The Whig interpretation of the gene

I have an essay in the June issue of The Atlantic, out online now and at your favorite magazine dealer or airport in a week or so.

It’s an essay review centered around Siddhartha Mukherjee’s newest book, The Gene. The book is part history of genetics and part discussion of current genetic science and medicine. Scientists don’t seem to like the latter too well. An article, based on the book, that appeared in the New Yorker earlier this spring, is receiving a great deal of criticism from the scientific community. They say that the piece badly misrepresents the mechanisms of epigenetics.

I take him to task on his history. I use the book as the base for a discussion of “Whig history” and why it is so dangerous when writing about science. Whig history, crudely, is writing about the past from the perspective of history’s winners; it is history as a justification of the present.

Good, critical history of science is vital to doing good science on a community scale. Only when we understand that “the” gene is a human concept that describes a bit of biology in a particularly productive way, can we harness the full power of genetic knowledge for good.

Take a look!

 

The history of designer babies

I have a new article up over at Aeon magazine. It’s called “Better Babies: The long and peculiar history of the designer human, from Plato’s citizen breeders to Nobel sperm banks and beyond.”

courtesy Aeon Magazine (www.aeon.co)

After touching upon some of the earliest methods of designing babies, I move through Francis Galton and some of the history of eugenics that should be familiar to Genotopia readers by now. But I take the story up through CRISPR, arguing first that attempts to design our children are all but certain; and second, that they are almost certain to fail. What both the cheerleaders and the hand-wringers fail to take into account is the complexity of the genomics in a species as complex and modulated by culture as ours. Any trait that’s very interesting socially—criminality, sexuality, drug addiction, aggression, etc.—is going to be extraordinarily complex and won’t be reducible to single genes, or even a few.

By all means, new techniques such as CRISPR can and should be applied where they can bring genuine medical benefit. But I caution that high-tech medical benefit comes with social costs—and that high-tech biomedical hype always overreaches real clinical reality.

DNA as Commodity

Here’s a riddle: In the morning I was in the soup. At noon I was in a dish. In the afternoon I was in your gas tank. And at night I am in the bank. What am I?

The answer is DNA. From a natural object emerging, some say, from a primordial soup, to a laboratory object, to a cultural object, it has become data, a special string of computer code endowed with the power to foretell disease, identify criminals, and be leveraged, like software, as a product.

from venturebeat.com

Robert Resta, a genetic counselor and always a reliable source of depressing, ironic, frightening, and amusing stories about heredity and DNA, forwards this piece, by @alexlash, from Xconomy.com on how your DNA is becoming commodified. What’s happening is interesting not for how new it is, but for the way in which the exotic is becoming commonplace. Featuring the San Francisco biotech company Invitae, the piece shows how this small but highly capitalized company is taking on giants such as Illumina, 23andMe, and Myriad in a bid to monetize your sequence—and give you a small cut.

The troubling thing is how commonplace this is all becoming. Nothing Invitae is doing is really new. They want to persuade you to donate your genome to their database, where it can be analyzed to inform you about your health, contribute to research, and be sold to other companies who might use it for anything from curing cancer to targeted advertising. Invitae CEO Randy Scott he is not bringing in new tests–only offering existing ones all in one place, an approach he calls “generic genetics.” (“Generic genomics” would be more accurate–this is about as far from Gregor Mendel as you can get with a double helix.) And he wants to include users in the process, so that if their sequence is bundled into some DNA-based product, you get a tiny royalty. Sort of like allowing ads on your blog.

For some time, historians and sociologists of science have been writing about “biological citizenship,” the idea that we’re coming to base our identity on our biological status rather than our labor. Many people today identify more as a cancer survivor, as living with depression, or as gluten-intolerant than as a carpenter, secretary, or professor.

