Medicine must remain a science of hope, not merely technique
Artificial tissues created in Granada labs have successfully saved burn victims' lives and treated conditions like corneal damage and palate reconstruction. Stem cells and biomaterials are fundamental to multiplying cells and differentiating them into specialized tissue types needed for organ construction.
- Artificial skin engineered in Granada has successfully saved severely burned patients' lives
- Tissue engineering began in the United States approximately 30 years ago
- Stem cells and biomaterials are fundamental to creating specialized tissues
- Cells and tissues are now classified as medicines under rigorous European regulation
Antonio Campos Muñoz, Granada histology professor and vice president of Spain's National Medical Academy, discusses tissue engineering breakthroughs including artificial skin for burn victims and the future of organ transplants.
Antonio Campos Muñoz was born in San Fernando, Cádiz, in 1951, and has spent his career chasing a question that seemed impossible when he first asked it: why couldn't Granada build artificial tissues in the laboratory the way other countries were beginning to do? Today, as a histology professor at the University of Granada and vice president of Spain's National Medical Academy, he occupies the chair once held by Santiago Ramón y Cajal—one of history's greatest scientists. The tissues his team has engineered have saved lives. Artificial skin grown in their lab has been implanted into severely burned patients. Artificial corneas and palates have treated other conditions. He speaks about this work not with the breathless tone of a visionary, but with the measured precision of a scientist who understands that what matters is not the dream, but the evidence.
Tissue engineering, as Campos Muñoz explains it, is deceptively simple in concept: grow in the laboratory tissues that mimic the body's own biological structures, then use them to replace damaged tissue. The applications are both immediate and expansive. The therapeutic use is obvious—a burn victim needs skin, and artificial skin can save their life. But the work extends further. These engineered tissues serve as models for studying disease and as replacements for animal testing, which matters not only ethically but scientifically, since human tissue behaves differently than a mouse's.
The path to this work began with a principle borrowed from the philosopher Ortega y Gasset: the obligation to stay at the level of one's time. When tissue engineering took its first steps in the United States three decades ago, Campos Muñoz and his colleagues asked themselves why Granada should not be at that frontier. They decided to be. The work required understanding stem cells—those fundamental building blocks that can multiply and differentiate into specialized cell types—and the biomaterials that would support their growth. Neither alone is sufficient. Together, they make it possible to construct tissue.
The regulatory landscape has shifted beneath this work. Cells and tissues are now classified as medicines in Europe, subject to rigorous oversight. This is not bureaucratic obstruction; it is the framework that allows these treatments to move from laboratory to patient. The artificial skin Campos Muñoz's team created does not yet replicate every component of real skin—no hair follicles, no sweat glands—but it works. It has been applied successfully. The future, he suggests, will bring refinement and expansion.
When asked about complete organs for transplant, he does not overstate. The skin is the body's largest organ, and even a partial reconstruction has taken years to perfect. Full organ engineering remains ahead, though the direction is clear. What strikes him more than the technical challenges is the philosophical one: medicine must remain a science of hope, a practice that walks alongside the suffering rather than merely treating symptoms. He speaks of seeing in every public fund received the weathered face of the farmer who pays for academic research through taxes—a debt that demands the maximum return on every euro.
Campos Muñoz is also a writer. Two books are forthcoming: one titled 'Nombres con fecha' and an essay on the general San Martín. He is proud of his dual identity as both an islander from Cádiz and a man of Granada, identities that enrich rather than conflict. As a child, he played in the streets of San Fernando, likely alongside other children his age, though he notes with gentle humor that neither he nor they were yet the people they would become. He imagines medicine fifty years from now will be transformed by technology, but he hopes it will still be what it is now: a science that offers hope and knows how to accompany the sick through their suffering.
Notable Quotes
We must work as Cajal did, extracting maximum value from public funds and remembering the weathered face of the farmer who pays for our academic research— Antonio Campos Muñoz
Medicine must remain a science that gives hope to the sick and knows how to accompany them through their suffering— Antonio Campos Muñoz
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
When you say tissue engineering began in the United States thirty years ago, what was the moment you realized Granada could do this too?
It wasn't a single moment. It was the question itself. We were histologists—we studied tissue. The world was moving toward building tissue artificially. The question became: why not us? Why not here? That's what Ortega meant about staying at the level of your time. You can't do that passively.
The artificial skin you've created doesn't have hair or sweat glands. Does that feel incomplete to you, or is it enough?
It's enough for what it does. A severely burned patient doesn't need perfect skin immediately. They need skin that functions, that protects, that lets them live. The perfect can come later. Science moves in steps, not leaps.
You occupy Ramón y Cajal's chair. Do you feel the weight of that?
Every day. He was a scientist of immense stature, but what moved me most was his sense of responsibility to his country. He understood that research is not a luxury—it's a debt to the people who fund it. That's what I try to remember.
People always ask scientists for more money. You seem to resist that framing.
Because it can become an excuse. Yes, more resources would help. But Cajal worked with what he had and created brilliance. Creativity isn't always a question of money. Sometimes it's about how you think, how you ask questions. That matters more than the budget.
You grew up playing in the streets of San Fernando, possibly near Camarón. Does that feel distant now?
Not distant—just different. We were children together, if we were. Neither of us knew who we would become. That's the strange mercy of childhood. You're just playing in the street, and the future is still entirely open.
What worries you most about the future of medicine?
That it might forget to be a science of hope. Technology will change everything. But if medicine becomes only technique, only efficiency, it loses something essential. The sick need more than solutions. They need to be accompanied through their fear. That has to remain true.