Narrator: Imagine traveling back in time to have dinner with your grandparents when they were in their twenties. You pull out your phone to show them pictures, and they marvel at the device. But then the conversation turns to modern life. You try to explain birth control, in vitro fertilization (IVF), and surrogate mothers. You describe how conception can now happen in a lab, completely decoupled from sex, and how embryos can be frozen for years, decoupling parenthood from time itself. To them, these concepts sound like a bizarre mix of witchcraft and miracles. What you consider normal, they might see as a profound moral transgression. This dizzying gap in understanding, created in just a few generations, lies at the heart of our modern ethical landscape.

In his book, RIGHT/WRONG: How Technology Transforms Our Ethics, author Juan Enriquez argues that this is not an anomaly but the new normal. He posits that our sense of right and wrong is not a fixed, universal code handed down through the ages. Instead, it is a fluid, dynamic system that is being constantly and dramatically reshaped by one primary force: technology. The book serves as a guide through this turbulent ethical territory, revealing how technological advancements are forcing us to question our most deeply held beliefs and preparing us for the moral dilemmas of the future.

Narrator: The book's central thesis is that ethics are not static; they evolve, and technology is the primary catalyst for that evolution. What was once considered a moral absolute can become abhorrent in a generation, and vice versa. Enriquez illustrates this with powerful examples. He recounts the harrowing story of the 1972 Andes flight disaster, where survivors of a plane crash, facing starvation, made the agonizing decision to consume the bodies of the deceased. In the civilized world, this was cannibalism, a universal taboo. But in the extreme context of survival, the ethical calculus shifted. The Catholic Church eventually absolved the survivors, acknowledging that in their desperate circumstances, the moral lines had blurred.

A less extreme but more pervasive example is the societal shift in attitudes toward homosexuality. For centuries, it was condemned as immoral and unnatural, often criminalized and classified as a mental disorder. However, the proliferation of technology—specifically television and movies—began to change this. By bringing gay characters and stories into people's homes, media exposed audiences to different lives, fostering familiarity and empathy. This increased exposure, a direct result of technology, helped dismantle long-held prejudices, paving the way for a dramatic ethical shift toward acceptance and legal rights. Technology, in this case, didn't provide a moral answer, but it changed the social conditions that made a new ethical consensus possible.

Narrator: Nowhere is technology's ethical impact more profound than in the realm of human biology. For millennia, the equation was simple: SEX = REPRODUCTION = EVOLUTION. Technology has shattered this link. The advent of reliable birth control decoupled sex from reproduction, fundamentally altering social structures and women's roles in society. Then came IVF, which decoupled conception from physical contact. Enriquez tells the charming story of Elizabeth Carr, the first IVF baby in the United States, who once had to correct her fifth-grade health teacher's explanation of how babies are made. Her very existence was proof that the old rules no longer applied.

Today, we are pushing these boundaries even further. Technologies like CRISPR allow for gene editing, raising the possibility of eliminating genetic diseases but also creating "designer babies." Brain organoids—miniature, lab-grown brains—offer incredible potential for studying neurological disorders but also raise unsettling questions about consciousness and sentience. As we stand on the precipice of being able to radically redesign humans to survive in space or cure diseases, we are forced to confront a new set of ethical questions. What does it mean to be human when we can rewrite our own biological code?

Narrator: The speed of modern technological progress creates what Enriquez calls "ethical quicksand"—complex moral dilemmas that emerge faster than our ability to address them. Consider climate change. For over a century, we have known that burning fossil fuels warms the planet. Yet, we continued because it was cheap and convenient. Now, technology is changing the equation again. The cost of solar power has plummeted by over 80% in a decade, making renewable energy cheaper than fossil fuels in many places. Suddenly, the ethical argument for inaction is collapsing. Future generations will likely look back on our continued use of fossil fuels as a profound moral failure, not because we didn't know, but because we had a technologically and economically viable alternative and failed to adopt it quickly enough.

