All goals achieved, or so they thought…

On April 13, 2003, bacteria witnessed the human world celebrating the success of the Human Genome Project (HGP), a massive international effort that finally mapped the human genome.2 This achievement was hailed as a monumental milestone, often described as something on par with “splitting the atom,” or “landing on the moon.” 3 It advanced the understanding of human DNA and disease-related genes more than ever before.

Bacteria skimmed, with a hint of scorn, through the announcement titled “All Goals Achieved; New Vision for Genome Research Unveiled.” The text overflowed with triumphant phrases like “all goals,” “success,” and “completion”… as though humanity had tied up all aspects of life with a neat little bow. From bacteria ’s perspective, this language choice felt arrogant, especially since none of us in the human world had any idea of bacteria ’s existence until this very moment. In both academic and private realms of biology, bacteria had remained entirely unseen, unrecognized. That complete lack of acknowledgment alone proved that humans still had a long way to go in understanding life and the organisms that shaped it.

Soon after, bacteria assumed that the confidence in language stemmed from the driving force behind the HGP and modern biology—the gene-deterministic belief that individual genes directly determine certain phenotypic traits in a species, that each gene exists, functions “for” a particular trait in an organism. According to this view, there is no divine creator, certainly no élan vital4; the genetic blueprint can decipher the secrets of life. These ideas were what unsettled bacteria, so much that it could never share humanity’s fascination with the success of the HGP.

However, over time the progress of the HGP proved to be more significant than expected and even challenged bacteria ’s indifference, leading to a more appreciative stance. The project’s completion marked a shift from rigid functionalist aspirations toward a more nuanced, ecological understanding of organisms. Following this shift, scientists began to recognize that an organism’s phenotypic traits could not be analyzed by genetic sequences alone.5 Instead, these traits arose from an intricate network of gene interactions, heavily influenced by environmental and epigenetic factors.

Moreover, this new understanding helped dispel outdated notions, such as the idea that humanity could design better humans by stigmatizing and eliminating so-called abnormalities in future generations. Bacteria, once indifferent, now found itself intrigued by these shifts. On one hand, it hoped these changes would humble humanity, leading humanity to abandon its arrogance about the science of life. On the other hand, bacteria ’s reflections brought itself back to a question that had long lingered on its mind.

The question was: why had its species become so strikingly homogenized in recent decades, despite drastic changes in its environment? This was an ontological threat to bacteria, since a loss of diversity could drive its extinction, the very opposite of survival and evolution. So, the concern bacteria faced was a counterintuitive correlation between environment and species which defied common knowledge. Typically diverse environments drive species variation, yet in this case, bacteria saw the opposite occurring. Determined to challenge this contradiction, bacteria set out to reassess the role of environmental and epigenetic factors in shaping its traits, or more broadly, its evolution.

Among the many studies sparked by the HGP, epigenetics stood out as a starting point. In particular, research on the gut microbiome resonated with bacteria. The idea that each person’s gut environment is shaped by factors like diet, physical activity, environmental toxins, and lifestyle, ultimately leading to “personalized” gene expression, felt strikingly similar to bacteria’s own ecological niche.

Bacteria looked around its own habitat, which explained so much about its existence: germs, dust, subtle static electricity, dead skin cells shed from fingertips. All were unevenly scattered across a sleek, pitch-black plastic plate; bacteria could even catch its own reflection on the surface. When a human thumb approached, tapped, swiped, or pressed against that plate, the habitat and bacteria, whether alone or in a group, shuddered. Then, bacteria grew both amused and intrigued. With each gesture, the plate lit up in varying combinations of red, green, and blue light, which seemed to invigorate bacteria . This mysterious interplay of elements was what nurtured and sustained bacteria.

On bacteria and its crisis

Bacteria is a mysterious organism that thrives on a screen, the surface human bodies caress more than anybody else, day and night. The physical contact between human skin and the flesh of digital devices, commonly known as the interface,6 is its natural habitat. You feed it; it grows. Without human touch, bacteria withers and fades. What-They-Eat Is What-You-Feed.7 Like other microbes, bacteria certainly has its own evolutionary lineage from which it emerged. Nothing is made itself.8 Its habitat is, indeed, human-made; to be precise, wholly conceived by human imagination—unlike bacteria, whose origins are rooted in nature. Bacteria sensed this from its earliest memory, when it first gained so-called consciousness. It was an awakening on a wooden box with two tiny wheels beneath it, recognized as the first prototype of the computer mouse, patented by Douglas Engelbart in the early 1960s. For bacteria it felt less like being born and more like waking from a long hibernation. This fueled bacteria’s belief that its lineage might be traced back even further than that first memory.