DNA has been a big part of that shift to biological citizenship. It’s not the only thing, of course, but it’s a big one. DNA, a hypothetical Marxist historian (there are still a few!) might say, came to have “use value.” We hear every day suggestions that our genes make us who we are. Leaving aside for the moment whether they actually do—a challenge for me, as regular readers know—we believe our DNA to be the secret of life. And so, in a sense, it is.

What’s happening now is that use value is being converted into exchange value. DNA is becoming a currency. An investment account we’re all born with. What are you going to do with yours? Hide it under a mattress? Or make it work for you?

One could imagine a day when there’s a new kind of hereditary aristocracy. A group of nouveau riche whose wealth nevertheless was inherited. Those who, through no effort of their own, received a legacy of valuable SNPs (single-nucleotide polymorphisms). But it will take a go-getter to capitalize on that legacy. You’ll have to have ambition, street smarts, and at least a bit of lab smarts.

Marx also said that history was determined by the material reality of the individual. One might now say the molecular reality of the individual. But total self-awareness at the molecular level won’t lead to the end of exploitation of man by man. Indeed, it is only the beginning.

Poor Richard Dawkins’ Almanack

September:

Fine fall weather may tempt you to harvest your memories in a Booke, but beware an early frost. Avoid fatuous pontification before the Squash blooms wither. One who failed to heed this commonsense warning was “greeted with critical sneering so intense it was almost audible,” If only he’d followed Poor Richard’s advice!

On the 20th, don’t forget to turn your clock back. Into a clock. A Muslim boy may bring you a timepiece that seems like a bomb. We know this sounds like one of our Homely allegories, but seriously. It may indeed prove to be a time bomb—but only if you will it so. Question not the boy’s motives, for once you walk down that road you may not ever walk it back. Even your Guardian cannot protect you then, no matter how much you Huff and Puff. Remember: Tweet not, want not!

The autumnal equinox is on the 23rd, but for you, Fall may already have begun. Early to bed…and maybe just stay there for the winter.

Plant seeds of next book during the full moon: sowing animus and xenophobia can be back-breaking labor. Early to bed and early to rise brings wealth to all men telling fortunes and lies!

 

Exclusive: Interview with Dick Dorkins

GENOTOPIA: Welcome to Sideline, where we towel off the washed up and try to make them look presentable. Dr. Dick Dorkins is President and CEO of the Society for the Prevention of Intelligent design, Theology, Transcendentalism Or Other Nonsense (SPITTOON). His new meme-oir, haha, is called Me, Me: Portrait of a Selfish Geneticist. It’s a 900-page tell-all about Dorkins’s contributions to science, culture, and life. It also features lots of nice things people have said about him and many other nice things he has said, and continues to say, about himself. We just couldn’t resist inviting him to come and tell us about it. Dr. Dick, welcome to the program.

DICK DORKINS: It’s nice to have me here, isn’t it?

GT: Why, yes, of course. It seems like only yesterday that you made some geniune—

DD: I mean, you were right just then: you are fortunate. I just think it’s so important for us to recognize life’s gifts, the random generosities of the cosmos, as it were.

My book is another one. I truly believe—scratch that: I know it is the best thing I’ve ever written—which of course is saying something. Some of my closest friends agree with me. My dear friend Harold Hairnet, for example, said…pardon me, let me get my glasses… [intones]:

Bravissima! Encore, encore! Dick Dorkins’s Me, Me is the finest example of memoir since anatomically modern man last mated with a Neanderthal. Its sparkling prose and flashing wit are a perfect mirror of the towering intellect that produced it.

That’s a nice bit just there, isn’t it? There’s more:

Being a book, it is highly readable, and in addition to having pages it has even more pages, which is a most excellent and fortuitous happenstance, for they are, every man Jack of them, examples of their kind.

GT: Impressive.

DD: Well I was impressed. He adores me, and I love that quality in people. And that’s just one tiny fraction of the good things—glowing, radiant, heart-warming things—my very best friends say about me, my book, and my theories. In fact, I wrote a computer simulation to model how much my book would sell if wise, thoughtful opinions such as this spread throughout the population. It could be done with a kind of hypnosis I’ve developed in which my minions—sorry, readers—echo my ideas, thereby persuading everyone around them. I call it “lognosis,” from logos and gnosis.

