Using our popular Tech Nation definition: "If God didn't make it, it's technology," words are technology. They're a uniquely human creation, and are essentially an agreement between two humans that a particular sound means something. These same humans can agree to write the sound down in a particular way, and then we have the written word. So at its core, language is a technology that depends upon agreement, and without agreement, it is lost.

Today we speak complex languages which have descended from many generations of experience, a product of agreements made long before we were born. And yet, they're richer than that. The nuance of a word or phrase can be specific to a place or family, and entire meanings can change following a shared experience or event.

Case in point: Until recently I would speak of the "great tsunami of technology breaking over us." Since January, I've abandoned using the word "tsunami." It seemed to dishonor those who lost their lives or suffered in the aftermath. Tsunami means so much more than the word itself, right now. It's fresh, palpable. It makes you realize how dry a dictionary definition can be, devoid of personal experience.

If we can agree that the impact of a single word can carry many meanings and can also unwittingly release a panoply of emotions, let me offer you another word: "cloning." You need no science or technology to comprehend the word "cloning." Or do you? At this point, we've got people speaking out stridently about the specter of cloning humans, while we also have researchers trying to clone an individual's stem cells, to be re-introduced back into that individual's body. And is this the same cloning? No. And yes.

The truth is we have to look at a very detailed level of the biology of it all, before we can apply our personal beliefs, our ethics. And the same goes for another word: "embryo." These two words both suffer from the same disease.

Despite the scientific or technical definition of these words, say "cloning" and the specter of cloning complete human beings leaps to mind. Say "embryo" and we'll all start thinking of a baby.

It's at times like these that words fail us. And yet we need words - good words - now more than ever.

The recent announcement by South Korean scientists that they have been able to replicate the stem cells of eleven patients of varying ages and health conditions has spurred a complement of reactions. Scientists and the medical profession laud a sensational breakthrough, while others believe it is … if not, a moral wrong, then skating perilously close to one.

In both the news reports and the ensuing talking head melee, words like "cloning" and "embryo" were thrown around as if everyone understood their precise meaning. Naively, some insisted on using the adjective "therapeutic" to frame the word "cloning" as if to clarify the meaning. Unfortunately, adjectives really only work when both words have equal weight. No word today can modify "cloning" and be properly heard.

So, what are we to do? I'm suggesting we abandon the words: embryo and cloning, and create a host of new ones. When we have to learn a new word, we have to learn what it means. And then perhaps we can judge this science and these technologies in a more objective light.

Science and technology will march forward - you can count on that. Can we perhaps agree to let words march forward, as well?

I'm Moira Gunn. This is Five Minutes.

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