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By Andrew Lim < Back to Issue 3 Hope, Humanity and the Starry Night Sky By Andrew Lim 10 September 2022 Edited by Manfred Cain and Yvette Marris Illustrated by Ravon Chew Next Image 1: The Arecibo Observatory looms large over the forests of Puerto Rico The eerie signal reverberates out over the Caribbean skies, amplified by the telescope below. It oscillates between two odd resonating tones for little more than a couple of minutes, then shuts off. Eminent scholars, government administrators and elected representatives watch in wonderment, their eyes glued open. The forest birds and critters chirp and sing. It is November 16, 1974 – from a little spot in Arecibo, Puerto Rico, Earth is about to pop its head out the door to say ‘hello’. Those sing-song tunes, beamed out into space on modulated radio waves, are a binary message designed for some alien civilisation– a snapshot of humanity in 1679 bits. It sounds like the beginning of a bad sci-fi flick: the kind that ends with little green men coming down in UFOs for a cheap-CGI first contact. But it isn’t, and it doesn’t. Instead, the legacy of those telescope-amplified sounds – that ‘Arecibo Message’ – has a place in history as a symbol of human cooperation, here on Earth rather than in the stars. The message’s unifying vision imbued the famous ‘pale blue dot’ monologue of its co-creator Carl Sagan; and led to the launch of a multi-year international programme designing its successor message 45 years on, presenting extra-terrestrial communication as a mirror of our earth-bound relations. A unified message symbolizing a unified humanity. The previous feature in this series (Discovery, Blue Skies…and Partisan Bickering?) ended with a declaration of nuance: that science in politics matters solely because it transcends partisan bounds with clear analysis. Yet, looking at stories like Arecibo’s, so imbued with human optimism, maybe this cold, logical formulation isn’t enough. Perhaps for all its focus on appropriations bills, initiative funding and flawed infrastructure, that perspective lends insufficient weight to science’s ability to inspire, to cut through the fog of day-to-day policy battles with a beacon of what could yet be. But is this talk of hope just ideological posturing – a triumphant humanism gone mad? Or could there be some merit to its romantic vision of humanity speaking with one voice to the stars? Might it possibly be that science really is the key to bridging our divisions? COOPERATION AMIDST CHAOS Well, why not begin in the times of Arecibo? After all, the interstellar message came at a key moment in the Cold War. Just a few months before, US President Richard Nixon had made his way to Moscow to meet with General Secretary Leonid Brezhnev, leader of the USSR. The signing of a new arms treaty, a decade-long economic agreement and a friendly state dinner at the Kremlin all seemed to indicate a world inching away from the edge of nuclear apocalypse. Such pacifist optimism is found readily in the message’s surrounding documents, with its research proposal speaking glowingly of future messages designed and informed by “international scientific consultations…[similar to] the first Soviet-American conference on communication with extraterrestrial [sic] intelligence.” Indeed, it seems the spirit of the age. Soon after the Arecibo message’s transmission, the Apollo-Soyuz Test Project would see an American Apollo spacecraft docking with a Soviet Soyuz module. Mission commanders Thomas Stafford and Alexei Leonov conducted experiments, exchanged gifts, and even engaged in the world’s first international space handshake – a symbol of shared peace and prosperity for both superpowers. Image 2: Thomas Stafford and Alexei Leonov shake hands on the Apollo-Soyuz mission Apollo-Soyuz marked an effective end to the US-USSR ‘Space Race’ (discussed in Part I of this series), and would lead to successor programmes, including a series of missions where American space shuttles would send astronauts to the Russian space station Mir, and eventually the building of the 21st-century International Space Station (ISS). Science seemed capable of forging cooperation amidst the greatest of disagreements, transcending our human borders and divides. Frank Drake, the designer of the Arecibo Message, was filled with optimism, hoping that his message might herald the beginning of a new age, marked by united scientific discovery and unparalleled human growth. He triumphantly declared to the Cornell Chronicle on the day of its transmission that “the sense that something in the universe is much more clever than we are has preceded almost every important advance in applied technology. SCIENTIFIC SPHERES OF INTEREST Yet this rose-tinted vision of science as the great mediator perhaps has a few more cracks in it than its advocates like to admit. Even at the height of Nixon’s Cold War détente, science was not pure intellectual collaboration. Henry Kissinger, Nixon’s National Security Advisor and later Secretary of State, pioneered ‘triangular diplomacy’, the art of playing adversaries off against one another with alternating threats and incentives. In later years, he would declare that “it was always better for [the US] to be closer to either Moscow or Peking than either was to the other”. And as he opened channels of communication with China, it was science that would pave the way for a stronger relationship. In the Shanghai Communique negotiated on Nixon’s 1972 trip to China, both sides “discussed specific areas in such fields as science [and] technology…in which people-to-people contacts and exchanges would be mutually beneficial [and] undert[ook] to facilitate the further development of [them].” Scientific collaboration (often manipulated by spy agencies from the CIA to the KGB) was the carrot beside the military stick – a central part of building alliances in a world of realpolitik. To Kissinger and his colleagues, the world was to be divided into Image 3: US President Richard Nixon shakes hands with CCP Chairman Mao Zedong in China in 1972 spheres of influence, even in times of peace – and science was best used as a way of strengthening and shoring up your own prosperity. It is a realist view of science diplomacy that continues to this day, with US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton noting in Image 4: Chinese Foreign Minister Wang Yi meets with his Cambodian counterpart Prak Sokhonn in September 2021, pledging additional aid and vaccine doses. 2014 that “educational exchanges, cultural tours and scientific collaboration…may garner few headlines, but… [can] influence the next generation of U.S. and [foreign] leaders in a way no other initiative can match”. To both Clinton and Kissinger, science is an instrument of foreign policy, whether deployed overtly in winning over current governments or more subtly in shaping the views of future ones. For them, amidst competing interests and simmering tensions, we ignore science’s soft power at our own peril. Just look at China’s distribution over Sinovac COVID-19 vaccines in the pandemic. In October 2020, January 2021 and September 2021, Chinese Foreign Minister Wang Yi went on tours of Southeast Asia, promising vaccine aid while pushing closer connections between China and the rest of Asia. Last year, it was estimated that China had promised a total of over 255 million vaccine doses – a key step in building stronger economic and military ties in an increasingly tense region. Indeed, in mid-2021, just as concerns about Chinese vaccine efficacy grew, US President Joe Biden announced “half [a] billion doses with no strings attached…[no] pressure for favours, or potential concessions” from the sidelines of a G7 Summit. Secretary of Defence Lloyd Austin travelled across Southeast Asia. In the the Philippines he renewed a military deal just as a new shipment of vaccines was announced – a clear indicator of the linkage between medical and military diplomacy, something reinforced when Vice President Kamala Harris landed in Singapore later that year to declare the US “an arsenal of safe and effective vaccines for our entire world.” Australia is key to vaccine diplomacy too. On his visit here earlier this year, US Secretary of State Antony Blinken made a point of visiting the University of Melbourne’s Biomedical Precinct to talk about COVID-19, declaring on Australian television that our nation was central to “looking Image 5: United States Secretary of State Lloyd J Austin III meets with Philippines President Rodrigo Duterte in July 2021 for negotiations on renewing the Visiting Forces Agreement at the problems that afflict our people as well as the opportunities…dealing with COVID…[in] new coalitions [and] new partnerships.” These views are backed up locally too. Sitting down for an exclusive interview with OmniSci Magazine last year, Dr Amanda Caples, Lead Scientist of Victoria, was keen to characterise her work in terms of these developments, reminding us that Victoria had been key to “improving