< Back to Issue 7 Timeless Titans: Billionaires defying death by Holly McNaughton 22 October 2024 edited by Arwen Nguyen-Ngo illustrated by Esme MacGillivray Humans are destined to face an unavoidable end, but what if we weren't? What if humans could push the boundaries of death and become "un-ageable"? What would be the consequences if the world's top apex predators became immortal? The concept of anti-ageing and the quest for eternal life is not new. Cleopatra supposedly bathed in donkeys’ milk to reduce wrinkles. The first emperor of the Qin dynasty (221-206 B.C.), tried to achieve immortality by taking pills. Unfortunately for him, the key ingredient was the highly toxic substance—mercury. In 16th century France, members of the nobility would drink gold to preserve youthful looks. Much like in the past, today’s leading figures in the anti-ageing field are those with power and wealth. Today, the same obsessive quest for youth persists, but now it is backed by cutting-edge science and more importantly, staggering wealth. This article delves into the latest anti-ageing trends—pills, specialised diets, and more—championed by modern-day billionaires. We’ll explore the innovations they fund, and more provocatively, what it means for humanity when death is no longer inevitable. Anti-ageing pills The first “key” to anti-ageing is metformin, which dates to the1920s and was first discovered in the medicinal herb Galega officinalis . It lowers blood sugar levels and is taken as a popular treatment for type 2 diabetes (Bailey, 2017). Metformin works by tricking your body into thinking there is not enough energy, lowering blood glucose levels, and helping the insulin your body makes to work better. In a 2014 clinical study, patients with type 2 diabetes initiated with metformin had longer survivals than non-diabetics who did not receive the drug (Bannister et al. 2014). Although this is a correlation, not causation, some studies state Metformin has increased lifespan in mice (Martin-Montalvo et al., 2013). While we are anticipating the results of a trial on the effects on humans, and particularly the effects on non-diabetic lifespan, some are already convinced by the results from preliminary studies, such as Byran Johnson. Johnson is a self-proclaimed Professional Rejuvenation Athlete and founder of Project Blueprint. The Blueprint protocol is an extensive regimen of exercise, health tests, supplements, and a strict diet, to reverse biological age. Bryan has been following the protocol since 2021 and has successfully slowed down his rate of ageing to 0.76, meaning that for every year, Bryan is only ageing 277 days. Luckily, it only costs him 2 million a year. As part of the protocol, Bryan takes several prescription drugs daily, including metformin twice a day and rapamycin. Rapamycin is another promising “key” anti-ageing drug that works as a mTOR inhibitor. mTOR is a key component in cell growth, proliferation and survival. By inhibiting mTOR, cell growth and protein synthesis processes are slowed, thus reducing the chance of pathology (disease and/or injury) of cells and tissues. It has been shown to extend the lifespan of mice, yeast, worms and fruit flies (Harrison et al., 2009) and in 2018, elderly humans given rapamycin showed promising results with improvement in immune function and decreased infection rates (Mannick et al., 2018), which could ultimately lead to longer lifespans. Young blood transfusion Throughout history, blood has been a popular anti-ageing remedy. In the 15th century, Pope Innocent VIII drank the blood of three young boys, to heal his ailments (Scott & DeFrancesco, 2015). It did not work. The term “Young Blood transfusion” is now used to refer to the practice of transfusing blood from a young person into an older one to tackle age-related diseases. The rationale comes from parabiosis experiments. Parabiosis is the anatomical and physiological union of two organisms, and in the 1950s it was performed on two mice, surgically stitched together. A month after the procedure, the older mice showed rejuvenation (Conboy et al., 2005). In 2017, a new startup called Ambrosia emerged offering transfusion from young people at $8,000 a session. According to the U.S Food and Drug Administration, there were no clinical benefits of this treatment, and it was shortly shut down. PayPal founder Peter Thiel believes he will live to be 120 years old; a fan of young blood transfusions, he also credits his future success to taking human growth hormones daily and following a strict paleo diet. The science of which diet is best for anti-ageing is constantly changing. The paleo diet cuts out sugar, carbohydrates and highly processed food and is praised by celebs, but is not currently supported by science for having anti-aging benefits. Other diets such as intermittent fasting, keto and veganism are all praised for their anti-aging properties, but again the claims are under-researched. However, there is a growing body of evidence that a whole-food, plant-based diet can aid in the prevention, and in some cases reversal, of chronic diseases (Solway et al., 2020). For example, in Loma Linda, California, one of the world's five original blue zones (areas of the world with the healthiest, longest-living populations), the life expectancy is 10 years longer than the average American, which has been linked to the high number of Adventist vegetarians in the community. The key link between all five blue zones is a mostly whole-food, plant-based diet. Ethical and social implications – consequences of immortal humans The cure to ageing is still a while away but there is already a growing body of evidence of how we can extend our lifespans, but is that a good idea? The first argument against extending human lifespans is the risk of furthering the gaps in inequality. There is already a 30–40-year life expectancy gap between first-world and third-world countries. As highlighted in this article, it is primarily the wealthy benefiting from advancements in anti-ageing. Although, it is the responsibility of politicians and governments to remove the disparities worldwide. Thus, the question arises – should our focus and resources be directed towards addressing the health crises in developing countries instead? The second argument is overpopulation. An interesting study that looked at a 100-year projection of population size if no one aged after 60 showed that total population size only increased by 22% or 9 million to 11 million (Gavrilov & Gavrilova, 2010). They also pointed out that many members of society may choose to reject new anti-ageing technologies due to religious reasons, fear of side effects and/or costs. I would also like to point out that the world’s declining birth rates due to increased fertility issues may also mean overpopulation won’t be a near-future issue. An increasing population size does however mean increased demand for finite resources like water. Increases in water demand could cause an increase in civil and international conflicts over existing water supplies. In Australia, water scarcity is already a persistent issue, given the relatively dry and variable climate and an increased population size will see demand rise above our limits. To conclude, science has not found a cure for mortality, but with the development in age reversal or anti-ageing science, we may see the longevity of life increasing as well as quality of life. There are several ethical and social implications of an “un-ageable” race, but most importantly, developments in the anti-ageing community may allow loved ones to be healthier for longer. References AIHW, Australian Institute of Health and Welfare. (2024). Deaths in Australia. Retrieved from https://www.aihw.gov.au/reports/life-expectancy-deaths/deaths-in-australia Bannister, C. A., Holden, S. E., Jenkins-Jones, S., Morgan, C. L., Halcox, J. P., Schernthaner, G.,Mukherjee, J., & Currie, C. J. (2014). Can people with type 2 diabetes live