See the First 3D Images of Bacteria's 'Biological Wheels'

Believe it or not, humans didn't invent the wheel. Long before we showed up, some of nature's tiniest organisms had already evolved wheel-like nanostructures to propel themselves through liquid media. Now, scientists have found a way to image bacteria's naturally occurring, biological wheels for the first time, New Scientist reports.

Most bacteria maneuver themselves around using tiny protein motors that power a spinning flagellum tail, which is no more than tens of nanometers wide. While scientists know that different motor structures produce different levels of mobility in bacteria, they haven't been able to study the details of these mechanisms—until now. According to the study recently published in the journal PNAS [PDF], researchers at Imperial College London used an electron microscope to capture the first-ever 3D renderings of these structures, which you can see below.

By freezing the bacteria through a process called electron cryo-tomography, they were able to image the motors from multiple angles. They looked at a handful of various bacteria samples—including Campylobacter and Salmonella—to see how their wheels differed. Flagella generate their torque from wheel-like structures around the motor called stators. Different bacteria have different amounts of stators, which in turn come in different shapes, sizes, and strength levels. Campylobacter, which has nearly double the stators of Salmonella, has enough propulsion power to penetrate your stomach lining.

The high-resolution images could be used by nanoroboticists to develop better motors in the future, or they could find a way to incorporate the biological wheels into their robots to avoid building them from scratch. Better understanding the mechanisms behind the structures could also help us to target harmful bacteria more efficiently. You can read the full report in PNAS.

Vibrio motor // Imperial College London

Salmonella motor // Imperial College London

Campylobacter motor // Imperial College London

[h/t New Scientist]

Dean Mouhtaropoulos/Getty Images
Essential Science
What Is a Scientific Theory?
Dean Mouhtaropoulos/Getty Images
Dean Mouhtaropoulos/Getty Images

In casual conversation, people often use the word theory to mean "hunch" or "guess": If you see the same man riding the northbound bus every morning, you might theorize that he has a job in the north end of the city; if you forget to put the bread in the breadbox and discover chunks have been taken out of it the next morning, you might theorize that you have mice in your kitchen.

In science, a theory is a stronger assertion. Typically, it's a claim about the relationship between various facts; a way of providing a concise explanation for what's been observed. The American Museum of Natural History puts it this way: "A theory is a well-substantiated explanation of an aspect of the natural world that can incorporate laws, hypotheses and facts."

For example, Newton's theory of gravity—also known as his law of universal gravitation—says that every object, anywhere in the universe, responds to the force of gravity in the same way. Observational data from the Moon's motion around the Earth, the motion of Jupiter's moons around Jupiter, and the downward fall of a dropped hammer are all consistent with Newton's theory. So Newton's theory provides a concise way of summarizing what we know about the motion of these objects—indeed, of any object responding to the force of gravity.

A scientific theory "organizes experience," James Robert Brown, a philosopher of science at the University of Toronto, tells Mental Floss. "It puts it into some kind of systematic form."


A theory's ability to account for already known facts lays a solid foundation for its acceptance. Let's take a closer look at Newton's theory of gravity as an example.

In the late 17th century, the planets were known to move in elliptical orbits around the Sun, but no one had a clear idea of why the orbits had to be shaped like ellipses. Similarly, the movement of falling objects had been well understood since the work of Galileo a half-century earlier; the Italian scientist had worked out a mathematical formula that describes how the speed of a falling object increases over time. Newton's great breakthrough was to tie all of this together. According to legend, his moment of insight came as he gazed upon a falling apple in his native Lincolnshire.

In Newton's theory, every object is attracted to every other object with a force that’s proportional to the masses of the objects, but inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them. This is known as an “inverse square” law. For example, if the distance between the Sun and the Earth were doubled, the gravitational attraction between the Earth and the Sun would be cut to one-quarter of its current strength. Newton, using his theories and a bit of calculus, was able to show that the gravitational force between the Sun and the planets as they move through space meant that orbits had to be elliptical.

Newton's theory is powerful because it explains so much: the falling apple, the motion of the Moon around the Earth, and the motion of all of the planets—and even comets—around the Sun. All of it now made sense.


A theory gains even more support if it predicts new, observable phenomena. The English astronomer Edmond Halley used Newton's theory of gravity to calculate the orbit of the comet that now bears his name. Taking into account the gravitational pull of the Sun, Jupiter, and Saturn, in 1705, he predicted that the comet, which had last been seen in 1682, would return in 1758. Sure enough, it did, reappearing in December of that year. (Unfortunately, Halley didn't live to see it; he died in 1742.) The predicted return of Halley's Comet, Brown says, was "a spectacular triumph" of Newton's theory.

In the early 20th century, Newton's theory of gravity would itself be superseded—as physicists put it—by Einstein's, known as general relativity. (Where Newton envisioned gravity as a force acting between objects, Einstein described gravity as the result of a curving or warping of space itself.) General relativity was able to explain certain phenomena that Newton's theory couldn't account for, such as an anomaly in the orbit of Mercury, which slowly rotates—the technical term for this is "precession"—so that while each loop the planet takes around the Sun is an ellipse, over the years Mercury traces out a spiral path similar to one you may have made as a kid on a Spirograph.

