A New Science of Life E-Book

Rupert Sheldrake

• Herausgeber: Icon Books
• Kategorie: Wissenschaft und neue Technologien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2005

Seitenzahl: 511

Beschreibung

**The fully revised edition of Rupert Sheldrake's controversial science classic, from the author of the bestselling Dogs That Know When Their Owners are Coming Home, celebrates its 40th anniversary in 2021!** After chemists crystallised a new chemical for the first time, it became easier and easier to crystallise in laboratories all over the world. After rats at Harvard first escaped from a new kind of water maze, successive generations learned quicker and quicker. Then rats in Melbourne, Australia learned yet faster. Rats with no trained ancestors shared in this improvement. Rupert Sheldrake sees these processes as examples of morphic resonance. Past forms and activities of organisms, he argues, influence organisms in the present through direct connections across time and space.Individual plants and animals both draw upon and contribute to the collective memory of their species. Sheldrake, now Director of the Perrott-Warwick Project supported by Trinity College, Cambridge, reinterprets the regularities of nature as being more like habits than immutable laws. Described as 'the best candidate for burning there has been for many years' by Nature on first publication, this updated edition will raise hackles and inspire curiosity in equal measure.

Leseprobe

Comments on previous editions of A New Science of Life:

‘As far-reaching in its implications as Darwin’s theory of evolution.’

Brain/Mind Bulletin

‘Sheldrake is an excellent scientist; the proper, imaginative kind that in an earlier age discovered continents and mirrored the world in sonnets.’

New Scientist

‘Immensely challenging and stimulating.’

Arthur Koestler

‘The implications for biological form, evolution, memory and behaviour … are fascinating and far-reaching, and would turn upside down a lot of orthodox science.’

Observer

‘It provides a new way of looking at many puzzling phenomena, and if confirmed could greatly contribute to the unification of the sciences.’

The Tablet

‘Impressive and exciting.’

Punch

‘Sheldrake is putting forward magic instead of science, and that can be condemned in exactly the language that the Pope used to condemn Galileo, and for the same reason. It is heresy.’

Sir John Maddox, editor of Nature

‘An important scientific enquiry into the nature of biological and physical reality.’

New Scientist

‘Well-written, provocative and entertaining … Sheldrake’s scholarly approach includes excellent summaries of current beliefs in many fields of life science. Improbable? Yes, but so was Galileo.’

The Biologist

‘Books of this importance and elegance come along rarely. Those who read this new edition of A New Science of Life may do so with the satisfaction of seeing science history in the making. The significance of Sheldrake’s work is not less than that of the Copernican and quantum-relativistic revolutions of prior eras.’

Larry Dossey, MD, author of Space, Time and Medicine

OTHER BOOKS BY RUPERT SHELDRAKE

The Presence of the Past (1988)

The Rebirth of Nature (1990)

Seven Experiments That Could Change the World (1994)

Dogs That Know When Their Owners Are Coming Home (1999)

The Sense of Being Stared At (2003)

With Ralph Abraham and Terence McKenna

Chaos, Creativity and Cosmic Consciousness (2001)

The Evolutionary Mind (2005)

With Matthew Fox

Natural Grace (1996)

The Physics of Angels (1996)

About the Author

Dr Rupert Sheldrake is a biologist and author of more than 80 scientific papers and ten books, including the bestselling Dogs That Know When Their Owners Are Coming Home. He was a Fellow of Clare College, Cambridge and a Research Fellow of the Royal Society. He has written for various newspapers including the Guardian, where he had a regular monthly column, and for a variety of magazines, including New Scientist and the Spectator.

A NEW SCIENCE OF LIFE

The Hypothesis of Formative Causation

Rupert Sheldrake

Third edition, 2009

Third Edition

First published in the UK in 2009 by Icon Books Ltd, Omnibus Business Centre, 39–41 North Road, London N7 9DP email: [email protected]

This electronic edition published in the UK in 2012 by Icon Books Ltd ISBN: 978-1-84831-445-0 (ePub format) ISBN: 978-1-84831-446-7 (Adobe ebook format)

First edition published by Blond and Briggs, London, 1981 Second edition published by Anthony Blond, London, 1985

Sold in the UK, Europe, South Africa and Asia by Faber & Faber Ltd, Bloomsbury House, 74–77 Great Russell Street, London WC1B 3DA or their agents

Distributed in the UK, Europe, South Africa and Asia by TBS Ltd, TBS Distribution Centre, Colchester Road, Frating Green, Colchester CO7 7DW

This edition published in Australia in 2012 by Allen &Unwin Pty Ltd, PO Box 8500, 83 Alexander Street, Crows Nest, NSW 2065

Text copyright © 1981, 2009 Rupert Sheldrake

The author has asserted his moral rights.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, or by any means, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

Typeset in Sabon by Marie Doherty

To Dom Bede Griffiths, O.S.B.

