Originally Posted by
Tim Radford
The Guardian, Saturday 20 June 2009
Life began in a world that we would not now recognise. The skies were orange or dusty red, the oceans were certainly not blue, and almost certainly not salt. There would have been no significant land: just a scattering of volcanic peaks pushing above the dark waters that swirled over the whole globe. In the course of 3.8 billion years the atmosphere changed from mostly carbon dioxide and nitrogen to almost entirely nitrogen and oxygen. Around a third of the planet's surface emerged to become the shifting continents. The skies turned blue, and so did the ocean; dry land became dusty dun or red or glacial white or 50 shades of green.
Life Ascending: The Ten Great Inventions of Evolution
by Nick Lane
Buy the book
The tenant that installed Earth's consumer-friendly air-conditioning system and then redecorated the premises in blue and green was life itself - respiring, greedily consuming, reproducing life - and the utility that delivered both life and the land that it colonised was quite possibly the same one that provided the planet's hot and cold running water: volcanic vents deep in the first ocean.
Life's journey from primordial blob to planetary takeover involved a series of dramatic advances that first secured its tenure and then extended its living space. Each of these one-way steps represents a biochemical puzzle that may never be satisfactorily solved, but can at least be explored in convincing detail. In his latest book, Nick Lane has identified 10 of them, including the most profound of all: life's first successful act of self-invention.
Charles Darwin famously conjectured that life may have emerged from an accidental soup of organic chemicals trapped in a warm pond, but that particular recipe now sounds improbable. The most likely birthplace for primordial life is now thought to be the fissures in the fresh basalt of the ocean floor through which, for billions of years, have gushed superheated brines rich in hydrogen sulphide and iron.
These vents, first discovered little more than three decades ago, girdle the globe. From such cracks in the planet's crust emerged Iceland and St Helena and the islands of the Pacific, and probably all the seven continents as well. They provide the thermodynamic input and the primary raw materials for strange communities of microbes, tubeworms, blind shrimps and clams that flourish far from the sun's reach. Submarine sources of hot, alkaline water may have provided the chemical bricks, the energy and the catalysis for the first molecules of adenosine triphosphate, the universal currency of respiration and energy.
These same hydrothermal vents may also have been the cauldrons that cooked up RNA, the molecular dance partner of DNA, the carrier of all life's information. Hydrothermal brines rich in manganese and iron may also have provided the stimulus for a magical piece of biochemical machinery called photosynthesis, on which almost all life now depends. Photosynthesis turns water, sunlight and carbon dioxide into oxygen and green, nourishing tissue: once photosynthesis had begun, the planet could be home to complex cells that would, through billions of years, generate the oxygen to scatter the sunlight and turn the air blue, and establish the ozone layer. Once this ultraviolet shield was in place, microbes could colonise the emerging land.
Life itself, DNA and photosynthesis are the first three of Lane's 10 great inventions of evolution. The others are the complex cell, sex, movement, sight, hot blood, consciousness and evolution's trump card, death, the agency that permits more life and more variety.
By boldly tackling some of these apparently irreducible complexities, Lane might be accused of having presented the biblical creationists and their fellow-travellers, the proponents of "intelligent design", with 10 handy arguments against Darwinian evolution. But that would be wilfully to misunderstand how science works.
Four centuries ago, everything about life's emergence, survival and inheritance was a mystery. Systematic experiment and research have reduced most of the riddles to a smaller number of very precise questions involving biophysics, biochemistry and the ambient conditions 3.8 billion years ago, on a planet still feverish from its brutal birth.
So life's sweet mystery has become a series of separate steps. How could a bacterium become the first complex cell, with nucleus and mitochondria? What combination of selective pressure and happy accident introduced sex as a means of reproduction, rather than the once more usual cloning? What happened at the end of the Permian that stimulated so many living things to evolve muscles and move on, rather than just drift with the tides?
The first eyes - on fossil evidence so far - saw the light in the Cambrian explosion 540 million years ago, but there is more than one way of making an eye. Trilobites developed lenses of calcite; shrimps, scallops and lobsters use crystals of guanine; mammals exploit crystallins. The photoreceptor common to all sighted things, however, is based on the visual pigment rhodopsin, and evolved just once.
This is a science book that doesn't cheat: the structure is logical, the writing is witty, and the hard questions are tackled head on. Lane makes clear distinctions between the science we can be reasonably sure of and reasoning that is only a step or two from conjecture. Homeothermy, or hot-bloodedness, is a relatively late innovation, and clearly confers an advantage in changeable weather; but when did it happen, and how? The costs are high - a short life, driven by hunger - but the rewards include stamina and a big brain, which brings us to evolution's next trick.
If consciousness, that strange bundle of reason, memory, language and the emotions, is not a product of evolution, then how did we acquire it? But if it is a product of evolution, the question is the same: how did we acquire it, and how did we then become conscious that we had acquired it? This is the sort of question that could worry you to death. This last evolutionary invention is another terminally perplexing topic. Death pays, so handsomely that some bacteria actually choose suicide. Death may seem a cruel cosmic joke, says Lane, but ageing is mirthless. Medicine can prolong lifespan, but our brain cells are not replaceable, and will fail in the end. Without them, what kind of a life do we think we could have?
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