This pattern repeats across various fields. The development of lab-grown meat, which started with a $380,000 burger in 2013 and is now rapidly falling in price, challenges the ethics of industrial animal agriculture. Gene drives, a technology that can deliberately cause the extinction of a species, could eradicate disease-carrying mosquitoes but also gives humanity an unsettling power over entire ecosystems. As one scientist, Kevin Esvelt, noted about gene drives, "I’m sure we’ll be able to do it before people can agree if we should." This gap between our capability and our consensus is the defining feature of our era's ethical landscape.

Narrator: Given how quickly ethics evolve, Enriquez argues for humility when judging the actions of our ancestors. It is easy to condemn historical figures for participating in practices we now find abhorrent, like slavery. But the book challenges us to understand how they could have believed they were right. It paints a vivid picture of a child growing up in 1800s Charleston, South Carolina. This child would be taught by their parents, teachers, and reverends that slavery was not only economically necessary but biblically justified. Prominent doctors and university presidents defended it. In such an environment, how does one get "woke"?

This is not an argument to excuse past atrocities, but a call to understand the powerful social and institutional forces that shape ethical norms. By recognizing how entire societies can be caught in a web of unethical beliefs, we are better equipped to identify our own blind spots. Enriquez warns that future generations will undoubtedly look back on some of our common practices—our treatment of animals, our consumption of disposable plastics, our inaction on climate change—with the same horror we feel when we look back at slavery. This perspective encourages us to question our own "absolute" beliefs and to be more understanding of those caught on the wrong side of a rapidly shifting ethical tide.

Narrator: In previous eras, mistakes could be forgotten and youthful indiscretions could fade with time. That is no longer the case. Enriquez argues that our online activity creates a permanent, searchable, and unforgiving record of our lives—an "electronic tattoo." Every tweet, Facebook like, and Google search contributes to a digital profile that can be analyzed and judged indefinitely. He tells the tragic story of Josh Jarboe, a highly talented high school football player whose promising career was derailed by a rap video he made as a teenager. The video, filled with violent and misogynistic lyrics, went viral. Despite his efforts to mature and reform, the video followed him everywhere, resurfacing with every minor misstep and ultimately costing him his dream of playing in the NFL.

This digital permanence creates a new ethical reality. Our data is more revealing than we think; one study found that just 70 Facebook likes can allow an algorithm to know you better than a friend. As we live more of our lives online, we are creating an indelible legacy that will be judged not only by our contemporaries but by future generations with entirely different ethical standards. The concept of forgiveness becomes more complicated when the evidence of our past transgressions never disappears.

Narrator: In a world of rapid change and unforeseen consequences, the most intuitive ethical stance is often caution. However, Enriquez presents a powerful counter-argument: being overly precautionary can be profoundly unethical. He tells the story of Dr. John Nestor, an FDA official who, in his quest for absolute safety, never approved a single new drug during his entire career. He blocked life-saving medications because their safety could not be proven with 100% certainty. While his intentions may have been to protect the public, his inaction resulted in countless preventable deaths and suffering.

This "Precautionary Principle" is also seen in the debate over autonomous vehicles. Critics focus on the potential for accidents, but they often ignore the reality that human drivers cause nearly 1.35 million deaths globally each year. The book argues that the truly ethical choice is to deploy autonomous cars as soon as they are proven to be even slightly safer than the average human driver. Waiting for perfection is a luxury that costs thousands of lives every day. Inaction has a cost, and in a world where technology offers solutions to our biggest problems, choosing not to act is itself an ethical decision with severe consequences.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from RIGHT/WRONG is that ethics are not a destination but a direction. There is no final, correct answer to be found, only a continuous, often difficult, conversation that we must have with ourselves and our society. Technology is accelerating this conversation to a dizzying speed, forcing us to confront our biases and re-evaluate our principles in real-time. The book's ultimate message is a call for intellectual humility.

We are all, right now, participating in behaviors that our grandchildren may find barbaric. The challenge, then, is not to be perfect, but to be aware. It is to engage in the debate, to question what seems obvious, and to listen to those with whom we disagree. As you go about your day, consider this: what common, everyday practice of our time will be the great moral stain that future generations struggle to understand?