Here’s how it works. Imagine that praise is a real, physical thing, like general intelligence (with which, obviously, it is correlated). Now, when I read that passage to you, you listened raptly, absorbing every word.

GT: Every word.

DD: Just so. It’s as if I transferred a gene for loving my book into your brain. It’s just like mating in bacteria: when two cells conjugate, one transfers some of its genes into the other. When it happens with ideas, I call it “thought-sex.”

GT: Thought-sex?

DD: Yes, but without the question mark—that’s a deleterious mutation you’ve made there. It does not faithfully transfer admiration of me into your nucleus Dorkins.

GT: Nucleus Dorkins?

DD: Again with the question mark! You must absorb my words exactly as your hear them, otherwise I am simply wasting my time.

GT: I am simply wasting my time.

DD: Good! Much better. By the way, if you’ll allow me a little digression (and you will), the nucleus Dorkins, a small but exceedingly important region of the brain, was described by my brilliant and—I damn it, it’s my interview, so I’ll say it—drop-dead gorgeous friend, the stunningly attractive and successful neuroscientist Andromeda Telekinesis. Anyone who says that women don’t belong in science doesn’t know Andromeda. She really pops off my pipette tip, as we used to say in the damp, dear labs at Oxbridge. Anyway, while having dinner with me one night, she discovered a nucleus in the brain that recognizes talent, wit, good looks, and achievement. And she decided then and there to name it after me. I protested, of course, but she would hear none of it. I was deeply humbled, and I say so every chance I get.

At any rate, I described my simulation in my book Unweaving the Basket. The original simply cannot be improved upon, so I shall quote. Eh-im!

I found that if I produced a memoir of staggering significance and touching sentimentality, and then had thought-sex with twenty beautiful, intelligent, influential women a day, conservatively assuming an intellectual fertility rate of fifty percent and a generation time of 24 hours, I should be able to buy that sweet little eight-person jet I’ve been eyeing in just nine months!

And do you know what? I flew here today in that very jet! That, my little friend, is the power of science.

GT: [sotto voce, sarcastically] Power of science. Pooh! [Aloud] About that…we received a call from the highway patrol and they are rather upset about the traffic jam your plane has caused on I-95. The interstates really aren’t meant to be used as runways.

DD: This is America, right? Let’s just call it a little experiment in the efficacy of prayer.

GT: With the establishment of SPITTOON, you have become one of the world’s most notorious atheists. Now, you are English by birth…

DD: —By right, damn it!

GT: Damn it! [regains composure] So my question is, why did you relocate to the United States when you founded SPITTOON?

DD: Death to America! Haha, that’s one of my wittle litticisms. But in all seriousness, I did so in order to infiltrate one of the most powerful fundamentalist states in the world. Through my ceaseless efforts of self-promotion, I have accumulated lit’rally thousands of followers who hang on my every word. My every word!

GT: Your every word?

DD: [eyes us suspiciously] Yyess. [brightens] So. I liken what I do to a kind of genetic engineering of the mind. By having thought-sex with my followers, I am indoctrinating them into the doctrine of de-indoctrination, if you will. Then they go out and explode others’ mistaken beliefs. I call them “suicide bombers of the soul.”

GT: [incredulously] Suicide bombers of the soul?

DD: [narrows eyes] Are you…?

GT: No.

DD: Good. Because if you are…

Off mike: Boss? Ever’tin’ OK? [sound of knuckles cracking]

DD: For the moment, Vinny, yes, thank you.

GT: I assure you, I would never. It’s just…isn’t that a little…inflammatory?

DD: You can’t start a forest fire without burning a few trees, what!

GT: How is that working out for you?

