The noise we make is hurting animals. Can we learn to shut up?
When the covid-19 pandemic started, Jennifer Phillips thought about the songs of the sparrows.
They were easier to hear, because the world had suddenly become quieter. Car traffic plummeted as people sheltered at home and shifted to remote work. Air travel collapsed. Cities—normally filled with the honking, screeching, engine-gunning riot of transportation—became as silent as tombs.
For years, Phillips has studied how animals react to “anthropogenic noise,” or the racket created by human activity. Most animals really don’t like it, she and her colleagues have learned. Animals constantly listen to the world around them: They’re on the alert for the rustle of approaching predators, or a mating call from a member of their species. As human society has expanded—with sprawling cities, industrial mines, and roads crisscrossing the world—it has gotten noisier too, and animals have trouble hearing one another.
Noise is invisible; there’s no billowing smokestack, no soiled waterway. We just got used to it as it vibrated in the background.
Phillips and her colleagues had spent time in the 2010s in San Francisco recording the sound of white-crowned sparrows in the Presidio. It’s a park that is half peaceful nature and half automobile noise, since it’s filled with thick clumps of trees and grassy fields but also has two highways that slice through it, feeding onto the Golden Gate Bridge. In past recordings, starting in the 1950s, sparrows had sung with complex and lower-pitched melodies and three major “dialects.” But by the 2010s, traffic in the Presidio had exploded, and the hubbub was so loud that the birds began to sing with faster trills—and at a higher pitch—so their fellows could hear them. The two quietest dialects were either dead or on their way to extinction.
They’re “screaming at the top of their lungs,” says Phillips. “They really can’t hear the lower frequencies when the traffic noise is present.” Urban noise can even change birds’ bodies; they get thinner and more stressed out. Their mating calls aren’t as effective, because female birds, as researchers have found, generally don’t enjoy high-pitched, high-volume shouting. (It makes them wonder if the males are unhealthy.) The noise can increase bird-on-bird conflict, because when birds can’t hear warning cries they accidentally stumble into enemy territory. Perhaps worst of all, in situations like these biodiversity takes a hit: Entire species that can’t handle urban clamor simply head out of town and never come back.
But as the sudden, eerie silence of the pandemic descended, Phillips sat at home thinking, It’s really quiet. And then she wondered: Would the Presidio birds now be able to hear each other better?
She raced over to the park and started recording. Sure enough, the park was seven decibels quieter—a huge drop. (That’s like the difference between the noise of the average home and whispering.)
And remarkably, the researchers found that the songs of the white-crowned sparrows had transformed. They were singing more quietly, with a richer range of frequencies. A bird could be heard twice as far as before. And the mating calls had gotten more sultry.
“They could sing a higher performance, basically a sexier song, but not have to scream it so loud,” Phillips says.
It was as if time had been reversed and all the damage abruptly repaired. And it proved what Phillips and her peers have been increasingly documenting: that anthropogenic noise is the newest form of pollution we need to tackle. The noise of our relentlessly on-the-move industrial society affects all life on Earth, wildlife and humans, in ways we’re just beginning to grasp. Yet strategies such as electrification and clever urban design could help. As the Presidio showed, noise can vanish overnight—once we figure out how to shut up.
Hidden impacts
Many forms of pollution are obvious to us humans. Dumping toxic goo into lakes? Sure, that’s bad. Coal smokestacks pumping soot and carbon dioxide, plastic bags and sea nets choking whales—we now understand that these, too, are problems. Even an idea as gauzy as light pollution has penetrated the public consciousness to some extent, since it’s why city dwellers can’t see many stars, and we’ve heard it confuses migratory birds.
But noise, mostly from transportation, took longer to hit our radar. This is partly because it’s invisible; there’s no billowing smokestack, no soiled waterway. We just got used to it as it vibrated in the background.


There were a few studies in the ’70s and ’80s showing that animals were upset by our noise. But the field really began to take off in the ’00s, in part because digital technology made it easier to record long swathes of sound out in nature and analyze them. One early salvo came from the biologist Hans Slabbekoorn, who was studying doves in the city of Leiden and irritatedly noticed that he could rarely get a clean recording because of the background noise. Sometimes he’d see the doves’ throats moving as they cooed but couldn’t hear them. “If I’m having difficulty hearing them,” he thought, “what about them?”
So he and a colleague started recording ambient sound levels in different parts of Leiden. Some were quiet residential areas, which registered a soothing 42 decibels, and others were noisy intersections or areas near highways, which reached 63 decibels, about as loud as background music. Sure enough, he found that birds in the noisy areas were singing at a higher pitch.
Over the next two decades, research in the field bloomed. Noise, the scientists found, has a few common ill effects on animals. It disrupts communication, certainly. But it also generally stresses them, reducing everything from their body weight to their receptivity to mating calls. If an animal nests closer to a road, its reproduction rates can go down; eastern bluebirds, for example, produce fewer fledglings. Truly cacophonous noise—like planes taking off at a nearby airport—can cause hearing loss in birds. And animals can wind up becoming less aware of threats from predators. They’ll wander closer to danger, because they can’t hear it coming. (And sometimes they’ll do the opposite: They’ll develop a rageaholic hair-trigger temper, because they’re constantly on high alert and regard everything as a threat.)