CONTENTS

Cover

Comments on previous editions of a New Science of Life

Also by Rupert Sheldrake

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

PREFACE TO THE 2009 EDITION

This new edition

How mechanistic biology has revealed its own limitations

The evolution of development

Epigenetics

Morphogenetic and morphic fields

The relationship of morphic fields to modern physics

Experimental tests

A new way of doing science

Controversies

Acknowledgements

INTRODUCTION

1. THE UNSOLVED PROBLEMS OF BIOLOGY

1.1. The background of success

1.2. The problems of morphogenesis

1.3. Behaviour

1.4. Evolution

1.5. The Origin of Life

1.6. Minds

1.7. Parapsychology

1.8. Conclusions

2. THREE THEORIES OF MORPHOGENESIS

2.1. Descriptive and experimental research

2.2. Mechanism

2.3. Vitalism

2.4. Organicism

3. THE CAUSES OF FORM

3.1. The problem of form

3.2. Form and energy

3.3. The structures of crystals

3.4. The structures of proteins

3.5. Formative causation

4. MORPHOGENETIC FIELDS

4.1. Morphogenetic germs

4.2. Chemical morphogenesis

4.3. Morphogenetic fields as ‘probability structures’

4.4. Probabilistic processes in biological morphogenesis

4.5. Morphogenetic germs in biological systems

5. THE INFLUENCE OF PAST FORMS

5.1. The constancy and repetition of forms

5.2. The general possibility of trans-temporal causal connections

5.3. Morphic resonance

5.4. The influence of the past

5.5. Implications of an attenuated morphic resonance

5.6. An experimental test with crystals

6. FORMATIVE CAUSATION AND MORPHOGENESIS

6.1. Sequential morphogeneses

6.2. The polarity of morphogenetic fields

6.3. The size of morphogenetic fields

6.4. The increasing specificity of morphic resonance during morphogenesis

6.5. The maintenance and stability of forms

6.6. A note on physical ‘dualism’

6.7. A summary of the hypothesis of formative causation

7. THE INHERITANCE OF FORM

7.1. Genetics and heredity

7.2. Altered morphogenetic germs

7.3. Altered pathways of morphogenesis

7.4. Dominance

7.5. Family resemblances

7.6. Environmental influences and morphic resonance

7.7. The inheritance of acquired characteristics

7.8. Epigenetic inheritance

7.9. Experiments with phenocopies

8. THE EVOLUTION OF BIOLOGICAL FORMS

8.1. The neo-Darwinian theory of evolution

8.2. Mutations

8.3. The divergence of chreodes

8.4. The suppression of chreodes

8.5. The repetition of chreodes

8.6. The influence of other species

8.7. The origin of new forms

9. MOVEMENTS AND BEHAVIOURAL FIELDS

9.1. Introduction

9.2. The movements of plants

9.3. Amoeboid movement

9.4. The repetitive morphogenesis of specialized structures

9.5. Nervous systems

9.6. Morphogenetic fields, motor fields and behavioural fields

9.7. Behavioural fields and the senses

9.8. Regulation and regeneration

9.9. Morphic fields

10. INSTINCT AND LEARNING

10.1. The influence of past actions

10.2. Instinct

10.3. Sign stimuli

10.4. Learning

10.5. Innate tendencies to learn

11. THE INHERITANCE AND EVOLUTION OF BEHAVIOUR

11.1. The inheritance of behaviour

11.2. Morphic resonance and behaviour: an experimental test

11.3. The evolution of behaviour

11.4. Human behaviour

12. FOUR POSSIBLE CONCLUSIONS

12.1. The hypothesis of formative causation

12.2. Modified materialism

12.3. The conscious self

12.4. The creative universe

12.5. Transcendent reality

APPENDIX A: NEW TESTS FOR MORPHIC RESONANCE

A.1 Bose-Einstein condensates

A.2 Melting points

A.3 Crystal transformations

A.4 Adaptations in cell cultures

A.5 Heat tolerance in plants

A.6 The transmission of aversion

A.7 The evolution of animal behaviour

A.8 Collective human memory

A.9 Improving human performance

A.10 Resonant computers

APPENDIX B: MORPHIC FIELDS AND THE IMPLICATE ORDER

A dialogue with David Bohm

NOTES

REFERENCES

INDEX OF NAMES

INDEX OF SUBJECTS

Preface

TO THE 2009 EDITION

This book is about the hypothesis of formative causation, which proposes that nature is habitual. All animals and plants draw upon and contribute to a collective memory of their species. Crystals and molecules also follow the habits of their kind. Cosmic evolution involves an interplay of habit and creativity.

This hypothesis is radically different from the conventional assumption that nature is governed by eternal laws. But I believe that the idea of the habits of nature will have to be considered sooner or later, whether we like it or not, because modern cosmology has undermined the traditional assumptions on which science was based.

Until the 1960s, most physicists took it for granted that the universe was eternal, governed by changeless laws and made up of a constant amount of matter and energy. This idea of Laws of Nature has been fundamental in modern science ever since the scientific revolution of the seventeenth century, and is rooted in the Pythagorean and Platonic philosophies of Ancient Greece. The patriarch of modern science, Sir Francis Bacon, asserted in 1620 that the Laws of Nature were ‘eternal and immutable’1 and science’s founding fathers, including Kepler, Galileo, Descartes and Newton, saw them as immaterial mathematical ideas in the mind of God. The Laws of Nature were eternal because they participated in God’s eternal nature, and like God transcended time and space. They were enforced by God’s omnipotence.

When the entire universe was believed to be eternal, made up of a constant amount of matter and energy, eternal laws presented no problems. In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, most physicists believed that all fundamental aspects of physics were fixed forever – the total amount of matter, energy and electric charge was always the same, according to the laws of conservation of mass, energy and electric charge.

Only the second law of thermodynamics sounded a different note. The total amount of entropy would increase until the entire universe froze up forever – a state epitomized in 1852 by William Thomson, later Lord Kelvin, as ‘a state of universal rest and death’.2 But although heat death would ensue when entropy reached a maximum, the frozen universe would still endure forever and so would the laws of nature.

Everything changed with the great revolution in cosmology in the 1960s, when the Big Bang theory became the new orthodoxy. Ever since, most cosmologists have believed that the universe began about 15 billion years ago. When everything first appeared from nowhere – there was no space and time before the cosmos – it was less than the size of the head of a pin and immensely dense and hot. The cosmos has been expanding and cooling ever since. All atoms, molecules, stars, galaxies, crystals, planets and forms of life have come into being in time. They have evolutionary histories. The universe now looks like a vast developing organism, not like an eternal machine slowly running out of steam.

The Big Bang theory was first proposed in 1927 as the theory of the ‘primeval atom’, by Father Georges Lemaître, a Roman Catholic priest and cosmologist. He suggested that the universe began with an initial ‘creation-like event’ which he described as ‘the Cosmic Egg exploding at the moment of the creation’.3 His theory, which predicted the expansion of the universe, encountered much scepticism, but evidence for an initial ‘creation-like event’ eventually became too persuasive to be ignored. One of this theory’s opponents, the astronomer Fred Hoyle, disparagingly called it the Big Bang theory, and Hoyle’s name has stuck.

Although cosmology is now evolutionary, old habits of thought die hard. Most scientists take eternal Laws of Nature for granted – not because they have thought about them in the context of the Big Bang, but because they haven’t.

If the Laws of Nature are Pythagorean mathematical truths, or Platonic Ideas, or ideas in the mind of God, they transcend time and space. They would necessarily be present when the universe was born: the Laws do not come into being or pass away; they transcend space and time.

Clearly, this is a philosophical or theological doctrine rather than a scientific hypothesis. It could not possibly be tested experimentally before there was a universe to test it in.

To avoid the doctrine of transcendent laws, we could suppose that the Laws of Nature came into being at the very moment of the Big Bang. This theory avoids an explicit Platonic philosophy or theology. But it creates new problems. As Terence McKenna observed, ‘Modern science is based on the principle: “Give us one free miracle and we’ll explain the rest.” The one free miracle is the appearance of all the mass and energy in the universe and all the laws that govern it in a single instant from nothing.’4

The sudden appearance of all the Laws of Nature is as untestable as Platonic metaphysics or theology. Why should we assume that all the Laws of Nature were already present at the instant of the Big Bang, like a cosmic Napoleonic code? Perhaps some of them, such as those that govern protein crystals, or brains, came into being when protein crystals or brains first arose. The pre-existence of these laws cannot possibly be tested before the emergence of the phenomena they govern.

