And in no small measure, because sirtuins do all of this based on a rather simple program—the wondrous gene B in the survival circuit—they’re turning out to be more amenable to manipulation than many other longevity genes. They are, it would appear, one of the first dominos in the magnificent Rube Goldberg machine of life, the key to understanding how our genetic material protects itself during times of adversity, allowing life to persist and thrive for billions of years.
Sirtuins aren’t the only longevity genes. Two other very well studied sets of genes perform similar roles, which also have been proven to be manipulable in ways that can offer longer and healthier lives.
One of these is called target of rapamycin, or TOR, a complex of proteins that regulates growth and metabolism. Like sirtuins, scientists have found TOR—called mTOR in mammals—in every organism in which they’ve looked for it. Like that of sirtuins, mTOR activity is exquisitely regulated by nutrients. And like the sirtuins, mTOR can signal cells in stress to hunker down and improve survival by boosting such activities as DNA repair, reducing inflammation caused by senescent cells, and, perhaps its most important function, digesting old proteins.27
When all is well and fine, TOR is a master driver of cell growth. It senses the amount of amino acids that is available and dictates how much protein is created in response. When it is inhibited, though, it forces cells to hunker down, dividing less and reusing old cellular components to maintain energy and extend survival—sort of like going to the junkyard to find parts with which to fix up an old car rather than buying a new one, a process called autophagy. When our ancestors were unsuccessful in bringing down a woolly mammoth and had to survive on meager rations of protein, it was the shutting down of mTOR that permitted them to survive.
The other pathway is a metabolic control enzyme known as AMPK, which evolved to respond to low energy levels. It has also been highly conserved among species and, as with sirtuins and TOR, we have learned a lot about how to control it.
These defense systems are all activated in response to biological stress. Clearly, some stresses are simply too great to overcome—step on a snail, and its days are over. Acute trauma and uncontrollable infections will kill an organism without aging that organism. Sometimes the stress inside a cell, such as a multitude of DNA breaks, is too much to handle. Even if the cell is able to repair the breaks in the short term without leaving mutations, there is information loss at the epigenetic level.
Here’s the important point: there are plenty of stressors that will activate longevity genes without damaging the cell, including certain types of exercise, intermittent fasting, low-protein diets, and exposure to hot and cold temperatures (I discuss this in chapter 4). That’s called hormesis.28 Hormesis is generally good for organisms, especially when it can be induced without causing any lasting damage. When hormesis happens, all is well. And, in fact, all is better than well, because the little bit of stress that occurs when the genes are activated prompts the rest of the system to hunker down, to conserve, to survive a little longer. That’s the start of longevity.
Complementing these approaches are hormesis-mimicking molecules. Drugs in development and at least two drugs on the market can turn on the body’s defenses without creating any damage. It’s like making a prank call to the Pentagon. The troops and the Army Corps of Engineers are sent out, but there’s no war. In this way, we can mimic the benefits of exercise and intermittent fasting with a single pill (I discuss this in chapter 5).
Our ability to control all of these genetic pathways will fundamentally transform medicine and the shape of our everyday lives. Indeed, it will change the way we define our species.
And yes, I realize how that sounds. So let me explain why.
ON APRIL 15, 2003, NEWSPAPERS, TELEVISION PROGRAMS, AND WEBSITES around the world carried the story: the mapping of the human genome was complete.
There was just one pesky problem: it really wasn’t. There were, in fact, huge gaps in the sequence.
This wasn’t a case of the mainstream news media blowing things out of proportion. Highly respected scientific journals such as Science and Nature told pretty much the same story. It also wasn’t a case of scientists overstating their work. The truth is simply that, at the time, most researchers involved in the thirteen-year, $1 billion project agreed that we’d come as close as we possibly could—given the technology of the time—to identifying each of the 3 billion base pairs in our DNA.
The parts of the genome that were missing, generally overlapping sections of repetitive nucleotides, were just not considered important. These were areas of the code of life that were once derided as “junk DNA” and that are now a little better respected but still generally disregarded as “noncoding.” From the perspective of many of the best minds in science at the time, those regions were little more than the ghosts of genomes past, mostly remnants of dead hitchhiking viruses that had integrated into the genome hundreds of thousands of years ago. The stuff that makes us who we are, it was thought, had largely been identified, and we had what we needed to propel forward our understanding of what makes us human.
Yet by some estimates, that genetic dark matter accounts for as much as 69 percent of the total genome,1 and even within the regions generally regarded as “coding,” some scientists believe, up to 10 percent has yet to be decoded, including regions that impact aging.2
In the relatively short time that has come and gone since 2003, we have come to find out that within the famous double helix, there were sequences that were not just unmapped but essential to our lives. Indeed, many thousands of sequences had gone undetected because the original algorithms to detect genes were written to disregard any gene less than 300 base pairs long. In fact, genes can be as short as 21 base pairs, and today we’re discovering hundreds of them all over the genome.
These genes tell our cells to create specific proteins, and these proteins are the building blocks of the processes and traits that constitute human biology and lived experiences. And as we get closer to identifying a complete sequence of our DNA, we’ve come closer to having a “map” of the genes that control so much of our existence.
Even once we have a complete code, though, there’s something we still won’t be able to find.
We won’t be able to find an aging gene.
We have found genes that impact the symptoms of aging. We’ve found longevity genes that control the body’s defenses against aging and thus offer a path to slowing aging through natural, pharmaceutical, and technological interventions. But unlike the oncogenes that were discovered in the 1970s and that have given us a good target for going to battle against cancer, we haven’t identified a singular gene that causes aging. And we won’t.
Because our genes did not evolve to cause aging.
YEAST OF EDEN
My journey toward formulating the Information Theory of Aging was a long one. And in no small part, it can be traced to the work of a scientist who toiled without fame but whose work helped set the stage for a lot of the longevity research being done around the world today.
His name was Robert Mortimer, and if there was one adjective that seemed to come up more than any