Even in deep rural areas, where things are normally pretty quiet, highways can disrupt wildlife—the noise carries far into the fields nearby. Fraser Shilling, a biologist at the University of California, Davis, has stood up to half a mile from rural highways and recorded sound as loud as 60 decibels, which is at least 20 decibels higher than you’d typically find in the wilderness. “The motorcycles and the 18-wheelers are really the ones that project a lot of noise,” he told me.
Above 55 decibels, many skittish animals get into a fight-or-flight panic. The prevalence of bobcats—an endangered species famously rattled by noise—“starts dropping off the cliff,” says Shilling. Above 65, “you’re really starting to exclude almost all wildlife.”
And that’s not even the upper limit of what wildlife is exposed to. There are roughly a half-million natural-gas wells around the US, and piercingly loud compressors are used to shoot water down into most of them. Up close, the compressors can kick out 95 decibels, a sound as loud as a subway train; at one Wyoming gas well the sound still registered around 48 decibels nearly a quarter-mile away.
Historically, it wasn’t always easy to prove that noise was causing whatever problems the animals were experiencing. Maybe it was other factors; maybe animal populations reduce near a road because some are hit by vehicles?
But several clever experiments have proved that noise—and noise alone—can disrupt wildlife. One was the “phantom road” experiment by the conservation scientist Jesse Barber and his team, then at Boise State University. They went out to a quiet, uninhabited area of the Boise foothills in Idaho, far away from any roads. In this valley in the mountains, thousands of migratory birds stop on their way south each year; they’ll gorge themselves on cherry bushes, gaining weight for the next days of flying. The researchers strapped 15 pairs of speakers to Douglas fir trees, in a half-kilometer line. Then they blasted recordings of highway noise. They played the noise for four days and then turned it off for four days. Then they observed thousands of birds, capturing many to measure their body mass.
The noise truly rattled the birds. When the sound was turned on, nearly a third left the area. Those that stuck around ate less: While birds should be heavier after a day of foraging, these ones didn’t gain much. The noise seemed to have so interrupted their feeding that they weren’t packing on the weight needed for their migratory trip.
Other, similarly nifty A/B tests followed. One was led by David Luther, a biologist at George Mason University (who also worked with Phillips on the covid-19 study in San Francisco). In 2015, these researchers took 17 white-crowned sparrows at birth and raised them in a lab. To teach them their species’ songs, they played the nestlings recordings of adult sparrows singing, at low and high pitches. Six of the nestlings heard the songs without any interference; with the other half, the researchers played the sounds of city noise at the same time.
The results were stark. The lucky birds that were spared the traffic noise learned to perform the quieter, sweeter, more complex songs. But the birds that had traffic noise blasted learned only the higher, faster, more stressed-out songs. From the cradle, noise changed the way they communicated.
Humans hate noise too
You can’t pull the same experiment with humans, raising them in a lab to see how noise affects them. (Not ethically, anyway.) But if we could, we’d likely find the same thing. We, too, are animals—and it appears that we suffer in similar ways from anthropogenic noise, even though we’re the ones creating it.
The sound of traffic is correlated with lousy sleep, higher blood pressure, more heart disease, and higher stress.
Stacks of research in the last few decades have found that noise—most often, as with wildlife, the sound of traffic—is correlated with lousy sleep, higher blood pressure, more heart disease, and higher stress. A Danish study followed almost 25,000 nurses for years and found that an additional 10 decibels hit them hard; over a 23-year period they had an 8% higher rate of death, plus higher rates of nearly every bad thing that could happen to you: cancers, psychiatric problems, strokes. (They controlled for other malign health influences.) As you’d probably predict by now, children fare badly too. When Barcelona researchers followed almost 3,000 elementary school kids for a year, they found that those in noisier schools performed worse on assessments of working memory and ability to pay attention.
“We think of ourselves as being ‘used to it,’” says Gail Patricelli, a professor of evolution and ecology at the University of California, Davis. “We’re not as used to it as we think we are.”
It’s also true that there’s a trade-off. Many people understand that noise from cities and highways is aggravating, but we tolerate it because we get benefits along with the hassles. Cities are crammed with jobs and connections and dating opportunities; cars and trucks bring us the things we need and increase our personal mobility.
It turns out that animals make a similar calculus. Some species appear to benefit in certain ways from proximity to noise, so they move toward it.
Clinton Francis, a biologist at California Polytechnic State University, and a team studied bird populations near noisy gas wells in rural New Mexico. Most species avoided the riot of the well pumps. But Francis was surprised to find that some hummingbirds and finches preferred it, and by one important measure they thrived: They were nesting more in the noisy areas than in the quieter areas. Additionally, several species had more success at fledging chicks in noisier locations.
What was going on? It’s likely that the noise makes it harder for predators to hear the birds and hunt down their nests. “It’s essentially a predator shield,” Francis says. Since his research found that predators can cause as much as 76% of failures of eggs to produce healthy offspring, that’s a significant survival advantage.