Besides all these problems, as soon as we think about the Laws of Nature, we cannot help seeing that this concept is anthropocentric. Only human beings have laws, and not even all humans. Only civilized societies have laws; traditional societies have customs. Applying the concept of law to the universe involves the metaphor of God as a kind of universal emperor, whose writ runs everywhere and always. This assumption was readily accepted by the founding fathers of modern science, who believed in a mathematically-minded, omnipotent God. But the Laws of Nature now float in a metaphysical void.

Evolutionary cosmology makes eternal Laws of Nature yet more problematical. Perhaps the laws of nature are not all fixed forever, but evolve along with nature. New laws may arise as phenomena become more complex. And as soon as we admit this possibility, we realize that the metaphorical source of the Laws of Nature, namely human laws, are not in fact eternal but evolve along with society. The laws of the United States, or Kenya, or Bhutan are not the same today as they were 100 years ago, or even twenty years ago. They are continually changed and updated. But there is no parallel in nature for monarchs or parliaments or congresses. The legal metaphor is incoherent.5

I suggest a new possibility. The regularities of nature are not imposed on nature from a transcendent realm, but evolve within the universe. What happens depends on what has happened before. Memory is inherent in nature. It is transmitted by a process called morphic resonance, and works through fields called morphic fields.

In this book, I discuss the hypothesis of formative causation primarily in the context of biology and chemistry. In my book The Presence of the Past6 I extend this discussion to psychological and cultural evolution.

This new edition

The first edition of this book was published in 1981. It proved controversial, as described below. In the second edition (1985) I summarized these controversies, along with the results of some early experimental tests of the hypothesis. Much has happened since. In this new edition, I have revised and updated the book throughout. I summarize the results of research so far in Appendix A, where I discuss ten new tests. Appendix B consists of a dialogue with the physicist David Bohm in which we explored connections between formative causation and quantum physics.

The remarkable developments in biology over the last quarter of a century have made the limitations of the conventional mechanistic approach more obvious, and have increased the plausibility of the hypothesis of formative causation.

How mechanistic biology has revealed its own limitations

In the 1980s, the mechanistic theory of life seemed set for ultimate triumph. The neo-Darwinian theory of evolution had eliminated God from nature, and life itself was about to be explained in terms of physics and chemistry, with no need for any mysterious fields or factors. Many scientists believed that molecular biology was on the verge of revealing the secrets of life through an understanding of the genetic code and the control of protein synthesis. Meanwhile, brain-scanning techniques were about to unveil the mechanistic workings of the mind. The Decade of the Brain, inaugurated in 1990 by President George Bush, Sr, led to further acceleration in the growth of the neurosciences, and stimulated yet more optimism about the power of brain-scanning to probe our innermost being.7

Meanwhile, an enthusiasm for Artificial Intelligence led to the expectation that a new generation of computers would soon be able to rival, or even exceed, the mental abilities of human beings. If intelligence, and even consciousness itself, could be programmed into machines, then the final mysteries would be solved. Life and mind would be fully explicable in terms of molecular and neural machinery. Reductionism would be vindicated. All those who thought that minds involved something beyond the reach of mechanistic science would be refuted forever. But this has not happened.

It is hard to recall the atmosphere of exhilaration in the 1980s as new techniques enabled genes to be cloned and the sequence of ‘letters’ in the ‘genetic code’ to be discovered. This seemed like biology’s crowning moment: the instructions of life itself were finally laid bare, opening up the possibility for biologists to modify plants and animals genetically, and grow richer than they could ever have imagined. There was a continuous stream of new discoveries; almost every week newspaper headlines reported some new ‘breakthrough’: ‘Scientists find genes to combat cancer’, ‘Gene therapy offers hope to victims of arthritis’, ‘Scientists find secret of ageing’, and so on.

The new genetics seemed so promising that soon the entire spectrum of biological researchers was busy applying its techniques to their specialities. Their remarkable progress led to a vast, ambitious vision: to spell out the full complement of genes in the human genome. As Walter Gilbert of Harvard University put it, ‘The search for this “Holy Grail” of who we are has now reached its culminating phase. The ultimate goal is the acquisition of all the details of our genome.’ The Human Genome Project was formally launched in 1990 with a projected budget of $3 billion.

The Human Genome Project was a deliberate attempt to bring ‘Big Science’ to biology, which had previously been more like a cottage industry. Physicists were used to huge budgets, partly as a result of the Cold War: there was enormous expenditure on missiles and hydrogen bombs, Star Wars, multi-billion-dollar particle accelerators, the space programme, and the Hubble Space Telescope. For years, ambitious biologists suffered from physics envy. They dreamed of the days when biology would also have high-profile, high-prestige, multi-billion-dollar projects. The Human Genome Project was the answer.

At the same time, a tide of market speculation in the 1990s led to a boom in biotechnology, reaching a peak in 2000. In addition to the official Human Genome Project, there was a private genome project carried out by Celera Genomics, headed by Craig Venter. The company’s plan was to patent hundreds of human genes and own the commercial rights to them. Its market value, like that of many other biotechnology companies, rocketed to dizzy heights in the early months of 2000.

Ironically, the rivalry between the publicly funded Human Genome Project and Celera Genomics led to a bursting of the biotechnology bubble before the sequencing of the genome had even been completed. In March 2000 the leaders of the public genome project publicized the fact that all their information would be freely available to everyone. This led to a statement by President Clinton on 14 March 2000: ‘Our genome, the book in which all human life is written, belongs to every member of the human race … We must ensure that the profits of the human genome research are measured not in dollars, but in the betterment of human life.’8 The press reported that the President planned to restrict genomic patents, and the stock markets reacted dramatically. In Venter’s words, there was a ‘sickening slump’. Within two days, Celera’s valuation lost $6 billion, and the market in biotechnology shares collapsed by a staggering $500 billion.9

In response to this crisis, a day after his speech, President Clinton issued a correction saying that his statement had not been intended to have any effect on the patentability of genes or the biotechnology industry. But the damage was done. The stock market valuations never recovered. And although many human genes were subsequently patented, very few proved profitable to the companies that owned them.10

On 26 June 2000, President Clinton and the British Prime Minister, Tony Blair, together with Craig Venter and Francis Collins, the head of the official genome project, announced the publication of the first draft of the human genome. At a press conference in the White House, President Clinton said, ‘We are here today to celebrate the completion of the first survey of the entire human genome. Without a doubt this is the most important, most wondrous map ever produced by mankind.’