longer than those without? A comparison of mortality in people initiated with metformin or sulphonylurea monotherapy and matched, non-diabetic controls. Diabetes Obes Metab , 16 (11), 1165-1173. https://doi.org/10.1111/dom.12354 Bailey, C. J. (2017). Metformin: historical overview. Diabetologia , 60 (9), 1566-1576. Conboy, I. M., Conboy, M. J., Wagers, A. J., Girma, E. R., Weissman, I. L., & Rando, T. A. (2005). Rejuvenation of aged progenitor cells by exposure to a young systemic environment. Nature , 433 (7027), 760-764. https://doi.org/10.1038/nature03260 Gavrilov, L. A., & Gavrilova, N. S. (2010). Demographic consequences of defeating aging. Rejuvenation Res , 13 (2-3), 329-334. https://doi.org/10.1089/rej.2009.0977 doi.org Metformin: historical overview - Diabetologia Metformin (dimethylbiguanide) has become the preferred first-line oral blood glucose-lowering agent to manage type 2 diabetes. Its history is linked to Galega officinalis (also known as goat’s rue), a traditional herbal medicine in Europe, found to be rich in guanidine, which, in 1918, was shown to lower blood glucose. Guanidine derivatives, including metformin, were synthesised and some (not metformin) were used to treat diabetes in the 1920s and 1930s but were discontinued due to toxicity and the increased availability of insulin. Metformin was rediscovered in the search for antimalarial agents in the 1940s and, during clinical tests, proved useful to treat influenza when it sometimes lowered blood glucose. This property was pursued by the French physician Jean Sterne, who first reported the use of metformin to treat diabetes in 1957. However, metformin received limited attention as it was less potent than other glucose-lowering biguanides (phenformin and buformin), which were generally discontinued in the late 1970s due to high risk of lactic acidosis. Metformin’s future was precarious, its reputation tarnished by association with other biguanides despite evident differences. The ability of metformin to counter insulin resistance and address adult-onset hyperglycaemia without weight gain or increased risk of hypoglycaemia gradually gathered credence in Europe, and after intensive scrutiny metformin was introduced into the USA in 1995. Long-term cardiovascular benefits of metformin were identified by the UK Prospective Diabetes Study (UKPDS) in 1998, providing a new rationale to adopt metformin as initial therapy to manage hyperglycaemia in type 2 diabetes. Sixty years after its introduction in diabetes treatment, metformin has become the most prescribed glucose-lowering medicine worldwide with the potential for further therapeutic applications. Harrison, D. E., Strong, R., Sharp, Z. D., Nelson, J. F., Astle, C. M., Flurkey, K., Nadon, N. L., Wilkinson, J. E., Frenkel, K., Carter, C. S., Pahor, M., Javors, M. A., Fernandez, E., & Miller, R. A. (2009). Rapamycin fed late in life extends lifespan in genetically heterogeneous mice. Nature , 460 (7253), 392-395. https://doi.org/10.1038/nature08221 Martin-Montalvo, A., Mercken, E. M., Mitchell, S. J., Palacios, H. H., Mote, P. L., Scheibye-Knudsen, M., Gomes, A. P., Ward, T. M., Minor, R. K., Blouin, M. J., Schwab, M., Pollak, M., Zhang, Y., Yu, Y., Becker, K. G., Bohr, V. A., Ingram, D. K., Sinclair, D. A., Wolf, N. S., . . . de Cabo, R. (2013). Metformin improves healthspan and lifespan in mice. Nat Commun , 4 , 2192. https://doi.org/10.1038/ncomms3192 Mannick, J. B., Morris, M., Hockey, H.-U. P., Roma, G., Beibel, M., Kulmatycki, K., Watkins, M., Shavlakadze, T., Zhou, W., Quinn, D., Glass, D. J., & Klickstein, L. B. (2018). TORC1 inhibition enhances immune function and reduces infections in the elderly. Science Translational Medicine , 10 (449), eaaq1564. https://doi.org/doi:10.1126/scitranslmed.aaq1564 Scott, C., & DeFrancesco, L. (2015). Selling Long Life. Nature Biotechnology , 33 , 28-37. Solway, J., McBride, M., Haq, F., Abdul, W., & Miller, R. (2020). Diet and Dermatology: The Role of a Whole-food, doi.org Selling long life - Nature Biotechnology A new generation of commercial entities is beginning to explore opportunities for new types of interventions and services in a graying world. Plant-based Diet in Preventing and Reversing Skin Aging-A Review. J Clin Aesthet Dermatol , 13 (5), 38-43. Poganik, J. R., Zhang, B., Baht, G. S., Tyshkovskiy, A., Deik, A., Kerepesi, C., Yim, S. H., Lu, A. T.,Haghani, A., Gong, T., Hedman, A. M., Andolf, E., Pershagen, G., Almqvist, C., Clish, C. B., Horvath, S., White, J. P., & Gladyshev, V. N. (2023). Biological age is increased by stress and restored upon recovery. Cell Metab , 35 (5), 807-820.e805. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cmet.2023.03.015 Previous article Next article apex back to

< Back to Issue 10 Unpacking Myths: Distortions of Sex Differences in Popular Culture by Vicenta Wheatley 2 June 2026 Illustrated by Jessica Walton Edited by Han Chong Open TikTok, scroll through Reddit, or fall down a Youtube rabbit hole about dating and relationships, and you will almost certainly encounter a familiar set of claims: men are biologically wired to seek young, fertile women, while women are evolutionarily programmed to prefer high-status providers. These preferences are presented as universal, ancient, and essentially fixed. The studies cited are real, and the researchers exist, yet something crucial gets lost between the data that differentiates a statistical pattern from a universal truth. This is not simply a story about misunderstanding science. In some cases, simplified narratives about attraction may be actively reinforced because they are commercially effective (1). Dating platforms, for example, operate within engagement driven systems where presenting certain patterns such as “younger is more desirable” can increase competition, user activity, and in some cases subscription behaviour. Whether intentional or not, the result is the same: complex research is translated into persuasive but incomplete stories about how men and women are supposed to be. To understand how distortion happens, it helps to first understand what the science actually says, because the research is more careful and more interesting than its popular reputation suggests. Evolutionary psychology does not claim that all men and women behave identically, but instead it identifies probabilistic patterns shaped by millions of years of reproductive pressures. The key thing to note here is that these are tendencies, not rules, and they come with enormous individual variation. The question, then, is not whether differences exist, but how they are interpreted, and why that interpretation so often becomes simplified the moment it enters public discourse. What the Science Actually Says Evolutionary psychology attempts to explain certain human behaviours through the lens of reproductive adaptation. At its core is the idea that psychological tendencies, much like physical traits, may have evolved because they increased reproductive success in ancestral environments. One of the field’s most influential frameworks is the sexual selection theory first proposed by Charles Darwin, suggesting that traits linked to mate competition and mate choice become more common over generations. From this perspective, evolutionary psychologists argue that men and women may, on average, display somewhat different mating preferences due to asymmetries in parental investment (2). Figure 1 . Average importance ratings of partner characteristics across male and female participants in romantic and sexual attraction contexts. While average sex differences appear in some traits, substantial overlap remains between groups. Adapted from (3). Since women have historically faced greater biological costs associated with reproduction through pregnancy, childbirth and, for most of human history, primary infant care, the parental investment theory predicts that women may place greater emphasis on stability, commitment, and resources when selecting