Cities can offer the same protections to certain species. Consider the case of Flaco, a Eurasian eagle-owl that escaped from the Central Park Zoo in February of 2023 and found he was in a terrific place to hunt. The incessant traffic ought to have caused him trouble. “An owl like this is among the most vulnerable species to intrusions from noise pollution. They’re listening for extremely faint signals or cues that their prey provide,” Francis notes. But New York has its compensations, because prey animals abound. They’re also naïve and unguarded, never expecting an owl with a six-foot wingspan to swoop down and devour them.
Granted, these upsides don’t cancel out the negatives. Human noise may shield some birds from predators, but in other ways it leaves them faintly miserable, with high levels of stress hormones and lower weight.
Worse, the species that manage to thrive in cities or near highways are often the same ones all over the country. And they represent only a minority of species; most are driven further away, with less and less land to live on as civilization spreads ever outward.
“Overall, it’s kind of a nightmare for diversity,” says Luther.
How to silence the world
In the early ’00s, the village of Alverna in the Netherlands began to get louder. A major intercity road cut straight through the town, and traffic had gone up by two-thirds in the previous decade. Facing complaints about the din, the town offered to put up some 13-foot walls on either side of the route. Residents hated the idea. Who wants to look out the window at massive walls?
So instead town planners redesigned the road in subtle ways. They lowered it by half a meter, slightly blocking the tire sounds. They built wedges that rise up three feet on either side, and surfaced them with attractive antique stone; that blocked even more sound. They planted sound-absorbing trees. And as a final coup de grâce, they reduced the speed limit from about 50 to 30 miles per hour. When a car is moving slowly, the engine is producing most of the roar—but once it’s going 45 mph or faster, the rumble of tires on the pavement takes over and is much louder. Each intervention had only a small effect, but cumulatively they made the road a blessed 10 decibels quieter.
This tale illustrates one curious upside of noise. Compared with other forms of pollution, it can be ended quickly. Toxic pollutants or CO2 can hang around for tens of thousands of years; the microplastics in your pancreas are probably never coming out. But with noise, the instant you reduce the source, the benefits are immediate.
Plus, most of what works is “not rocket science,” Shilling says. A tall wall at the side of a highway will cut noise by 10 decibels; fill a double-sided wall with rubble and it’s even better. That could cut the traffic noise to below 55 decibels, he notes, which would help particularly skittish forms of wildlife. Walls can block animal movement, though, so in animal-heavy areas it’s better to build berms—small hills on either side of a highway. Areas of high ecological importance could be prioritized to keep costs down.
“If there’s a great chunk of wetland habitat and it’s the only one around for 50 miles in any direction? Well, then we should build noise walls around it,” he says. We should also build overpasses and underpasses to help animals get around. And to quiet the din of gas wells out in the countryside, states could require companies to build walls around them. (They’ll likely only do that, though, when human neighbors complain or launch lawsuits; animals don’t have lawyers.)
Cities, too, can learn to shut up, as Alverna proved. At the most ambitious, some have buried noisy highways that once cut through the downtown core. Boston put a massive elevated highway underground in its “Big Dig”; in Slabbekoorn’s hometown of Amstelveen—a suburb of Amsterdam—they’re currently enclosing the A9 highway in a tunnel and turning the surface into a verdant park with new buildings. “That’s amazing, getting back a lot of the space as well,” he says.
Granted, this sort of reengineering can be brutally expensive, which is why politicians blanch when they’re asked to reduce road noise. The Big Dig cost $15 billion, and with interest up to $24 billion. When I mentioned cost to Shilling, he sighed. “It’s not as expensive as a B-1 bomber or tax cuts for rich people,” he says. “Environmental stuff is considered expensive just because our expectations are low, not because we can’t afford to do it.”
There are cheaper and more politically palatable fixes, though. Reducing urban speed limits is one; Paris recently cut the top speed on its ring roads from 70 to 50 kilometers per hour (43 to 31 mph), and noise at night went down by an average 2.7 decibels—a noticeable drop. Planting more trees and vegetation all around roads and cities can cut a few decibels more, and residents love it.
Growing adoption of electricity would also bring down the volume. “Electric vehicles of all kinds have the potential to make a big difference,” Patricelli says; when the light turns green and an EV next to you accelerates away, it’s up to 13 decibels quieter than a comparable gas-powered vehicle. These benefits won’t be felt as much on highways, because EVs still make tire noise at high speeds. But in the slower stop-and-go traffic of urban life, they are far more pleasant to the ears, both animal and human. Indeed, the electrification of everything that currently uses a gas-powered motor will make urban life quieter. Cities like Alameda, California, and Alexandria, Virginia, are increasingly banning gas-powered leaf blowers and lawn mowers, which operate at hair-raising volume while electric ones whisper along.
We’ve engineered a civilization that roars, but the next phase is making it purr. The animals will thank us.
Clive Thompson is a science and technology journalist based in New York City.
No one’s sure if synthetic mirror life will kill us all
For four days in February 2019, some 30 synthetic biologists and ethicists hunkered down at a conference center in Northern Virginia to brainstorm high-risk, cutting-edge, irresistibly exciting ideas that the National Science Foundation should fund. By the end of the meeting, they’d landed on a compelling contender: making “mirror” bacteria. Should they come to be, the lab-created microbes would be structured and organized like ordinary bacteria, with one important exception: Key biological molecules like proteins, sugars, and lipids would be the mirror images of those found in nature. DNA, RNA, and many other components of living cells are chiral, which means they have a built-in rotational structure. Their mirrors would twist in the opposite direction.
