How to Build a Human: Adventures in How We Are Made and Who We Are. Philip Ball
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two. It has to be accompanied by a great deal of internal reorganization. Flemming and others identified a series of distinct stages along the way. While cells are going about their business with no sign of dividing, they are said to be in the interphase state. The unpacking of the nucleus into filamentary chromosomes is called prophase, and the formation and elongation of the aster is called metaphase. As the aster-like cluster splits in two, the cell enters the anaphase, from where it is downhill all the way to fission and the re-compaction of the nucleus.
This procedure is called the cell cycle, which is an interesting phrase when you think about it. Its implication is that, rather than thinking of biology as being composed of cells that do their thing until they eventually divide, we might regard it as a process of continual replication and proliferation that involves cells. With all due warning about the artificiality of narratives in biology, we might thus reframe the Great Chain of Being as instead a Great Chain of Becoming.
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It was a fundamental – perhaps the fundamental – turning point for modern biology when, around the turn of the century, scientists came to appreciate that much of the complicated reorganization that goes on when cells divide is in order to pass on the genes, the basic units of inheritance, that are written into the strands called chromosomes. What they were seeing here in their microscopes is the underlying principle that enables inheritance and evolution.
The notion of the gene as a physical entity that confers inheritance of traits appeared in parallel with the development of cell theory in the mid-nineteenth century. The story of how “particulate factors” governing inheritance were posited by the Moravian monk Gregor Mendel from his studies on the cultivation of pea plants has been so often told that we needn’t dwell on it. In the 1850s and ’60s Mendel observed that inheritance seemed to be an all-or-nothing affair: peas made by interbreeding plants that make smooth or wrinkly versions are either one type or the other, not a blend (“a bit wrinkly”) of the two. Of course, real inheritance in humans is more complicated: some traits (like hair or eye colour) may be inherited discretely, like Mendel’s peas, others (like height or skin pigmentation) may be intermediate between those of the biological parents. The puzzle Mendel’s observations raised was why inheritance is not always such mix, given that it comes from a merging of the parental gametes.
Charles Darwin didn’t know of Mendel’s work, but he invoked a similar idea of particulate inheritance in his theory of evolution by natural selection. Darwin believed that the body’s cells produced particles that he called gemmules, which influence an organism’s development and are passed on to offspring. In this view, all the cells and tissues of the body play a role in inheritance, whence the term “pangenesis” that Darwin coined for his speculative mechanism of evolution. These gemmules may be modified at random by influences from the environment, and the variations are acquired by progeny. In the 1890s, the Dutch botanist Hugo de Vries and German biologist August Weismann independently modified Darwin’s theory by proposing that transmission of gemmules could not occur between body (somatic) cells and the so-called “germ cells” that produce gametes. Only the latter could contribute to inheritance. De Vries used the term “pangene” instead of gemmule to distinguish his theory from Darwin’s.
At the start of the twentieth century, the Danish botanist Wilhelm Johannsen shortened the word for these particulate units of inheritance to “gene”. He also drew the central distinction between an organism’s genotype – the genes it inherits from the biological parents – and its phenotype, the expression of those genes in appearance and behaviour.
In 1902 Theodor Boveri, working on sea urchins in Germany, and independently the American zoologist Walter Sutton, who was studying grasshoppers, noticed that the faithful passing on of chromosomes across generations of cells mirrored the way that genes were inherited. Perhaps, they concluded, chromosomes are in fact the carriers of the genes. Around 1915, the American biologist Thomas Hunt Morgan established, from painstaking studies of the inheritance of characteristics in fruit flies, that this is so. Moreover, Morgan showed how one could deduce the approximate positions of two different genes relative to one another on the chromosomes by observing how often the two genes – or rather, the manifestation of the corresponding phenotypes – appear together in fruit flies made by mating of individuals with the respective genes. As the chromosomes were divvied up to form egg and sperm cells, genes that sat close together were more likely to remain together in the offspring. Morgan’s work established the idea of a genetic map: literally a picture of where genes sit on the various chromosomes.
The sum total of an organism’s genetic material is called its genome, a word introduced in 1920. For many years after Morgan’s work, it was suspected that genes are composed of the molecules called proteins, in which the much smaller molecules called amino acids are linked together in chains. Proteins, after all, seemed to be responsible for most of what goes on in cells – they are the stuff of enzymes. And chromosomes were indeed found to consist partly of protein. But those threads of heredity were also known to contain a molecule called DNA, belonging to the class known as nucleic acids (that’s what the “NA” stands for).
No one knew what this stuff did until the mid-1940s, when the Canadian-American physician Oswald Avery and his co-workers at the Rockefeller University Hospital in New York reported rather conclusive evidence that genes in fact reside on DNA. That idea was not universally accepted, however, until James Watson, Francis Crick, Maurice Wilkins, Rosalind Franklin and their co-workers revealed the molecular structure of DNA – how its atoms are arranged along the chain-like molecule. This structure, first reported in 1953 by Watson and Crick, who relied partly on Franklin’s studies of DNA crystals, showed how genetic information could be encoded in the DNA molecule. It is a deeply elegant structure, composed of two chain-strands entwined in a double helix.
The double helix of DNA. This iconic image creates a somewhat misleading picture, since for most of the time DNA in a cell’s chromosomes is packaged up quite densely in chromatin, in which it is wrapped around proteins called histones like thread on a bobbin. The “rungs” of the double-helical ladder consist of pairs of so-called nucleotide bases (denoted A, T, C and G) with shapes that complement each other and fit together well.
So beautiful, indeed, was this molecular architecture and the story it seemed to disclose that modern biology was largely seduced by it. It was immediately obvious to Watson and Crick how heredity could be enacted on the molecular scale. The information in genes could be replicated by unzipping the double helix so that each strand could act as the template on which replicas could be assembled.7 Here, then, was how genetic information could be copied into new chromosomes when cells divide: a molecular-scale mechanism for the inheritance described by Mendel and Darwin, which Morgan and others had situated on the chromosomes. DNA married genetics with inheritance at the molecular level, bringing coherence to biology.
And Darwinian evolution? If genes govern an organism’s traits, then random copying errors in DNA replication could alter a trait, mostly to the detriment of an organism but occasionally to its advantage. This is the variation on which natural selection acts to make organisms adapted to their environment.
It all seemed to fall into place. All the important questions – about evolution, genetic disease, development – might now be answered by referring to the information in the genome. Cells didn’t seem to be a very important part of the story except as vehicles for genes and as machines for enacting their commands.
To speak of information being “encoded” in DNA is to speak literally. Genes deploy a code: the genetic code. But what exactly do genes encode? On the most part, it is the chemical structure of a protein molecule, typically an enzyme. Because of the ways in which different amino acids “feel” one another and interact with the watery solvent all around them in the cell, a particular sequence of amino acids determines the way most protein chains fold up into a compact three-dimensional shape. This shape enables enzymes to carry out particular chemical transformations in the cell: they are catalysts that facilitate the cell’s chemistry. So the protein’s sequence, encoded in the respective gene, dictates its function.
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