WASHINGTON—For the past few weeks, I’ve been watching the House try to ban human cloning.

It’s been a strange process. Distinguished professors trek from hearing to hearing, shuttling to meet with the staff of six different members of Congress for fifteen minutes at a time. Every constituency and voting bloc is stroked—to the pro-life, the message is protecting the lives of embryos; to the pro-choice, it’s promoting the safety of women; and to minorities, it's avoiding the dangers of eugenics. Briefings and luncheons held to advertise the bills attract hordes of hungry interns, and a few curious staffers. Hearings are held, as scripted as Kabuki drama; four handpicked witnesses deliver their prepared five-minute remarks to a handful of members of Congress and a dozen empty chairs. A few questions follow, and then the subcommittee members move on to hearings and issues closer to their constituents’ hearts.

The arguments on each side have been fierce. Cloning will end our humanity, say one bill’s supporters; it will eliminate individuality and identity; it will turn children from welcomed gifts to parent-designed projects; it will bring back the eugenic program of the Nazis. In tones perhaps more appropriate for a dramatic reading of Revelations, they describe the “post-human future” that would arrive once “The Clones” are loosed upon us. As one vocal supporter prophesied, “once embryonic clones are produced in laboratories, the eugenic revolution will have begun.” Other concerns are more basic, and some are even flippant—would a woman’s clone be legally classified as her daughter or her twin? What would happen to the clone of Michael Jordan if he prefers the cello to the court?

A second faction, meanwhile, seeks an exemption for the cloning of embryos in the laboratory. They honor the march of science; they cite the potential advantages of embryonic stem cells created through cloning to treat diseases from Parkinson’s to diabetes. There’s something profoundly icky about cloning embryos—but there are also a lot of very bad arguments being used to attack it, and when medical advances might lie in the balance, it’s hard not to sympathize with victims who desperately seek a cure.

Even deep Constitutional principles are dragged into the debate. Is cloning interstate commerce? Does it fit under the umbrella of privacy that shelters birth control and abortion? If Americans have a basic right to make their own reproductive choices free from government control, then wouldn’t techniques to bring about pregnancy (such as in vitro fertilization and cloning) receive just as much protection as techniques to prevent it?

As the cloning bills are debated, it becomes clear that the process isn’t working. The problem isn’t so much that politicians don’t understand “blastocysts” or “somatic cell nuclear transfer”; the concepts involved aren’t hard, and in any case they have staff to explain it to them. The problem is that cloning is, in a sense, ethically new. Although The Boys From Brazil predates Dolly the sheep by almost two decades, it wasn’t until 1997—when the technology for human cloning seemed within reach—that the social and ethical debate was seriously joined. Abortion and euthanasia are also difficult issues, but at this point the detailed positions on them have been thought through, and arguments detailed enough to withstand some questioning can be referred to by shorthand. The ethical debate on cloning isn’t settled—in fact, the opposing camps aren’t even fully formed—and unlike the definition of “blastocyst,” a good ethical argument can’t be summarized into a five-minute statement or a 15-second sound byte.

The problem lies also in a confused view of bioethics. In its 1999 report on the use of embryos for stem cell research, the National Bioethics Advisory Commission (a body convened to advise the president) issued a report symptomatic of the cloning debate’s flaws. In discussing the “diverse and strongly held views on the subject,” it presented ethics as a business concern, like interest rates and public relations—one more question mark to be balanced in the final appraisal, not the single factor that is overriding and conclusive. Views “diverse and strongly held” are to be balanced by finding those that are “widely shared” and serve “the best interests of society”; research techniques are rejected for federal funding because they raise too many ethical “issues.” (Whether these “issues” can in fact be resolved is not as important as the fact that people are worried by them.) A variety of views parade by, each carefully presented as no more or less valid than the last; one Catholic rejects stem cell research, but another accepts it; the Methodists might want to protect embryos, but traditional Jewish law treats them “as if they were water.” Finally, the Commission tries to split the baby—perhaps literally—by deciding that embryos merit some respect as “a form of human life,” but not quite so much respect as an adult. A nice compromise, since it leads to no distinct conclusions and satisfies no one.

The report shows in a nutshell the danger of resolving ethical questions by a democratic process. If considered thought can provide a clear answer to the “issues” posed by cloning, then why not start thinking and damn the majority? And if it can’t, if the only way to decide the issue is to wait for the vote count in the morning paper, then what possible advice can one give to the member of the House who must cast the first vote?

Of course, this isn’t the first time Congress has approached a complex question armed only with sound bytes. But Congress is a political beast, good at balancing interests and not much else, and there are no lobbyists here—except for a few biotech companies and the Catholic Church. One might think that this freedom from lobbying would spur healthy debate, improving the chances that Congress would reach the right decision for the right reasons. But without a firmer grasp of the ethical arguments than the five-minute presentations they receive—and without the courage to treat ethics as more than just another “issue” in the pot—I’m not very hopeful that it will.

Stephen E. Sachs ’02, a history concentrator in Quincy House, is editorial chair of The Crimson. This summer, he returns to Capitol Hill to begin Phase Two of his long, dark climb to power. Muhahahaha.