Researchers thrilled at the prospect. “Everybody—everybody—thought this was cool,” says John Glass, a synthetic biologist at the J. Craig Venter Institute in La Jolla, California, who attended the 2019 workshop and is a pioneer in developing synthetic cells. It was “an incredibly difficult project that would tell us potentially new things about how to design and build cells, or about the origin of life on Earth.” The group saw enormous potential for medicine, too. Mirror microbes might be engineered as biological factories, producing mirror molecules that could form the basis for new kinds of drugs. In theory, such therapeutics could perform the same functions as their natural counterparts, but without triggering unwelcome immune responses.
After the meeting, the biologists recommended NSF funding for a handful of research groups to develop tools and carry out preliminary experiments, the beginnings of a path through the looking glass. The excitement was global. The National Natural Science Foundation of China funded major projects in mirror biology, as did the German Federal Ministry of Research, Technology, and Space.
By five years later, in 2024, many researchers involved in that NSF meeting had reversed course. They’d become convinced that in the worst of all possible futures, mirror organisms could trigger a catastrophic event threatening every form of life on Earth; they’d proliferate without predators and evade the immune defenses of people, plants, and animals.
“I wish that one sunny afternoon we were having coffee and we realized the world’s about to end, but that’s not what happened.”
Kate Adamala, synthetic biologist, University of Minnesota
Over the past two years, they’ve been ringing alarm bells. They published an article in Science in December 2024, accompanied by a 299-page technical report addressing feasibility and risks. They’ve written essays and convened panels and cofounded the Mirror Biology Dialogues Fund (MBDF), a broadly funded nonprofit charged with supporting work on understanding and addressing the risk. The issue has received a blaze of media attention and ignited dialogues among not only chemists and synthetic biologists but also bioethicists and policymakers.
What’s received less attention, however, is how we got here and what uncertainties still remain about any potential threat. Creating a mirror-life organism would be tremendously complicated and expensive. And although the scientific community is taking the alarm seriously, some scientists doubt whether it’s even possible to create a mirror organism anytime soon. “The hypothetical creation of mirror-image organisms lies far beyond the reach of present-day science,” says Ting Zhu, a molecular biologist at Westlake University, in China, whose lab focuses on synthesizing mirror-image peptides and other molecules. He and others have urged colleagues not to let speculation and anxiety guide decision-making and argued that it’s premature to call for a broad moratorium on early-stage research, which they say could have medical benefits.
But the researchers who are raising flags describe a pathway, even multiple pathways, to bringing mirror life into existence—and they say we urgently need guardrails to figure out what kinds of mirror-biology research might still be safe. That means they’re facing a question that others have encountered before, multiple times over the last several decades and with mixed results—one that doesn’t have a neat home in the scientific method. What should scientists do when they see the shadow of the end of the world in their own research?
Looking-glass life
The French chemist and microbiologist Louis Pasteur was the first to recognize that biological molecules had built-in handedness. In the late 19th century, he described all living species as “functions of cosmic asymmetry.” What would happen, he mused, if one could replace these chiral components with their mirror opposites?
Scientists now recognize that chirality is central to life itself, though no one knows why. In humans, 19 of the 20 so-called “standard” amino acids that make up proteins are chiral, and all in the same way. (The outlier, glycine, is symmetrical.) The functions of proteins are intricately tied to their shapes, and they mostly interact with other molecules through chiral structures. Almost all receptors on the surface of a cell are chiral. During an infection, the immune system’s sentinels use chirality to detect and bind to antigens—substances that trigger an immune response—and to start the process of building antibodies.
By the late 20th century, researchers had begun to explore the idea of reversing chirality. In 1992, one team reported having synthesized the first mirror-image protein. That, in turn, set off the first clarion call about the risk: In response to the discovery, chemists at Purdue University pointed out, briefly, that mirror-life organisms, if they escaped from a lab, would be immune to any attack by “normal” life. A 2010 story in Wired highlighting early findings in the area noted that if a such a microbe developed the ability to photosynthesize, it could obliterate life as we know it.
The synthetic biology community didn’t seriously weigh those threats then, says David Relman, a specialist who bridges infectious disease and microbiology at Stanford University and a trailblazer in studying the gut and oral microbiomes. The idea of a mirror microbe seemed too far beyond the actual progress on proteins. “This was almost a solely theoretical argument 20 years ago,” he says.
Now the research landscape has changed.
Scientists are quickly making progress on mirror images of the machinery cells use to make proteins and to self-replicate. Those components include DNA, which encodes the recipes for proteins; DNA polymerases, which help copy genetic material; and RNA, which carries recipes to ribosomes, the cell’s protein factories. If researchers could make self-replicating mirror ribosomes, then they would have an efficient way to produce mirror proteins. That could be used as a biological manufacturing method for therapeutics. But embedded in a self-replicating, metabolizing synthetic cell, all these pieces could give rise to a mirror microbe.