long-term partners. Men, in contrast, may be somewhat more likely to prioritise cues associated with fertility and reproductive health, such as youth and physical attractiveness (Fig. 1). Research in this area is not purely speculative, nor was it invented by a podcast host holding a microphone the size of a small telescope. In a widely cited 1989 cross-cultural study spanning 37 societies, evolutionary psychologist David Buss found that women consistently rated financial prospects and ambition as more important in long-term partners, while men placed greater emphasis on youth and attractiveness (4). Subsequent studies have identified similar broad patterns across cultures, lending support to the idea that some mating preferences may have evolutionary roots (5). Yet the popular interpretation of these findings is usually far more rigid than the research itself. Let’s be clear, evolutionary psychologists do not argue that all men pursue casual relationships, nor that all women seek wealthy providers. The differences observed are statistical averages across populations, not fixed scripts handed out at birth. In reality, the overlap between men and women is substantial, and human attraction is shaped by a dense interaction of biology, personality, culture, upbringing, social norms, economic conditions, and individual experience. Let’s also remember that humans exhibit mutual mate choice, meaning both sexes tend to value qualities such as kindness, intelligence, emotional stability and loyalty among others, particularly in long term relationships. The science, in other words, is far more nuanced and probabilistic than its online afterlife often suggests. When Research Becomes Content Once these findings leave academic journals, however, they often undergo a dramatic simplification. On social media platforms, dating podcasts, YouTube commentary channels, and algorithm-driven feeds, probabilistic patterns are frequently reframed as fixed biological truths. For instance, a statistical tendency for men, on average, to prioritise youth in certain contexts becomes the sweeping claim that women inevitably “lose value” with age, which is usually accompanied by a graph created from non-peer-reviewed data, a ring light, and enough confidence to make one briefly forget what a sample bias is. Findings about short-term mating strategies are transformed into declarations that men are biologically incapable of monogamy. The context and variation embedded within the original research are gradually stripped away and replaced with narratives that are far easier to package into viral content. Part of the appeal of these narratives lies in their simplicity. We all know human relationships are emotionally messy and socially complicated, but biological explanations can sometimes offer the illusion of certainty. Algorithms further intensify this process by rewarding emotionally charged claims that provoke engagement. Nuance rarely performs as well online as confidence does. A creator who states that attraction is shaped by a complex interaction of evolutionary, social, and cultural influences is unlikely to generate the same reaction as someone confidently declaring that “men are just wired this way” while speaking in a podcast. In this sense, the distortion of scientific findings is not always accidental. Simplified biological narratives are highly marketable because they are easily understood and capable of reinforcing existing insecurities. Within digital dating ecosystems, where apps and influencers often profit from continued dissatisfaction and competition, there may even be incentives to amplify narratives that encourage users to constantly optimise themselves in the pursuit of desirability. Dating app data provides a particularly striking example of how this process unfolds. OkCupid user data is frequently circulated online to support the claim that men of all ages overwhelmingly prefer women in their early twenties, with stronger aggregate attention toward younger women (Fig. 2b); while female preference patterns appear to remain relatively age-aligned. These visualisations are often interpreted in a highly deterministic way, stripped of their behavioural and contextual limitations. In particular, messaging and preference data from dating platforms reflect engagement patterns within an insular digital environment rather than stable or universal mate preferences. Despite this, such findings are repeatedly circulated as evidence of fixed biological tendencies. Figure 3. Distribution of age differences in unmarried/cohabitant straight couples within the U.S. Age disparity between male-to-female is displayed in years on the x-axis, while frequency of couple age gap is shown as a percentage on the y-axis. Data compiled from U.S. Census Bureau estimates. Adapted from (7). Messaging behaviour on dating apps does not necessarily reflect long-term compatibility or actual partner selection. When broader relationship outcomes are considered, this interpretation becomes less stable. Age differences in real-world couples are generally modest, with most partnerships clustering around relatively small age gaps (Fig. 3). Marriage and cohabitation data, for instance, show far smaller age gaps than viral internet discourse might imply. Nor do these datasets capture the influence of culture, social expectations, or the fact that attraction itself is highly multidimensional. The issue, then, is not that the original research is fabricated, but that selective interpretations become amplified to the point that statistical tendencies are reframed as fixed biological determinism. The Social Cost of Simplified Science The distortion of these findings matters because biological explanations rarely stay confined to academic discussion. Once ideas about attraction and sex differences enter popular culture, they begin shaping real expectations about relationships and personal value. Claims that men are biologically programmed to prioritise youth, for example, are often interpreted less as statistical observations and more as warnings directed at women. Entire online industries have emerged around this premise, from female value discourse to anti-ageing products marketed with thinly veiled evolutionary language. Exposure to enough of this content can encourage the perception that desirability functions like a countdown, reinforced by highly persuasive and aggressive marketing frameworks. What makes these narratives particularly persuasive is their association with science . Most people are not reading evolutionary psychology papers directly, nor are they spending their evenings analysing sample sizes and methodological limitations for fun. Instead, findings are filtered down through influencers, dating coaches, podcasts, and viral clips that present contested or nuanced ideas with remarkable certainty. Once a claim is framed as biological, it can become harder to critique because it appears rooted in nature itself rather than social interpretation. Statements such as “men are naturally non monogamous” or “women are wired to seek providers” can gradually shift from descriptive claims about averages into prescriptive assumptions about how people should behave. In this way, scientific language can end up reinforcing existing gender norms while giving them the appearance of inevitability. These narratives affect all genders, albeit in different ways. Men are increasingly told that their value depends on wealth, height, status, confidence, and sexual success, while emotional vulnerability is framed as weakness. Women, meanwhile, are frequently confronted with narratives suggesting that desirability peaks in their early twenties before declining with age; encouraging constant self-monitoring through beauty routines, cosmetic procedures, anti-ageing products, and pressure to remain attractive within increasingly narrow standards. However, while rising engagement with cosmetic procedures is often linked to these