The Eighth Day of Creation Quotes

“Fränkel-Conrat seems to have done the biggest thing with TMV, since Stanley crystallized it. He can add soluble TMV protein to soluble TMV RNA, aggregate the whole mess into rods of which 0.1% are infective!!! Naturally, you don’t believe it—neither did I nor anyone else, but unless he has made up the whole thing it now seems that it must be true. You can’t beat that for laughs, can you Buddy? Heinz Fraenkel-Conrat had taken particles of tobacco-mosaic virus apart, which had been done before—and then had successfully put them back together again. The virus is made of one long single strand of RNA and a large number of identical protein subunits—2,130 of these, it is now known, each a single polypeptide chain folded into a shape like the first joint of a thumb. As Watson had glimpsed in the summer of 1952, these subunits join up, side to side but slightly askew, to form a helix with all the thumbs pointing out. The overall shape is a rod with a hole down the middle like a short piece of macaroni. The subunits are held together by weak bonds between certain charged amino-acid side chains. The central hole is twenty angstroms across, and is empty. But the protein units, assembled, have a long continuous internal groove winding up beyond the wall of the central hole. In this groove lies the strand of RNA—which explains the discovery, which had intrigued Watson and everyone else, that all its phosphate groups lie at a common radius. By treatment with mild acid, Fraenkel-Conrat neutralized the charges that hold the protein subunits together, and the rod fell apart and stopped being infectious. He then separated and purified the protein. In a separate, parallel step, he treated virus particles with detergent to strip away the protein to allow the RNA to be recovered. Then he mixed the subunits and the RNA strands in solution once more—and got out normal infectious particles. With the electron microscope, Robley Williams confirmed that whole virus particles were there. The virus assembled itself: the architecture of the complete particle seemed to be an inbuilt consequence of the structure of the protein subunits.”
― Horace Freeland Judson, The Eighth Day of Creation: Makers of the Revolution in Biology

“The conclusion is inescapable: Crick in Cambridge and Brenner in Johannesburg were thinking well ahead of the biochemical pack. But then, about fifteen minutes later in that same discussion, Walter Sampson Vincent, an instructor in anatomy from the State University of New York at Syracuse, got up to report some experiments with the RNA of unfertilized egg cells of starfish. “Both Dr. Borsook and Dr. Zamecnik have suggested that there should be two RNA fractions in the cell, with differing characteristics,” Vincent said. He had found the same thing himself, and proceeded to tell how, at length. His biological specimens—starfish eggs—were unfamiliar; his methods were the well-known ones of Torbjörn Caspersson and Jean Brachet (he had spent a year with Brachet as a postdoc); and worse than that, late in such a meeting, when scientist after scientist has risen to talk about his experiments, however tenuously related to the chief topic, the audience gets numb and drifts away. Vincent’s data suggested, he said in conclusion, that the nucleus contained two classes of RNA, “one a soluble, metabolically very active, fraction, representing only a small portion of the total.” His last words were about that fraction: “One exciting implication of the active, or labile, form would be that it is involved in the transfer of nuclear ‘information’ to the synthetic centers of the cytoplasm.” This astonishing suggestion went unnoticed.”
― Horace Freeland Judson, The Eighth Day of Creation: Makers of the Revolution in Biology

