Robert Louis Stevenson wrote a poem called My Shadow” a real image that followed him about, springing from his feet, shooting up with the descending sun or almost disappearing under his feet at high noon. The shadow was a copy of him, not exactly the copy scientists are trying for under the noun of clone. A clone would be an exact copy and men began to fantasize of self copies that would enable them to make an impact on their space or some loftier expectation.
The very definition of clone defies the possibility of making an exact copy. A body cannot be duplicated molecule for molecule immediately and totally under any circumstance. Science fiction or Scotty’s ability to “beam me up” notwithstanding. The clone of a sheep in England was touted as a scientific breakthrough.
True. It was unique but the new sheep was not an exact copy of it’s mother or the other half of the egg from which it was separated. It had gone through a development within a uterus and looked like the sheep that it was. But the egg or part thereof from which it developed spent time on its own as a fetus, living on fluids from the cord connected to the wall of the host uterus. The experiences would have been similar to those of the host but not possibly identical, first, because the host developed within another womb and second because the host developed in a different time. Even copying a particularly productive milk producer does not guarantee the clone will develop an udder that will produce five gallons of milk at a stripping.
Then think of the development of a person. Nine months within a uterus. The ensuing eighteen or more years depending on the adult who wishes to be cloned must pass. During that time many different experiences will have separated the original being from the clone as to consider it ridiculous to pretend it was an exact copy. Cloning females may be more possible than males. Actually the concept is fascinating. Society would do a few things differently when populated with many more of me.