the understanding of the immunology and epidemiology of the virus, developing vaccines and treatments and leading research into the social impact of the pandemic”, and emphasising Australia’s national interest, declaring that “global policymakers understand that a high performing science and research system benefits the broader economy…science and research contribute to jobs and prosperity for all rather than just the few.” Science, it seems, whether in vaccines, trade or exchanges, just like fifty years ago, is again to be a key tool for grand strategy and national interests. Image 6: Dr Amanda Caples, Lead Scientist of Victoria ARGUMENTS AND ARMS But perhaps even this might be too optimistic an outlook – for that simmering balance of power occasionally boils over. We need only to look at what happened when the détente of Nixon and Brezhnev was dashed to pieces with the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979. The policy was roundly condemned as sheer naïveté in the face of wily adversaries, with President Ronald Reagan later describing détente in a radio address as “what a farmer has with his turkey – until Thanksgiving Day”. Science was the first target for diplomatic attacks. After the invasion, Senator Robert Dole (R-KS) launched legislation barring the National Science Foundation from funding trips to the USSR. And the push seemed bipartisan, with Representative George Brown Jr. (D-CA-36) proposing a House Joint Resolution enacting an immediate “halt [to] official travel related to scientific and technical cooperation with the Soviet Union”. Image 7: Russia’s cosmonauts board the ISS on 18th March 2022, shortly before Russia ends its participation in the program Now, as we face war on the European continent, even the ISS – the descendant of Apollo-Soyuz’s seemingly-apolitical scientific endeavours – seems to be falling apart spectacularly. On April 2 this year, Roscosmos, the Russian space agency, announced that it would be ending its participation in the ISS program, demanding a “full and unconditional removal of…sanctions” imposed over the Russian invasion of Ukraine. Earlier in the year, Roscosmos’ Director General Dmitry Rogozin openly suggested on Twitter that the ISS being without Russian involvement would lead to “an uncontrolled deorbit and fall [of the station] into the United States or Europe”, alluding to “the option of dropping a 500-ton structure [on] India and China.” Rogozin’s threats became even more pronounced as the war continued, with Roscosmos producing a video depicting Russia’s two astronauts on the station not bringing NASA astronaut Mark Vande Hei back to Earth with them (American astronauts primarily go to and return from space via Russian Soyuz capsules). Shared by Russian state news, its chilling final scenes show the Russian segment of the ISS detaching too, with Vande Hei presumably left to die in space aboard the station. Such attacks need not remain rhetorical, either. Scientific advancements have long been tied to weaponry and defence systems, with mathematicians and physicists from John Littlewood to Richard Feynman involved in making bombs and ballistics in times of war. Even Arecibo, that bastion of a united humanity, began life as a Department of Defence initiative detecting Soviet ballistic missiles. Today, the AUKUS defence partnership – one of the most significant Indo-Pacific defence developments in recent memory – centres on sharing nuclear submarine science and technology, promising scientific cooperation regarding “cyber capabilities, artificial intelligence, quantum technologies, and additional undersea capabilities”. Even if induced by factors beyond our control, such weapons-based science is a far cry from the pacifist ideals of the Arecibo message. Thus, perhaps this messy reality is more central to our science than we like to admit. From the ISS to Australia’s waters, science still is intertwined with conflict and frequently co-opted by geopolitical actors in times of renewed aggression. Science at its worst is mere weaponry. But at its best, it speaks to something greater. HOPE IN THE DARKNESS In June 1977, the world was far from diplomatically stagnant. From the rumblings of Middle Eastern peace (what became the Camp David Accords) to new hopes of nuclear arms reduction, US President Jimmy Carter had quite the array of diplomatic dilemmas to consider. But amidst all that cold politics, he penned a letter to be sent on board the spacecraft Voyager, now the furthest manmade object from our solar system, declaring “We are attempting to survive our time so we may live into yours…This record represents our hope and our determination, and our good will in a vast and awesome universe.” And if this magazine has purported to speak to the ‘alien’ – far removed from our human lives - then perhaps we have discovered quite the opposite: that looking out up there is so much about looking in down here. Science presents a way we can look out at the alien and see ourselves – “survive our time…into yours”, finding a path ahead reflected in the inky blackness above. We are often constrained by time and circumstance, forced in the face of nefarious actors to compromise our idealism and use science as a mere weapon or tool. Discovery for discovery’s sake is frequently the first casualty when battle lines are drawn and aggression begun, and too often the political pessimism of the scientist can seem overpowering. But if the stories of broken détentes, diplomatic realpolitik and weaponised technology have made it all feel inevitable, then perhaps it is worth considering the story we began with, looking up into the night sky and remembering that somewhere amidst the stars is a tiny warble in the electromagnetic spectrum. Long after the funds and papers that forged it have faded away, after the people who wrote it have perished, it will continue. In its odd combination of ones and zeroes, it will represent humanity: our contradictions and our fears, our constant foibles and infighting, but also our occasional glimpses of a future beyond them. A signal…a reminder that when the times, the people Image 8: President Jimmy Carter’s message, sent aboard Voyager, the furthest man-made probe from Earth and the ideas line up just right, science can be the torchbearer for something greater. Something so rare that amidst all the ills of the world, it often seems non-existent, and so powerful that over two millennia ago, Aeschylus himself deemed it the very thing given to humanity by Prometheus to save us from destruction – the ideal that transformed us from mortals fixated on ourselves and our deaths to a civilisation capable of great things. “τυφλὰς…ἐλπίδας”, he called it: blind hope. A handshake in a capsule. A life-saving jab on board a ship. A binary message in a bottle, out among the stars. Fleeting images – not of what we are, but of what we can be: visions of blind hope, that sheer belief that we can grow past our worst violent impulses and reach out into the great beyond. Maybe it’s foolish. Maybe it’s naïve. But, on a brisk fall evening, looking out at a sky full of stars, each one more twinkling than the last, it’s easy to stop and imagine…maybe it’s the only thing that matters. Andrew Lim is an Editor and Feature Writer with OmniSci Magazine and led the team behind the Australian Finalist Submission to the New Arecibo Message Challenge. Image Credits (in order): National Atmospheric and Ionosphere Centre; National Aeronautics and Space Administration; National Archives Nixon White House Photo Office Collection; Kith Serey/Pool via Reuters; Malacanang Presidential Photo via Reuters; The Office of the Lead Scientist of Victoria; AP; National Aeronautics and Space Administration Previous article Next article alien back to