cultural narratives, this relationship is likely multifactorial rather than singular in origin. An increased access to minimally invasive treatments, changing medical norms around cosmetic enhancement, and broader social media exposure all plausibly contribute to these trends, alongside the influence of appearance-focused cultural messaging. For instance, reports indicate a substantial rise in cosmetic procedures among younger age groups in recent years (8,9), and while these figures cannot be attributed to a single causal driver, they are nonetheless consistent with environments in which aesthetic pressure and visibility have increased. Taken together, this suggests a complex interaction between cultural narratives, medical technology, and evolving aesthetic norms, where expectations about attractiveness may play a meaningful reinforcing role. Research into human attraction and sex differences can offer valuable insight into broad behavioural patterns, but those findings are frequently distorted once they enter popular culture. Probabilistic trends in mating preferences and behaviour are often repackaged into rigid truths about how men and women supposedly are. In an online environment that rewards certainty over nuance, scientific literacy matters more than ever for not only understanding the research itself, but for recognising when complex findings are being simplified into something far more prescriptive than they were ever intended to be. References Brady WJ, Wills JA, Jost JT, Tucker JA, Van Bavel JJ. Emotions shapes the diffusion of moralized content in social networks. Proc Natl Acad Sci U S A. 2017;114(28):73138. doi:10.1073/pnas.1618923114 Trivers, R. Parental investment and sexual selection. In: Campbell B, editor. Sexual Selection and the Descent of Man . Chicago: Aldine Publishing Company; 1972. P.136-79 Scheller M, de Sousa AA, Brotto LA, Little AC. The role of sexual and romantic attraction in human mate preferences. J Sex Res. 2023. doi:10.1080/00224499.2023.2176811 Buss, D. Sex differences in human mate preferences: evolutionary hypotheses tested in 37 cultures. Behav Brain Sci . 1989;12(1):1-14. doi:10.1017/S0140525X00023992 Thomas AH, Jonason PK, Blackburn JD, Kennair LEO, Lowe R, Malouff JM, et al. Mate preference priorities in the East and West: a cross cultural test of the mate preference priority model. J Pers. 2020;88(3):606-20. doi:10.1111/jopy.12514 Rudder C. Dataclysm: Who we are (when we think no one’s looking). New York: Crown; 2014. Kamenov A. Age disparities in relationships: statistics. City-Data Blog; 2020. https://www.city-data.com/blog/2620-age-disparity/ CNN Health. Surge in cosmetic procedures among young people. 2024 Jan 16. https://edition.cnn.com/2024/01/16/health/young-cosmetic-procedures Australian Broadcasting Corporation. Gen Z driving increase in cosmetic injectables. 2026 Feb 28. https://www.abc.net.au/news/2026-02-28/gen-z-driving-boost-cosmetic-injectables/106258646 Previous article back to Fact & Fiction Next article

< Back to Issue 8 Cracking the Code: A Word from the Editors-in-Chief by Ingrid Sefton & Aisyah Mohammad Sulhanuddin 3 June 2025 Edited by Illustrated by May Du “Cogito, ergo sum.” I think, therefore I am . - René Descartes Is this, perhaps, the only fundamental truth? When we know with certainty that we are thinking, we recognise the ultimate proof of our existence. An absolute, some might say, in a world inherently characterised by doubt. Intuition has, and always will be, a powerful and compelling force driving our scientific exploration. That gut feeling of why or how or what is behind any given phenomena has been a catalyst for the innovation seen throughout millenia of scientific inquiry. Despite this, mere intuition is far from a reliable guide to making meaning of the world around us. Take the highly revered and long held notion of the “Spark of Life” – the supposition that a divine ‘spark’ was required for life and consciousness to be imbued in a human. While fascinating, fundamental scientific discoveries have since disproved such a mystical perception of life in exchange for far more logical, if perhaps less magical, biological explanations. Jumping to the present, and the collective effort of human minds have conceptualised and uncovered mechanistic explanations for so much of both human biology and the broader workings of our physical world. Where much life itself was once seen as an irreducible mystery, now come mapped abstractions of atoms to matter, cell division to DNA. The list forever goes on. But to return to our initial proposition – can we know anything with no whisper of a doubt, other than that we, in this moment, exist? What exists in the world around us? Much remains a mystery. How does this mystery propel us forward? What conclusions can we draw from the clues? How can we make sense of the corkboard, evidence bound by push pins and string? It’s no surprise that the enigmas of science draw the brightest, most inquisitive minds, eager to puzzle nature’s secrets and crack the codes of our existence. Thus , Enigma unravels how we yearn to explore, learn and piece together the scientific foundations of our world – even as we accept that we may never fully understand it. From the minute synaptic connections within our bodies, to the all encompassing wonder of the stars above, we are gripped by the need to know more. After all, human curiosity is only insatiable. So have on your tweed deerstalker, take a closer look through the magnifying glass, and follow the clues, if you dare. Charting the facets of our existence is life’s great challenge, and the game is indeed afoot! Previous article Next article Enigma 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

< Back to Issue 8 Terror Birds: The Discovery of Prolific Hunters by Jason Chien 3 June 2025 Edited by Luci Ackland Illustrated by Max Yang It began in the 1880s with a toothless jaw. And then some leg and hip bones and a vertebra were found. The leg bones, comparable in size to those of African ostriches, also bore similarities to fossils of the unrelated, giant, flightless Gastornis birds of Europe. Across the 1880s and 1890s, these discoveries slowly led archaeologists to realise they were dealing with a hitherto unknown group of giant, fearsome birds (1). With more complete fossil specimens subsequently discovered and clues provided by their unique morphologies, it did not take long for paleontologists to realise that all members of the “terror birds”, or Phorusrhacids, were carnivores, and that some were apex predators. Through isotopic dating of sediments in which terror bird fossils were found, paleontologists concluded that this taxonomic family existed from 43 million years ago (mya) – possibly even earlier – until their extinction 100,000 years ago (although no single species of Phorusrhacids survived this long) (2,3). Various fossils have since been found in South America and deemed to belong to Phorusrhacids species. Though most fossils have been found in Argentina, they have also been found in Brazil, Uruguay, Chile, Bolivia, Peru, the Southern United States and most recently, in Colombia. Throughout South America, there are various more fossils currently being discovered, some of which are being assigned to new species. At the moment, there are at least 18 characterised species, with some fossil-described species in contention of belonging to Phorusrhacids (4). Although size differed between species, there are morphological features common to all Phorusrhacids. Species such as Kelenken guillermoi , Phorusrhacos longissimus , and a few individuals of the North American Titanis walleri were giants at least 2 meters tall, weighing more than 100kg. Meanwhile, the shorter North American Titanis walleri was 1.4 to 1.9m in height and weighed an impressive 150kg (5,6). At the other extreme, the comparatively tiny Psilopterus bachmanni weighed only 4.5kg (7)! Smaller Phorusrhacids preyed on small vertebrates and