Artificial wombs, devices that can gestate human embryos outside the body, have shifted from speculative fiction to the brink of medical reality.
Recently, a Chinese firm made headlines by announcing plans for a humanoid robot with a built-in artificial womb, promising a prototype by 2026. The technology was estimated to cost USD $14,000.
While that story was later exposed as a fabrication, the underlying technology of artificial wombs continues to advance.
Popular culture has long anticipated this development. Aldous Huxley’s dystopian novel Brave New World (1932) depicted hatcheries with embryos in glass bottles. The Matrix movies portrayed humans bred in pods.
Artificial womb technology (AWT), once purely fictional, is now entering the domain of biomedicine, with implications for the field of assisted reproductive technologies (ART), including surrogacy, the law on abortion and social inequality.
The science of AWT is real, although limited. Current experiments represent partial ectogenesis: where a foetus begins developing in the uterus and is then transferred to an artificial womb to continue its growth. Scientists in the US, the Netherlands and Japan have sustained premature animal foetuses in external ‘biobags‘.
Full ectogenesis (a baby never incubated in a human womb) may still be decades away, dependent on breakthroughs in placental bioengineering, infection control, and safely initiating embryo growth outside the uterus. But history suggests we should not underestimate incremental breakthroughs. In-Vitro Fertilisation (IVF) too, was once dismissed as fantasy until Louise Brown, the first ‘test-tube baby’, was born in 1978.
Once AWT achieves scale, it threatens to disrupt the multi-billion-dollar global surrogacy market, redraw the boundaries of reproductive labour and challenge the existing legal and ethical frameworks.
Surrogacy arrangements in lower-income countries—where wealthy intending couples, domestic or international, contract working-class women to carry pregnancies—have generated heated arguments about bodily autonomy, commodification and stratified reproduction.
The transnational surrogacy landscape is already driven by disparate legal regimes and variable social attitudes across countries. In the US, a surrogacy arrangement can cost over USD $100,000 with surrogates earning USD $25,000-40,000, while in India, despite a ban on commercial surrogacy, it costs around USD $11,000, with surrogates receiving only USD $3,000-4,000.
The surrogacy market is vast and unequal. It was estimated to be a USD $25 billion market in 2024, with projections reaching USD $201.8 billion by 2034. Infertility rates have surged to affect 17.5 percent of the global population, creating urgent demand for reproductive solutions.
Potential AWT breakthroughs threaten to upend this booming sector and cast uncertainty over the futures of those depending on surrogacy as an income source. Should artificial wombs ever be priced around USD $14,000, as speculated by the Chinese hoax, the logic of surrogacy changes.
Perhaps the thorniest ethical concern is the impact of artificial wombs on abortion. In many jurisdictions, abortion law is closely tied to the concept of foetal viability, the stage at which a foetus can survive outside the mother’s body (around 24 weeks).
Full ectogenesis could theoretically make a foetus potentially ‘viable’ at any stage, even immediately after conception. In that case, courts might argue that abortion is no longer necessary; rather, embryos could be ‘rescued’ into machines.
Bioethicists warn that this could undermine women’s reproductive autonomy. If women are legally required to preserve embryos through artificial gestation, they may be forced into genetic parenthood without consent.
There are also concerns about the legal and moral status of embryos. Many countries currently prohibit growing a human embryo in a lab beyond 14 days as a moral safeguard. Full ectogenesis would require revisiting those rules. Embryos gestated outside the body for extended periods would raise new legal questions: at what point do they count as ‘life’? The answer could affect laws of ART, stem-cell research and even inheritance rights.
The distribution of benefits and risks will likely reflect existing inequalities. Wealthy intending parents may be first in line, using artificial wombs for medical necessity or convenience, while avoiding the legal entanglements of surrogacy contracts.
Biotechnology firms and fertility clinics could also emerge as major winners as they seize a new high-value market; market forecasts suggest the artificial womb industry could reach USD $308.5 million by 2035.
While some speculate that artificial wombs will expand options for same-sex couples, single men and trans individuals, the reality is much more complex. Access will depend on cost, regulation, and cultural context, meaning that the technology will likely serve only a small, privileged subset. Far from a universal leveller, ectogenesis is more likely to reinforce stratification than to deliver equality.
States with strong pro-natalist agendas may view AWT as a demographic tool, subsidising it to raise birth rates without increasing maternal health risks.
The potential losers extend beyond displaced surrogates. Countries that positioned themselves as hubs of reproductive tourism could lose significant economic inflows.
At a societal level, women may confront a symbolic loss of authority over reproduction if gestation becomes medicalised and detached from female bodies and controlled by technological systems.
Artificial wombs risk producing a form of ‘gestational stratification’, a rigid two-tier system where machine-mediated reproduction is framed as modern and controlled, while natural pregnancy is devalued or relegated to those without access to technology.
At the same time, some feminists see ectogenesis as liberating, since freeing women’s bodies from reproduction could reduce biological constraints on their social and economic participation.
Most legal systems are poorly equipped to govern artificial wombs and will need major reworking when the day comes. English law, for example, contains no right to end a pregnancy for transfer into an artificial womb. The EU’s maternity protections are defined in relation to physiological pregnancy, leaving gaps for those who might rely on technological gestation. Why would they have laws if the technology is still not available?
In the US, constitutional battles over abortion suggest ectogenesis would be drawn directly into culture wars, with courts asked to adjudicate whether embryos must be transferred rather than terminated. Internationally, regulatory fragmentation, already evident in surrogacy and Assisted Reproductive Technology (ART) governance, could spur regulatory ‘shopping’, where firms test AWT in the most permissive jurisdictions.
Safety is another frontier. Researchers warn that unknown developmental risks for externally gestated foetuses could create liabilities if children later exhibit health complications.
Artificial wombs are no longer speculative. They promise to revolutionise neonatal care, expand reproductive options, and reduce risks for women with unsafe pregnancies.
At the same time, they also threaten to reignite abortion battles, redefine embryo viability debates and harden reproductive hierarchies. The critical questions are no longer about possibility but about governance: who controls access, on what terms, and with what effects on reproductive rights.
Without proactive regulation, AWT risks becoming another minefield where technology outpaces justice.
This article was originally published in 360info under Creative Commons 4.0 International. Read the original article.
(NS)
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