Research Area: Biochemistry, Biophysics, and Structural Biology
New professor of biology uses budding yeast to address fundamental questions in cell biology.
Lillian Eden | Department of Biology
September 28, 2023
Sipping a beer on an early autumn evening, one might not consider that humans and yeast have been inextricably linked for thousands of years; winemaking, baking, and brewing all depend on budding yeast. Outside of baking and fermentation, researchers also use Saccharomyces cerevisiae, classified as a fungus, to study fundamental questions of cell biology.
Budding yeast gets its name from the way it multiplies. A daughter cell forms first as a swelling, protruding growth on the mother cell. The daughter cell projects further and further from the mother cell until it detaches as an independent yeast cell.
How do cells decide on a front and back? How do cells decode concentration gradients of chemical signals to orient in useful directions, or sense and navigate around physical obstacles? New Department of Biology faculty member Daniel “Danny” Lew uses the model yeast S. cerevisiae, and a non-model yeast with an unusual pattern of cell division, to explore these questions.
Q: Why is it useful to study yeast, and how do you approach the questions you hope to answer?
A: Humans and yeast are descended from a common ancestor, and some molecular mechanisms developed by that ancestor have been around for so long that yeast and mammals often use the same mechanisms. Many cells develop a front and migrate or grow in a particular direction, like the axons in our nervous system, using similar molecular mechanisms to those of yeast cells orienting growth towards the bud.
When I started my lab, I was working on cell cycle control, but I’ve always been interested in morphogenesis and the cell biology of how cells change shape and decide to do different things with different parts of themselves. Those mechanisms turn out to be conserved between yeast and humans.
But some things are very different about fungal and animal cells. One of the differences is the cell wall and what fungal cells have to do to deal with the fact that they have a cell wall.
Fungi are inflated by turgor pressure, which pushes their membranes against the rigid cell wall. This means they’ll die if there is any hole in the cell wall, which would be expected to happen often as cells remodel the wall in order to grow. We’re interested in understanding how fungi sense when any weak spots appear in the wall and repair them before those weak spots become dangerous.
Yeast cells, like most fungi, also mate by fusing with a partner. To succeed, they must do the most dangerous thing in the fungal life cycle: get rid of the cell wall at the point of contact to allow fusion. That means they must be precise about where and when they remove the wall. We’re fascinated to understand how they know it is safe to remove the wall there, and nowhere else.
We take an interdisciplinary approach. We’ve used genetics, biochemistry, cell biology, and computational biology to try and solve problems in the past. There’s a natural progression: observation and genetic approaches tend to be the first line of attack when you know nothing about how something works. As you learn more, you need biochemical approaches and, eventually, computational approaches to understand exactly what mechanism you’re looking at.
I’m also passionate about mentoring, and I love working with trainees and getting them fascinated by the same problems that fascinate me. I’m looking to work with curious trainees who love addressing fundamental problems.
Q: How does yeast decide to orient a certain way — toward a mating partner, for example?
A: We are still working on questions of how cells analyze the surrounding environment to pick a direction. Yeast cells have receptors that sense pheromones that a mating partner releases. What is amazing about that is that these cells are incredibly small, and pheromones are released by several potential partners in the neighborhood. That means yeast cells must interpret a very confusing landscape of pheromone concentrations. It’s not apparent how they manage to orient accurately toward a single partner.
That got me interested in related questions. Suppose the cell is oriented toward something that isn’t a mating partner. The cell seems to recognize that there’s an obstacle in the way, and it can change direction to go around that obstacle. This is how fungi get so good at growing into things that look very solid, like wood, and some fungi can even penetrate Kevlar vests.
If they recognize an obstacle, they have to change directions and go around it. If they recognize a mating partner, they have to stick with that direction and allow the cell wall to get degraded. How do they know they’ve hit an obstacle? How do they know a mating partner is different from an obstacle? These are the questions we’d like to understand.
Q: For the last couple of years, you’ve also been studying a budding yeast that forms multiple buds when it reproduces instead of just one. How did you come across it, and what questions are you hoping to explore?
A: I spent several years trying to figure out why most yeasts make one bud and only one bud, which I think is related to the question of why migrating cells make one and only one front. We had what we thought was a persuasive answer to that, so seeing a yeast completely disobey that and make as many buds as it felt like was a shock, which got me intrigued.
We started working on it because my colleague, Amy Gladfelter, had sampled the waters around Woods Hole, Massachusetts. When she saw this specimen under a microscope, she immediately called me and said, “You have to look at this.”