This astonishing achievement has indeed transformed our view of ourselves, but not in the way that was anticipated. The first surprise was that there were so few genes. Rather than the predicted 100,000 or more, the final tally of about 25,000 was very puzzling, and all the more so when compared with the genomes of other animals much simpler than ourselves. There are about 17,000 genes in a fruit fly, and about 26,000 in a sea urchin. Many species of plants have far more genes than we do – rice has about 38,000, for example.

In 2001, the director of the chimpanzee genome project, Svante Paabo, anticipated that when the sequencing of the ape’s genome was completed, it would be possible to identify ‘the profoundly interesting genetic prerequisites that make us different from other animals’. When the complete chimpanzee sequence was published four years later, his interpretation was more muted: ‘We cannot see in this why we are so different from chimpanzees.’11

In the wake of the Human Genome Project, the mood has changed dramatically. The old assumption that life would be understood if molecular biologists knew the ‘program’ of an organism is giving way to a realization that there is a huge gap between gene sequences and the way living organisms grow and behave. The present book sketches out a means of bridging that gap.

Meanwhile, the optimism of stock market investors has suffered a further series of blows. After the biotech bubble burst in 2000, many companies that were part of the biotechnology boom of the 1990s either went out of business or were taken over by pharmaceutical or chemical corporations. Several years later the economic outcomes were still disappointing. An article in the Wall Street Journal in 2004 was entitled ‘Biotech’s Dismal Bottom Line: More than $40 Billion in Losses’.12 It went on to say, ‘Biotechnology … may yet turn into an engine for economic growth and cure deadly diseases. But it’s hard to argue that it’s a good investment. Not only has the biotech industry yielded negative financial returns for decades, it generally digs its hole deeper every year.’

Despite its disappointing business record, this vast investment in molecular biology and biotechnology has had wide-ranging effects on the practice of biology, if only by creating so many jobs. The enormous demand for graduates in molecular biology and for people with doctorates in this subject has transformed the teaching of biology. The molecular approach now predominates in universities and secondary schools. Meanwhile, leading scientific journals such as Nature are replete with glossy full-page advertisements for gene sequencing machines, protein analysis systems, and equipment for cloning cells.

Precisely because there has been such a strong emphasis on the molecular approach, its limitations are becoming increasingly apparent. The sequencing of the genomes of ever more species of animals and plants, together with the determination of the structures of thousands of proteins, are causing molecular biologists to drown in their own data. There is practically no limit to how many more genomes they could sequence or proteins they could analyse. Molecular biologists now rely on computer specialists in the rapidly growing field of bioinformatics to store and try to make sense of this unprecedented quantity of information, sometimes called the ‘data avalanche’.13 But in spite of all this information, the way in which developing organisms take up their forms and inherit their instincts remains mysterious.

The evolution of development

In the 1980s, there was great excitement when a family of genes called homeobox genes was discovered in fruit flies. Homeobox genes determine where limbs and other body segments will form in a developing embryo or larva; they seem to control the pattern in which different parts of the body develop. Mutations in these genes can lead to the growth of extra, non-functional body parts.14 At first sight, they appeared to provide the basis for a molecular explanation of morphogenesis, the coming into being of specific forms: here were the key switches. At the molecular level, homeobox genes act as templates for proteins that ‘switch on’ cascades of other genes.

However, research on other species soon revealed that these molecular control systems are very similar in widely different animals. Homeobox genes are almost identical in flies, reptiles, mice and humans. Although they play a role in the determination of the body plan, they cannot themselves explain the shape of the organisms. Since the genes are so similar in fruit flies and in us, they cannot explain the differences between flies and humans.

It was shocking to find that the diversity of body plans across many different animal groups was not reflected in diversity at the level of the genes. As two leading developmental molecular biologists have commented, ‘Where we most expect to find variation, we find conservation, a lack of change’.15

This study of genes involved in the regulation of development is part of a growing field called evolutionary developmental biology, or ‘evo-devo’ for short. Once again, the triumphs of molecular biology have shown that morphogenesis itself continues to elude a molecular explanation, but seems to depend on fields. That is why the idea of morphogenetic fields, discussed in this book, is more relevant than ever.

Epigenetics

Throughout the twentieth century, one of the strongest taboos in biology was against the inheritance of acquired characteristics, sometimes called Lamarckian inheritance, after the pioneering evolutionary biologist, Jean-Baptiste Lamarck (1744–1829). Lamarck proposed that adaptations by plants and animals could be passed on to their offspring. In this respect, Charles Darwin was a convinced Lamarckian. He believed that habits acquired by individual animals could be inherited, and played an important part in evolution: ‘We need not … doubt that under nature new races and new species would become adapted to widely different climates, by variation, aided by habit, and regulated by natural selection.’16 In this sense, the inheritance of habits by morphic resonance is in good accordance with Darwinism, as opposed to neo-Darwinism. Darwin provided many examples of the inheritance of acquired characters in his book The Variation of Animals and Plants Under Domestication, and also proposed a theory to explain it, the theory of ‘pangenesis’.

Modern neo-Darwinism was established in the 1940s, and firmly rejected the Lamarckian aspect of Darwin’s theory. Neo-Darwinians asserted that genes were passed on without modification from parents to offspring, apart from rare random mutations. Any kind of Lamarckian modification of the genes was impossible. By contrast, in the Soviet Union under Stalin, the inheritance of acquired characteristics became official doctrine under Trofim Lysenko. The debate degenerated into polemics and denunciations, and in the West the taboo against the inheritance of acquired characteristics was reinforced.

In his rejection of Lamarckism, Richard Dawkins, the leading modern exponent of neo-Darwinism, is clear about his feelings: ‘To be painfully honest, I can think of few things that would more devastate my world view than a demonstrated need to return to the theory of evolution that is traditionally attributed to Lamarck.’17

Evidence in favour of the inheritance of acquired characteristics continued to accumulate throughout the twentieth century, but was generally ignored. However, soon after the turn of the millennium, the taboo began to lose its power with a growing recognition of a new form of inheritance, called epigenetic inheritance. The prefix ‘epi’ means ‘over and above’. Epigenetic inheritance does not involve changes in the genes themselves, but rather changes in gene expression. Characteristics acquired by parents can indeed be passed on to their offspring. For example, water fleas of the genus Daphnia develop large protective spines when predators are around; their offspring also have these spines, even when not exposed to predators.18

Several molecular mechanisms of epigenetic inheritance have been identified. Changes in the configuration of the chromatin – the DNA-protein complex that makes up the structure of chromosomes – can be passed on from cell to daughter cell. Some such changes can also be passed on through eggs and sperm, and thus become hereditary. Another kind of epigenetic change, sometimes called genomic imprinting, involves the methylation of DNA molecules. There is a heritable chemical change in the DNA itself, but the underlying genes remain the same.