DD: Funnily enough, a recent independent survey by one of my graduate students found that religious fervor and hate crimes have tended to increase in towns with SPITTOON chapters compared to the general population.

GT: That ought to make you think, I imagine.

DD: Absolutely right, old sod! It makes me think, “What a wonderful confirmation of our wisdom in targeting the most populations with the most entrenched religious problems.” We are right where they need us!

GT: What about in East Carolina, where the young man blew himself up, killing two young Muslims, and citing your influence in his suicide note?

DD: Mm, unfortunate, that. Wasn’t meant to be taken quite so lit’rally. But my followers are passionate people! They believe in disbelief!

GT: Unbelievable. I’d like to go back a bit now, to a different crusade: the so-called sociobiology wars of the 1980s. What exactly was your beef with scientists such as Popinjay Gould?

DD: As I wrote in what I consider my least-appreciated book, The Gould Delusion, they made one of the classic errors of science: they let their ideology color their work. They believed things and then did science, instead of doing science and then knowing things, as I do.

GT: So you bring no beliefs, no values, no opinions whatsoever to your science?

DD: Positively not! I have no beliefs—only certainties.

GT: Have you ever changed your mind on anything?

DD: Nope. Wait a minute—yes. I do remember once back when I was an undergraduate. My philosophy professor was introducing us to Einstein’s concept of gedankenexperimenten—that’s “thought experiments,” for the philistines in the audience—and mine was to try to change my mind. I halfway succeeded for a moment, but then my mind snapped back again, like the steel trap that it metaphorically is. I was just too strong for myself, haha!

GT: [sound of hand slamming table] Right. That’s enough. This conversation is repetitive, pointless, and vacuous. You’re just smugly self-indulgent and vain, and you keep bashing away at the one or two really original things you’ve ever said, thirty years ago.

[Enter VINNY SMALLCHANGE, a 350-lb. bouncer, in black suit, dark glasses, and with suspicious bulge in his pants.]

VS: Just too strong for myself. Hey-uh, Dr. Dick. Dis guy botherin’ ya? I can take his microphone from his mout’ and insert it in another orifice, if y’ get my drift.

DD: What a brilliant analysis, Vinny! Bravo! But I’m afraid I cannot stand by and watch violence carried out, especially on my behalf. So I’ll just turn around and inspect this utterly fascinating fly on the wall there…

GT: Ha. Ha. Well! Look at the time. I’m afraid we’re going to have to wrap up. Dr. Dick, I’d like to thank you for being on Sideline. G’bye!

DD: It’s been a pleasure having me.

VS: […]

The preceding is for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to vertebrates living or fossilized is completely coincidental.

Top 10 Things I Learned From Reviewing Richard Dawkins

 

10) Links between genetic determinism and white supremacy remain strong.

9) The staunchest Dawkins followers got nothin’.

8) Wasps are brainless but extremely aggressive.

7) Opinions on Dawkins split down party lines as neatly as a Congressional vote.

6) Saying, “So, chill” is defensive.

5) When they like you, it’s good writing. When they don’t, it’s “rhetoric.”

4) Fundamentalist atheists HATE being called that. So do it early and often.

3) Incredibly, even an atheist with postgraduate work in ecology and evolution can still be a church-kissing, climate-change-denying reactionary one step to the left of Mike Huckabee.

2) Lay back and let your friends and your enemies duke it out.

1) It is important to log off Twitter with the same number of fucks you logged in with.

Through a candle, darkly

Dull, dull, dull, my God it’s dull! It’s so desperately dull and tedious and stuffy and boring and des-per-ate-ly DULL! —Michael Palin

Nature has posted my review of Brief Candle in the Dark, the bloated second volume of memoir by  Richard Dawkins, everyone’s favorite genetic determinist. Nature is very genteel–and they have very strict lawyers–so my temper is muted.

Still, the gist should come across. It reads, frankly, like he contracted for two books but, incomprehensibly, just got bored with writing about himself.