A question we’re very intrigued by is if the cell makes five, seven, or 12 buds simultaneously, how do they divide the mother cell’s material and growth capacity five, seven, or 12 ways? It looks like all of the buds grow at the same rate and reach about the same size. One of our short-term goals is to check whether all the buds really get to exactly the same size or whether they are born unequal.
And we’re interested in more than just growth rate. What about organelles? Do you give each bud the same number of mitochondria, nuclei, peroxisomes, and vacuoles? That question will inevitably lead to follow-up questions. If each bud has the same number of mitochondria, how does the cell measure mitochondrial inheritance to do that? If they don’t have the same amount, then buds are each born with a different complement and ratio of organelles. What happens to buds if they have very different numbers of organelles?
As far as we can tell, every bud gets at least one nucleus. How the cell ensures that each bud gets a nucleus is a question we’d also very much like to understand.
We have molecular candidates because we know a lot about how model yeasts deliver nuclei, organelles, and growth materials from the mother to the single bud. We can mutate candidate genes and see if similar molecular pathways are involved in the multi-budding yeast and, if so, how they are working.
It turns out that this unconventional yeast has yet to be studied from the point of view of basic cell biology. The other thing that intrigues me is that it’s a poly-extremophile. This yeast can survive under many rather harsh conditions: it’s been isolated in Antarctica, from jet engines, from all kinds of plants, and of course from the ocean as well. An advantage of working with something so ubiquitous is we already know it’s not toxic to us under almost any circumstances. We come into contact with it all the time. If we learn enough about its cell biology to begin to manipulate it, then there are many potential applications, from human health to agriculture.
Neurons stochastically generated up to eight different versions of a protein-regulating neurotransmitter release, which could vary how they communicate with other cells.
David Orenstein | The Picower Institute for Learning and Memory
September 25, 2023
Neurons are talkers. They each communicate with fellow neurons, muscles, or other cells by releasing neurotransmitter chemicals at “synapse” junctions, ultimately producing functions ranging from emotions to motions. But even neurons of the exact same type can vary in their conversational style. A new open-access study in Cell Reports by neurobiologists at The Picower Institute for Learning and Memory highlights a molecular mechanism that might help account for the nuanced diversity of neural discourse.
The scientists made their findings in neurons that control muscles in Drosophila fruit flies. These cells are models in neuroscience because they exhibit many fundamental properties common to neurons in people and other animals, including communication via the release of the neurotransmitter glutamate. In the lab of Troy Littleton, Menicon Professor in MIT’s departments of Biology and Brain and Cognitive Sciences, which studies how neurons regulate this critical process, researchers frequently see that individual neurons vary in their release patterns. Some “talk” more than others.
In more than a decade of studies, Littleton’s lab has shown that a protein called complexin has the job of restraining spontaneous glutamate chatter. It clamps down on fusion of glutamate-filled vesicles at the synaptic membrane to preserve a supply of the neurotransmitter for when the neuron needs it for a functional reason, for instance to simulate a muscle to move. The lab’s studies have identified two different kinds of complexin in flies (mammals have four) and showed that the clamping effectiveness of the rare but potent 7B splice form is regulated by a molecular process called phosphorylation. How the much more abundant 7A version is regulated was not known, but scientists had shown that the RNA transcribed from DNA that instructs the formation of the protein is sometimes edited in the cell by an enzyme called ADAR.
In the new study from Littleton’s team, led by Elizabeth Brija PhD ’23, the lab investigated whether RNA editing of complexin 7A affects how it regulates glutamate release. What she discovered was surprising. Not only does RNA editing of complexin 7A have a significant impact on how well the protein prevents glutamate release, but also this can vary widely among individual neurons because they can stochastically mix and match up to eight different editions of the protein. Some edits were much more common than others on average, but 96 percent of the 200 neurons the team examined had at least some editing, which affected the structure of an end of the protein called its C-terminus. Experiments to test some of the consequences of this structural variation showed that different complexin 7A edits can dramatically affect the level of electrical current measurable at different synapses. That varying level of activity can also affect the growth of the synapses the neurons make with muscle. RNA editing of the protein might therefore endow each neuron with fine degrees of communication control.
“What this offers the nervous system is that you can take the same transcriptome and by alternatively editing various RNA transcripts, these neurons will behave differently,” Littleton says.