“The most fundamental objection to Gamow’s scheme is that it does not distinguish between the direction of a sequence; that is, between Thr. Pro. Lys. Ala. and Ala. Lys. Pro. Thr…. There is little doubt that Nature makes this distinction, though it might be claimed that she produces both sequences at random, and that the “wrong” ones—not being able to fold up—are destroyed. This seems to me unlikely. That observation, made in passing, was the first acknowledgment of a theoretical question that is still unanswered: in general terms, what does the cell do with information it possesses on the DNA—and some organisms possess some DNA sequences in thousands of copies—that it does not use to code for proteins? This difficulty brings us face-to-face with one of the most puzzling features of the DNA structure—the fact that it is non-polar, due to the dyads at the side; or put another way, that one chain runs up while the other runs down. It is true that this only applies to the backbone, and not to the base sequence, as Delbrück has emphasized to me in correspondence. This may imply that a base sequence read one way makes sense, and read the other way makes nonsense. Another difficulty is that the assumptions made about which diamonds are equivalent are not very plausible…. [Gamow’s idea] would not be unreasonable if the amino acid could fit on to the template from either side, into cavities which were in a plane, but the structure certainly doesn’t look like that. The bonds seem mainly to stick out perpendicular to the axis, and the template is really a surface with knobs on, and presents a radically different aspect on its two sides…. What, then are the novel and useful features of Gamow’s ideas? It is obviously not the idea of amino acids fitting on to nucleic acids, nor the idea of the bases sequence of the nucleic acids carrying the information. To my mind Gamow has introduced three ideas of importance: (1) In Gamow’s scheme several different base sequences can code for one amino acid…. This “degeneracy” seems to be a new idea, and, as discussed later, we can generalise it. (2) Gamow boldly assumed that code would be of the overlapping type…. Watson and I, thinking mainly about coding by hypothetical RNA structures rather than by DNA, did not seriously consider this type of coding. (3) Gamow’s scheme is essentially abstract. It originally paid lip service to structural considerations, but the position was soon reached when “coding” was looked upon as a problem in itself, independent as far as possible of how things might fit together…. Such an approach, though at first sight unnecessarily abstract, is important. Finally it is obvious to all of us that without our President the whole problem would have been neglected and few of us would have tried to do anything about it.”
― Horace Freeland Judson, The Eighth Day of Creation: Makers of the Revolution in Biology

“On Degenerate Templates and the Adaptor Hypothesis: A Note for the RNA Tie Club,” which Crick sent out early in 1955, is the first of his master-works about protein synthesis and the coding problem. By 1966, he had written two dozen papers related to the subject. Six at least were of great and general importance. Two of those included experiments and were written with collaborators. One more paper, of pleasing ingenuity, happened to be wrong: nature turned out to be less elegant than Crick’s imagination. Of the entire run, however, this first was the most unprecedented and original. The paper defined the next questions, and many were new questions. More, it established the way the questions were to be approached, and the terms in which they were to be argued. Most generally, it took for granted that the questions were spatial, physical, logical, easy to apprehend, and therefore tractable and even—in principle—simple. Yet even now, only a few hundred people have ever read the paper—for the surprising reason that it has never been published. It remained a note for the RNA Tie Club: seventeen foolscap pages, typewritten, double-spaced, mimeographed.”
― Horace Freeland Judson, The Eighth Day of Creation: Makers of the Revolution in Biology

“The Gordon Research Conferences hold a special place in science in the United States. The American Association for the Advancement of Science sponsors them, every summer, on various topics, in the idle buildings of several New England private boarding schools. The conferences each last a week, are attended by invitation, and have the aim of encouraging informal discussion—so that, for instance, no later quotation of another scientist’s remarks is permitted. The one Crick had been invited to was in New Hampton, New Hampshire, from August 30 through September 3. The week before that, Crick, Watson, and Brenner all drove down to Cold Spring Harbor for the annual end-of-summer phage meeting.”
― Horace Freeland Judson, The Eighth Day of Creation: Makers of the Revolution in Biology

“Benzer and I talked one afternoon in the spring of 1971, at Caltech, where he had moved six years before. His office was small, bright with daylight, crowded with bookshelves and files all stowed with a mariner’s sort of compulsive comfortable neatness. On a shelf was a photograph, enormously enlarged, of nerve connections in the eye of a fly. Benzer was medium dark, medium short, as neat and compact as the room. He was wearing a lightweight tan cardigan over a shirt and tie. The photo, he said, was an electron micrograph: he was presently mapping the genetics of mutations that affected the nervous systems—the behavior—of fruit flies. Half a dozen of the early molecular biologists were then moving into neurobiology; Benzer brought out a cartoon that one of them had sketched, a jokey ancestral tree with the faces of molecular neurobiologists pasted in according to the organisms they were working with. “It’s a new phase,” he said. “I feel that, y’know, when I came into molecular biology it was a pioneering science. But when a science becomes a discipline, which is essentially true of molecular biology now, when you can buy a textbook, take a course— There’s no question there are many surprises left … but a field to work in, to me personally, when it becomes a discipline, becomes less attractive. I find it more fun to be striking out in something which is more on the amorphous side. Which was true of molecular biology when I started. Another thing that becomes unpleasant is the redundancy of effort, a number of people doing the same thing—so that even when you make a discovery, six different guys discover it in the same week. You begin to feel that if it’s five guys instead of six guys it doesn’t make any difference. But still, my change was not so much to escape from that, as just following my own interests; I’ve got interested in behavior and I want to look at it.”
― Horace Freeland Judson, The Eighth Day of Creation: Makers of the Revolution in Biology

