The Economist
 
   
What caused the Cambrian  explosion?

The other Big Bang
In the fourth of our  series of articles on scientific mysteries we ask 
why, a mere 542m years ago,  animal life suddenly took off
Aug 29th 2015
 
 
IN THE 1800s, when early geologists started to work out the order in which  
things had happened in Earth’s history, they quickly assembled a rough  
chronology. Though their successors had to wait until the invention of  
radio-isotopic dating, a century or more later, to find out how old the rocks  
these pioneers were looking at actually were, 19th-century geologists were able 
 
to discover those rocks’ ages relative to one other. 

The chronology they created was based on the ever-changing species of 
fossils  within the rocks. These fossils are mainly animals, mainly marine and 
mainly  ones with hard parts such as shells, which are easily preserved. The 
method  worked well, but only up to a point. Below the strata they dubbed the 
Cambrian,  fossils vanished. Unknown, lifeless aeons stretched into the 
past. It was as if  an almost biblical act of creation had populated the Earth 
overnight, after an  indeterminate period of its being a desert.
 
 
That period, it is now known, lasted for 4 billion years: some 90% of the  
planet’s history. It was not, as discoveries made in the second half of the 
20th  century have shown, quite as deserted as was once believed. But the 
Cambrian’s  beginning marked such a radical shift in the planet’s biology 
that the term  “Cambrian explosion” is often used to describe it—for, in the 
course of perhaps  20m years, the world’s fauna diversified from simple 
beginnings into something  resembling its modern, complex variety. Annelids, 
arthropods, brachiopods,  echinoderms, molluscs and backboneless ancestors of 
the vertebrates all made  their first appearances then. No animals yet lived 
on land, but the seas were  suddenly teeming with them. What has never been 
clear is why. 
Shell game 
Part of the mystery is that it took so long for the explosion to detonate.  
Fossils unknown to the Victorians show bacterial life goes back at least 
3.5  billion years, while chemical traces in rocks 3.8 billion years old are  
interpreted by some as signs that biology was at work even then. About 2 
billion  years ago bacteria were joined by more complicated (but still 
single-celled)  creatures called eukaryotes. Then, some time before 760m years 
ago, 
some of  these eukaryotes linked up to form tiny sponges. Those were the 
first animals,  though not very complicated ones. 