Epigenetic inheritance also occurs in humans. Even the effects of famines and diseases can echo down the generations. The Human Epigenome Project was launched in 2003, and is helping to co-ordinate research in this rapidly growing field of enquiry.19

Morphic resonance provides another means by which the inheritance of acquired characteristics can occur. Its effects can be distinguished experimentally from other forms of epigenetic inheritance, as discussed in Chapter 7 and Appendix A.

Morphogenetic and morphic fields

In this book I discuss morphogenetic fields, the organizing fields of molecules, crystals, cells, tissues and indeed all biological systems. I also discuss the organizing fields of animal behaviour and of social groups. Whereas morphogenetic fields influence form, behavioural fields influence behaviour. The organizing fields of social groups, such as flocks of birds, schools of fish and colonies of termites, are called social fields. All these kinds of fields are morphic fields. All morphic fields have an inherent memory given by morphic resonance. Morphogenetic fields, the organizing fields of morphogenesis, are one kind of the larger category of morphic fields, rather like a species within a genus. In The Presence of the Past,20 I explore the wider nature of morphic fields in their behavioural, social, and cultural contexts, and their implications for the understanding of animal and human memory. I also suggest that our own memories depend on morphic resonance rather than on material memory traces stored in our brains.

The relationship of morphic fields to modern physics

One of the paradoxes of twentieth-century science was that quantum theory ushered in a revolutionary change of perspective in physics revealing the limits of a reductionistic approach, while biology moved in the opposite direction, away from holistic approaches to an extreme reductionism. As the German quantum physicist Hans-Peter Dürr expressed it:

The original emphasis on the whole in consideration of living things, their shapes and Gestalts, has been replaced by a fragmenting, functionalist description, in which, for an explanation of the sequences of events, the focus is on the substances, matter, and its building blocks, the molecules and their interactions. The surprising thing about this development from holism and even vitalism to molecular biology is that it is occurring some decades after – and not before – a profound change in just the opposite direction took place at the foundations of natural science, in microphysics, during the first third of the century that has recently ended. There, fundamental limitations of the fragmenting, reductionist way of looking at things had become apparent. Divisible substance revealed in a strange way holistic aspects.21

Many biologists are still trying to reduce the phenomena of life and mind to the mechanistic physics of the nineteenth century, but physics has moved on. And quantum physics provides a far more promising context for morphic fields than anything in classical physics. Morphic fields must in some way interact directly or indirectly with electromagnetic and quantum fields, imposing patterns on their otherwise indeterminate activities. But exactly how this interaction occurs remains unclear. One possible starting point is the idea of the implicate order, proposed by the quantum physicist David Bohm:

In the enfolded or implicate order, space and time are no longer the dominant factors determining the relationships of dependence or independence of different elements. Rather, an entirely different sort of basic connection of elements is possible, from which our ordinary notions of space and time, along with those of separately existent material particles, are abstracted as forms derived from the deeper order. These ordinary notions in fact appear in what is called the ‘explicate’ or ‘unfolded’ order, which is a special and distinguished form contained within the general totality of all the implicate orders.22

The implicate order involves a kind of memory which is expressed through quantum fields, and is compatible in general terms with the ideas put forward in this book. A discussion between David Bohm and myself about morphic resonance and the implicate order is reprinted in Appendix B of this book.

Hans-Peter Dürr has also discussed how ‘processes of quantum physics might in principle contain a fruitful potential for an explanation of Sheldrake’s morphic fields’.23

Another way in which morphic resonance and morphic fields might be related to modern physics is through extra dimensions of space-time. Although our commonsense thinking is confined to three dimensions of space and one of time, as in Newtonian physics, physics has moved on by adding further dimensions. In the theory of General Relativity, first put forward in 1915, Einstein treated space-time as four-dimensional. In the 1920s, in the Kaluza-Klein theory, space-time was extended to five dimensions in an attempt to find a unified theory for gravitational and electromagnetic fields. Modern hopes of unifying the known fields of physics, including the strong and weak nuclear forces, are mainly centred on superstring theory, with ten dimensions, or M-theory (short for Master theory) with eleven.24

The value of superstring and M-theory is disputed, but their very existence shows that extra dimensions are no longer the preserve of esoteric speculations; they are mainstream in modern physics.25 But what do these extra dimensions do, and what difference do they make? Some physicists propose that they include ‘information fields’ that could help to explain the phenomena of life and mind.26

Another possible point of connection between morphic fields and modern physics is through the quantum vacuum field. According to standard quantum theory, all electrical and magnetic forces are mediated by virtual photons that appear from the quantum vacuum field and then disappear into it again. Thus all molecules within living organisms, all cell membranes, all nerve impulses, and indeed all electromagnetic and chemical processes depend on virtual photons appearing and disappearing within the all-pervading vacuum field of nature. Could morphic fields interact with regular physical and chemical processes through the vacuum field? Some theoreticians speculate that they can and do.27

Theories of these kinds may help to relate morphic fields and morphic resonance to the physics of the future. But at present no one knows how the phenomena of morphogenesis are related to physics, whether conventional or unconventional.

Experimental tests

The experimental tests for morphic resonance proposed in the first edition of this book were primarily in the realms of chemistry and biology. However, the greatest interest it stimulated was in the realm of human psychology. According to the hypothesis of morphic resonance, human beings draw upon a collective memory: something learned by people in one place should subsequently become easier for others to learn all over the world.

In 1982, the British magazine New Scientist ran a competition for ideas about testing this hypothesis. All the winning ideas were for psychological experiments. At the same time, an American think tank, the Tarrytown Group of New York, offered a $10,000 prize for the best test of this hypothesis. Again the winning entries were in the realm of psychology, and provided evidence that supported the morphic resonance hypothesis. These results were summarized in my book The Presence of the Past.

In Appendix A, I summarize the results of more recent morphic resonance research, and propose a range of new tests for morphic resonance in physics, chemistry, biology, psychology and computer sciences.