< Back to Issue 4 The Mirage of Camouflage by Krisha Ajay Darji 1 July 2023 Edited by Megane Boucherat and Tanya Kovacevic Illustrated by Aisyah Mohammad Sulhanuddin Imagine driving on a highway and the road is shimmered by the scorching midday sun. Whilst you drive further on a day like this, you might envision a wet patch gleaming on the road. Does it make you wonder how a mirage passes by playing with your vision? While there is physics involved in this phenomenon, evolution through natural selection has rendered some of its own biological members the ability to play with visual perceptions in subtle but enchanting ways! What comes to your mind when you hear the word camouflage? Some might visualize a chameleon blending in almost any background possible. Others might envision a soldier wearing camouflage pants and shirts to match the earthy tones for their defence. Colourful frogs, butterflies, snakes and so on might cross your mind as you think deeper about this phenomenon. Nature is filled with some of the most fascinating examples of camouflage. Camouflage as a Prehistoric Phenomenon The coloration patterns found on the Sinosauropteryx, a tiny, feathered, carnivorous dinosaur that lived in what is now China during the Early Cretaceous period was studied by a group of scientists. They discovered evidence of coloration patterns corresponding to modern animal camouflage by tracing the distribution of the dark pigmented feathers over the body. This included stripes running around its eyes and across the tail, and countershading with a dark back and pale bottom. By contrasting and comparing the mask and striped tail with the colours of contemporary animals, we can learn more about the evolution of camouflage as a means of natural selection [1]. The presence of stripes on only tails rather than the whole body of certain animals is not well understood, but they are suspected to function as a type of disruptive camouflage. Disruptive camouflage means visually separating the outline of a portion of the body from the others and to make it less noticeable. It could also serve as a type of deception by attracting predators' attention to the tail and away from the more vital parts - the body and head. Birds are found to be the most evident illustration of this as they descend from the theropod dinosaur [1]. Early tyrannosauroids, the ancestors of the ferocious T-rex, coexisted with Sinosauropteryx and may have even hunted the little dinosaur. Sinosauropteryx hunted tiny lizards, as was demonstrated by direct evidence in the shape of a whole animal preserved in the stomach of one of the specimens found. Hence, it is clear that camouflage patterns were developing at that time; since vision was critically important to these dinosaurs while they were hunting and being hunted. This example demonstrates camouflage as a prehistoric phenomenon and its evolution in the animal kingdom. Camouflage in Modern Day Animals Animals use camouflage primarily for defence. Blending in with their background prevents them from being seen easily by predators. The use of warning coloration, mimicry, countershading, background matching and disruptive coloration are mechanisms through which animals employ camouflage. Sneaky Snakes! The harmless scarlet king snake has stripes that resemble those of the deadly coral snake, but it is not poisonous. The only significant distinction between the two is the arrangement of the colours in their patterns. While the pattern for coral snakes is red-yellow-black, for scarlet king snakes it is red-black-yellow [2]. The difference is simple for anyone to remember thanks to a rhyme! Red on yellow kills a fellow, Red on black won’t hurt Jack! This is a classic example of mimicry: a form of camouflage in which one organism imitates the appearance of another to avoid predators. The Walking Leaf! The leaf insect or the waking leaf belongs to the family Phylliidae and is quite like its name. The walking leaf's body has patterns on its outer edges that look like the bite marks that caterpillars leave behind in leaves. To resemble a leaf swinging more accurately in the breeze, the insect even sways while walking! This is an example of a type of camouflage known as background matching- one of the most prevalent forms of camouflage. It is a mechanism through which a particular organism hides itself by resembling its surroundings in terms of its hues, shapes, or movement [2]. Mottled Moth! It is challenging for predators to determine the form and direction of the tiger moth as it is mottled with intricate patterns of black, white, and orange on its wings. This is an example of disruptive camouflage: when an animal has a patterned coloration, such as spots or stripes, it can be difficult to detect the animal's contour [2]. Lurking Leopards! Black rosettes on a light tan backdrop serve as the hallmarks of the leopard’s well known coat patterns. Their coats also include a subtle countershading to help them amalgamate with their environment and evade detection by prey. A leopard's body has a significantly lighter underside than the rest of its coat, which consists mostly of its belly and the bottom of its legs. This produces a shading effect that helps conceal the leopard's body form and contour, making it more challenging to see in low light or when seen from below. This is a typical example of countershading, which is a type of camouflage wherein the animal’s body is darker in colour, but its underside is lighter. It works by manipulating the interactions between light and shadows; thus, making the animal difficult to detect [2]. But what allows these animals to change their colours? Animals can camouflage themselves through two primary mechanisms: Pigments - biochromes Physical structures - prisms While some species have natural and microscopic pigments known as biochromes, others possess physical structures like prisms for camouflage. Biochromes can reflect some wavelengths of light while absorbing others. Species with biochromes can actually seem to alter their colour. Prisms can reflect and scatter light to give rise to a colour that is different from the animal’s skin [2]. Camouflage is not quite restricted to the sense of vision. There are several other ways evolution has taught the living world to adapt and protect themselves in the wild. There is a whole exciting world of behavioural and olfactory camouflage employed by diverse species in the animal kingdom. Ultimately, the compelling association of camouflage with the phenomenon of mirage conveys to us how nature always evolves and expands to secure the continued existence of its inhabitants. From the glistening heat of mirages on arid vistas to the delicate patterns on the wings of a butterfly, this fascinating juxtaposition of mirage and camouflage delivers a peek into the incredible mechanisms that animals deploy to traverse their natural habitats and survive amidst the obstacles they encounter. References Smithwick F. We discovered this dinosaur had stripes – and that tells us a lot about how it lived [Internet]. 2017 [cited 2023 May 12]. Available from: https://theconversation.com/we-discovered-this-dinosaur-had-stripes-and-that-tells-us-a-lot-about-how-it-lived-86170 National Geographic. Camouflage [Internet]. [cited 2023 May 12]. Available from: https://education.nationalgeographic.org/resource/camouflage/ Previous article Next article back to MIRAGE

< Back to Issue 9 Ancient Asian Alchemy: Big Booms by Isaac Tian 28 October 2025 Illustrated by Aisyah Mohammad Sulhanuddin Edited by Luci Ackland One question has plagued the human condition since the beginning of time: how can we escape death? Well, we certainly know who didn’t find the answer – the alchemists of ancient China. It’s 210 BC, and you are an alchemist standing before Emperor Qin Shi Huang in his court. You hand him an elixir supposed to grant him immortality and eternal reign. Only the serum contains what we now call “mercury” and if anything, you granted him mortality, as he drops dead before you (1). Where does one begin in this journey to immortality? How do we combine chemicals to find the perfect serum? Keep in mind, we have not even come close to establishing the periodic table at this point (no, that will occur about 1000 years later) (2). Saltpetre – or potassium nitrate – had been used extensively to treat common illnesses and to maintain good health. There’s our starting point (3). The search for this magic elixir persists for the next eleven centuries. We never give up… do we? The ingenuity of the alchemists spoke to them: it told them to mix in a few other ingredients to the saltpetre. With the trio of saltpetre, sulfur and charcoal, gunpowder was henceforth born into this world (4). The alchemists must have been in for a surprise when their “potion of immortality” sparked and exploded before them. So how does gunpowder explode? Why don’t other flammable items like match tips and dry wood explode when we set them alight? It comes down to a few key things. First is our perception of explosions. Chemicals don’t simply “explode” – it’s not an inherent quality of reactions – however, they can combust. Combustion is the release of energy from a fuel. Wood and matches combust, but they do so in a way that is relatively slower than gunpowder. Gunpowder combusts rapidly – so there is a large amount of energy release within a short period of time. Secondly, it’s about the availability of oxygen. Items that combust slowly typically have to wait for the oxygen to trickle in from the surrounding air, since oxygen is a critical component of combustion. This does not apply to gunpowder. The oxygen for its combustion is right there in the nitrate compound (of potassium nitrate – or saltpetre). So unlike burning wood or matches, the combustion does not need to wait for oxygen to arrive from the surrounding environment – it’s already in there with the rest of the powder (5)! To go further on that point: the closer the atoms are, the faster the combustion reaction can progress, because chemical compounds don’t need to wait long for the heat to get to them. Since gunpowder is… well… a powder, it’s rather compact and all the molecules of potassium nitrate, sulfur, and carbon sit tightly next to one another. It is this physical arrangement that permits the fast