Moreover, Littleton and Brija’s team found that other key proteins involved in synaptic glutamate release, such as synapsin and Syx1A, are also sometimes edited at quite different levels among the same population of neurons. This suggests that other aspects of synaptic communication might also be tunable.
“Such a mechanism would be a robust way to change multiple features of neuronal output,” Brija, Littleton, and colleagues wrote.
The team tracked the different editing levels by meticulously extracting and sequencing RNA from the nuclei and cell bodies of 200 motor neurons. The work yielded a rich enough dataset to show that any of three adenosine nucleotides encoding two amino acids in the C-terminus could be swapped for another, yielding eight different editions of the protein. A slim majority of complexin 7A went unedited in the average neuron, while the seven edited versions composed the rest with widely varying degrees of frequency.
To investigate the functional consequences of some of the different editions, the team knocked out complexin and then “rescued” flies by adding back in unedited or two different edited versions. The experiments showed a stark contrast between the two edited proteins. One, which occurs more commonly, proved to be a less effective clamp than unedited complexin, barely preventing spontaneous glutamate release and upticks in electrical current. The other turned out to be more effective at clamping than the unedited version, keeping a tight lid on glutamate release and synaptic output. And while both of the edited versions showed a tendency to drift away from synapses and into the neuron’s axon, the long branch that extends from the cell body, the edition that clamped well prevented any overgrowth of synapses while the one that clamped poorly provided only a meager curb.
Because multiple editions are often present in neurons, Brija and the team did one more set of experiments in which they “rescued” complexin-less flies with a combination of unedited complexin and the weak-clamping edition. The result was a blend of the two: reduced spontaneous glutamate release than with just the weakly clamping edition alone. The findings suggest that not only does each edition potentially fine-tune glutamate release, but that combinations among them can act in a combinatorial fashion.
In addition to Brija and Littleton the paper’s other authors are Zhuo Guan and Suresh Jetti.
The National Institutes of Health, The JPB Foundation, and The Picower Institute for Learning and Memory supported the research.
September 18, 2023
New research from the Jaenisch lab shows that SARS-CoV-2 can infect sensory neurons, leading to changes in the cells' gene expression. These findings may help to explain how the virus causes symptoms in the peripheral nervous system
Greta Friar | Whitehead Institute
September 5, 2023
New Professor of Biology Daniel Lew uses budding yeast to address fundamental questions in cell biology
Lillian Eden | Department of Biology
August 3, 2023
Sipping a beer on a warm summer evening, one might not consider that humans and yeast have been inextricably linked for thousands of years; winemaking, baking, and brewing all depend on budding yeast. Outside of baking and fermentation, researchers also use Saccharomyces cerevisiae, classified as a fungus, to study fundamental questions of cell biology.
Budding yeast gets its name from the way it multiplies. A daughter cell forms first as a swelling, protruding growth on the mother cell. The daughter cell projects further and further from the mother cell until it detaches as an independent yeast cell.
How do cells decide on a front and back? How do cells decode concentration gradients of chemical signals to orient in useful directions, or sense and navigate around physical obstacles? New Department of Biology faculty member Daniel “Danny” Lew uses the model yeast S. cerevisiae, and a non-model yeast with an unusual pattern of cell division, to explore these questions.
Q: Why is it useful to study yeast, and how do you approach the questions you hope to answer?
A: Humans and yeast are descended from a common ancestor, and some molecular mechanisms developed by that ancestor have been around for so long that yeast and mammals often use the same mechanisms. Many cells develop a front and migrate or grow in a particular direction, like the axons in our nervous system, using similar molecular mechanisms to those of yeast cells orienting growth towards the bud.
When I started my lab, I was working on cell cycle control, but I’ve always been interested in morphogenesis and the cell biology of how cells change shape and decide to do different things with different parts of themselves. Those mechanisms turn out to be conserved between yeast and humans.
But some things are very different about fungal and animal cells. One of the differences is the cell wall and what fungal cells have to do to deal with the fact that they have a cell wall.
Fungi are inflated by turgor pressure, which pushes their membranes against the rigid cell wall. This means they’ll die if there is any hole in the cell wall, which would be expected to happen often as cells remodel the wall in order to grow. We’re interested in understanding how fungi sense when any weak spots appear in the wall and repair them before those weak spots become dangerous.
Yeast cells, like most fungi, also mate by fusing with a partner. To succeed, they must do the most dangerous thing in the fungal lifecycle: get rid of the cell wall at the point of contact to allow fusion. That means they must be precise about where and when they remove the wall. We’re fascinated to understand how they know it is safe to remove the wall there, and nowhere else.