When synthetic biologists convened in Northern Virginia in 2019, they didn’t recognize how quickly the technology was advancing, and if they saw a threat at all, it may have been obscured by the blinding appeal of pushing the science forward. What’s become apparent now, says Glass, is that scientists in different disciplines, all related to mirror life, were largely unaware of what other scientists had been doing. Chemists didn’t know that synthetic biologists had made so much progress on creating mirror cells with natural chirality from scratch. Biologists didn’t appreciate that chemists were building ever-larger mirror macromolecules. “We tend to be siloed,” Glass says. And nobody, he says, had thought to seriously examine the immune system concerns that had already been raised in response to earlier work. “There was not an immunologist or an infectious disease person in the room,” Glass says, reflecting on the 2019 meeting. “I may have come closest, given that I work with pathogenic bacteria and viruses,” he adds, but his work doesn’t address how they cause infections in their hosts.
These scientists also didn’t know that around the same time as their meeting, another conversation about mirror life was happening—a darker dialogue that was as focused on danger as it was on discovery. Starting around 2016, researchers with a nonprofit called Open Philanthropy had begun compiling research files on catastrophic biological risks. The organization, which rebranded as Coefficient Giving in 2025, funds projects across a range of focus areas; it adheres to a divisive philanthropic philosophy called effective altruism, which advocates giving money to projects with the highest potential benefit to the most people. While that might not sound objectionable, critics point out that the metrics devotees use to gauge “effectiveness” can prioritize long-term solutions while neglecting social injustices or systemic problems.
Someone in Open Philanthropy’s biosecurity group had suggested looking into the risks posed by mirror life. In 2019 the organization began funding research by Kevin Esvelt, who leads the Sculpting Evolution group at the MIT Media Lab, on biosecurity issues, including mirror life. He began reading up to see whether mirror life was something to worry about.
Esvelt made waves in 2013 for pioneering the use of CRISPR to develop a gene drive, a technology that could spread genetic changes introduced into a living organism through a whole population. Researchers are exploring its use, for example, to make mosquitoes hostile to the parasite that causes malaria—and, as a result, lower their chance of spreading it to humans. But almost immediately after he developed the tool, Esvelt argued against using it for profit, at least until proper safeguards could be set and its use in fighting malaria had been established. “Do you really have the right to run an experiment where if you screw up, it affects the whole world?” he asked, in this magazine, in 2016. At the Media Lab, Esvelt leads efforts to safely develop gene drives that can be deployed locally but prevented from spreading globally.
Esvelt says he’s often thinking about the security risks posed by self-sustaining genetically engineered technologies, and research led him to suspect that the threat of mirror organisms hadn’t been seriously interrogated. The more he learned about microbial growth rates, predator-prey and microbe-microbe interactions, and immunology, the more he began to worry that mirror organisms, if impervious to the innate defenses of natural ones, could cause unstoppable infections in the event that they escaped the lab.
Even if the first experimental iteration of such a germ were too fragile to survive in the environment or a human body, Esvelt says, it would be a light lift to genetically engineer new, more resilient versions with existing technology. Even worse, he says, the results could be weaponized. The possible path from 2019 to global annihilation seemed almost too direct, he found.
But he wasn’t an expert in all the scientific fields involved in research on mirror life, so he started making calls. He first described his concerns to Relman one night in February 2022, at a restaurant outside Washington, DC. Esvelt hoped Relman would tell him he was wrong, that he’d missed something over the years of gathering data. Instead, he was troubled.
The concern spreads
When Relman returned to California, he read more about the technology, the risks, and the role of chirality in the immune system and the environment. And he consulted experts he knew well—ecologists, other microbiologists, immunologists, all of them leaders in their fields—in an attempt to assuage his concerns. “I was hoping that they’d be able to say, I’ve thought about this, and I see a problem with your logic. I see that it’s really not so bad,” he says. “At every turn, that did not happen. Something about it was new to every person.”
The concern spread. Relman worked with Jack Szostak, a professor of chemistry at the University of Chicago, and a group of researchers to see if it was possible to make an argument that mirror life wasn’t going to wipe out humanity. Included in that group was Kate Adamala, a synthetic biologist at the University of Minnesota. She was a natural choice: Adamala had shared the initial grant from the NSF, in 2019, to explore mirror-life technologies.
She also became convinced the risk was real—and was dumbfounded that she hadn’t seen it earlier. “I wish that one sunny afternoon we were having coffee and we realized the world’s about to end, but that’s not what happened,” she says. “I’m embarrassed to admit that I wasn’t even the one that brought up the risks first.” Through late 2023 and early 2024, the endeavor began to take on the form of a rigorous scientific investigation. Experts were presented with a hypothesis—namely, that if mirror cells were built, they would pose an existential threat—and asked to challenge it. The goal was to falsify the hypothesis. “It would be great if we were wrong,” says Vaughn Cooper, a microbiologist at the University of Pittsburgh and president-elect of the American Society for Microbiology.
Relman says that as the chemists and biologists learned more about one another’s work and began to understand what immunologists know about how living things defend themselves, they started to connect the dots and see an emerging picture of an unstoppable synthetic threat.
Some scientists have pushed back against the doomsday scenario, suggesting that the case against mirror life offers an “inflated view of the danger.”