Signs of more complex creatures appear 632m years ago in rocks from the  
Doushantuo formation in China, just after the beginning of a period called the 
 Ediacaran (see chart). These early fossils are interpreted by some (though 
not  all) palaeontologists as eggs or early-stage embryos. What they would 
have grown  into is obscure, for the Doushantuo contains no adult animals. 
But creatures as  much as a metre across that may or may not be jellyfish, 
sea pens and worms of  some description (see pictures), and which are known as 
the Ediacaran fauna,  appear and become abundant from about 575m years ago. 
None, though, had shells,  so they did not preserve easily—one reason why 
early fossil hunters missed  them. 
A jellyfish? 
Then, suddenly, animals started putting on armour. The fossil record of 
these  armoured creatures, known as the small shelly fauna, marks the beginning 
of the  Cambrian period, 542m years ago. Crucially, although the 
small-shelly-fauna  fossils are mainly disarticulated bits and pieces, those 
bits and 
pieces come  from different types of animal, and are made of a variety of 
materials. They are  probably, therefore, the result of parallel evolution 
rather than of a single  innovation which bestowed upon its descendants the 
power to take over the  world. 
Where the creatures of the small shelly fauna led, others rapidly followed. 
 Echinoderms (a group represented today by starfish and sea urchins) were 
there  from 540m years ago. Brachiopods (lampshells) appeared 530m years ago 
and the  Cambrian’s most iconic fossils, the trilobites, date from 521m 
years ago. In a  geological eye-blink, the explosion had happened. 
Once more, though, things are not straightforward. The diversity of form of 
 the first known trilobites, for instance, suggests they had been evolving 
for  millions of years before they all, simultaneously, acquired coats of 
armour. And  some people claim that an Ediacaran fossil called Arkarua  is an 
echinoderm, though it lacks the shelly exoskeleton characteristic of the  
group. Moreover, certain strata with particularly good preservation, such as 
the  Burgess shale in western Canada, show that the explosion was not just 
connected  with the evolution of hard body parts. Soft-bodied creatures 
diversified as  well. 
One explanation for the Cambrian explosion is that something changed in the 
 physical environment. Perhaps it was a rise in oxygen levels, which 
allowed the  respiratory requirements of larger animals to be accommodated. 
Perhaps it was  more calcium in the sea, providing material for the 
construction 
of shells—for  these are often made of calcium carbonate, calcium phosphate 
or both. 
Evidence for either of these possibilities is scarce, but there may be a 
link  to a phenomenon dubbed “Snowball Earth”. This was a period of huge, 
intermittent  ice ages, known formally as the Cryogenian, when glaciers 
sometimes stretched  close to the equator. When these glaciers melted, huge 
areas 
of rock were  suddenly exposed to weathering, and their mineral contents 
dumped into the  oceans. This might have raised calcium levels (for rocks are 
full of calcium) or  oxygen levels (by pouring nutrients into the sea, and 
encouraging the growth of  photosynthetic algae) or both. 
Unfortunately for this explanation, the last of these giant ice ages ended  
635m years ago. They might thus have played some part in the evolution of  
Ediacaran animals, but invoking them to explain the Cambrian explosion is a  
stretch. 
Alternative explanations focus on biology—specifically, the idea that the  
animals crossed some sort of evolutionary threshold at the beginning of the  
Cambrian. Their history of increasing complexity certainly makes this 
plausible.  Sponges are mere agglomerations of cells, but jellyfish and sea 
pens 
belong to a  group called diploblasts, which have much more structure. 
Diploblasts develop  from specialised embryos that have two cellular “germ 
layers”
, the endoderm and  the ectoderm. Their adults have proper tissues (for 
example, nervous systems)  and regular, radially symmetrical body shapes. The 
most complex animals of all,  though, are triploblasts. Their embryos have a 
third germ layer, the mesoderm,  between endoderm and ectoderm, and they 
have many more sorts of tissues than  diploblasts, and also discrete organs. In 
addition, they are bilaterally  symmetrical, at least when they are young. 
And it is the triploblasts that do  most of the exploding in the Cambrian. 
Bilateral symmetry is advanced as an explanation of the Cambrian explosion  
because it encourages animals to have a front and a rear. That means they 
can  move purposefully in a particular direction, which radially symmetrical 
animals  find hard. When that happens, sense organs and the nerves 
associated with them  tend to accumulate at the front, where they are most 
useful. 
This process,  called cephalisation, encourages bilateral animals to evolve 
brains, in order to  interpret and integrate the signals from the sense 
organs. And bilateral animals  also have linear guts, with a mouth and an anus. 
That is a much more efficient  arrangement than the diploblastic one of 
expelling the undigestible parts of  food items back out of the mouth. 
A who-knows-what 
On this view, bilateralism was an advance akin to the evolution of wings. 
It  opened previously unavailable opportunities, one of which was active 
hunting  that relied on directed movement and a cephalised nervous system. That 
would  explain the sudden rise of armoured skeletons in different sorts of 
animal, as a  response to being hunted. Bilateralism alone, then, might have 
triggered the  explosion—but for the inconvenient fact that some Ediacaran 
fossils (such as the  one pictured here) are bilaterally symmetrical. 
Transitional benefits 
There is, however, one other thought—that the Cambrian explosion is not the 
 fundamental mystery it seems to be. The true mystery, rather, is the 
Ediacaran,  whose animals really did appear out of nowhere, and then vanished 
for 
reasons  unknown before the Cambrian got going. 
The fossil record is full of sudden cast changes like this. They are known 
as  mass extinctions. The most famous is the disappearance of the dinosaurs 
(and a  lot of other reptiles) at the end of the Mesozoic era. In due 
course, these were  replaced by a hitherto unimportant group, the mammals. Much 
of 
the supposed  uniqueness of the Cambrian explosion is a hangover from the 
19th-century belief  that there were no Precambrian animals. But, as the 
Ediacaran fauna shows, that  is not true. 
In a mass extinction the board of life is cleared of many pieces by an  
external event, such as the asteroid strike that did for the dinosaurs. It then 
 takes several million years for replacements to evolve from whatever is 
left.  Those remnants might have been (as Mesozoic mammals were) insignificant 
in the  previous regime. In the case of the Ediacaran, given how long ago 
it was and how  few of its rocks are available for inspection, they might 
thus remain almost  undetected by palaeontologists. Arkarua, known from a  
single site in Australia, may be an example of one of these cryptic  
animals-in-waiting. 
It is true that no evidence of an extinction-causing event has been found 
in  rocks that straddle the Ediacaran and Cambrian periods, but several later 
mass  extinctions have no known cause, either. And, if such an extinction 
did happen,  it is perfectly plausible that some unidentified Ediacaran 
triploblasts went on  to play the role of the Mesozoic mammals by emerging from 
obscurity when the  competition had been eliminated. In the chaotic aftermath 
of the extinction,  they would have been able to multiply, diversify and 
drive each other’s  evolution (by such means as hunting one another) in ways 
that foreshadowed those  of the modern world, red in tooth and claw.

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