We take an interdisciplinary approach. We’ve used genetics, biochemistry, cell biology, and computational biology to try and solve problems in the past. There’s a natural progression: observation and genetic approaches tend to be the first line of attack when you know nothing about how something works. As you learn more, you need biochemical approaches and, eventually, computational approaches to understand exactly what mechanism you’re looking at.
I’m also passionate about mentoring, and I love working with trainees and getting them fascinated by the same problems that fascinate me. I’m looking to work with curious trainees who love addressing fundamental problems.
Q: How does yeast decide to orient a certain way—towards a mating partner, for example?
A: We are still working on questions of how cells analyze the surrounding environment to pick a direction. Yeast cells have receptors that sense pheromones that a mating partner releases. What is amazing about that is that these cells are incredibly small, and pheromones are released by several potential partners in the neighborhood. That means yeast cells must interpret a very confusing landscape of pheromone concentrations. It’s not apparent how they manage to orient accurately toward a single partner.
That got me interested in related questions. Suppose the cell is oriented toward something that isn’t a mating partner. The cell seems to recognize that there’s an obstacle in the way, and it can change direction to go around that obstacle. This is how fungi get so good at growing into things that look very solid, like wood, and some fungi can even penetrate Kevlar vests.
If they recognize an obstacle, they have to change directions and go around it. If they recognize a mating partner, they have to stick with that direction and allow the cell wall to get degraded. How do they know they’ve hit an obstacle? How do they know a mating partner is different from an obstacle? These are the questions we’d like to understand.
Q: For the last couple of years, you’ve also been studying a budding yeast that forms multiple buds when it reproduces instead of just one. How did you come across it, and what questions are you hoping to explore?
A: I spent several years trying to figure out why most yeasts make one bud and only one bud, which I think is related to the question of why migrating cells make one and only one front. We had what we thought was a persuasive answer to that, so seeing a yeast completely disobey that and make as many buds as it felt like was a shock, which got me intrigued.
We started working on it because my colleague,Amy Gladfelter, had sampled the waters around Woods Hole, Massachusetts. When she saw this specimen under a microscope, she immediately called me and said, “You have to look at this.”
A question we’re very intrigued by is if the cell makes five, seven, or 12 buds simultaneously, how do they divide the mother cell’s material and growth capacity five, seven, or 12 ways? It looks like all of the buds grow at the same rate and reach about the same size. One of our short-term goals is to check whether all the buds really get to exactly the same size or whether they are born unequal.
And we’re interested in more than just growth rate. What about organelles? Do you give each bud the same number of mitochondria, nuclei, peroxisomes, and vacuoles? That question will inevitably lead to follow-up questions. If each bud has the same number of mitochondria, how does the cell measure mitochondrial inheritance to do that? If they don’t have the same amount, then buds are each born with a different complement and ratio of organelles. What happens to buds if they have very different numbers of organelles?
As far as we can tell, every bud gets at least one nucleus. How the cell ensures that each bud gets a nucleus is a question we’d also very much like to understand.
We have molecular candidates because we know a lot about how model yeasts deliver nuclei, organelles, and growth materials from the mother to the single bud. We can mutate candidate genes and see if similar molecular pathways are involved in the multi-budding yeast and, if so, how they are working.
It turns out that this unconventional yeast has yet to be studied from the point of view of basic cell biology. The other thing that intrigues me is that it’s a poly-extremophile. This yeast can survive under many rather harsh conditions: it’s been isolated in Antarctica, from jet engines, from all kinds of plants, and of course from the ocean as well. An advantage of working with something so ubiquitous is we already know it’s not toxic to us under almost any circumstances. We come into contact with it all the time. If we learn enough about its cell biology to begin to manipulate it, then there are many potential applications, from human health to agriculture.
Three-year fellowship will support Weissbourd’s research on how the C. hemisphaerica jellyfish survives and thrives by constantly making new neurons.
David Orenstein | The Picower Institute for Learning and Memory
July 20, 2023
The Clytia hemisphaerica jellyfish is not only a hypnotically graceful swimmer, but also an amazing neuron-manufacturing machine with a remarkable ability to expand and regenerate its nervous system.
Now, thanks to a prestigious Klingenstein-Simons Fellowship Award in Neuroscience, MIT Assistant Professor Brady Weissbourd will study how the tiny, transparent animals use this ability to build, organize, and rebuild a stable, functional, and robust nervous system throughout their lives.
