surrounding ownership of biological material, such as the case of Henrietta Lacks.
At its core, Next functions as a mirror to hold the scientific establishment accountable, encouraging readers to consider whether scientific innovations truly serve the public good or if they are primarily justified by capitalistic gain.
Central to the novel is the Burnet case, a man whose cells (which were taken during treatment for leukemia, much like Henrietta Lacks’ cells) are later discovered to contain a gene capable of producing life-saving treatments and groundbreaking medical therapies. Without his knowledge, his tissues are patented, and his genetic material becomes corporate property. The courtroom debate that then follows (though fictionalized) reads like an extension of real bioethical discourse.
Crichton’s critique of the biotechnology industry is based on how new genetic technologies changed the purpose of biology itself. Instead of simplifying study life, biology became a tool for profit and into an industrial science. The novel was published in 2006, a moment when the Human Genome Project had just completed and biotech patents were proliferating.
At that time, over 20% of the human genome was under some form of patent claim, allowing companies to control research access to genetic sequences. In 2013, the Supreme Court’s decision in Association for Molecular Pathologists v. Myriad Genetics ruled that naturally occurring human genes cannot be patented, which fundamentally reshaped the legal landscape of research. Despite this, Next is an illustration of the dangerous precedent in the mid-2000s: the privatization of genetic commons and the ability to stifle innovation with intellectual property later.
This concern is directly echoed in Moore v. Regents of the University of California, a case from 1990 where a patient’s cells were commercialized without consent (much like Burnet’s in Next). This situation parallels, but differs from, the use of HeLa cells, as Moore’s case involved explicit commercialization and legal disputes over ownership rather than secrecy. The court ruled that individuals would not retain property rights over discarded tissues, setting a precedent that shaped future debates about genetic ownership. Crichton thus fictionalizes this logic to expose its moral absurdity.
Although we are unsure if Crichton took inspiration from this case in particular, his narrative clearly engages with the same ethical questions it raised: who owns biological material and at what point does scientific progress cross into exploitation? The novel’s exaggerated legal battles in dramatized courtroom scenes exaggerate the legal and ethical absurdities of this system, turning real-world tensions into a biting critique of biotechnology’s entanglement with profit.
At Hopkins, this ethical dilemma is not abstract. The story of Henrietta Lacks embodies the same tension that Crichton dramatizes. While HeLa cells were the first “immortal” human line, the case demonstrated a structural blindness to research ethics.
The language of “innovation” and “discovery” can obscure a deeper truth. Crichton warns that as biotechnology advances, ethical questions don’t disappear, but evolve. When genome sequencing costs less than a college textbook, the temptation to commodify science intensifies. The question is no longer can we manipulate nature, but whether we can do so ethically.