Timothy Hand, an immunologist at the University of Pittsburgh who hadn’t participated in the 2019 NSF meeting, wasn’t initially worried when he heard about mirror life, in 2024. “The mammalian immune system has this incredible capability to make antibodies against any shape,” he says. “Who cares if it’s a mirror?” But when he took a closer look at that process, he could see a cascade of potential problems far upstream of antibody production. Start with detection: Macrophages, which are cells the immune system uses to identify and dispatch invaders, use chiral sensing receptors on their surfaces. The proteins they use to grab on to those invaders, too, are chiral. That suggests the possibility that an organism could be infected with a mirror organism but not be able to detect it or defend against it. “The lack of innate immune sensing is an incredibly dangerous circumstance for the host,” Hand says.
By early 2024, Glass had become concerned as well. Relman and James Wagstaff, a structural biologist from Open Philanthropy, visited him at the Venter Institute to talk about the possibility of using synthetic cell technology—Glass’s specialty—to build mirror life. “At first I thought, This can’t be real,” Glass says. They walked through arguments and counterarguments. “The more this went on, the more I started feeling ill,” he says. “It made me realize that work I had been doing for much of the last 20 years could be setting the world up for this incredible catastrophe.”
In the second half of 2024, the growing group of scientists assembled the report and wrote the policy forum for Science. Relman briefed policymakers at the White House, members of the defense community, and the National Security Agency. Researchers met with the National Institutes of Health and the National Science Foundation. “We briefed the United Nations, the UK government, the government of Singapore, scientific funding organizations from Brazil,” says Glass. “We’ve talked to the Chinese government indirectly. We were trying to not blindside anybody.”
A year and a half on, the push has had an impact. UNESCO has recommended a precautionary global moratorium on creating mirror-life cells, and major philanthropic organizations that fund science, including the Alfred P. Sloan Foundation, have announced they will not finance research leading to a mirror microorganism. The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists highlighted considerations about mirror life in its most recent report on the Doomsday Clock. In March, the United Nations Secretary-General’s Scientific Advisory Board issued a brief highlighting the risks—noting, for example, that recent progress on building mirror molecules could reduce the cost of creating a mirror microbe.
“I think no one really believes at this stage that we should make mirror life, based on the evidence that’s available,” says James Smith, the scientist who leads the MBDF, the nonprofit focused on assessing the risks of mirror life, which is funded by Coefficient Giving, the Sloan Foundation, and other organizations. The challenge now, Smith says, is for scientists to work with policymakers and bioethicists to figure out how much research on mirror life should be permitted—and who will enforce the rules.
Drawing the line
Not everyone is convinced that mirror organisms pose an existential threat. It’s difficult to verify predictions about how mirror microbes would fare in the immune system—or the larger world—without running experiments on them. Some scientists have pushed back against the doomsday scenario, suggesting that the case against mirror life offers an “inflated view of the danger.” Others have noted that carbohydrates called glycans already exist in both left- and right-handed forms—even in pathogens—and the immune system can recognize both of them. Experiments focused on interactions between the immune system and mirror molecules, they say, could help clarify the risks of mirror organisms and reduce uncertainty.
Even among those convinced that the worst-case scenario is possible, researchers still disagree over where to draw the line. What inquiries should be allowed and what should be prohibited?
Andy Ellington, a biotechnologist and synthetic biologist at the University of Texas at Austin, doesn’t think mirror organisms will come to fruition anytime soon. Even if they do, he isn’t sure they will pose a threat. “If there is going to be harm done to the human race, this is about position 382 on my list,” he says. But at the same time, he says it’s a complicated issue worth studying more, and he wants to see the conversations continue: “We’re operating in a space where there’s so much unknown that it’s very difficult for us to do risk assessment.”
Even among those convinced that the worst-case scenario is possible, researchers still disagree over where to draw the line. What inquiries should be allowed and what should be prohibited?
Adamala, of the University of Minnesota, and others see a natural line at ribosomes, the cellular factories that transform chains of amino acids into proteins. These would be a critical ingredient in creating a self-replicating organism, and Adamala says the path to getting there once mirror ribosomes are in place would be pretty straightforward. But Zhu, at Westlake, and others counter that it’s worth developing mirror ribosomes because they could possibly produce medically useful peptides and proteins more efficiently than traditional chemical methods. He sees a clear distinction, and a foundational gap, between that kind of technology and the creation of a living synthetic organism. “It is crucial to distinguish mirror-image molecular biology from mirror-image life,” he says. That said, he points out that many synthetic molecules and organisms containing unnatural components, including but not limited to the mirror-image subset, might pose health risks. Researchers, he says, should focus on developing holistic guidelines to cover such risks—not just those from mirror molecules.
Even if the exact risk remains uncertain, Esvelt remains more convinced than ever that the work should be paused, perhaps indefinitely. No one has taken a meaningful swing at the hypothesis that mirror life could wipe out everything, he says. The primary uncertainties aren’t around whether mirror life is dangerous, he points out; they have more to do with identifying which bacterium—including what genes it encodes, what it eats, how it evades the immune system’s sentinels—could lead to the most serious consequences. “The risk of losing everything, like the entire future of humanity integrated over time, is not worth any small fraction of the economy. You just don’t muck around with existential risk like that,” he says.