“In the early fifties, a number of people were trying to make protein synthesis happen outside the cell, so that the process could be analyzed and played with. Here, Zamecnik’s lab led. The idea was to put various combinations of cellular components and juices together, without the presence of living cells, and then to add labelled amino acids to see if the combination would link up some proteins. Such biochemical cocktails for protein synthesis in the test tube were called the cell-free system.”
― Horace Freeland Judson, The Eighth Day of Creation: Makers of the Revolution in Biology

“Not long after his first meeting with Watson and Crick, Chargaff elected himself polemicist on behalf of all that has been left out—for the early discoverers, Friedrich Miescher and Oswald Avery; for the role of protein in the chromosome; for complexity and crowding in the cell; for humility and caution in the laboratory. “I am against the over-explanation of science, because I think it impedes the flow of scientific imagination and associations,” he said. “My main objection to molecular biology is that by its claim to be able to explain everything it actually hinders the free flow of scientific ideas. But there is not a scientist I have met who would share my opinion.”
― Horace Freeland Judson, The Eighth Day of Creation: Makers of the Revolution in Biology

“From my right, along the polished wood, there arrived a little trolley train on wheels, in the shape of a silver swan, with three parts joined by swivels, and each part bearing a decanter. A card said that the port was Taylor 1955, the white was Raventhaler Herberg Riesling Spätlese Cabinet 1959, and the red was Corton Les Marechaudes 1962. Beyond Brenner sat a gray-haired woman, a computer mathematician from one of the women’s colleges. Brenner leaned towards her. “There will be no difficulty in computers’ being adapted to biology,” he said, with clenched teeth. “There will be Luddites. But they will be buried.”
― Horace Freeland Judson, The Eighth Day of Creation: Makers of the Revolution in Biology

“By contrast, the first determination of the exact amino-acid sequence of a protein by Sanger”—the sequencing of bovine insulin between 1949 and 1955—“was absolutely essential. One could not even have begun to think seriously about the genetic code until it had been revealed, to begin with, that a protein is beyond the shadow of doubt a polypeptide in which the amino-acid residues really are arranged in a definite, constant, genetically determined sequence—and yet a sequence with no rule by which it determined itself. So that therefore it had to have a code—that is, complete instructions expressed in some manner—to tell it how to exist, you see. Suppose that instead Sanger had found—and that’s what many biochemists would have guessed, in those days, that he would find—that there were general rules of assembly, that a polypeptide was made of a repetitive sequence of amino acids, for example lysine, aspartic acid, glutamine, threonine, repeated however many times. Then that would have been a chemical rule”—of the kind that governs the assembly of sugars into monotonous polysaccharides, for example—“and so you didn’t need a genetic code. Or you needed only a partial code. But Sanger’s discovery, since it revealed a sequence that had no rule, where—” The sequence was full of information, I said, nowhere redundant, no part of it predictable from other parts. “Exactly,” Monod said. “And so to explain the presence of all that information in the protein, you absolutely needed the code.”
― Horace Freeland Judson, The Eighth Day of Creation: Makers of the Revolution in Biology

