One of the trickiest urges to resist when it comes to figuring out how the world really works is the tendency to assume our current paradigms or worldview must be supreme—the obvious product of the gradual evolution toward (eventual) perfection.
Much of the problem stems from the fact that we reify our so-called “truths,” on a daily basis through everyday life. We fly on airplanes that rarely fall from the sky. We go to the dentist with a pain, he fills our cavities and the pain (usually) goes away. We head to the doctor with an upset stomach and he prescribes antibiotics after diagnosing us with an ulcer.
What we forget, however, is that it wasn’t always this way.
In fact, back when we held former “old-fashioned,” worldviews, the contemporary way of doing things probably seemed foolish, if not downright silly. After all, at the turn of the century everyone knew that humans weren’t meant to fly. More recently, up until the 1980’s everyone “knew” that ulcers were caused by stress, alcohol, or the consumption of spicy foods. And these weren’t cranks mind you, these were respected scientists and MD’s working for the finest research hospitals in the world. It was only when two maverick Australian physicians Barry J. Marshall and Robin Warren published their findings in a 1983 issue of the Lancet—suggesting that the bacteria H. pylori was actually responsible for ulcers—that the rest of us began to “realize the real truth.” Namely, that ulcers are caused by bcteria and are best treated with conventional antibiotics.
Of course, despite the overwhelming evidence, this truth was no easy sell. For many years after, major medical encyclopedias still insisted that ulcers were caused by spicy foods. Even today, about 10% of the medical community refuses to go along. Heck, it’s probable that a good third of you reading this find these whole developments difficult to swallow.
All of this is a way of suggesting we need to recognize that in all likelihood our current truths and beliefs—no matter how commonsensical—will at some point be turned on their head. And as perverse as this may seem, this will likely happen in the name of something called progress.
So it should come as little surprise, then, to find out that researchers working at the University of Wisconsin have discovered that the human adenovirus Ad-37 causes obesity in chickens. Yes, that’s right, a human virus was found to be responsible for several forms of obesity in chickens.
Moreover, as reported in Scienceblog:
“This finding builds on studies that two related viruses, Ad-36 and Ad-5, also cause obesity in animals. Moreover, Ad-36 has been associated with human obesity, leading researchers to suspect that Ad-37 also may be implicated in human obesity.”
In case you have a hard time following the connections, the suggestion is that some researchers are now wondering whether many forms obesity may, in fact, be caused by a virus. Perhaps your obese Uncle George simply drank from the wrong water fountain at the airport?
Of course, much more research is obviously needed to determine whether or not Ad-37 may cause obesity in humans but still, this could someday lead to startling developments. Among them a potential screening test (to determine those infected who are at risk of obesity) and, someday perhaps, a vaccine (to prevent infection).
And if any of this sounds absurd or far-fetched it might be worth taking a moment to think about how much of our routine thinking about disease has been shaped by our combined belief in genetic predetermination, environment and individual lifestyle.
It was only fairly recently, after all, that the “genetics paradigm,” came to dominate the cancer research field. Previously most researchers assumed many forms of cancer to originate from infectious vectors. But as the genetics paradigm took hold, it encountered difficulties. Namely, the genetic paradigm cannot intuitively explain concentrations and clusters of cancer (genes are generally assumed to be evenly distributed throughout a population). In response theorists developed elaborate arguments about environmental factors and lifestyle factors—lead, smoking, asbestos, etc. But even the most exhaustive research has rarely managed to find any clear linkages between obvious pathogens and cancer.
Meanwhile, many epidemiologists are exploring the old-fashioned maxim that whenever you see intense prevalence of disease (be it isolated or global), there is a reasonably good chance the cause could be infection. As the study noted:
“The nearly simultaneous increase in the prevalence of obesity in most countries of the world is difficult to explain by changes in food intake and exercise alone, and suggest that adenoviruses could have contributed. ‘It makes people feel more comfortable to think that obesity stems from lack of control,’ the researchers noted ‘It's a big mental leap to think you can catch obesity.'"
Of course the point here is not to suggest we are on the cusp of a new era in which freshly-vaccinated children will partake freely of the McDonald’s smorgasbord. Rather, we’re merely using this rather surprising and unusual finding to remind us that the future trajectory of health and lifestyle developments will likely have little to do with our current ways of thinking.
Put another way, if you envision a moment 30 or 40 years from now in which consumers are living longer, more healthful lives due to declining obesity rates—rates themselves brought about by better eating habits and more informed choices. Well, the chances are your vision will be far, far off the mark.
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