In some ways, scientists have been here before, working out rules and limits for research. Two years after the start of the covid-19 pandemic, for example, the World Health Organization published guidelines for managing risks in biological research. But the history is much deeper: Horrific episodes of human experimentation led to the establishment of institutional review boards to provide ethical oversight. In the early 1970s, in response to concerns over lab-acquired infections and growing use of biological warfare, the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention established biohazard safety levels (BSLs), which govern work on potentially dangerous biological experiments.
And in 1975—at the dawn of recombinant DNA research, which allows researchers to put genetic material from one organism into another—geneticists met at the Asilomar conference center in Pacific Grove, California, to hammer out rules governing the work. There were concerns over what would happen if some virus or bacterium, genetically engineered to have traits that would make it particularly dangerous for people, escaped from a lab. Scientists agreed to self-imposed restrictions, like a moratorium on research until new safety guidelines were in place. As a result of the meeting, in June 1976 the NIH issued rules that, among other things, categorized the risks associated with rDNA experiments and aligned them with the newly adopted BSL system.
Asilomar is often hailed as a successful model for scientific self-governance. But that perception reflects a tendency to recall the meeting through a nostalgic haze. “In fact, it was incredibly messy and human,” says Luis Campos, a historian of science at Rice University. Equally brilliant Nobelists argued on either side of the question of whether to rein in rDNA research. Technical discussions dominated; talks about who would be affected by the technology were missing. The meeting didn’t start establishing guidelines, says Campos, until the lawyers mentioned liability and lab leaks.
For now it’s unclear whether these examples of self-governance, which arose from the demonstrated risks of existing technologies, hold useful lessons for the mirror-life community. Three competing images of the future are coming into focus: Mirror life might not be possible, it might be possible but not threatening, or it might be possible and capable of obliterating all life on Earth.
Scientists may be censoring themselves out of fear and speculation. To some, shutting down the work seems necessary and urgent; to others, it is unnecessarily limiting. What’s clear is that the question of what to do about mirror life has been both illuminating and disorienting, pushing scientists to interrogate not only their current research but where it might lead. This is uncharted territory.
Stephen Ornes is a science writer based in Nashville, Tennessee.
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Coming soon: 10 Things That Matter in AI Right Now
Each year we compile our 10 Breakthrough Technologies list, featuring our educated predictions for which technologies will have the biggest impact on how we live and work.
This year, however, we had a dilemma. While our final picks encompass all our core coverage areas (energy, AI, and biotech, plus a few more), our 2026 list was harder to wrangle than normal. Why? We had so many worthy AI candidates we couldn’t fit them all in! (The ones that made it were AI companions, generative coding, and hyperscale data centers.) Many great ideas fell by the wayside to keep the list as wide-ranging as possible.
Well, that got us thinking: What if we made an entirely new list that was all about AI? We got excited about that idea—and before we knew it we had the beginnings of what we’re calling 10 Things That Matter in AI Right Now. It’s an entirely new annual list that we’re proud to be publishing for the first time on April 21, 2026. We’ll unveil it on stage for attendees at our signature AI conference, EmTech AI, held on MIT’s campus (it’s not too late to get tickets), and then publish the list online later that day.
The process for coming up with the list was similar to the way we pick our 10 Breakthrough Technologies. We petitioned our AI team of reporters and editors to propose ideas, put them all in a document, and engaged in some robust discussion. Eventually, we voted for our favorites and whittled the long list down to a final 10.
But there’s a slight difference between this list and our 10 Breakthrough Technologies. AI is already such a big part of our lives that we didn’t want to restrict ourselves to nominating only technologies. Instead, we wanted to put together a definitive annual list that highlights what we believe are the biggest ideas, topics, and research directions in AI right now. So yes, it will include cutting-edge AI technologies, but it will also feature other trends and developments in AI that we want to bring to our subscribers’ attention.
Think of it as a sneak peek inside the collective brain of our crack AI reporting team: These are the things that our reporters will be watching this year. We intend to follow the items on this list really closely, and you will see it reflected in the news and feature stories we publish in 2026.
For us, 10 Things That Matter in AI Right Now is a guide to how we view the current AI landscape. It will be a source of discussion, debate, and maybe some arguments! We are so excited to share it with you on April 21. If you want to be among the first to see it—join us at EmTech AI or become a subscriber to livestream the announcement.
Sovereignty: A strategic imperative the NHS cannot ignore
Effects of Phosphatidylserine and DHA on Cognitive Performance in Children With ADHD
Interventions: Other: Placebo; Dietary Supplement: Phosphatidylserine-Omega3; Dietary Supplement: Phosphatidylserine-Omega3; Dietary Supplement: DHA Omega-3
Sponsors: Çağlar Charles Daniel Jaicks
Completed
Epigenetics at Birth Links Microbiome to Neurodevelopment, Potentially ASD and ADHD
The results of a study headed by researchers at Li Ka Shing Institute of Health Sciences, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, indicate that the gut microbiome and epigenetics are intertwined, and that both contribute to neurodevelopment.
