Science
Molecular biology
Bernard Dixon
I gave a talk recently to a group of young, 'high-flying' civil servants, as part of a course on decisionmaking in science. Afterwards, was challenged to say what of any value had come from Britain's considerable investment since the last war in the science of molecular biology — the study of DNA, proteins, and other molecules responsible for life itself. To be sure, work in this field — principally at Cambridge under the auspices of the Medical Research Council — has yielded a formidable succession of major discoveries and an enviable clutch, of Nobel prizes and other international honours. What my questioner wanted to know was how the community at large had benefited, in terms of improved methods of treating or diagnosing disease.
The answer is, of course, that while a few such tangible benefits have accrued, these represent a puny return for our national spending on molecular biology. They are insignificant, too, alongside the -revolution in Man's understanding of living processes that has been the real achievement of molecular biology. Like the Darwinian upheaval, or the revolution in the physical sciences triggered off by Einstein's work, this has altered profoundly and comprehensively our whole conception of the world. To seek practical spin-off amid such intellectual splendour is to miss the point.
And yet again, though molecular biology is not pursued in the hope of immediate practical returns, such benefits could be considerable in the long term. The most obvious example is cancer. Like many other countries, Britain has innumerable laboratories devoted specifically and exclusively to cancer research. They investigate such matters as the possible involvement of viruses in cancer, and the role of the body's immunological defence mechanisms in preventing the emergence of cancerous cells. Some day, perhaps, scientists working in such a laboratory will solve the central problem of why and how a normal, healthy cell becomes malignant in the first place — 'the secret' of cancer. Equally likely, however, is the cracking of this problem in a molecular biology laboratory, not at all devoted to cancer research. Cancer is a disorder of growth, so molecular biologists, who study growth at the most fundamental level possible, may well pull off this particular prize.
Another example, probably nearer in time, is that of 'genetic engineering.' Until very recently, mention of this phrase was guaranteed to send the most level-headed of biologists into peels of dismissive laughter. The prospect of treating disease by tinkering with the genetic material in living cells seemed not only dangerous but also so unrealistic and unattainable as to be confined to the realms of science fiction. Now, as emphasised by the recent warnings of Dr Edward Ziff (which I reported in these columns on October 27), genetic engineering begins to appear a feasible proposition for the near future. Using this approach, it should be possible to cure hereditary conditions which formerly could not be treated, or which at best could be simply relieved or ameliorated.
At present, a genetic disease such as phenylketonuria (PKU) can be dealt with only by putting the victim, as soon as possible after birth, onto a restrictive and inconvenient diet. Many related conditions cannot be treated at all. Genetic engineering offers the prospect of correcting the basic genetic defect in such cases. Almost all research of this sort so far has been conducted with animals, rather than with human patients, but much of it is more than promising. Recently, for example, four American researchers, writing in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences (vol 70, p 3125), described a method which they say "may provide a prototype for practical genetic repair in humans."
By hybridising defective cells from genetically diseased mice with normal cells from another, healthy strain, and then injecting the hybrid cells back into the sick mice, they succeeded in correcting a serious hereditary defect. The disease in question meant that the mice could not produce a particular substance needed in fighting infection, but the hybrid cells carried normal, effective genes that restored this capacity.
When techniques of this sort come to fruition for use in human medicine, their development will have owed as much to the 'pure science' of molecular biology as to overtly medical research. So too, in all probability, with the central riddle of cancer. Such is the tantalising unpredictability of pure science, which often has practical repercussions more far-reaching than the most 'relevant' applied science. I hope my audience of civil servants got the message.
Previous page