A new way of doing science

Since the 1990s, much of my own experimental research has been concerned with the role that morphic fields play in social behaviour in animals and people. My studies on unexplained aspects of animal and human behaviour are summarized in my books Seven Experiments That Could Change the World (1994), Dogs That Know When their Owners are Coming Home (1999), and The Sense of Being Stared At (2003). These investigations were primarily concerned with the spatial aspects of morphic fields, rather than with morphic resonance, which gives these fields their temporal or historical aspect.

This research is radical in two senses: not only does it propose a new kind of scientific thinking, but also a new way of doing science. This is the main theme of Seven Experiments That Could Change the World. Many of the experiments to test for morphic fields are simple and inexpensive. They show that science need no longer be the monopoly of a scientific priesthood. Research at the frontiers of science is open to participation by students and by non-professionals.

Already thousands of non-professionals have contributed to this research through supplying case histories, through taking part in tests with their animals, such as dogs, cats, horses and parrots, and through carrying out experiments with their families and friends, or with fellow students in schools, colleges and universities. There have been dozens of student projects on topics related to morphic fields, including several that have won prizes in science fairs. Much of this research is summarized in Dogs That Know When Their Owners Are Coming Home and The Sense of Being Stared At.

Meanwhile, any reader who would like to take part in my current experiments can do so through the Online Experiments Portal on my website, www.sheldrake.org. Some of these experiments are internet-based; others take place through mobile telephones. These tests work well as homework assignments in schools and colleges. They are fun to do, they illustrate the principles of statistics and controlled experimentation, and they make a valuable contribution to research in progress.

In the past, some of the most innovative scientific research was carried out by amateurs. Charles Darwin, for example, never held an institutional post. He worked independently at his home in Kent studying barnacles, keeping pigeons, and doing experiments in the garden with his children. He was just one of many independent researchers who, not reliant on grants or constrained by the conservative pressures of anonymous peer review, did highly original work. Today that kind of freedom is almost non-existent. From the latter part of the nineteenth century onwards, science has become increasingly professionalized. After the Second World War there was a vast expansion of institutional research. There are now only a handful of independent scientists, the best known being James Lovelock, the leading proponent of the Gaia hypothesis.

Nevertheless, the conditions for widespread participation in science have become more favourable than ever. There are hundreds of thousands of people all over the world who have had scientific training. Computing power, once the monopoly of large organizations, is widely available. The internet gives access to information undreamt of in past decades, and provides an unprecedented means of communication. There are more people with leisure time than ever before. Every year thousands of students do scientific research projects as part of their training, and some would welcome the chance to be real pioneers. And many informal networks and associations already provide models for self-organizing communities of researchers, working both within and outside scientific institutions.

As in its most creative periods, science can once again be nourished from the grassroots up. Research can grow from a personal interest in the nature of nature, an interest that originally impels many people into scientific careers but is often smothered by the demands of institutional life. Fortunately, an interest in nature burns as strongly, if not more strongly, in many people who are not professional scientists.

I believe that not only in relation to controversial frontier areas of research, but also in more conventional areas, science needs democratizing. It has always been elitist and undemocratic, whether in monarchies, communist states or liberal democracies. But it is currently becoming more hierarchical, not less so, and this trend needs remedying.

Today, the kinds of research that can happen are determined by science funding committees, not the human imagination. What is more, the power in those committees is increasingly concentrated in the hands of politically adept older scientists, government officials and representatives of big business. Young graduates on short-term contracts constitute a growing scientific underclass. In the US, the proportion of biomedical grants awarded to investigators under 35 plummeted from 23 per cent in 1980 to 4 per cent in 2003. This is bad news. As science becomes more and more about climbing corporate career ladders, and less and less about soaring journeys of the mind, so the public distrust of scientists and their work seems to grow.

In 2000, a government-sponsored survey in Britain on public attitudes to science revealed that most people believed that ‘Science is driven by business – at the end of the day it’s all about money’. Over three-quarters of those surveyed agreed, ‘It is important to have some scientists who are not linked to business’. More than two-thirds thought, ‘Scientists should listen more to what ordinary people think’. Worried about this public alienation, in 2003 the British government said it wanted to engage the wider public in ‘a dialogue between science, policy makers and the public’. In official circles, the fashion shifted from a ‘deficit’ model of the public understanding of science – which sees simple factual education as the key – to an ‘engagement’ model of science and society.

Public participation would involve more than setting up committees of non-scientists to advise the existing funding bodies. In 2003 in New Scientist28 and in 2004 in Nature,29 I proposed a more radical possibility, namely to set aside a small proportion of the public science budget, say 1 per cent, for research proposed by lay people.

What questions would be of public interest? Why not ask? Organizations such as charities, schools, local authorities, trade unions, environmental groups and gardening associations could be invited to make suggestions. Within each organization, the very possibility of proposing research would probably trigger off far-ranging discussions, and would lead to a sense of involvement in many sections of the population.

To avoid the 1 per cent fund being taken over by the science establishment, it would need to be administered by a board largely composed of non-scientists, as in many research charities. Funding would be restricted to areas not already covered by the other 99 per cent of the public science budget. This system could be treated as an experiment, and tried out for, say, five years. If it had no useful effects, it could be discontinued. If it led to productive research, greater public trust in science and increased interest among students, the percentage allocated to this fund could be increased. I believe this new venture would make science more attractive to young people, stimulate interest in scientific thinking and hypothesis-testing, and help break down the depressing alienation many people feel from science.

Controversies

When A New Science of Life was first published in Britain in 1981 there was a widespread discussion about the idea of morphogenetic fields and morphic resonance. After three months, a now-notorious editorial appeared on the front page of Nature. Under the title ‘A book for burning?’ the editor condemned my proposals in an extraordinary attack:

Even bad books should not be burned; works such as Mein Kampf have become historical documents for those concerned with the pathology of politics. But what is to be made of Dr Rupert Sheldrake’s book A New Science of Life? This infuriating tract has been widely hailed by newspapers and popular science magazines as the ‘answer’ to materialistic science, and it is now well on the way to becoming a point of reference for the motley crew of creationists, anti-reductionists, neo-Lamarckians and the rest. The author, by training a biochemist and by demonstration a knowledgeable man, is, however, misguided. His book is the best candidate for burning there has been for many years.30

The editor did not advance any reasoned arguments against the hypothesis I proposed. Instead, he put his hope in the future advances of molecular biology:

Sheldrake’s argument takes off from his catalogue of the ways in which the molecular biologists, no doubt the shock-troops of the reductionists, have so far been unable to calculate the phenotype of the single organism from a knowledge of its genotype. But so what? Have not the past 20 years shown clearly enough that molecular explanations of most biological phenomena are, contrary to some earlier expectations, possible and powerful?