The researchers showed that epigenetic changes present at birth can impact how an infant’s gut microbiome develops during their first year. They also identified specific epigenetic changes and gut microbes that were associated with signs of autism spectrum disorder (ASD) and attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) when the children were three years old.
“Certain bacteria seem to offer protection, which is exciting because it suggests there could be ways to support a child’s development through diet or probiotics in the future,” said research lead and gastroenterologist Francis Ka Leung Chan, MD. Chan is co-senior author of the team’s published paper in Cell Press Blue, titled “Epigenome-microbiome interplay in early life associates with infants’ neurodevelopmental outcomes,” in which they stated, “We showed that epigenetic alterations at birth were associated with early-life microbiome development and that they determine the risks of neurodevelopmental consequences in children.”
The first years of life are critical for brain development and immune system maturation. Though previous studies have shown that both early epigenetic changes and gut microbiome development can impact health in later life, little is known about how these two systems interact. “Recent data suggest that epigenetic programming of gene expression profiles is sensitive to the early-life environment and can impact health outcomes in children,” the authors wrote. “One environmental cue known to trigger host epigenetic modifications is the genes of bacteria, fungi, and viruses inside the human body, collectively known as the microbiome.”
Co-senior author and public health researcher Hein Min Tun, PhD, of The Chinese University of Hong Kong, commented, “We wanted to see how the epigenome and microbiome interact in early life and if their interaction could influence a child’s risk of developing neurodevelopmental conditions like ASD and ADHD.” The authors added, “New understanding of host-microbe-epigenome interactions and mechanisms of epigenetic changes in early life can be leveraged for the prevention, early detection, and novel interventions of common childhood diseases.”
For their study the researchers characterized DNA methylation patterns from the umbilical cord blood of 571 infants. They paired this information with gut microbiome data collected from 969 infants at two, six, and 12 months of age, and from their parents during the third trimester of pregnancy. When the children reached 36 months of age, the researchers used a behavioral questionnaire to assess their neurodevelopment and investigate links between the microbiome, epigenome, and early signs of ASD and ADHD.
“This, to our knowledge, represents the first longitudinal study with multiple sample types to depict the intimate interplay between perinatal exposures, epigenetic hallmarks, and gut microbiome development and neurodevelopmental outcomes within the first three years of life,” the authors stated.
They found that an infant’s epigenome at birth was associated with birth mode, length of gestation, having older siblings, and maternal allergies, but it was not affected by their parents’ gut microbiomes. Microbiome development, on the other hand, was associated with birth mode, antibiotics, having older siblings, and breastfeeding. Infants who were born by Caesarean section (CS) showed different patterns of DNA methylation for several genes involved in immune responses and brain development. “Some of the changes in methylations of immune- and nervous-system-related genes, associated with CS delivery, are linked to neurodevelopmental outcomes,” they noted.
Their reported findings, the team suggested, “… resonate with studies linking CS to increased risks of immune-mediated and neurodevelopmental disorders, providing mechanistic plausibility through epigenomic and microbial dysbiosis.” The team also showed that an infant’s epigenome at birth impacted how their microbiome developed during their first year. Specifically, infants developed less diverse gut microbiomes at 12 months of age when they showed higher rates of DNA methylation in immune genes involved in recognizing pathogens. “We found that methylation rates in the major histocompatibility complex (MHC) region of infants at birth were linked to differences in the diversity of the infant gut microbiome at 12 months,” they commented.
The behavioral survey revealed that signs of ASD and ADHD in three-year-olds were associated with specific epigenetic patterns and the presence of certain gut microbes. “Importantly, we reported that epigenetic modifications were associated with an increased susceptibility to neurodevelopmental conditions in children, and these effects were in part mediated by microbial colonization.”
However, other microbial species seemed to mitigate these effects: infants with epigenetic patterns associated with ASD or ADHD were less likely to show signs of the disorders if they acquired Lachnospira pectinoschiza and Parabacteroides distasonis, respectively, during their first year. “We discovered a kind of conversation happening: a baby’s epigenetic setting at birth can influence their risk for neurodevelopmental disorders, but the presence of certain ‘good’ bacteria in their gut can step in and modify the risk,” Tun reported. “The foundations for brain health are laid very early, even before birth. However, we don’t want people to think this means a child’s developmental path is fixed at birth. These are complex conditions with many causes, and we’ve only uncovered a small piece of a very large puzzle.”
The researchers are continuing to follow the children who participated in the study to see how these early-life factors relate to their health as they grow. They note that laboratory experiments are needed to confirm the associations between gut microbes and neurodevelopment. In their discussion, the team wrote, “In conclusion, our findings revealed dual alterations to the neonatal epigenome and gut microbiome by perinatal factors and highlight the role of the ‘holo-epigenome’—the integrated host epigenome and microbiome—as a key mediator of neuro-immune outcomes. Interventions targeting microbial restoration or epigenetic modulation during critical developmental windows may mitigate risks of neurodevelopmental disorders.”
First author and gastroenterologist Siew Chien Ng, MD, PhD, added, “The ultimate goal is to develop safe, non-intrusive early interventions such as specific probiotics or live biotherapeutics, that could help nurture a healthy gut microbiome and potentially reduce the risk of neurodevelopmental challenges.”
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