“As we look more broadly across the animal kingdom it is amazing to see how similar the basic biology is of animals that look completely different — even jellyfish have neurons similar to our own that generate their behavior,” says Weissbourd, a faculty member in MIT’s Department of Biology and The Picower Institute for Learning and Memory, whose work to engineer genetic access to C. hemisphaerica in 2021 established it as a new neuroscience model organism. “At the same time, it could be just as important to examine what is different across species, particularly when it comes to some of the incredible capabilities that have evolved.”
Weissbourd is just one of 13 researchers nationally to be recognized with this fellowship, which provides $300,000 over three years. It will enable Weissbourd’s lab to tackle several questions raised by the jellyfish’s prodigious production of neurons. Where does the constant stream of newborn neurons come from, and what guides them to their eventual places in the jellyfish’s mesh-like neural network? How does the jellyfish organize these ever-changing neural populations — for instance, into functional circuits — to enable its various behaviors?
Another question hails from the surprising results of an experiment in which Weissbourd ablated the entire class of the neurons that the jellyfish uses to fold up its umbrella-shaped body — about 10 percent of the 10,000 or so neurons that it has. He found that within a week enough new neurons had taken their place that the folding behavior was restored. Weissbourd’s studies will also seek to determine how the animal can so readily bounce back from the destruction of a whole major neural network and the behavior it produces.
“We were studying the neural control of a particular behavior and stumbled across this shocking observation that the subnetwork that controls this behavior is constantly changing size and can completely regenerate,” Weissbourd says. “We want to understand the mechanisms that allow this network to be so robust, including the ability to rebuild itself from scratch. I’m very grateful to the Klingenstein Fund and the Simons Foundation for supporting our work.”
David Orenstein | The Picower Institute for Learning and Memory
June 23, 2023
Perhaps the most obvious feature of a neuron is the long branch called an axon that ventures far from the cell body to connect with other neurons or muscles. If that long, thin projection ever seems like it could be vulnerable, a new MIT study shows that its structural integrity may indeed require the support of a surrounding protein called perlecan. Without that protein in Drosophila fruit flies, researchers at The Picower Institute for Learning and Memory found axonal segments can break apart during development and the connections, or synapses, that they form end up dying away.
Perlecan helps make the extracellular matrix, the proteins and other molecules that surround cells, stable and flexible so that cells can develop and function in an environment that is supportive without being rigid.
“What we found was that the extracellular matrix around nerves was being altered and essentially causing the nerves to break completely. Broken nerves eventually led to the synapses retracting,” says study senior author Troy Littleton, the Menicon Professor in MIT’s departments of Biology and Brain and Cognitive Sciences.
Humans need at least some perlecan to survive after birth. Mutations that reduce, but don’t eliminate, perlecan can cause Schwartz-Jampel syndrome, in which patients experience neuromuscular problems and skeletal abnormalities. The new study may help explain how neurons are affected in the condition, Littleton says, and also deepen scientists’ understanding of how the extracellular matrix supports axon and neural circuit development.
Ellen Guss PhD ’23, who recently defended her doctoral thesis on the work, led the research published June 8 in eLife.
At first she and Littleton didn’t expect the study to yield a new discovery about the durability of developing axons. Instead, they were investigating a hypothesis that perlecan might help organize some of the protein components in synapses that fly nerves develop to connect with muscles. But when they knocked out the gene called “trol” that encodes perlecan in flies, they saw that the neurons appeared to “retract” many synapses at a late stage of larval development. Proteins on the muscle side of the synaptic connection remained, but the neuron side of the connection withered away. That suggested that perlecan had a bigger role than they first thought.
Indeed, the authors found that the perlecan wasn’t particularly enriched around synapses. Where it was pronounced was in a structure called the neural lamella, which surrounds axon bundles and acts a bit like the rubbery cladding around a TV cable to keep the structure intact. That suggested that a lack of perlecan might not be a problem at the synapse, but instead causes trouble along axons due to its absence in the extracellular matrix surrounding nerve bundles.
Littleton’s lab had developed a technique for daily imaging of fly neural development called serial intravital imaging. They applied it to watch what happened to the fly axons and synapses over a four-day span. They observed that while fly axons and synapses developed normally at first, not only synapses but also whole segments of axons faded away.