The editor, John Maddox (now Sir John Maddox), also dismissed my proposals for experiments as ‘impractical in the sense that no self-respecting grant-making agency will take the proposal seriously’.

This editorial was followed by correspondence in Nature, continuing for months, in which many scientists objected to the intemperate tone of this attack and supported the need for radical thinking about the unsolved problems of science.31 One of the letters was from the quantum physicist Brian Josephson, a Nobel Laureate:

The rapid advances in molecular biology to which you refer do not mean very much. If one is on a journey, rapid progress on the way implies neither that one is close to one’s destination, nor that the destination will be reached at all by continuing to follow the same road. By referring to ‘self-respecting grant-making agencies’ you show a concern not for scientific validity but for respectability. The fundamental weakness is a failure to admit even the possibility that genuine physical facts may exist which lie outside the scope of current scientific descriptions. Indeed a new kind of understanding of nature is now emerging, with concepts like implicate order and subject-dependent reality (and now, perhaps formative causation). These developments have not yet penetrated to the leading journals. One can only hope that the editors will soon cease to obstruct this avenue of progress.32

In 1994, BBC television interviewed John Maddox about his outburst. He was unrepentant, saying, ‘Sheldrake is putting forward magic instead of science, and that can be condemned in exactly the language that the Pope used to condemn Galileo, and for the same reason. It is heresy.’33 Perhaps he was unaware that two years earlier, on 15 July 1992, Pope John Paul II formally declared the Church had erred in condemning Galileo.

In the German-speaking countries, there were many articles and discussions of this hypothesis by scientists, philosophers, psychologists and others. Some of their varied reactions were brought together in a book published in German in 1997 entitled Rupert Sheldrake in der Diskussion.34

In the 1980s and 1990s many people within the scientific community, like the editor of Nature, were confident that more research on gene sequences and molecular mechanisms would reveal almost all we need to know about life, explaining the mysteries of biological form, instinctive behaviour, learning, and even consciousness itself. Several leading scientists believed that science was nearing its ultimate culmination; all the important discoveries had already been made. This mood was summed up in 1996 in John Horgan’s bestselling book The End of Science: Facing the Limits of Knowledge in the Twilight of the Scientific Age. As Horgan expressed it:

If one believes in science, one must accept the possibility – even the probability – that the great era of scientific discovery is over. By science I mean not applied science, but science at its purest and grandest, the primordial human quest to understand the universe and our place in it. Further research may yield no more great revelations or revolutions, but only incremental, diminishing returns.35

Fortunately, science has not come to an end despite the sequencing of the human genome, the avalanche of data in molecular biology, the boom in brain scanning, the speculations of superstring theorists, and the discovery that more than 90 per cent of the universe is made up of dark matter and dark energy, whose nature is literally obscure.

The unsolved problems of biology summarized in Chapter 1 were unsolved in 1981, and they are still unsolved today. The questions discussed in this book remain completely open. The debate continues; and by reading this book you can be part of it.

* * *

Acknowledgements

In the continued development and testing of the hypothesis of formative causation many people have helped me through discussions, comments, suggestions and criticisms. In particular I would like to thank Ralph Abraham, Ted Bastin, Patrick Bateson, Dick Bierman, the late Richard Braithwaite, Stephen Braude, John Brockman, David Jay Brown, Christopher Clarke, John Cobb, Stephen Cohen, Hans-Peter Dürr, Lindy Dufferin and Ava, Ted Dace, the late Dorothy Emmet, Suitbert Ertel, Addison Fischer, Matthew Fox, Stanislav Grof, Brian Goodwin, Franz-Theo Gottwald, the late Stephen Jay Gould, David Ray Griffin, Christian Gronau, Stephan Harding, the late Willis Harman, Mary Hesse, Nicholas Humphrey, Francis Huxley, Jürgen Krönig, David Lambert, Bruce Lipton, Nancy Lunney, the late Margaret Masterman, Katinka Matson, the late Terence McKenna, John Michell, the late Robert Morris, Carl Neumann, Guy Lyon Playfair, Jill Purce, Dean Radin, Anthony Ramsay, the late Brendan O’Reagan, Keith Roberts, Steven Rooke, Steven Rose, the late Miriam Rothschild, Janis Rozé, Edward St Aubyn, Gary Schwartz, Martin Schwartz, Merlin Sheldrake, Alexander Shulgin, Harris Stone, James Trifone, the late Francisco Varela, Christopher Whitmont and Götz Wittneben.

I am very grateful to Matthew Clapp, who started my website, www.sheldrake.org, in 1997 and served as webmaster until 2002; to my current webmaster, John Caton, who has looked after my site since 2002; and to Helmut Lasarcyk, my German webmaster, who has also kindly translated many letters, articles and manuscripts for me. I am also very grateful to my Research Assistant, Pam Smart, who has worked with me since 1994 and has helped in many ways.

I gratefully acknowledge organizational and financial support for research from the Institute of Noetic Sciences, California, the International Center for Integral Studies, New York, the Schweisfurth Foundation, Germany, the Lifebridge Foundation, New York, the Bial Foundation, Portugal, the Fred Foundation, Holland, and the Perrott-Warrick Fund, administered by Trinity College, Cambridge. I am also grateful to the following benefactors for their generous support: the late Laurance Rockefeller, the late Bob Schwartz, of New York, the late C.W. ‘Ben’ Webster, of Toronto, Evelyn Hancock, of Old Greenwich, Connecticut, Bokhara Legendre, of Medway, South Carolina, Ben Finn, of London, and Addison Fischer, of Naples, Florida.

For helpful comments on drafts of this new edition I thank Ted Dace, Nicholas Greaves, Helmut Lasarcyk, Jill Purce and Götz Wittneben. Merlin Sheldrake drew the diagrams in Figures 20, and A.2–A.5. All other drawings and diagrams are by Keith Roberts, except where otherwise stated.

Hampstead, London

September 2008

INTRODUCTION

At present, the orthodox approach to biology is given by the mechanistic theory of life: living organisms are regarded as physico-chemical machines, and all the phenomena of life are considered to be explicable in principle in terms of physics and chemistry.1 This mechanistic paradigm2 is by no means new; it has been predominant for well over a century. The main reason most biologists continue to adhere to it is that it works: it provides a framework of thought within which questions about the physico-chemical mechanisms of life processes can be asked and answered.

