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Monkey see, Monkey do?

I suppose it’s natural to explain new things by comparisons with what we know. And until recently, at any rate, we saw things in terms of hierarchies: like an army, or a corporation, there has to be a commander giving orders so that the things each commands can perform their predetermined functions.

But, are most things really like that? Does the brain control the body? Does the nucleus inside almost every cell, actually control the cell and direct the myriad functions merely by virtue its genetic instructions? Is it top down like that? Is there really a biological feudal system? Teleology requires a task, existence precedes essence… Or is that not the way things work?

It requires an act of will to step back for a moment and wonder how something as complicated as a cell controls itself, and yet can function as an integral part of a body busy with other things. Even though each cell contains the same chromosomal instruction manual, why do they behave so differently in different organs, different locations, and under different conditions? Surely they can’t be just blind watchmakers mindlessly shovelling out whatever components are written on the same genetic blueprint that each cell shares, no matter it’s location in the body, no matter if it is a liver cell, a brain cell, or a skin cell. The result would be chaotic.

But even if there is a CEO somewhere in the body in charge of production, where does it reside? Is there a central office somewhere in the brain, or the liver, or is it a branch office thing where different components are farmed out and produced when needed by the whole?

Our society functions something like that, doesn’t it: a central government overseeing the country, with states or provinces in charge of smaller areas, and cities perhaps attending more to the needs of individual citizens (or cells, in this case, I suppose). The cities, after all, would be more knowledgeable about problems in local districts than the federal government which would perhaps be more aware of  external threats, be they environmental or other federal governments… It’s the metaphor which seems to explain how the world works; why wouldn’t it also explain how we work? Is there a hierarchy in cells themselves – something that stops the processes from disintegrating into chaos?

Still, when you think about it, an ecosystem isn’t really composed of separate entities, each operating independently; everything is linked, everything is interdependent. A predator doesn’t require a boss to tell it when and who to eat, nor does prey require an order to tell it when to flee. Things do not necessarily fall apart, and the centre usually holds quite well; mere anarchy is seldom loosed upon the world despite the fears of the poet William Butler Yeats.

‘We are told that the genes contain blueprints to make proteins. However, genes do not contain all the information needed to make proteins. They only specify a one-dimensional protein chain; the three-dimensional structure that the proteins take, which is vital for their function, is determined by the cellular environment as well. Further, the way proteins behave also varies with where they are in the cytoplasm. The genetic ‘information’, on its own, is nowhere near enough for the cell to function…. the linear ‘assembly line’ that textbooks construct does not remotely capture the many functions of organelles in the cytoplasm or the many different ways in which they ‘talk’ to each other and influence each other’s behaviour. The nuanced interaction between cellular organelles, in fact, stands as a direct challenge to the coercive, top-down notion of order that a centralised factory suggests. The ‘departments’ in the ‘factory’ seem to be communicating with each other and giving each other orders without keeping the ‘head office’ in the loop.’[i]

It’s almost as if the cell is a forest with each tree and the birds sitting on it, each bush with its berries, the soil in which they all grow, the creeks wandering through it, and the fungal network underneath them, are all partners in the functioning of the whole. There is no boss; everything listens to everything else. If biologists had been less dismissive of holistic indigenous beliefs, or been raised in different cultures than our own, would they have seen the cell differently? One has to wonder about the lens we use to view the world.

How does a gardener, for example, view their role? I know very little about gardens, I’m afraid, so one spring day, when I peeked over the fence in the lane and saw my friend Geraldine on her knees fussing over what seemed like a tiny mound of soil in her backyard garden, I just had to ask.

“Why are you messing with that lump of dirt Geri? Did you just plant a seed or something…?”

I felt foolish when she rolled her eyes as she raised her head. “I’ve planted three seeds, near each other; I do it in different areas every spring now…”

She seemed proud of that, but I suppose I still looked puzzled as I leaned against her fence. She sat back on the moist grass to explain. “My maternal grandmother is Indigenous and she taught me a First Nation method of planting that her mother taught her; it’s called the ‘Three Sisters’. You plant three particular types of seeds relatively close to each other -corn, bean, and squash- and as they grow, they help each other.” She thought about that for a moment. “Well anyway, a book by another indigenous person, Robin Wall Kimmerer, also reminded me of the way it works in a garden: Braiding Sweetgrass, I think her book was called…”

I nodded as if I actually understood the wisdom of that, but she saw through my doubts. “The corn emerges first and starts growing a long stiff stem skyward, while the bean seed is still establishing its root system. The pumpkin -well I actually use a squash seed- takes its time, though.

“The bean, comes up next, after its root system borrows some Rhizobium bacteria from the soil to fix nitrogen in its roots; the nitrogen helps the others grow as well. Anyway, the bean stalk winds itself around the corn stalk to help it to gather more sunlight…”

“And what does the squash seed do while all this is going on?” I interrupted, trying to keep my doubts about their interdependence out of my voice.

She smiled the smile all gardeners use on city folks. “The squash pushes out of the earth and extends along the ground. Its leaves shelter the soil at the base of the corn and beans from other plants, and also keeps moisture in it for them.”

Then, as if she understood my skepticism, Geraldine chuckled, but whether at me, or the need to explain something so obvious to her was hard to tell. “Nature is a community, G; it’s not a collection of strangers. There is no boss in a garden -or even a forest, for that matter…”

She stared at me for a moment. “We seem to be the only ones who need someone in control; someone to give us instructions; someone we can blame for the mess we’ve made.” And then she giggled like a little girl.

“But the buck stops here, eh?” she added as she got to her feet. “Want to come in for a coffee?”

[i] https://aeon.co/essays/biology-is-not-as-hierarchical-as-most-textbooks-paint-it

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