transfer of heat between molecules, ensuring that a lot of energy can be released at once. Ultimately, when all these physical and chemical phenomena occur in perfect unison, the high temperatures rapidly increase the kinetic energy of surrounding air molecules, causing them to shoot outwards at great speeds to form a “barrier” of sorts. When this barrier, also known as a shockwave, hits your eardrums, the gunpowder delivers what it does best: BOOM! Now, let’s combust some gunpowder, build up some gaseous pressure, and launch ourselves into the modern day. It’s been about twelve centuries – what have we been doing with all the gunpowder? As it turns out, we humans are very inventive, but also violent (Wow – who knew?). We quickly realised that the physical properties of the resulting gases can be harnessed to quickly move very heavy objects (6). Said heavy objects could then be guided in the direction of, say, a human being or a structure. Weaponry derived from gunpowder has existed for a very long time, albeit rather inefficient at first. The introduction of gunpowder to warfare came in the early 10th century, when soldiers applied gunpowder to arrows that would ignite and create fire arrows. Of course, whilst it might have been effective in creating a hole in humans, it was significantly less so when it came to creating holes in walls and structures. Only after 300 years did we then invent cannons and guns. However, those guns were slow – really, really slow – to the point that bows and arrows were actually preferred during warfare of that era. It would be another 600 years before we realised that there were more effective ways of reloading a gun; brandishing a new trend of military technology that would set the stage for the First and Second World Wars (7). By that point, the most terrifying of weapons had begun to stray away from the use of gunpowder. Missiles and rockets began employing other chemicals as propellants, owing to the advantage it had over gunpowder (7). It would also be remiss of this article to omit the exploitation of atomic power – pervading the world with such destruction that gunpowder appeared like a child’s toy (8). The tragic irony of a supposed innovation in immortality leading to mortality by war and conflict will forever embed itself into our history. Even with the right intentions, the invention by the great minds of alchemy has sparked a chain reaction for widespread destruction and warfare. It only makes you wonder – what are we making now that will lead us further astray in the future? References 1. Glancey J. The army that conquered the world. BBC. Accessed August 24, 2025. https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20170411-the-army-that-conquered-the-world 2. Guharay DM. A brief history of the periodic table. ASBMBTODAY. Accessed August 28, 2025. https://www.asbmb.org/asbmb-today/science/020721/a-brief-history-of-the-periodic-table 3. Butler A, Moffett J. Saltpetre in Early and Medieval Chinese Medicine. Asian Medicine . 2009;5(1):173-185. doi: 10.1163/157342109X568982 4. Paradowski, R.J. Invention of Gunpowder and Guns. EBSCO Research Starters. 2022. Accessed August 24, 2025. https://www.ebsco.com/research-starters/history/invention-gunpowder-and-guns 5. Stanford University. Detonation and Combustion. Stanford University. Accessed September 4, 2025. https://cs.stanford.edu/people/eroberts/courses/ww2/projects/firebombing/detonation-and-combustion.htm 6. Britannica. Ammunition | Bullets, Shells & Cartridges. Britannica. 2025. Accessed September 25, 2025. https://www.britannica.com/technology/ammunition 7. Beyer G. How Did Gunpowder Change Warfare? TheCollector. 2025. Accessed October 4, 2025. https://www.thecollector.com/how-did-gunpowder-change-warfare/ 8. ICAN. History of Nuclear Weapons. ICAN. Accessed October 4, 2025. https://www.icanw.org/nuclear_weapons_history Previous article Next article Entwined back to

< Back to Issue 9 Unravelling the Threads: From the Editors-in-Chief & Cover Illustrator by Ingrid Sefton, Aisyah Mohammad Sulhanuddin & Anabelle Dewi Saraswati 28 October 2025 Illustrated by Anabelle Dewi Saraswati Edited by the Editor-in-Chiefs Innovation evolves, and perhaps what once made headlines becomes embodied in ourselves and in our universe. The science that we once saw is no longer visible, yet no less integral in the ways in which it governs our world. Like the strings of a puppet, scientific principles guide us and coordinate the patterns and movements which shape our daily lives. Yet equally, science encourages us to look behind the curtain in order to unravel the forces which pull on the strings of our universe. Following these rich threads of knowledge, so often taken for granted, this issue brings to the fore and celebrates the science that keeps our world running. An introspective chat with the brain, a journey along the production line that creates our much-loved daily cup of matcha, fundamental questions about how we seek and create knowledge: Entwined seeks to make explanations explicit and start conversations about the scientific mechanisms embedded in our lives. When we take the time to focus our gaze, encourage awe at the everyday and seek reflection over reaction – that’s when we start to disentangle the science that binds us; that which keeps us Entwined . Begin your immersion in the world of Entwined with Issue 9’s Cover Illustrator, Anabelle Dewi Saraswati , as she explains the vision and rationale behind her work. “I found myself drawn to the world of Art Nouveau for these cover illustrations, captivated by the way forms seem to grow into each other, sharing meaning and life, much like the theme of ‘Entwined’ itself. There is something magical about that moment in history, where art, architecture, and science all seemed to bleed into one another, each discipline borrowing and lending, rooted in the emphasis on the beauty of nature after the coldness created by the Industrial Revolution. That sense of crossover felt like the perfect encapsulation for this issue, derived from pictorial history. The way feminine figures and flowing hair seem to melt into vines and leaves, everything tangled together in a quiet conversation. The motion and sense of growth, but also its hidden mathematical precision required to produce such beautiful curving forms. Art Nouveau captured how the artificial and natural worlds are always weaving into each other, inseparable. I wanted to draw from that imagery in a way that acknowledges its history I return to my architectural roots in structure, composition and line with my approach in building these pieces. The signage piece is fully hand-drawn and deliberate – reflecting the craft and typographic precision of the era. The collage is a layering of textures and fragments, letting ideas overlap and bleed into each other, much like memories and histories do. A way to begin the issue visually to trace the growth of worlds as they intertwine. Paying homage to the harmony between the natural and the human-made, to reflect on how we are shaped by the places we inhabit, the histories we inherit, and the stories we choose to keep alive.” Previous article Next article Entwined back to

< Back to Issue 9 Eyeballs, a Knife, and No Fear of God by Jess Walton 28 October 2025 Illustrated by Anabelle Dewi Saraswati Edited by Chavindi Sinhara Mudalige Humans have wanted to understand our bodies the entire time we’ve had them, which is to say, the entire time. Late Classical Athens, around 300 BC, at a peak of intellectual prosperity: Herophilos cuts into a corpse. From this, he’s going to make the novel argument that the brain contains knowledge, and in doing so, he’s going to criticize Aristotle’s writing, which describes the brain as something akin to an air conditioner. Aristotle thought the brain was a cooling chamber, essentially, to prevent the heart from overheating, and that cognition happened in the heart. Much, much earlier, around 1000 BC in India, Sushruta, in his foundational surgical text, overestimated the bone count in humans by over 100. Many ancient societies had impressively detailed understanding of anatomy, considering they had no microscopes, no cameras, no X-rays; usually nothing more than their knives and eyeballs. It’s important to note as well that this article is a brief overview of a complex subject, with a major focus on Classical, meaning Ancient Greek and Roman, examples, and is in no way a complete story of early anatomical developments across the globe. Asia, Africa, the Americas and the Arab world each had their own rich and complex traditions, beyond the few examples cherry-picked here. Most societies had a few impressive hits and a few impressive misses; in a way, their approach to science isn’t all that different from ours today. What can we learn from them, and what can we learn about ourselves? In Ancient Athens, Aristotle believed the heart to be both the intellectual and emotional center of humans; the “seat of the soul” (1). Some remnants of this remain in our modern association