They also saw that the farther an axon segment was from the fly’s brain, the more likely it was to break apart, suggesting that the axon segments became more vulnerable the further out they extended. Looking segment by segment, they found that where axons were breaking down, synapse loss would soon follow, suggesting that axon breakage was the cause of the synapse retraction.
“The breakages were happening in a segment-wide manner,” Littleton says. “In some segments the nerves would break and in some they wouldn’t. Whenever there was a breakage event, you would see all the neuromuscular junctions (synapses) across all the muscles in that segment retract.”
When they compared the structure of the lamella in mutant versus healthy flies, they found that the lamella was thinner and defective in the mutants. Moreover, where the lamella was weakened, axons were prone to break and the microtubule structures that run the length of the axon would become misdirected, protruding outward and becoming tangled up in dramatic bundles at sites of severed axons.
In one other key finding, the team showed that perlecan’s critical role depended on its secretion from many cells, not just neurons. Blocking the protein in just one cell type or another did not cause the problems that total knockdown did, and enhancing secretion from just neurons was not enough to overcome its deficiency from other sources.
Altogether, the evidence pointed to a scenario where lack of perlecan secretion caused the neural lamella to be thin and defective, with the extracellular matrix becoming too rigid. The further from the brain nerve bundles extended, the more likely movement stresses would cause the axons to break where the lamella had broken down. The microtubule structure within the axons then became disorganized. That ultimately led to synapses downstream of those breakages dying away because the disruption of the microtubules means the cells could no longer support the synapses.
“When you don’t have that flexibility, although the extracellular matrix is still there, it becomes very rigid and tight and that basically leads to this breakage as the animal moves and pulls on those nerves over time,” Littleton says. “It argues that the extracellular matrix is functional early on and can support development, but doesn’t have the right properties to sustain some key functions over time as the animal begins to move and navigate around. The loss of flexibility becomes really critical.”
In addition to Littleton and Guss, the paper’s other authors are Yulia Akbergenova and Karen Cunningham.
Support for the study came from the National Institutes of Health. The Littleton Lab is also supported by The Picower Institute for Learning and Memory and The JPB Foundation.
It can be difficult to tell which of the many small genetic differences between us and chimps have been significant to our evolution. New research from Jonathan Weissman and colleagues narrowed in on the key differences in how humans and chimps rely on certain genes, including how humans became able to grow comparatively large brains.
Greta Friar | Whitehead Institute
June 22, 2023
Humans split away from our closest animal relatives, chimpanzees, and formed our own branch on the evolutionary tree about seven million years ago. In the time since—brief, from an evolutionary perspective—our ancestors evolved the traits that make us human, including a much bigger brain than chimpanzees and bodies that are better suited to walking on two feet. These physical differences are underpinned by subtle changes at the level of our DNA. However, it can be hard to tell which of the many small genetic differences between us and chimps have been significant to our evolution.
New research from Whitehead Institute Member Jonathan Weissman; University of California, San Francisco Assistant Professor Alex Pollen; Weissman lab postdoc Richard She; Pollen lab graduate student Tyler Fair; and colleagues uses cutting edge tools developed in the Weissman lab to narrow in on the key differences in how humans and chimps rely on certain genes. Their findings, published in the journal Cell on June 20, may provide unique clues into how humans and chimps have evolved, including how humans became able to grow comparatively large brains.
Studying function rather than genetic code
Only a handful of genes are fundamentally different between humans and chimps; the rest of the two species’ genes are typically nearly identical. Differences between the species often come down to when and how cells use those nearly identical genes. However, only some of the many differences in gene use between the two species underlie big changes in physical traits. The researchers developed an approach to narrow in on these impactful differences.
Their approach, using stem cells derived from human and chimp skin samples, relies on a tool called CRISPR interference (CRISPRi) that Weissman’s lab developed. CRISPRi uses a modified version of the CRISPR/Cas9 gene editing system to effectively turn off individual genes. The researchers used CRISPRi to turn off each gene one at a time in a group of human stem cells and a group of chimp stem cells. Then they looked to see whether or not the cells multiplied at their normal rate. If the cells stopped multiplying as quickly or stopped altogether, then the gene that had been turned off was considered essential: a gene that the cells need to be active–producing a protein product–in order to thrive. The researchers looked for instances in which a gene was essential in one species but not the other as a way of exploring if and how there were fundamental differences in the basic ways that human and chimp cells function.
