The Brain That Undoes Everything You Do to It
Your Brain Did the First Biohack Itself
— Look, let me be straight with you before you start. I take supplements, there's a $200 headband sitting in my drawer, and I know everything you're about to say: placebo, no evidence, a $15 billion industry. But I feel it. Things really are clearer for me. So what do I do with that?
— With that — nothing. You probably really do feel it. It's a completely different word in your sentence that bothers me.
— Which one? If it's "feel," we're going to fight pretty fast.
— "15 billion." Where did you get it?
— It's everywhere! I've seen that number in 10 places, and not only in blogs. They can't all be lying.
— They don't have to be lying, they can be copying each other. Everywhere isn't a source. I went looking for something to anchor that number to and found nothing: "biohacking" isn't a market category at all, nobody counts it as an industry. What has actually been counted is the market for "brain health" supplements: on the order of $3 billion in global sales in 2016, with a forecast of $5.8 billion by 2023. Everything else is forecasts from firms that make their money selling forecasts. I'm starting here not to catch you out on nonsense. I'm starting here because you're about to hear something like 50 numbers from me, and I want you to treat every one of them exactly the way I just treated yours.
— Fine, I'll check them, you know me. But since you've promised 50 numbers, let's get to it: what's wrong with the idea of improving the brain itself? That's what I came for.
— Not with the idea. With the direction. Tell me, what does an improved brain look like to you — physically, if you picture it?
— Well... more connections, I suppose. A denser network. More grey matter. Like in the ads, where everything glows and interweaves.
— There. And that's exactly what the whole industry says: grow it, build it up, add. Now look at what your own brain was doing while it was getting better. Synaptic density in the human cortex peaks at around 1–2 years and exceeds the adult level by something like 50 percent. After that — downhill. All development after age 2 is controlled destruction of the surplus.
— Wait, that doesn't add up. A two-year-old can't do anything, his brain is half-built. And you're telling me he has more connections than I do?
— More. Not simpler, not half-built — denser. And in the frontal cortex, dendritic spine counts in children exceed adult values by a factor of 2–3. An infant's brain isn't a rough draft of the adult one. It's an overloaded system that hasn't yet decided what in it is surplus.
— You can't count synapses in a living child. So how is any of that even known?
— It was measured by hand. Peter Huttenlocher, a child neurologist in Chicago, took post-mortem human cortex in the late 1970s, made electron micrographs and counted synapses one at a time. One by one. No elegant technology — counting. And it turned out that brain development runs downward, not upward.
— All right, but how does the brain decide what to remove? It can't know in advance.
— It doesn't know. It builds a deliberately excessive network and then watches what works. Imagine you're not designing a city's road network — instead you first pave the whole city in asphalt, one solid field, anywhere to anywhere — and only then look at where cars actually drive, and break everything else back up into gravel. The speed on the final arteries doesn't come from there being a lot of asphalt. It comes from having removed everything that led the wrong way.
— Break up — is that a metaphor or literal?
— Literal. And it's the least comfortable part of the story. Synapses aren't destroyed by neurons. They're destroyed by the brain's immune system. Complement proteins, C1q and C3, settle on a weakly working synapse like a tag. And microglia — the resident macrophages inside the skull — follow that tag to the marked synapse and physically engulf it.
— Complement — isn't that what bacteria get tagged with? I read something about that in an immunity piece.
— The very same thing. The brain tags its own connections the same way the body tags a bacterium before eating it. Brain development is literally set up as controlled inflammation.
— But the tag can't just be placed at random, or it'd eat what's needed. How does the brain tell a synapse is weak?
— By activity. When people looked at what microglia had actually swallowed, the engulfed presynaptic terminals contained no mitochondria — a sign the terminal had barely been working. The rule isn't "remove the random one." The rule is "remove the unused one." And there's more than one cleaner: astrocytes do the same thing by their own pathways, and in the adult brain they go on eating synapses continuously. Pruning isn't an episode of childhood that ended. It's the background.
— Stop, I've got a conflict here. For years I've been told about neuroplasticity: you learn, connections grow. If all the brain does is eat, where does the growth come from? One of the two is lying.
— Neither is lying, but "connections grow" is too short a version. What learning actually leaves in the brain and for how long is a separate conversation, and I'll get to it later: the answer there is more modest than in the course ads, and more interesting. For now hold on to one thing: what gets removed is the unused. The criterion is what you did, not what you took.
— Fine, let's leave it for now. But here's what caught me: if cleaning is what improvement is, shouldn't smart people have a thinner cortex?
— In the best-known study on this — 307 children and adolescents, scanned over years — the group with the highest intelligence, 121–149 on the tests, had a cortex in early childhood that was precisely thinner than everyone else's.
— Wait, I'm confused. Is it thin or thick? You keep going back and forth.
— The question was the wrong one. What mattered wasn't thickness but trajectory: their cortex thickened longer and more aggressively, to about age 11, and then thinned faster than anyone's. By late adolescence the thickness in all groups converged. The difference was in the tempo, not the size.
— Beautiful. Too beautiful, honestly. When someone tells me something that smoothly, I usually start looking for the catch.
— And you're right to be wary. What comes next is the part that gets cut out of the retellings. That finding still hasn't been reliably replicated. The ages at which the thickness peaks fall are exactly the ages at which children move the most in the scanner, and motion systematically eats cortical thickness in the reconstruction. When in 2016 a similar sample was run through three levels of image quality-control strictness, at the strictest level the quadratic thickness trajectories across ages 5–22 simply stopped showing up.
— So is it right or not? I'm getting tired of this: first it's beautiful, then it turns out it's beautiful beside the point.
— It's influential. That isn't the same thing, and you're going to have to live with that distinction for the rest of this conversation — it'll come up in every other topic.
— Fine, I'll live with it. Then simple logic: if the direction really is subtraction, we should be cleaning harder. Shouldn't we?
— No. And this is where the whole "fewer connections, sharper brain" story stops being a slogan. There's a variant of a complement gene that raises C4A expression, and it's associated with increased risk of schizophrenia. The proposed mechanism is precisely excessive pruning in adolescence.
— Hold on. The same cleaning that makes us grow up at all can lead to schizophrenia?
— The very same mechanism. The difference is the volume. And it's a hypothesis the field is working around, not a proven cause in humans — but it's serious enough to close the conversation about "prune more." This isn't a scale where higher means better. It's a setting where both sides of the optimum are disease, and we don't know where the optimum is.
— All right, and does a pill that speeds up pruning exist?
— An antibody that blocks it exists. A humanized anti-C1q antibody — an off switch for the "eat this synapse" tag. It's being developed as a drug: in the pivotal phase 3 trial in Guillain-Barré syndrome, a dose of 30 mg per kilogram produced a significant improvement on the disability scale by week 8.
— Funny: the only lever anyone has reached turns it the other way.
— The other way. And there's no accelerating one, and I'm afraid there won't be. To speed it up you'd have to know which connections specifically are surplus in you. Your own brain worked that out by brute force — and not in a couple of years: elimination in the frontal cortex continues throughout the third decade of life and only plateaus closer to 30. A quarter-century of brute force can't be packaged into capsules. Only addition can be sold — because subtraction requires a criterion that no pill has.