between heart and emotion, though we know now it isn’t backed by science. His reasoning behind this was the convergence of blood vessels at the heart and its importance; from this, he also, perhaps reasonably, thought it to be the source of blood (2). Despite being deservedly considered a major anatomist, Aristotle likely made his observations from examining and dissecting the bodies of animals, particularly lower mammals, like dogs or livestock, instead of real humans (3). He unknowingly used homologous structures, long before evolution or even Charles Darwin himself was conceptualized, to essentially assume the anatomy of humans from other animals. Given this, his conclusions on the brain become a little more understandable. The brain is a strange-looking organ, critically important to life, though not obviously connected to the pulse or rich with blood; how were they to understand the structure of nerves and white matter? That it assists the heart in some way becomes a logical conclusion. So why not serve a cooling function? Blood is hot, so the heart must get hot. Overheating is usually bad; see fire. And the brain’s size makes it ideal for such a thing. The thing about anatomy and science, Aristotle’s assertion being one primordial example of many around the ancient world, is that it changes. Herophilos and Erasistratus were two more Greek anatomists who succeeded and often contested Aristotle. Unlike him, they dissected humans, having no qualms about a man’s dead—or, according to some sources, still alive—body (4). However, they offered several accurate, or at least more accurate, insights inside human bodies. Herophilus argued that the brain wasn’t a cooling chamber but contained knowledge (5). While he was at it, he argued that the heart has four chambers, unlike Aristotle, who claimed it only has three (5). Many of Herophilos and Erasistratus’ insights required Aristotle’s, or some other prior Mediterranean scholar’s, claims to give them something to criticise. Praxagoras was one such anatomist, from about 400 BC, about 100 years earlier. He correctly associated the pulse with natural movement within the body, but also asserted that arteries carry air (6). There is, possibly because of this claim, debate as to whether he had any practical anatomical experience or observed any dissections. If so, it’s quite impressive to miss the blood in arteries. He did, however, note that veins carry blood (2). Thus, he was later included in Herophilos’ critique. Before we criticise how long it took for them to realise seemingly obvious facts, we must remember that bloodletting as an acceptable treatment persisted into the 19 th Century. Modern and recent understandings are far from flawless. A couple of hundred years later, Galen, a Roman from the late 2 nd Century AD, would voice similar critiques (2). Galen would later become famous for his theory of the four humors: blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm, each with associated personalities and elements (7). While these are all real liquids found somewhere in the human body, they do not really work as the four-way counterbalance he describes. Galen made some incredible leaps forward in Roman anatomy, including developing more elaborate tools for dissection and surgery processes, which would be instrumental in allowing future developments in the field. However, he also learned more anatomy from treating severe gladiator injuries—which is awesome—or like Aristotle, from dissections and studies on lower mammals (7). This led to some interesting conclusions; his description and diagrams of a human uterus match that of a dog’s uterus exactly, for example (7). He did well with the tools he had, but guesswork has its limits. Three hundred years before Aristotle, and over seven centuries before Galen, the ancient Indian physician Sushruta, a continent away, was revolutionizing, and if there was nothing to revolutionise, inventing surgeries and surgical techniques. He also valued an understanding of human anatomy, which likely contributed to his surgical skill, and dedicated a portion of his seminal Sanskrit work, Sushruta Samhita , to anatomy, calling it the Sharira Sthana . In his work, he describes in detail the head, which he correctly identified as the major center of essentially all function, particularly the cranial nerves (8). He also includes the first detailed guide to human dissection, alongside the anatomy of the embryo at various developmental stages; this is described as arising from seven skins, each with their own associated ailments, and while the skins are anomalous, many of the ailments correlate impressively with known diseases (8). There’s also, incredibly, a detailed description of cataract surgery procedure, where exceptionally specific incision locations in the cornea are interspersed with instructions to sedate the patient with wine mixed with cannabis, which makes sense in a world far predating modern anesthesia, then to spray the eye with breast milk (9). This part seems outlandish and harder to explain, but anyone who has studied immunology can tell you that breast milk contains antibodies and antibacterial proteins. Sushruta likely made some link between breast milk and reduced post-op infections, even if there were not yet microscopes to see bacteria with. Even if they couldn’t see why on the molecular scale, ancient anatomists were able to understand what worked and what didn’t and justify it to the best of their knowledge. When Sushruta describes the bones of the human body, he does so in great detail, and also counts more than 300 of them. Humans typically have 206 bones, give or take a rib: Sushruta mildly overestimated. This is thought to be from him, largely basing his skeletal insights off child cadavers, before many bones have fused together (9). Hindu religious law calls for the cremation of any body over two years old, in its natural and thus undissected state; though there are accounts of Sushruta performing dissections, presumably on adults, the bodies he likely had the most exposure to were infants. Sushruta was working within the confines of the society and world that he lived in, as was Herophilos. Medical insights which seem obvious to us today, like that the brain is for thinking and the heart is for beating blood, and that blood goes through the arteries and is most definitely a liquid, rely upon prior knowledge reached with tools that hadn’t even been invented yet. These firsts—surgeons, anatomists, scientists—would probably have to be physically pried away from microscopes and X-rays, if ever introduced to them. They often didn’t even have a human body to dissect, yet drew human anatomical conclusions regardless. And it’s easy to marvel at their mistakes, but it’s even easier to marvel at how much they got right; Herophilos correctly uncovered nerves and linked them to sensation and response, which is impressive in itself. Could you find a nerve in some meat, with just your naked eye? He also linked the heart and the pulse. The Huangdi Neijing , for example, is a Chinese medical text said, though disputed, to be from 2600 BC, which describes the relationships between organs in military terms: the heart as a king, the liver as a commandant, and the gallbladder as an attorney-general responsible for coordination (10). However, both like and before Herophilos, it also correctly identifies the cyclic nature of blood flow and links it to the heart (10). The Edwin Smith Papyrus, dating from 1700 BC in Ancient Egypt, is the oldest known surgical text, describing 48 different injuries with treatments; all shockingly accurate (11). Sushruta may have miscounted the bones, but he described their shapes accurately and suggested legitimate therapies for particular bone breakages and dislocations. Nowadays, little has changed: in just the 1950s, lobotomies became the standard cure for a headache; even long after we developed microscopes, we were recommending treatments, like scrambling our brains, that only 70 years later seem ridiculously stupid. We’re far from done charting our own bodies, either. In 2018, an entirely new type of tissue all throughout the body was found: the interstitium, which is critical in cell and organ communication across the body (12). It’s been there the whole time, but no one had noticed before. Humans are humans; it is only natural to want to understand ourselves, and as a part of that, our bodies. We now study our ancestors as they studied themselves; the same mix of awe, confusion and confidence. Their methods and conclusions may be fallible, but their curiosity was not, and as long as we remain, never will be, dead. These examples were only a fraction of those whose work has been preserved, who themselves were only a fraction of the ancient people across the globe who investigated human anatomy. A millennium from now, our descendants will laugh at our misconceptions, when they have mapped every neuron in the human brain with instruments we could not conceive of. But without us, they wouldn’t know what they know, and without our original anatomists, we wouldn’t know what we know. Our modern granular understanding of our own structure is built on the bodies we looked in before ours. So, we should perhaps extend some empathy to our predecessors. They had only eyeballs, a knife, and our own curiosity. Different tools, same bodies. References Aird WC. Discovery of the cardiovascular system: from Galen to William Harvey. J Thromb Haemost. 