Perhaps the review may provoke a smile–or a scowl, if you’re of that genotype.

Enjoy!

 

 

Hope, hype, and $$$ in precision medicine

In the early days of personalized genomic medicine, skeptics wondered how tailored medical care could be profitable. Who would develop a drug for just one or a few people?

Turns out they were looking in the wrong direction. The answer lies in genetic testing more than drug development. A detailed report in today’s New York Times examines how the promise of personalized or precision medicine is being “tainted” by hype. “Across the industry,” they write,

investors are pumping tens of millions of dollars into clinical laboratories that are developing and selling the genetic tests. President Obama recentlycalled on Congress to spend $215 million next year on personalized medicine, calling it “one of the greatest opportunities for new medical breakthroughs that we have ever seen.” A major use of the federal funds would be to create a research group of a million volunteers that would provide scientists with an enormous collection of data.

Doctors and their patients, finding it hard to resist the promise, are being swept up in the excitement. The number of tests has almost doubled in the last few years, creating a $6 billion industry.

While acknowledging that some genetic tests are proving highly valuable–particularly in diagnosing different forms of cancer, which can respond highly specifically to certain drugs depending on the mutation–they note that many genetic tests are doing more to fatten corporate wallets than they are to improve patient care. The tests often run to $1000 or more.

WIth so much at stake, federal regulators are growing concerned about fraud. Turns out some doctors are ordering and charging for tests that people don’t need!

An internal chart reviewed by The New York Times suggests the company was not shy about pointing out that doctors could amass a substantial income by participating. If a doctor enrolled five patients per day and took 110 swabs per month, that physician could earn as much as $125,400 in compensation from the study over a year.

Shock and awe!

TH, PUA

Nobel scientist Tim Hunt: female scientists cause trouble for men in labs. English biochemist tells conference women in laboratories ‘fall in love with you and when you criticise them, they cry’” (The Guardian)

“I did mean the part about having trouble with girls…  I’m really, really sorry I caused any offence, that’s awful. I certainly didn’t mean that. I just meant to be honest, actually.” (Tim Hunt)

 

Stockholm, 1983. A certain English scientist whose surname rhymes with…let’s go with a small boat that you pole along the river Cam…is 40 years old. He has received an invitation to the Nobel festivities honoring the geneticist Barbara McClintock, “for her discovery of mobile genetic elements.” He fancies himself a pick-up artist and thinks this will be an excellent place to meet girls. He starts at the top.

Tim Hunt (Nobelprize.org)

BMC: And so, Your Majesties, Your Royal Highnesses, Ladies and Gentlemen, in conclusion, I wish to thank you and the Swedish people for their many courtesies. I hope I have conveyed some of the joy of the marvelous maize plant and the startling phenomena of the genome that one can discover when one has the time and the solitude to watch and to think. Are there any questions?

TH (aside, to companion): Watch this. Observe the master.

(to McClintock):           Yes, thank you. Before I speak, I’d like to say something: that’s a smashing dress.

BMC:       I hate dresses. They said I had to wear one, so I wore one. My niece found it somewhere near here.

TH:           Ahem, yes, I see. Well, jolly good one on me then!

[You see? She’s falling for me. Works every time.]

What I wanted to say was, all of these elegant trappings notwithstanding, that I find your argument…unconvincing. You haven’t shown any data of any sort that a contemporary biologist would recognize.

BMC:       Are there any questions?

TH:           [Always compliment them, then insult them a little. Never fails. Watch.]

What I mean is, I don’t mean to be indelicate, but what gives you the right to make such claims?

BMC:       What gives me the right, or what basis do I have? Please be clear. Well I can address both. What gives me the right is fifty years of studying genetics and the fact that I’m standing at the Nobel podium. The basis for my claims is my data, which I just reviewed. Weren’t you paying attention? Are there any other questions? Yes, you in the back…

TH:           [Ouuuuch! <grins> God I love older women! They find me irresistible!]