By looking for differences in how cells function with particular genes disabled, rather than looking at differences in the DNA sequence or expression of genes, the approach ignores differences that do not appear to impact cells. If a difference in gene use between species has a large, measurable effect at the level of the cell, this likely reflects a meaningful difference between the species at a larger physical scale, and so the genes identified in this way are likely to be relevant to the distinguishing features that have emerged over human and chimp evolution.
“The problem with looking at expression changes or changes in DNA sequences is that there are many of them and their functional importance is unclear,” says Weissman, who is also a professor of biology at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and an Investigator with the Howard Hughes Medical Institute. “This approach looks at changes in how genes interact to perform key biological processes, and what we see by doing that is that, even on the short timescale of human evolution, there has been fundamental rewiring of cells.”
After the CRISPRi experiments were completed, She compiled a list of the genes that appeared to be essential in one species but not the other. Then he looked for patterns. Many of the 75 genes identified by the experiments clustered together in the same pathways, meaning the clusters were involved in the same biological processes. This is what the researchers hoped to see. Individual small changes in gene use may not have much of an effect, but when those changes accumulate in the same biological pathway or process, collectively they can cause a substantive change in the species. When the researchers’ approach identified genes that cluster in the same processes, this suggested to them that their approach had worked and that the genes were likely involved in human and chimp evolution.
“Isolating the genetic changes that made us human has been compared to searching for needles in a haystack because there are millions of genetic differences, and most are likely to have negligible effects on traits,” Pollen says. “However, we know that there are lots of small effect mutations that in aggregate may account for many species differences. This new approach allows us to study these aggregate effects, enabling us to weigh the impact of the haystack on cellular functions.”
Researchers think bigger brains may rely on genes regulating how quickly cells divide
One cluster on the list stood out to the researchers: a group of genes essential to chimps, but not to humans, that help to control the cell cycle, which regulates when and how cells decide to divide. Cell cycle regulation has long been hypothesized to play a role in the evolution of humans’ large brains. The hypothesis goes like this: Neural progenitors are the cells that will become neurons and other brain cells. Before becoming mature brain cells, neural progenitors divide multiple times to make more of themselves. The more divisions that the neural progenitors undergo, the more cells the brain will ultimately contain—and so, the bigger it will be. Researchers think that something changed during human evolution to allow neural progenitors to spend less time in a non-dividing phase of the cell cycle and transition more quickly towards division. This simple difference would lead to additional divisions, each of which could essentially double the final number of brain cells.
Consistent with the popular hypothesis that human neural progenitors may undergo more divisions, resulting in a larger brain, the researchers found that several genes that help cells to transition more quickly through the cell cycle are essential in chimp neural progenitor cells but not in human cells. When chimp neural progenitor cells lose these genes, they linger in a non-dividing phase, but when human cells lose them, they keep cycling and dividing. These findings suggest that human neural progenitors may be better able to withstand stresses—such as the loss of cell cycle genes—that would limit the number of divisions the cells undergo, enabling humans to produce enough cells to build a larger brain.
“This hypothesis has been around for a long time, and I think our study is among the first to show that there is in fact a species difference in how the cell cycle is regulated in neural progenitors,” She says. “We had no idea going in which genes our approach would highlight, and it was really exciting when we saw that one of our strongest findings matched and expanded on this existing hypothesis.”
More subjects lead to more robust results
Research comparing chimps to humans often uses samples from only one or two individuals from each species, but this study used samples from six humans and six chimps. By making sure that the patterns they observed were consistent across multiple individuals of each species, the researchers could avoid mistaking the naturally occurring genetic variation between individuals as representative of the whole species. This allowed them to be confident that the differences they identified were truly differences between species.
The researchers also compared their findings for chimps and humans to orangutans, which split from the other species earlier in our shared evolutionary history. This allowed them to figure out where on the evolutionary tree a change in gene use most likely occurred. If a gene is essential in both chimps and orangutans, then it was likely essential in the shared ancestor of all three species; it’s more likely for a particular difference to have evolved once, in a common ancestor, than to have evolved independently multiple times. If the same gene is no longer essential in humans, then its role most likely shifted after humans split from chimps. Using this system, the researchers showed that the changes in cell cycle regulation occurred during human evolution, consistent with the proposal that they contributed to the expansion of the brain in humans.