2011;9(Suppl 1):118–29. Johnston IH, Papavramidou N. Galen on the Pulses: Medico-historical Analysis, Textual Tradition, Translation [Internet]. De Gruyter; 2023 [cited 2025 Oct 10]. Available from: https://www.degruyterbrill.com/document/doi/10.1515/9783110612677/html Crivellato E, Ribatti D. A portrait of Aristotle as an anatomist. Clin Anat. 2007;20(5):447–85. Papa V, Varotto E, Vaccarezza M, Ballestriero R, Tafuri D, Galassi FM. The teaching of anatomy throughout the centuries: from Herophilus to plastination and beyond. Med Hist. 2019;3(2):69–77. Bay NSY, Bay BH. Greek anatomist Herophilus: the father of anatomy. Anat Cell Biol. 2010;43(4):280–3. Wright J. Review of: Praxagoras of Cos on Arteries, Pulse and Pneuma. Studies in Ancient Medicine, 48 . Bryn Mawr Class Rev [Internet]. [cited 2025 Oct 10]. Available from: https://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2017/2017.07.34/ Ajita R. Galen and his contribution to anatomy: a review. J Evid Based Med Healthc. 2015;4(26):4509–16. Bhattacharya S. Sushruta—the very first anatomist of the world. Indian J Surg. 2022;84(5):901–4. Loukas M, Lanteri A, Ferrauiola J, Tubbs RS, Maharaja G, Shoja MM, et al. Anatomy in ancient India: a focus on the Sushruta Samhita . J Anat. 2010;217(6):646–50. O’Boyle C. TVN Persaud, Early history of human anatomy: from antiquity to the beginning of the modern era. Med Hist. 1987;31(4):478–9. van Middendorp JJ, Sanchez GM, Burridge AL. The Edwin Smith papyrus: a clinical reappraisal of the oldest known document on spinal injuries. Eur Spine J. 2010 Nov;19(11):1815–23. Benias PC, Wells RG, Sackey-Aboagye B, Klavan H, Reidy J, Buonocore D, et al. Structure and distribution of an unrecognized interstitium in human tissues. Sci Rep. 2018;8(1):4947. Previous article Next article Entwined back to

The Intellectual’s False Dilemma: Art vs Science By Natalie Cierpisz The age-old debate once again resurfaces. How do art and science truly interact? Is one dependent on the other? How does the ‘art intellectual’ embrace science, and how does the ‘science intellectual’ embrace art? Is this all a meaningless debate anyway? Edited by Andrew Lim, Mia Horsfall & Hamish Payne Issue 1: September 24, 2021 Illustration by Casey Boswell The autumnal Melbourne wind whistles through the naked plane trees lining South Lawn, the sky is flat and grey. Two individuals who regard themselves and only themselves as ‘intellectual paragons’ are seated on a somewhat uncomfortable wooden bench, a perfect perch for people-watching, yet they are rather egotistical and notice only their own presence. One carefully places down their black coffee to light a hand-rolled cigarette; they are a liberal arts intellectual. As the wind grows stronger, the other tightly wraps a lab coat around themselves, and pushes a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles up their nose for the nth time. This would be our scientist. “So, are you still fooling around with your test tubes and pretty lights?” asks the liberal arts academic, cigarette hanging out the corner of their mouth. “If you mean, am I still investigating antiprotons using laser spectroscopy, then yes, indubitably so. How’s your fooling around with Hegel going?” replies the scientist, again pushing their glasses back up to a suitable height. The liberal arts intellectual is quick to retort the scientist’s trite remarks - they are in fact composing a Hegelian analysis of The Communist Manifesto, and not ‘fooling around’ by any means. The tension between the two self-professed intellectuals is building. The two appear to be fighting for dominance in their passive attacks on ego. So goes the age-old feud between the arts and the sciences. These two shallow characters play into the false dilemma that science and art are separate, distinct, alien. Two polar opposites. A total and unequivocal dichotomy. In all fairness, it is difficult to imagine many people will take this polarised a stance on the relationship between art and science. And now, as we delve into the complex relationship between the two domains, it should become clear that science and art are functionally interdependent (1), and considering art and science as totally separate is simply absurd. Let’s get back to our two feuding intellectuals. There seems to be much stereotypical disjunction between the two. But how does this translate to the true relationship between art and science? If the liberal arts intellectual and scientist were not so wrapped up in their self-interested ways, perhaps their gaze would slowly drift to the grandiose arches and imposing columns of the Old Quad. The harmonious form and mathematical ratios of these monuments are an enduring reminder of the architectural leaps and bounds made in the early 14th century, a blended pursuit of art and science. Ergo, we will head to one of the greatest paradigm shifts in Western history – the Renaissance. The Renaissance roughly spanned from the 14th to the 17th century and was a period of complete intellectual revolution – for both science and the arts (2). Everyone is familiar with Leonardo da Vinci, the great Renaissance artist. Less people know that he was also an inventor and a man whose artistic practice was heavily influenced by science (3). To ensure his paintings were as realistic as possible, Da Vinci dissected cadavers to better understand human anatomy, and studied optics and astronomy to perfect his use of space and form in paintings like The Last Supper. Likewise, scientists like Nicholas Copernicus and Galileo Galilei kickstarted a revolutionary paradigm shift towards the heliocentric model, their work in optics and astronomy being heavily reflected in artworks of the same era. Both science and art challenged what was for centuries prior considered the status quo. Source: Leonardo da Vinci, The Last Supper, 1498, tempera on gesso, pitch, and mastic, 460 cm × 880 cm, Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org (4). This certainly isn’t a call for readers to head to the Melbourne General Cemetery and begin digging up specimens, nor to transfer to a double degree in fine arts and biomedicine. Instead, the point is more about how fruitful interaction between the two domains can be, and how one requires the other to flourish. Returning briefly to South Lawn, the snarky liberal arts intellectual continues looking bored and takes out their copy of The Myth of Sisyphus. Sitting directly opposite them the scientist has gone back to finishing the latest New Scientist podcast and calculating a quantum theory of gravity. We have seen that science can inspire art, but how can art inspire science? “The greatest scientists are artists as well.” (5) So said perhaps the most well-known scientist of the modern century. Not only did Albert Einstein develop the special and general theory of relativity (we won’t get into the mathematical specifics for both our sakes), he was also a talented violinist and pianist. Einstein often credited his artistic side for his success in science, testifying that, "the theory of relativity occurred to me by intuition, and music is the driving force behind this intuition. My parents had me study the violin from the time I was six. My new discovery is the result of musical perception.” (6) We have already seen how science prompts art to create new visions, and Einstein was no exception. His revolutionary ideas about space and time have been acknowledged as a prime artistic influence for Picasso’s arguably infamous Cubist style, as well as for the Surrealist art movement. (7) But the arts are not just confined to visual and musical expression. How about the area of expertise of our liberal arts friends? Liberal arts as they are known today, include sociology, literature, philosophy, psychology, politics, and more. The knowledge and, most importantly, critical thinking that is learnt through humanistic education is perhaps key to the future of science. As the world changes and evolves, humans must change and evolve with it, creating innovative solutions along the way. If we shift our focus to around the 1st century BCE, we will encounter what is widely regarded as the coining of the term artes liberales, or liberal arts. Roman statesman, scholar and writer Marcus Tullius Cicero wrote extensively about a wide array of topics, from politics and education to Stoic philosophy. “Artes liberales” roughly translates to “subjects worthy of a free person” - academic study that would enable one to actively participate in society (8). This curriculum consisted of a focus on seven key disciplines of