The fact that this approach has resulted in spectacular successes such as the ‘cracking of the genetic code’ is a strong argument in its favour. Nevertheless, critics have put forward what seem to be good reasons for doubting that all the phenomena of life, including human behaviour, can ever be explained entirely mechanistically.3 But even if the mechanistic approach were admitted to be severely limited not only in practice but in principle, it could not simply be abandoned; at present it is almost the only approach available to experimental biology, and will undoubtedly continue to be followed until there is some positive alternative.

Any new theory capable of extending or going beyond the mechanistic theory will have to do more than assert that life involves qualities or factors at present unrecognized by the physical sciences: it will have to say what sorts of things these qualities or factors are, how they work, and what relationship they have to known physical and chemical processes.

The simplest way in which the mechanistic theory could be modified would be to suppose that the phenomena of life depend on a new type of causal factor, unknown to the physical sciences, which interacts with physico-chemical processes within living organisms. Several versions of this vitalist theory were proposed in the early twentieth century,4 but none succeeded in making predictions that could be tested, or suggested new kinds of experiments. If, to quote Sir Karl Popper, ‘the criterion of the scientific status of a theory is its falsifiability, or refutability, or testability’,5 vitalism failed to qualify.

However, the organismic or holistic philosophy of nature provides a context for a more radical revision of the mechanistic theory. This philosophy denies that everything in the universe can be explained from the bottom up, as it were, in terms of the properties of subatomic particles, or atoms, or even molecules. Rather, it recognizes the existence of hierarchically organized systems which, at each level of complexity, possess properties that cannot be fully understood in terms of the properties exhibited by their parts in isolation from each other; at each level the whole is more than the sum of its parts. These wholes can be thought of as organisms, using this term in a deliberately wide sense to include not only animals and plants, organs, tissues and cells, but also crystals, molecules, atoms and sub-atomic particles. In effect this philosophy proposes a change from the paradigm of the machine to the paradigm of the organism in the biological and in the physical sciences. In Alfred North Whitehead’s well-known phrase: ‘Biology is the study of the larger organisms, whereas physics is the study of the smaller organisms.’6

Various versions of this organismic philosophy have been advocated by many writers, including biologists, since the 1920s.7 But if organicism is to have more than a superficial influence on the natural sciences, it must be able to give rise to testable predictions.8

The most important organismic concept put forward so far is that of morphogenetic fields.9 These fields are supposed to help account for, or describe, the coming-into-being of the characteristic forms of embryos and other developing systems. The trouble is that this concept has been used ambiguously. The term itself seems to imply the existence of a new type of physical field that plays a role in the development of form. But some organismic theoreticians deny that they are suggesting the existence of any new type of field, entity or factor at present unrecognized by physics;10 rather, they are providing a new way of talking about complex physico-chemical systems.11 This approach seems unlikely to lead very far. The concept of morphogenetic fields can be of practical scientific value only if it leads to testable predictions that differ from those of the conventional mechanistic theory. And such predictions cannot be made unless morphogenetic fields are considered to have measurable effects.

The hypothesis put forward in this book is based on the idea that morphogenetic fields do indeed have measurable physical effects. It proposes that specific morphogenetic fields are responsible for the characteristic form and organization of systems at all levels of complexity, not only in the realm of biology, but also in the realms of chemistry and physics. These fields order the systems with which they are associated by affecting events which, from an energetic point of view, appear to be indeterminate or probabilistic; they impose patterned restrictions on the energetically possible outcomes of physical processes.

If morphogenetic fields are responsible for the organization and form of material systems, they must themselves have characteristic structures. So where do these field-structures come from? They are derived from the morphogenetic fields associated with previous similar systems: the morphogenetic fields of all past systems become present to any subsequent similar system; the structures of past systems affect subsequent similar systems by a cumulative influence which acts across both space and time.

According to this hypothesis, systems are organized in the way they are because similar systems were organized that way in the past. For example, the molecules of a complex organic chemical crystallize in a characteristic pattern because the same substance crystallized that way before; a plant takes up the form characteristic of its species because past members of the species took up that form; and an animal acts instinctively in a particular manner because similar animals behaved like that previously.

The hypothesis is concerned with the repetition of forms and patterns of organization; the question of the origin of these forms and patterns lies outside its scope. This question can be answered in several different ways, but all of them seem to be equally compatible with the suggested means of repetition.12

A number of testable predictions, which differ strikingly from those of the conventional mechanistic theory, can be deduced from this hypothesis. A single example will suffice: if an animal, say a rat, learns to carry out a new pattern of behaviour, there will be a tendency for any subsequent similar rat (of the same breed, reared under similar conditions, etc.) to learn more quickly to carry out the same pattern of behaviour. The larger the number of rats that learn to perform the task, the easier it should be for any subsequent similar rat to learn it. Thus, for instance, if thousands of rats were trained to perform a new task in a laboratory in London, similar rats should learn to carry out the same task more quickly in laboratories everywhere else. If the speed of learning of rats in another laboratory, say in New York, were to be measured before and after the rats in London were trained, the rats tested on the second occasion should learn more quickly than those tested on the first. The effect should take place in the absence of any known type of physical connection or communication between the two laboratories.

Such a prediction may seem so improbable as to be absurd. Yet, remarkably enough, there is already evidence from laboratory studies of rats that the predicted effect actually occurs.13

This hypothesis, called the hypothesis of formative causation, leads to an interpretation of many physical and biological phenomena that is radically different from that of existing theories, and enables a number of well-known problems to be seen in a new light. In this book, it is sketched out in a preliminary form, some of its implications are discussed, and various ways in which it could be tested are suggested.

Chapter 1

THE UNSOLVED PROBLEMS OF BIOLOGY

1.1 The background of success

In the world of science, the predominant theory of life is mechanistic. Living organisms are machines. They have no souls or mysterious vital principles; they can be fully explained in terms of physics and chemistry. This is not a new idea: it dates back to the philosopher René Descartes (1596–1650). In 1867, T.H. Huxley summed it up as follows:

Zoological physiology is the doctrine of the functions or actions of animals. It regards animal bodies as machines impelled by various forces and performing a certain amount of work which can be expressed in terms of the ordinary forces of nature. The final object of physiology is to deduce the facts of morphology on the one hand, and those of ecology on the other, from the laws of the molecular forces of matter.1

The subsequent developments of physiology, biochemistry, biophysics, genetics and molecular biology are all foreshadowed in these ideas. In many respects these sciences have been brilliantly successful, none more so than molecular biology. The discovery of the structure of DNA, the ‘cracking of the genetic code’, the elucidation of the mechanism of protein synthesis and the sequencing of the human genome seem impressive confirmations of the validity of this approach.