invertebrates, with some species perhaps capable of short flight durations, filling a different predator niche than their larger counterparts (7). Though the prehistoric South American environment, unlike today's, was generally grasslands and woodlands, different Phorusrhacids species lived in distinct habitats. These differences include variation in aridity, as well as differences in the large and small prey present in different localities (8). Furthermore, Earth’s overall climate also varied during the more than 40 million years in which terror birds were present, such that the habitats of different terror bird species living in different periods of geologic time also differed. Reconstruction of some specifics of each locality’s prehistoric environment is not always possible (9). Lastly, the earliest and latest discovered fossils of each species indicate the period during which a species survived, but the boundary at which a species becomes distinctly different from an ancestral species is not always clear (10). Here are some terror birds whose habitats are better understood: Phorusrhacos longissimus : an environment with water bodies and a mix of open and enclosed areas. For instance, the first discovered terror bird fossils originated from longissimus individuals living in what was later reconstructed to be temperate forests and bushlands. This bird survived during parts of the Miocene period (23 mya to 5 mya) (8,10) Titanis Walleri : Tropical grasslands with springs, similar to today’s Florida. This species lived in a more unique environment than other terror birds, from 5 mya to 1.8 mya (5,6) But what did all the terror birds, large and small, have in common regarding how they hunted? From the structure of the terror birds’ legs, feet and hips, a paleontologist can infer features that suggest some terror birds were fast runners (11), or otherwise had limbs adapted for running. Despite natural uncertainties associated with paleontology, there is some headway into the running speeds of some terror bird species. For instance, the running speed of the 1m tall, 45kg Patagornis marshi was estimated to be 50 km/h (12,13), more than enough to chase down their prey. Once the prey was chased down, some terror birds would use their powerful legs to kick and incapacitate it, as suggested by features indicating strength in the bones of some species (14). Furthermore, some terror bird species possessed sharp claws, which are thought to have been used to stab prey (14). Though not all terror birds – especially the smaller species – were fast runners, all terror birds used their beaks when hunting, relying on beak strikes rather than the biting force used by many other birds. Their long necks were able to be flexed far backwards and forwards, allowing them to frontally strike prey repeatedly and powerfully with their beaks. Unlike that of many other birds, their ancestors and even their closest living relatives (the seriemas), the skull structure of most terror bird species is such that there is no moveable hinge between the upper beak and the skull due to the fusion of some bones in that region. This adaptation allows the skulls of Phorusrhacids to specifically resist loads from striking prey without suffering damage – though only if the strikes are precise (15). Other interesting features of the terror birds include gaze stabilisation and their hearing capacity. Based on their inner ear anatomies, the terror birds had the capacity for fast head movements while maintaining sight on their prey, evidencing their agility. Further evidence from the inner ear anatomies indicate the enhanced ability of the terror birds to hear low frequency sounds. Low frequency sound waves can travel a longer distance and are less affected by obstacles that absorb and scatter sound, allowing the terror birds to hear prey far out of sight. If terror birds were capable of producing low frequency sound as well, this would have enabled them to communicate from long distances apart (11). If one were to picture the heterogeneity of the terror bird species, they would probably imagine a predator in the act of hunting, or doing something else. In periods of geologic time with the greatest terror bird diversity, you may even be able to picture individuals of two different terror bird species, though you wouldn’t see two species of apex predator terror birds together (10). However, if you were to imagine beyond the bird, you would wonder how the flora, the other animals present, the climate, and many more all played a role in the story of the terror birds. Tracing the lineages of the Phorusrhacids backwards, one would reach a bird capable of flight. The characteristic of complete flightlessness arose specifically in large Phorusrhacids species, which were apex predators that consumed large mammals (10). The extinction of dinosaurs, and the absence of large placental carnivores in South America from 65 mya to 3 mya, made the apex predator niche unfilled (16). Subsequently, they started to be filled by the ancestors of large Phorusrhacids. But with diverse fauna, why did terror birds become one of the apex predators, and not many other animal groups, for instance the South American marsupial mammals? It is a persistent evolutionary mystery in perhaps all of paleontology, with many possible explanations but few, if any, ways to test them (17). Two hypotheses have been proposed to explain the demise of the terror birds: the encroachment of North American fauna into South America beginning 9 mya; and the episode of global cooling that occurred 3 mya. Due to continental drift, the North and South American continents were drifting towards each other, with a land bridge formed by 3 mya, though the movement of some groups of animals across the gap began much earlier. Known as the Great American biotic exchange, North American placental carnivores, some of them large predators, moved into South America and rapidly diversified (9). The former hypothesis suggests that competition with these predators drove the terror birds to extinction. In the latter hypothesis, rapid cooling not only affected the terror birds, but also affected the ecosystems where the terror birds lived (9). Despite the lack of direct evidence that is able to resolve this uncertainty, the contingent belief is that the latter hypothesis is more likely to be true and that the encroachment of North American fauna in the former hypothesis had a small to none effect on the extinction of the terror birds (9,12). Attached to every bone and bone fragment is a history of discovery, of being dated, of measurement, of cataloging and sometimes, of reexamination. Every bone was once a part of the organism, each with the potential to yield valuable information. As a testament to how far science has come since the early days of fossil hunting, we now have a much larger cache of fossils to make comparisons to, we have the tools to model an organism’s mass and some of its biomechanics based on fossilised bones, and we even have the means to look at the bone structures under a light or electron microscope to infer some of an organism’s probable behavioural characteristics. The fact that we figured out this much about the birds is astounding. Fossils form only under specific conditions – an organism has to be buried before there is a chance of it being eaten and then covered with sediments in conditions where microorganisms that decompose the body cannot survive (such as anoxic environments). Scientists estimate that the fossil record contains less than 0.1% of all species that have ever lived (18)! Furthermore, it is common ecological knowledge that for every ecosystem, the population of apex predators is small and are less likely to be preserved in the fossil record. Many mysteries, ranging from their colours to their various behaviour, remain. Perhaps these mysteries are what deepen our curiosity and account for our fascination with these organisms. Still, we are truly fortunate to be able to infer so much from the terror birds’ unique morphology and get to know of them and their stories, beyond just what we imagine them to be. References Buffetaut, E. Who discovered the Phorusrhacidae? An episode in the history of avian palaeontology. In: Göhlich UB, Kroh A, editors. Proceedings of the 8th International Meeting Society of Avian Paleontology and Evolution; 2013 Dec 10; Naturhistorisches Museum Wien. Vienna (AT): Naturhistorisches Museum Wien, 2013 [cited 2025 May 12.]