rhetoric, geometry, grammar, music, astronomy, arithmetic, and logic. Liberal arts by nature are not the antithesis of science. From the crux of the artes liberales evolved the study of mathematics, physics, philology, history, and so on. Today we have reached a point where these seven disciplines have evolved and branched out so expansively that we have lost sight of the fact that our modern-day science and arts curriculums are sown from the same seed. Both science and art stem from the real world. Simply put, science is a lens into the study of this world and the inhabitants within it. Art is another lens into this complex system, providing a different but equally valuable perspective. Life is not binary, so neither should be our approach to studying it, and by virtue studying ourselves. Now is the time to embrace such transdisciplinary thinking. We need to bridge the gap between rigorous climate science facts and currently inadequate policy making, assess the ethics of the future of gene-editing, and ultimately become better thinkers. The combined intellectual strength of analytical thinking associated with science, where we learn how to test hypotheses, interpret data and draw valid conclusions; and the arts, where we learn critical thinking, how to develop arguments, how to understand a diverse audience, is necessary to keep humanity’s head above water as our world rapidly changes. Take for example the future of the CRISPR-Cas9 editing tool. This enzyme-based tool allows scientists to remove or add sections of DNA sequence in our genome, our code for life. With this ‘hand of God’ comes great responsibility. Collaboration needs to be made between scientific thinkers and humanistic thinkers to identify what type of robust legislation needs to be implemented to ensure ethical use of this tool. It is no longer a case of scientists working in isolation in underground bunkers. Scientists are making huge strides in research that extend to and greatly impact the wider community. Cases like CRISPR-Cas9 demand a lens from science and a lens from the arts in order to see the full picture – and in this case, to ensure the ethical and safe practise of a tool that has potential to save lives and improve individuals’ quality of life – but this only happens if science and art function in harmony. So back to you, the reader. Perhaps think about enrolling in that philosophy breadth subject next semester that your liberal arts friend raves about. Pick up that popular science book you have been eyeing off at Readings on Lygon St. Listen to that science podcast that keeps popping up on your Spotify homepage (The BBC’s The Infinite Monkey Cage is excellent). Pick up that paintbrush. Go visit Science Gallery Melbourne, a recent art scene addition affiliated with University of Melbourne – how fitting! This isn’t Romeo and Juliet, where you are either a Capulet or a Montague. Rather, this is a case of wave-particle duality, where an electron is both a wave and a particle, and you are both an artist and a scientist. As the typical Melbourne wind continues to pick up and the Old Arts clocktower strikes 7:00 pm, it appears the liberal arts intellectual just swapped their copy of The Myth of Sisyphus for the scientists’ copy of Brief Answers to the Big Questions. Looks like they’re making progress. References: 1. Richmond, Sheldon. “The Interaction of Art and Science.” The MIT Press 17, no. 2 (1984): 81-86. https://www.jstor.org/stable/1574993 . 2. History.com Editors. “Renaissance.” History.com. April 4, 2018. https://www.history.com/topics/renaissance/renaissance . 3. Powers, Anna. “Why Art is Vital to the Study of Science.” Forbes. July 13, 2020. https://www.forbes.com/sites/annapowers/2020/07/31/why-art-is-vital-to-the-study-of-science/?sh=7dfd8f8942eb . 4. Da Vinci, Leonardo. The Last Supper. 1498. Tempera on gesso, pitch, and mastic. 460 cm × 880 cm. Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org . 5, 6. Root-Bernstein, Michelle. “Einstein On Creative Thinking: Music and the Intuitive Art of Scientific Imagination.” Psychology Today. March 31, 2010. https://www.psychologytoday.com/au/blog/imagine/201003/einstein-creative-thinking-music-and-the-intuitive-art-scientific-imagination . 7. Muldoon, Ciara. “Did Picasso know about Einstein?” Physics World. November 1, 2002. https://physicsworld.com/a/did-picasso-know-about-einstein/ . 8. Tempest, Kathryn. “Cicero’s Artes Liberales and the Liberal Arts.” Ciceronian on Line 4, no. 2 (2020): 479-500. https://doi.org/10.13135/2532-5353/5502 . Feynman, Richard, P. The Pleasure of Finding Things Out: The Best Short Works of Richard P. Feynman. New York: Basic Books, 2005. Science Gallery Melbourne. “Inspiring and Transforming Curious Minds.” Published 2021. https://melbourne.sciencegallery.com/what-we-do . White, Fiona. “Why art and science are better together.” The University of Sydney News. September 17, 2020. https://www.sydney.edu.au/science/news-and-events/2020/09/17/arts-and-science-better-together.html .

By Mia Horsfall < Back to Issue 3 AI and a notion of 'artificial humanity' By Mia Horsfall 10 September 2022 Edited by Breana Galea and Andrew Lim Illustrated by Matthew Duffy Next In the cradle of the day, a girl blinks to life. The sun is cool, still crouched beyond the trees, waiting for its cue to take centre-stage. Knees and knobs and spokes and all, she struggles to stand in the grass, furrowing her toes into the Earth for traction. Clean, unmarked and without memories, she looks to the sky with contentment, unaware of the work ahead. The notion of “Artificial” Intelligence is an interesting way to describe the vast and variegated mechanisms it encompasses. Not only does it pre-suppose the existence of “intelligence” within these machines, but it implies the existence of some antithetical “natural” intelligence. The term itself is a dichotomy, simultaneously alienating and connecting AI to humans. This poses some significant moral and ethical dilemmas that are becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. As the advent of AI becomes more intricately interwoven with mundane happenings, we are forced to grapple with the seemingly unanswerable question: At what point does “Artificial” Intelligence become indistinguishable from “Authentic” Intelligence? With the advent of Artificial Intelligence, public opinion surrounding the role AI should and does occupy has undergone dramatic alterations. Films and books such as “Her” (2013) and “Klara and the Sun” (2021) have explored the implications of assimilation of AI with humanity. In both pieces, AI transcends the purely utilitarian role originally defined and progresses into emotional connections with human counter-parts. It stands to reason that if these AI can enter and engage in emotionally significant relationships in the same capacity as humans, what exactly does the distinction between human and machine become? In order to define what AI is, we should first come to a conclusion of what it means to be human. So why is it so important to arrive at a definition of humanity in considering the ethics of AI inclusion in society? Well, as Hauskeller points out ‘the term ‘human’ is not primarily used to refer to a particular kind of entity...it implies a particular moral status’ (Hauskeller, 2009). That is, a subject is assigned a higher moral value in its assignment as ‘human’ and a purely physical application of the word would result in little distinction between us and other species. ‘A meaning of the word is a kind of employment of it’ (Wittgenstein, 1953), suggesting meanings and the terms to describe them are co-dependent and self-referential. Hence what it means to be ‘human’ is directly aligned with what subjects are assigned such a title. But arriving at a definition for “human” is no easy task. Philosophers and scientists have debated what constitutes the term human with little success, the definition changing across historical periods. In order to demonstrate the transient nature of the term ‘human’, a comparative analysis of definitions across historical periods provides a comprehensive overview of the dynamism that defines humankind. Hauskeller contends that any given definition of ‘human’ is ‘persuasive’. That is, each attempt ‘implicitly or explicitly claims to be of prime significance for the way we ought to lead our lives’ (Haukeller, 2009). By nature of the fact there exists multiple definitions of what characterises humanity, it can be inferred ideals of human society are themselves transient. For instance, Plato contends intelligence prevails above every aspect of human nature (White, 2013) as it is ‘the only part of himself which he does not share with the animal kingdom’ (Plato, referenced in White 2013). Whilst this definition may appear simplistic or constrictive, it is also not intrinsically wrong, merely indicative of the era in which it was formulated. Kant expounds upon the need to define ‘humanity’ asserting that any definition of an individual in isolation from a collective is futile and insufficient. Rather, it is only the