Significantly, Einstein’s theory also made predictions that differed from Newton's. One was the idea that gravity can bend starlight, which was spectacularly confirmed during a solar eclipse in 1919 (and made Einstein an overnight celebrity). Nearly 100 years later, in 2016, the discovery of gravitational waves confirmed yet another prediction. In the century between, at least eight predictions of Einstein's theory have been confirmed.


And yet physicists believe that Einstein's theory will one day give way to a new, more complete theory. It already seems to conflict with quantum mechanics, the theory that provides our best description of the subatomic world. The way the two theories describe the world is very different. General relativity describes the universe as containing particles with definite positions and speeds, moving about in response to gravitational fields that permeate all of space. Quantum mechanics, in contrast, yields only the probability that each particle will be found in some particular location at some particular time.

What would a "unified theory of physics"—one that combines quantum mechanics and Einstein's theory of gravity—look like? Presumably it would combine the explanatory power of both theories, allowing scientists to make sense of both the very large and the very small in the universe.


Let's shift from physics to biology for a moment. It is precisely because of its vast explanatory power that biologists hold Darwin's theory of evolution—which allows scientists to make sense of data from genetics, physiology, biochemistry, paleontology, biogeography, and many other fields—in such high esteem. As the biologist Theodosius Dobzhansky put it in an influential essay in 1973, "Nothing in biology makes sense except in the light of evolution."

Interestingly, the word evolution can be used to refer to both a theory and a fact—something Darwin himself realized. "Darwin, when he was talking about evolution, distinguished between the fact of evolution and the theory of evolution," Brown says. "The fact of evolution was that species had, in fact, evolved [i.e. changed over time]—and he had all sorts of evidence for this. The theory of evolution is an attempt to explain this evolutionary process." The explanation that Darwin eventually came up with was the idea of natural selection—roughly, the idea that an organism's offspring will vary, and that those offspring with more favorable traits will be more likely to survive, thus passing those traits on to the next generation.


Many theories are rock-solid: Scientists have just as much confidence in the theories of relativity, quantum mechanics, evolution, plate tectonics, and thermodynamics as they do in the statement that the Earth revolves around the Sun.

Other theories, closer to the cutting-edge of current research, are more tentative, like string theory (the idea that everything in the universe is made up of tiny, vibrating strings or loops of pure energy) or the various multiverse theories (the idea that our entire universe is just one of many). String theory and multiverse theories remain controversial because of the lack of direct experimental evidence for them, and some critics claim that multiverse theories aren't even testable in principle. They argue that there's no conceivable experiment that one could perform that would reveal the existence of these other universes.

Sometimes more than one theory is put forward to explain observations of natural phenomena; these theories might be said to "compete," with scientists judging which one provides the best explanation for the observations.

"That's how it should ideally work," Brown says. "You put forward your theory, I put forward my theory; we accumulate a lot of evidence. Eventually, one of our theories might prove to obviously be better than the other, over some period of time. At that point, the losing theory sort of falls away. And the winning theory will probably fight battles in the future."

More Evidence to Suggest That Your Insomnia Is Genetic

In 2016, a study on mice found that certain sleep traits, like insomnia, have genetic underpinnings. Several studies of human twins have also suggested that insomnia can be an inherited trait. Now, new research published in Molecular Psychiatry not only reinforces that finding, but also suggests that there may be a genetic link between insomnia and some other psychiatric and physical disorders, like depression and type 2 diabetes, as Psych Central alerts us.

Insomnia is particularly prevalent in populations of military veterans. For this study, researchers at VA San Diego Healthcare System analyzed questionnaire responses and blood samples from almost 33,000 new soldiers at the beginning of basic training, along with pre- and post-deployment surveys from nearly 8000 soldiers deployed to Afghanistan starting in early 2012. They conducted genome-wide association tests to determine the heritability of insomnia and links between insomnia and other disorders. The results were adjusted for the presence of major depression (since insomnia is a common symptom of depression).

The genotype data showed that insomnia disorder was highly heritable and pinpointed potential genes that may be involved. The study indicated that there's a strong genetic correlation between insomnia and major depression. (The two were distinct, though, meaning that the insomnia couldn't be totally explained by the depression.) They also found a significant genetic correlation between insomnia and type 2 diabetes.

Because the study relied on data from the U.S. military, the study doesn't have the most far-reaching sample—it was largely male and wasn't as racially diverse as it could have been. (While it analyzed responses from recruits from European, African, and Latino ancestry, there weren't enough Asian-American participants to analyze as a group.) The responses were also self-reported, which isn't always the most accurate data-collection method.

The genes indicated by this study could be used to develop new treatments for insomnia, but future studies will likely need to explore these questions within broader populations.

[h/t Psych Central]


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