. p.123-134. Available from: https://verlag.nhm-wien.ac.at/buecher/2013_SAPE_Proceedings/10_Buffetaut.pdf Jones W, Rinderknecht A, Alvarenga H, Montenegro F, Ubilla M. The last terror birds (Aves, Phorusrhacidae): new evidence from the late Pleistocene of Uruguay. PalZ [Internet]. 2018 Jun [cited 2025 May 12];92(2):365–72. Available from: http://link.springer.com/10.1007/s12542-017-0388-y Acosta Hospitaleche C, Jones W. Insights on the oldest terror bird (Aves, Phorusrhacidae) from the Eocene of Argentina. Historical Biology [Internet]. 2025 Feb [cited 2025 May 12];37(2):391–9. Available from: https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/08912963.2024.2304592 Degrange FJ, Cooke SB, Ortiz‐Pabon LG, Pelegrin JS, Perdomo CA, Salas‐Gismondi R, et al. A gigantic new terror bird (Cariamiformes, Phorusrhacidae) from middle Miocene tropical environments of La Venta in northern South America. Papers in Palaeontology [Internet]. 2024 Nov [cited 2025 May 12];10(6):e1601. Available from: https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1002/spp2.1601 Gould GC, Quitmyer IR. Titanis walleri : bones of contention. Bull Fla Mus Nat Hist. 2005 [cited 2025 May 12]. 45(4):201-229. Available from https://flmnhbulletin.com/index.php/flmnh/article/download/flmnh-vol45-no4-pp201-230/vol45-no4/1140 Baskin JA. The giant flightless bird Titanis walleri (Aves: Phorusrhacidae) from the Pleistocene coastal plain of south Texas. Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology [Internet]. 1995 Dec 27 [cited 2025 May 12];15(4):842–4. Available from: http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/02724634.1995.10011266 Degrange FJ, Noriega JI, Areta JI. Diversity and paleobiology of the Santacrucian birds. In: Bargo MS, Kay RF, Vizcaíno SF, editors. Early Miocene Paleobiology in Patagonia: High-Latitude Paleocommunities of the Santa Cruz Formation [Internet]. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press; 2012 [cited 2025 May 13]. p. 138–55. Available from: https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511667381.010 Vizcaíno SF, Bargo MS, Kay RF, Fariña RA, Di Giacomo M, Perry JMG, et al. A baseline paleoecological study for the Santa Cruz formation (Late–early miocene) at the Atlantic coast of Patagonia, Argentina. Palaeogeography, Palaeoclimatology, Palaeoecology [Internet]. 2010 Jun [cited 2025 May 13];292(3–4):507–19. Available from: http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.palaeo.2010.04.022 Prevosti FJ, Romano CO, Forasiepi AM, Hemming S, Bonini R, Candela AM, et al. New radiometric 40Ar–39Ar dates and faunistic analyses refine evolutionary dynamics of Neogene vertebrate assemblages in southern South America. Sci Rep [Internet]. 2021 May 10 [cited 2025 Jun 1];11(1):9830. Available from: https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-021-89135-1 LaBarge TW, Gardner JD, Organ CL. The evolution and ecology of gigantism in terror birds (Aves, Phorusrhacidae). Proc R Soc B [Internet]. 2024 Apr 30 [cited 2025 May 13];291(2021):20240235. Available from: https://royalsocietypublishing.org/doi/10.1098/rspb.2024.0235 Degrange FJ. Research: The “Terror Bird:” Paleobiology of a Fierce Bird. 2015. Accessed May 13, 2025. https://www.myfossil.org/research-the-terror-bird-paleobiology-of-a-fierce-bird/ Marsà JAG, Agnolín FL, Angst D, Buffetaut E. Paleohistological analysis of “terror birds” (Phorusrhacidae, Brontornithidae): Paleobiological Inferences. Diversity (14242818) [Internet]. 2025 Mar 1 [cited 2025 May 12];17(3):153. Available from: https://doi.org/10.3390/d17030153 Blanco RE, Jones WW. Terror birds on the run: a mechanical model to estimate its maximum running speed. Proc R Soc B [Internet]. 2005 Sep 7 [cited 2025 May 13];272(1574):1769–73. Available from: https://royalsocietypublishing.org/doi/10.1098/rspb.2005.3133 Melchor RN, Feola SF, Cardonatto MC, Espinoza N, Rojas-Manriquez MA, Herazo L. First terror bird footprints reveal functionally didactyl posture. Sci Rep [Internet]. 2023 Sep 30 [cited 2025 Jun 1];13(1):16474. Available from: https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-023-43771-x Degrange FJ, Tambussi CP, Moreno K, Witmer LM, Wroe S. Mechanical analysis of feeding behavior in the extinct “terror bird” Andalgalornis steulleti (Gruiformes: Phorusrhacidae). Turvey ST, editor. PLoS ONE [Internet]. 2010 Aug 18 [cited 2025 Jun 1];5(8):e11856. Available from: https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0011856 Marshall LG. Scientific American. 1994 [cited 2025 Jun 1]. The terror birds of south america. Available from: https://doi.org/10.1038/scientificamerican0294-90 Olson ME, Arroyo-Santos A. How to study adaptation(And why to do it that way). The Quarterly Review of Biology [Internet]. 2015 Jun [cited 2025 Jun 1];90(2):167–91. Available from: https://www.journals.uchicago.edu/doi/10.1086/681438 How can I become a fossil? [Internet]. 2018 [cited 2025 Jun 1]. Available from: https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20180215-how-does-fossilisation-happen Previous article Next article Enigma back to

< Back to Issue 10 Reimagining Time: From Relativity to Wormholes by Zahra Halela 2 June 2026 Illustrated by Saraf Ishmam Edited by Thanishka Rajmohan Time is a social construct. It interweaves itself into the very fabric of humanity as a rigid structure that does not allow for tardiness. It creates and constrains, and at its essence, it controls. When viewed through a scientific lens, time is a fundamental physical dimension. It exists independently, within a fourth dimension invisible to the eye. It is not universal either – it passes at different rates according to speed and gravity. Is it truly too far-fetched to stretch and warp the limits of time itself, to imagine time that exists beyond the present, and into the past or future? One such consideration comes from the mathematical equation that describes how things change over time. Here, time is a quantity, often referred to as coordinate time. Coordinates are often thought to have direct and measurable quantities, as in, for every input of x there is an output of y . Special relativity, however, reaches beyond the limitations that direct coordinates constrain us to, and instead posits that these measurements’ results are dependent on the motion of an observer. Essentially, they conclude that absolute space and time are, in fact, products of fiction (1). Special relativity, then, can be harnessed in the understanding of time travel into the future. Another possibility is one presented by a well-known film, Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar . In Interstellar , a different type of relativity is explored, namely general relativity, which contemplates the confounding query of how time travel into the past can be feasible. General relativity is a theory proposed by Einstein which interweaves time, gravity and space (2). While special relativity does acknowledge the connectedness of space and time, general relativity is able to tie in the fundamental ‘force’ of gravity as something that is not a force, but in fact a warping of spacetime. Essentially, general relativity propounds that massive objects are able to distort the relationship between space and time, which is a key concept in the film (3). Nevertheless, general relativity has its limitations, in that it fails to incorporate quantum physics and Mach’s principles (4). Thus, if general relativity still requires further