ability ‘to treat himself and others according to the principle of freedom under the laws’ (Kant, referenced in Cohen, 2008) that defines humanity. In essence, it is only in relation to others that individuals may exist as human, congruent with Cohen’s assertion that ‘the study of the other is the yardstick by which men measure their own common humanity’ (Cohen, 2008). Heidegger adopts a markedly different approach in his ‘Being and time’, recognising the fluidity of human nature and creating Dasein who Oleson asserts is ‘the being of a human being, understood as the being that is concerned with being itself’ (Oleson, 2013), embodying the definition of humanity through a representation of the history of being (Oleson, 2013). Dasein exists as ‘the connection between historicality and temporality’ (Heidegger, 1927), and in this way, Heidegger seeks to define humanity by means of its instability. From these hugely variegated definitions of what constitutes the state of being human, it becomes clear we are unlikely to determine one singular, immutable definition of what it is to be human. Hence, it is difficult to have a constant point of comparison to see whether AI has “surpassed” its limits and transcended into some form of humanity. But with the increasing capabilities of AI, it stands to reason there be provisions in place in both law and politics to account not only for the implications of AI upon humanity, but for the representation of AI and its potential forms. Even if this representation or legislation is aspirational, it stands to reason there be policies in place, as various machine learning figures become more and more prominent in society and culture. At the end of the day, the girl stands cemented in her place. The line between her arms and the cogs she operates is indistinguishable amongst the black haze of smoke. In a town not too far from here, children kiss their mothers good night and fall asleep. But here, in this place, with this grime, she stands cold and unfeeling, the sky obscured by the machinery above. Previous article Next article alien back to

< Back to Issue 8 Thinking Outside the Body: The Consciousness of Slime Moulds by Jessica Walton 3 June 2025 Edited by Han Chong Illustrated by Ashlee Yeo Imagine yourself as an urban planner for Tokyo’s public transport system in 1927. Imagine mapping out the most efficient paths through dense urban sprawl, around obstructing rivers and mountains. And imagine meticulously designing the most efficient possible model, after years of study and expertise… only to find your design prowess, 83 years later, matched by a slime mould: a creature with no eyes, no head nor limbs, nor nervous system. Of course, this is anachronistic. For one, the Tokyo railroad system developed over time, not all at once. But it was designed to meet the needs of the city and maximise efficiency. Yet in 2010, when researchers exposed the slime mould Physarum polycephalum to a plate mimicking Tokyo city (with population density represented by oat flakes) it almost exactly mimicked the Tokyo railroad system (1). This became one of the most iconic slime mould experiments, ushering in a flood of research about biological urban design asking the question: Could a slime mould, or other similar organisms, map out human cities for us? But a slime mould doesn’t know what cities are. They’re single-celled organisms; they don’t understand urban planning, or public transport, or humans. They are classified as protists, largely because we’re not sure how else to categorise them, not because they’re particularly ‘protist-y.’ They have no brain and are single-celled for most of their life; so they can’t plan routes, have preferences, or make memories. Right? Except, perhaps they can. Slime moulds are extremely well-studied organisms because they exhibit precisely these behaviours. But how do they think? And what does it mean— to think ? Slime moulds have evidenced memory and learning. The protoplasm network they form is really just one huge cell that eventually develops into a plasmodium, growing and releasing spores. While plasmodial slime moulds (like P. polycephalum ) do this during reproduction, cellular slime moulds (dictyostelids) are able to aggregate together into one cell like this when food is scarce or environments are difficult (meaning they must be able to detect and evaluate if these things are true). Most slime mould behaviour is understood through cell signalling and extracellular interaction mechanisms; responding to chemical gradients using receptors along their membrane, which signal to the cells to move up the concentration gradient of a chemoattractant molecule and away from a chemorepellent. This makes sense; bacteria (like almost every other living organism) do this all the time and it’s the chief way that they make decisions . But what about memory and preferences? What about stimuli beyond the immediate detected chemicals? Slime moulds can, for example, anticipate repeated events and avoid simple traps to reach food hidden behind a U-shaped barrier (2,3). These are beyond input-to-output; something more complex must be happening. Something conscious? Thinking ? The idea of consciousness requiring complex neuronal processes is becoming rapidly outdated as we observe patterns of thinking in organisms that, according to classical definitions, really should not be able to. Using the slime mould as an example, Sims and Kiverstein (2022) argue against the ‘neurocentric’ assumption that an organism must have a brain to be cognisant. Instead, P. polycephalum is suggested to exhibit spatial memory, with cognition being suggested to sometimes include external elements (3). They showed it may undergo simple, habitual learning and hypothesised it uses an oscillation-based mechanism within the cell (3). Similarly, oscillator units along the slime mould’s extending tendrils oscillate at a higher frequency at higher concentrations of food source molecules (like some tasty glucose), signalling to the slime mould to move in that direction (4). Sims and Kiverstein (2022) also posit that the slime trail left by slime mould could function as an external memory mechanism. They found that P. polycephalum avoids slime trails as they represent places it has already been; suggesting a method of spatial memory (4). This was further proved as not a pure input-output response by showing that the avoidance response could be overridden when food is placed on or near slime trails (5). They suggest that the slime mould was able to balance multiple inputs, including oscillation levels and slime trail signals, exhibiting simple decision-making. Should we count these processes as thinking ? This topic is debated by philosophers as much as biologists. Sims and Kiverstein (2022) use the Hypothesis of Extended Cognition, being that mind sometimes extends into the environment outside of the brain and body, to argue firmly that it does count. But at the end of the day, despite understanding the chemical and electrical processes between neurons signalling and the cellular makeup of the brain, we still don’t understand how electrical signals through a series of axons make the leap to complex consciousness. Rudimentary and external cognition pathways, as seen with the slime mould, may also be an evolutionary link in the building blocks to more complex, nerve-based consciousness and decision making (3). We don’t yet understand the phenomena inside our own skulls—how can we hope to define it across all other organisms? Slime moulds clearly have something beyond simple chemical reactions. This begs the question: Aren't our own minds also fundamentally just made of simple chemical reactions? And if a slime mould is able to evaluate multiple inputs, how wonderfully complex must such processes be inside (and outside) a sea anemone, a cockroach or a cat? There’s no way to know what such a consciousness would look like or feel like to our frame of reference. When a slime mould, moving as a network around an agar plate, ‘looks up’ (or an equivalent slime mould action) and perceives unfathomable entities, how does it process that? What does the slime mould think of us? Bibliography 1. Kay R, Mattacchione A, Katrycz C, Hatton BD. Stepwise slime mould growth as a template for urban design. Sci Rep. 2022 Jan 25;12(1):1322. 2. Saigusa T, Tero A, Nakagaki T, Kuramoto Y. Amoebae Anticipate Periodic Events. Phys Rev Lett. 2008 Jan 3;100(1):018101. 3. Sims M, Kiverstein J. Externalized memory in slime mould and the extended (non-neuronal) mind. Cognitive Systems Research. 2022 Jun 1;73:26–35. 4. Reid CR, Latty T, Dussutour A, Beekman M. Slime mold uses an externalized spatial “memory” to navigate in complex environments. Proc Natl Acad Sci U S A. 2012 Oct 23;109(43):17490–4. 5. Reid CR, Beekman M, Latty T, Dussutour A. Amoeboid organism uses extracellular secretions to make smart foraging decisions. Behavioral Ecology. 2013 Jul;24(4):812–8. Previous article Next article Enigma back to

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