“This is why some of the pre-molecular-biological discoveries of the twenties and thirties were so startling and certainly significant for the whole change of attitude that ensued,” Monod said. “I’m thinking now first of all of the crystallization of urease by Sumner in 1926.” Urease is the enzyme that catalyzes the breakdown of urea into ammonia and carbon dioxide. Starting with an extract of jack beans, James Sumner had prepared a solution that demonstrated this catalytic activity very strongly; when he let the solution stand overnight in the cold, he found that crystals formed. The crystals were protein. They proved to be pure urease. This was the first pure enzyme ever prepared. It provided the first demonstration that a protein could act catalytically, and confuted the prevalent view, following Richard Willstätter’s experiments, that enzymes were not proteins. “Sumner’s discovery that one could crystallize an enzyme shocked biologists at the time,” Monod said. “In fact the discovery was denied for a long time. And the second discovery—this was of great psychological rather than actual scientific importance—was the crystallization of tobacco-mosaic virus by Wendell Stanley in 1935. Right away there was a lot of stupid discussion about ‘Can you crystallize life?’ and that sort of thing, which of course is meaningless. But if you could crystallize these biologically active and specific substances, then they had regular structures. With that began the replacement of the colloidal conception of the organization of life by the structural conception.”
― Horace Freeland Judson, The Eighth Day of Creation: Makers of the Revolution in Biology

“When DNA was present in the solution too, and spinning, extreme forces—a hundred forty thousand times the strength of gravity—acted on the individual molecules.”
― Horace Freeland Judson, The Eighth Day of Creation: Makers of the Revolution in Biology

“When Crick and Watson began, they knew very little about DNA for sure, and part of what they were most sure of was wrong. To consider DNA as a physical object, they wanted diameters, lengths, linkages and rotations, screw pitch, density, water content, bonds, and bonds and again bonds. The sport would be to see how little data they could make do with and still get it right: the less scaffolding visible, the more elegant and astonishing the structure. More than sport was involved. Crick, following Pauling, elevated this penurious elegance into a theoretical principle, the corollary of model-building. “You must remember, we were trying to solve it with the fewest possible assumptions,” Crick said. “There’s a perfectly sound reason—it isn’t just a matter of aesthetics or because we thought it was a nice game—why you should use the minimum of experimental data. The fact is, you remember, that we knew that Bragg and Kendrew and Perutz had been misled by the experimental data. And therefore every bit of experimental evidence we had got at any one time we were prepared to throw away, because we said it may be misleading just the way that 5.1 reflection in alpha keratin was misleading.” We were in his office in Cambridge; thinking out loud, he got up and began to pace back and forth, with long, loping steps, in the clear lane in front of his desk, speaking in the rhythm of his stride. “They missed the alpha helix because of that reflection! You see. And the fact that they didn’t put the peptide bond in right. The point is that evidence can be unreliable, and therefore you should use as little of it as you can. And when we confront problems today, we’re in exactly the same situation. We have three or four bits of data, we don’t know which one is reliable, so we say, now, if we discard that one and assume it’s wrong—even though we have no evidence that it’s wrong—then we can look at the rest of the data and see if we can make sense of that. And that’s what we do all the time. I mean, people don’t realize that not only can data be wrong in science, it can be misleading. There isn’t such a thing as a hard fact when you’re trying to discover something. It’s only afterwards that the facts become hard.”
― Horace Freeland Judson, The Eighth Day of Creation: Makers of the Revolution in Biology

“What the book conveys that is probably most valuable is simply how uncertain it can be, when a man is in the black cave of unknowing, groping for the contours of the rock and the slope of the floor, listening for the echo of his steps, brushing away false clues as insistent as cobwebs, to recognize that an important discovery is taking shape. Can it be done at all? Is it as worth doing as we’ve told ourselves? Why hasn’t it been done already? Where’s the way in, the vulnerable point? Out of what we think we know, what’s unreliable? What’s irrelevant? These are the scientific as opposed to the personal circumstances, and they evoke sometimes the mood of the brink of terror, which in good part may explain why such monstrous self-confidence is demanded.”
― Horace Freeland Judson, The Eighth Day of Creation: Makers of the Revolution in Biology

“The first great paper on allosteric proteins, written with Changeux and Jacob, was submitted to The Journal of Molecular Biology at the end of 1962.”
― Horace Freeland Judson, The Eighth Day of Creation: Makers of the Revolution in Biology

“We talked about Friedrich Miescher and Oswald Avery, and Chargaff modulated from philippic to elegiac. Then he said, “I am against the over-explanation of science, because I think it impedes the flow of scientific imagination and associations. My main objection to molecular biology is that by its claim to be able to explain everything, it actually impedes the flow of free scientific explanation. But there is not a scientist I have met who would share my opinion.”
― Horace Freeland Judson, The Eighth Day of Creation: Makers of the Revolution in Biology