The researchers hope that their work not only improves our understanding of human and chimp evolution, but also demonstrates the strength of the CRISPRi approach for studying human evolution and other areas of human biology. Researchers in the Weissman and Pollen labs are now using the approach to better understand human diseases—looking for the subtle differences in gene use that may underlie important traits such as whether someone is at risk of developing a disease, or how they will respond to a medication. The researchers anticipate that their approach will enable them to sort through many small genetic differences between people to narrow in on impactful ones underlying traits in health and disease, just as the approach enabled them to narrow in on the evolutionary changes that helped make us human.
Approach opens the door to a greater understanding of protein-microbe interactions
Lillian Eden | Department of Biology
June 7, 2023
Your mouth is a crucial interface between the outside world and the inside of your body. Everything you breathe, chew or drink interacts with your oral cavity—the proteins and the microbes, including microbes that can harm us. When things go awry, the result can range from the mild, like bad breath, to the serious, like tooth and gum decay to more dire effects in the gut and other parts of the body.
Even though the oral microbiome plays a critical role as a front-line defense for human health and disease, we still know very little about the intricacies of host-microbe interactions in the complex physiological environment of the mouth; a better understanding of those interactions is key to developing treatments for human disease.
In a recent study published in PNAS, a collaborative effort revealed that one of the most abundant proteins found in our saliva binds to the surface of select microbes found in the mouth. The findings shed light on how salivary proteins and mucus play a role in maintaining the oral cavity microbiome.
The collaboration involved members of the Imperiali lab in the Department of Biology and the Kiessling lab in the Department of Chemistry at MIT, as well as the Ruhl group at the University at Buffalo School of Dental Medicine, and the Grimes group at the University of Delaware.
The paper is focused on an abundant oral cavity protein called zymogen granule protein 16 homolog B (ZG16B). Finding ZG16B’s interaction partners and gaining insight into its function were the overarching goals of the project. To accomplish this, Ghosh and colleagues engineered ZG16B to add reporter tags such as fluorophores. They called these modified proteins “microbial glycan analysis probes (mGAPs)” because they allowed them to identify ZG16B binding partners using complementary methods. They applied the probes to samples of healthy oral microbiomes to identify target microbes and binding partners.
The results excited them.
“ZG16B didn’t just bind to random bacteria. It was very focused on certain species including a commensal bacteria called Streptococcus vestibularis,” says first author Soumi Ghosh, a postdoctoral associate in the Imperiali lab.
Commensal bacteria are found in a normal healthy microbiome and do not cause disease.
Using the mGAPs, the team showed that ZG16B binds to cell wall polysaccharides of the bacteria, which indicates that ZG16B is a lectin, a carbohydrate-binding protein. In general, lectins are responsible for cell-cell interactions, signaling pathways, and some innate immune responses against pathogens. “This is the first time that it has been proven experimentally that ZG16B acts as a lectin because it binds to the carbohydrates on the cell surface or cell wall of the bacteria,” Ghosh highlights.
ZG16B was also shown to recruit Mucin 7 (MUC7), a salivary glycoprotein in the oral cavity, and, together the results suggest that ZG16B may help maintain a healthy balance in the oral microbiome by forming a complex with MUC7 and certain bacteria. The results indicate that ZG16B regulates the bacteria’s abundance by preventing overgrowth through agglutination when the bacteria exceed a certain level of growth.
The scale bar shown here represents a 3-micron (µm) length.
“ZG16B, therefore, seems to function as a missing link in the system; it binds to different types of glycans—the microbial glycans and the mucin glycans—and ultimately, maintains a healthy balance in our oral cavity,” Ghosh says.
Further work with this probe and samples of oral microbiome from healthy and diseased subjects could also reveal the lectin’s importance for oral health and disease.
Current attention is focused on developing and applying additional mGAPs based on other human lectins, such as those found in serum, liver, and intestine to reveal their binding specificities and their roles in host-microbe interactions.
“The research carried out in this collaboration exemplifies the kind of synergy that made me excited to move to MIT 5 years ago,” says senior co-author Laura Kiessling. “I’ve been able to work with outstanding scientists who share my interest in the chemistry and the biology of carbohydrates.”
The senior authors of the paper—Barbara Imperiali and Kiessling — came up with the term for the probes they’re creating: “mGAPS to fill in the gaps” in our understanding of the role of lectins in the human microbiome, according to Ghosh.
“If we want to develop therapeutics against bacterial infection, we need a better understanding of host-microbe interactions,” Ghosh says. “The significance of our study is to prove that we can make very good probes for microbial glycans, find out their importance in the frontline defense of the immune system, and, ultimately, come up with a therapeutic approach to disease.”
This research was supported by the National Institute of Health.