modifications to be irrefutable and robust, then other possibilities must be considered for time travel to come to fruition in the future. One potential mechanism is the existence of wormholes. Wormholes are tunnels within spacetime that connect parts of the universe through a certain type of warping, its theoretical background aligning heavily with general relativity (5). This then begs the question – can wormholes provide a satisfactory solution for time travel? The answer is slightly more complicated than merely a yes or a no. If one were to consider travel between two distances, a wormhole seems to be the perfect answer, theoretically. Not only do they facilitate time travel between galaxies, but also allow for interterrestrial communication within parallel universes (6). On a more practical note, however, wormholes still have a marginally long way to go before a substantial discovery is made to turn a complex theory into fact. References Bertschinger E. Coordinates and proper time. Accessed April 6, 2026. https://ocw.mit.edu/courses/8-224-exploring-black-holes-general-relativity-astrophysics-spring-2003/3982882af388dae3407906357a419cba_coordsproptime.pdf Buzzo D. Time Travel: Time Dilation. Electronic Visualisation and the Arts. 2014 . doi: 10.14236/EWIC/EVA2014.21 . Dutfield S, Bartels M, Tillman NT. What is the theory of general relativity? Understanding Einstein’s space-time revolution | Space. Accessed May 13, 2026. https://www.space.com/17661-theory-general-relativity.html Palomo MU. Einstein’s theoretical failures of General Relativity. Independent physics. December 2, 2023. Accessed May 13, 2026. https://independentphysics.com/einsteins-failures-of-general-relativity-gravitational-potential-energy-and-machs-principle/ Aichelburg PC. Wormholes and time travel. In: Vol 504. AIP. 2000;504(1):1111-1112. doi: 10.1063/1.1290914 . Morris MS, Thorne KS, Yurtsever U. Wormholes, time machines, and the weak energy condition. Phys Rev Lett . 1988;61(13):1446-1449. doi: 10.1103/PhysRevLett.61.1446 . Previous article back to Fact & Fiction Next article

< Back to Issue 5 Three-Parent Babies? The Future of Mitochondrial Donation in Australia Kara Miwa-Dale 24 October 2023 Edited by Yasmin Potts Illustrated by Aisyah Mohammad Sulhanuddin Mitochondria are the ‘powerhouse of the cell’. Sound familiar? This fact was likely drilled into you during high school biology classes (or by looking at memes). Beyond this, you may not have given mitochondria a second thought - but you should! This organelle has been at the centre of some heated parliamentary debates relating to mitochondrial donation. This new IVF technology, which aims to prevent women from passing on mitochondrial disease, will reshape Australia’s approach to genetic and reproductive technologies. Mitochondrial donation was legalised in Australia last year when ‘Maeve’s Law’ was passed in the Senate. This law reform has generated a minefield of social and ethical questions that are yet to be fully answered. What is mitochondrial disease? Mitochondria are the small but mighty structures found in all our cells (except red blood cells) that produce more than 90% of the energy used by our bodies (Cleveland Clinic, 2023). This organelle is vital for the functioning of important organs such as the heart, brain and liver (Cleveland Clinic, 2023). Mitochondria also have their own DNA, with a relatively small genome size of 37 genes (Garcia et al., 2017), compared to the 20,000 genes in our nuclear DNA (Nurk et al., 2022). Mitochondrial disease refers to a group of disorders in which ‘faulty’ mitochondria results in a range of symptoms such as poor motor control, developmental delay, seizures and cardiac disease (Mito Foundation, 2023). Half of the cases of mitochondrial disease are caused by mutations in mitochondrial DNA. These mutations are transmitted through maternal inheritance, which means that all the mitochondria in your cells are passed on from your biological mother (Mito Foundation, 2023). It is believed that about 1 in 200 people have a mutation in their mitochondrial DNA, with 1 in 5000 people having some form of mitochondrial disease (Mito Foundation, 2023). There is currently no cure for this group of conditions. How does mitochondrial donation work? Mitochondrial donation, also known as Mitochondrial Replacement Therapy (MRT), is an IVF technology which aims to prevent women from passing on mitochondrial disease to their children. For individuals with mitochondrial disease, this technology is currently the only way to have biological children without the risk of passing on their disease. MRT is used to create an embryo containing the nuclear DNA from two parents, in addition to mitochondrial DNA from an egg donor. This process involves taking the nuclear DNA from an embryo (created using the mother’s egg and father’s sperm) and inserting it into a donor egg which contains healthy mitochondria (NHMRC, 2023). The child will still inherit all of their unique characteristics, such as hair colour, through the nuclear DNA of their prospective parents. Therefore, it would be impossible to tell that an individual had been conceived through MRT simply by looking at them. Challenges in defining parenthood. Children conceived through MRT have been popularly referred to in the media as ‘three-parent babies’ since the technique creates an embryo containing DNA from three different individuals. However, this label is inaccurate and misleading. It suggests that all three parents make an equal contribution to the identity of the child, when in fact mitochondrial donors contribute only 0.1% of the child’s total genetic material. So, technically the term ‘2.002-parent babies’ would be more accurate! Under Australian law, mitochondrial donors will not have legal status as parents since their genetic contribution is not thought to influence the unique characteristics of the child. However, there are some concerns about the potential psychological impacts on children conceived through MRT, as the definition of parenthood is becoming increasingly blurry. It is possible that children conceived through mitochondrial donation will regard their mitochondrial donor as significant to their identity, considering how different their life may have looked without them. As researchers learn more about the function of mitochondria, we may indeed find that mitochondrial DNA has a greater influence on a person’s characteristics than we once thought. More recent studies have linked mitochondrial DNA to athletic performance (Maruszak et al., 2014), psychiatric disorders (Sequeira et al., 2012), and ageing (Wallace, 2010). Should mitochondrial donors remain anonymous? If mitochondrial donors contribute such a tiny amount of DNA to a child, and do not influence any of their personal characteristics, should they be obligated to disclose their identity to the recipient? Australia no longer allows egg or sperm donors to remain anonymous in order to protect the rights of individuals to know their biological origins. Yet, in the case of mitochondrial donation, there is a much smaller proportion of DNA involved. Some experts have compared mitochondrial donation to organ donation, in the sense that the donation also provides someone with the organ (or organelle) that enables them to live a healthy life, without altering their unique characteristics. It has therefore been argued that mitochondrial donation should be treated in a similar way to organ donation, allowing donors to remain anonymous. Considering that donated eggs are often in low supply, permitting anonymous donors may provide a way of improving the availability of donor eggs. It is likely that Australia will follow the lead of the UK by permitting anonymous donation. Are we ‘playing God’ by altering the genome? By making heritable changes to an individual’s genome, we are heading into new and potentially dangerous territory. Opponents of mitochondrial donation have voiced fears about