 

Later, at the Banquet…

TH: (suavely)      Ah! Dr. McClintock!

BMC:       Yes.

TH:           I just wanted to apologize for my remarks at your lecture.

BMC:       Yes.

TH:           I ought not to have been so candid in such a public forum.

BMC:       No.

TH:           I mean, I don’t honestly see what all the fuss is about your work. but I ought not to have said so in front of all of those reporters and, you know, the King and all. I hope I didn’t upset you. I just wanted to be honest.

BMC:       You’re the one who looks foolish. Did I upset you?

TH:           You…me…? I…

BMC:       Your pronouns seem to be functioning normally. But haven’t you any verbs? I would have thought Cambridge would teach you better English.

TH:           Now look here. There’s no call to be insulting.

BMC:       Oh, don’t take me too seriously. Turn sideways. [casts her eyes downward] I’ll give you this: you have a nice tush. [pats it][1]

TH:           WHAT?!? I never!

BMC:       Never? Too bad. Me neither…much. Never had the time. I was just too interested in chromosomes—and the Y is so short and stubby and dull. I do enjoy looking at a good tush, though.

TH:           You never fell in love? Say, with a charming professor, aloof yet alluring, with beguiling nostril hair?

BMC:       [snorts] Good one. Maybe you’re all right, Tom.

TH:           Tim. Timothy.

BMC:       Suit yourself. If I may be frank, I could never feel attracted to someone I thought wasn’t as smart as I am. And, well,…

TH:           [stiffens] Really! Now listen, what I need to tell you is this: Your experiments are just so baroque. You practice this old-fashioned style of genetics, your writing’s impenetrable, and your experiments! They’re so complicated—one has to learn half your maize strains and strange chromosome constructions just to grasp your hypothesis! I can’t honestly imagine how the Nobel committee even followed your work, let alone evaluated it. Why don’t you do some molecular experiments? Things become so much simpler!

BMC:       Yes. As I was saying…

TH:           Are you implying that I’m not…???

BMC:       Must I spell it out for you? If you’re not clever enough to grasp what I’m doing, why are you even here? God I hate these stuffed-shirt evenings!

TH:           Now look here, madam!

BMC:       No. You look here, squirt. And be quiet. I don’t mean you any harm—you’re no dumber than most of the other men I’ve spent my career around. But you’re no smarter either. I’ve been listening to you for ten minutes now, and you haven’t said a single intelligent thing. Don’t you ever grow up? There are more interesting punchbowls in this room. And I’ve had plenty of your Australopithecine views. That’s A-U-S…

[At this, TH’s eyes start to well] T-R-A-L-O-P-I-T-H-E-C-I-N-E. There!

BMC:           Gold star. [rolls eyes] Tom, I’m sure what you do is perfectly interesting to someone. And maybe—although of this I’m less certain—what you say, someone finds charming. But with me, neither happens to be the case. Now, about that punch… [walks off]

[Tears stream down TH’s cheeks. He falls to his knees, one arm extended melodramatically in her direction] Barbara! Dr. McClintock! Don’t go! I—I love you!

BMC: [To another, female, guest] My trouble boys is that all they want to talk about is romance and their own feelings. Always falling in love with you and weeping. How do they ever get any science done?

 

[1] McClintock was known to compliment people—men and women—on their tushes. In the words of a long-time friend, “She just liked tushes.”

Professor of Astro-what?

Today, the Library of Congress and NASA announced my new gig for next year, as the Baruch Blumberg Chair of Astrobiology at the LC. From October 2015 through September 2016, I’ll be resident at the Library.

LucyLawlessXenaHandsUpWhy astrobiology? My next project is a biography of DNA. One key part of the book will be the story of how we’ve come to understand the origins of DNA and the origin of life in an RNA world. So I’ll be using the unparalleled resources of the Library to write the history of origins research since the genome project, as well as working on the rest of the book.

Looking forward to joining the excellent people at the Library!

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