A New Science of Life

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: info@iconbooks.co.uk

www.iconbooks.co.uk

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 Past ⁶ 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