the ‘slippery slope’ between trying to eradicate mitochondrial disease and taking this technology too far into the realm of ‘designer babies’. Considering that mitochondrial donation does not involve making any changes to nuclear DNA, and can only be used for medical reasons, these statements seem a bit sensationalist. However, there are some genuine reasons to be concerned about the safety of this technology and its implications for the future of humankind. While MRT is generally considered to be safe based on clinical research, there are still some uncertainties about its efficacy in clinical practice. For example, clinical research has found that there is a chance of ‘carry-over’ of unhealthy mitochondria during the MRT process (Klopstock, Klopstock & Prokisch, 2016). If this carry-over occurs, there is a potential for the numbers of unhealthy mitochondria to gradually increase as the embryo develops, essentially undoing all the hard work of creating an embryo free from mitochondrial disease. However, the percentage of carry-over is usually less than 2% and is likely to become lower as the technology advances (Klopstock, Klopstock & Prokisch, 2016). Unfortunately, we won’t know about any negative long-term impacts of MRT until we are able to observe the development of children conceived through this technology. However, adults over the age of 18 cannot be forced to participate in a study, which makes it more challenging to track long-term outcomes. An important consideration is the privacy and autonomy of these individuals - that they are not over-medicalised or viewed as some sort of ‘spectacle’ to the public. The future of mitochondrial donation in Australia. ‘Maeve’s Law’ was named in honour of Maeve Hood, a cheerful 7-year-old who was diagnosed with a rare mitochondrial disease at 18 months old. The law was passed with the aim of preventing the transmission of mitochondrial disease in Australia, which affects around fifty families each year. This revolutionary law permits the creation of a human embryo containing genetic material from three people and allows heritable changes to be made to the genome (although under strict guidelines). Such practices were previously illegal in Australia due to understandable concern that these technologies could be destructive in the wrong hands. Maeve’s Law introduces an exception to these prohibitions solely for the purpose of preventing serious mitochondrial disease. While MRT is no longer illegal in Australia, Maeve’s Law does not authorise the immediate use of MRT in clinical practice. The law outlines a two-stage approach in which the technology will be implemented, provided that clinical trials are successful. This initiative will be conducted by Monash University through the mitoHOPE (Healthy Outcomes Pilot and Evaluation) program, for which they received $15 million in funding (Monash University, 2023). Stage 1, which is expected to last around ten years, will involve clinical research aimed at improving MRT techniques and validating its safety. After an initial review, mitochondrial donation may become available in a clinical practice setting in Stage 2. Mitochondrial donation is an exciting technology which provides hope to the many Australians touched by the devastating effects of mitochondrial disease. However, it is important that more research is conducted into its safety and efficacy, as well as the long-term implications of its use. As is often the case with groundbreaking technologies such as this, the laws and policies lag behind the science. The passing of Maeve’s Law is only the start of what will be a long journey to the successful implementation of mitochondrial donation in Australia. The next ten years will be crucial in setting a precedent for how our society approaches the use of other novel genetic technologies in healthcare. The question is no longer ‘should we use mitochondrial donation?’ but ‘how can we implement this technology in a safe and ethical way?’ References Cleveland Clinic. (2023). Mitochondrial Diseases . https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/diseases/15612-mitochondrial-diseases Garcia, I., Jones, E., Ramos, M., Innis-Whitehouse, W., & Gilkerson, R. (2017). The little big genome: The organization of mitochondrial DNA . Frontiers in Bioscience (Landmark Edition), 22, 710. Klopstock, T., Klopstock, B., & Prokisch, H. (2016). Mitochondrial replacement approaches: Challenges for clinical implementation . Genome Medicine, 8(1), 1-3. Maruszak, A., Adamczyk, J. G., Siewierski, M., Sozański, H., Gajewski, A., & Żekanowski, C. (2014). Mitochondrial DNA variation is associated with elite athletic status in the Polish population. Scandinavian Journal of Medicine & Science in Sports, 24(2), 311-318. Mito Foundation. (2023). Maybe Mito Patient Factsheet. https://www.mito.org.au/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/Maybe-Mito-Patient-Factsheet1.pdf Mito Foundation. (2023). Mitochondrial Disease: The Need For Mitochondrial Donation . https://www.mito.org.au/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/Brief-mitochondrial-donation-2.pdf Monash University. (2023). Introducing Mitochondrial Donation into Australia. The mitoHOPE Program. https://www.monash.edu/medicine/mitohope National Health and Medical Research Council. (2023). Mitochondrial Donation. https://www.nhmrc.gov.au/mitochondrial-donation Nurk, S., Koren, S., Rhie, A., Rautiainen, M., Bzikadze, A. V., Mikheenko, A., & Phillippy, A. M. (2022). The complete sequence of a human genome . Science, 376(6588), 44-53. Sequeira, A., Martin, M. V., Rollins, B., Moon, E. A., Bunney, W. E., Macciardi, F., & Vawter, M. P. (2012). Mitochondrial mutations and polymorphisms in psychiatric disorders. Frontiers in Genetics, 3, 103. Wallace, D. C. (2010). Mitochondrial DNA mutations in disease and aging. Environmental and Molecular Mutagenesis, 51(5), 440-450. Wicked back to

Doubting time is real? We spoke to first-year uni student Mahsa Nabizada about her upcoming article on this very topic, plus advice for starting university and why Thorium has a special place in her heart. Mahsa is a writer at OmniSci and a first-year university student planning to study mathematical physics. For Issue 4: Mirage, she is writing about the illusion of time. Mee t OmniSci writer Mahsa Nabizada Mahsa is a writer at OmniSci and a first-year university student planning to study mathematical physics. For Issue 4: Mirage, she is writing about the illusion of time. interviewed by Caitlin Kane What are you studying? I’m studying a Bachelor of Science, and I’m in my first year so I haven't majored yet, but what I’m looking to major in right now is mathematical physics. Do you have any advice for yourself at the beginning of semester, the start of your uni journey? First of all, take it easy. This is a new experience, not only moving out of home, but transitioning from high school to university. I think take your time adjusting to everything and be kind to yourself. Also, really be open to different opportunities, whether that’s meeting new people or learning new topics and new areas. In high school, the fields you're exposed to are very limited but in university it’s much broader. Just like the amount of clubs that are available or opportunities to meet people from different industries. What first got you interested in science? I have always found a natural inclination towards science subjects, and the amount of growth in the industry, whether advancements in technology or health… All of those things I can see the impact in society on the day to day and how it would impact the average person. There are new job descriptions being developed, areas that will be opened in five years. I guess the opportunities that are available, and the excitement and impact that STEM can make in society and to the average person. Do you have a dream role as a scientist, like something that you’ve always imagined doing or that you’re working towards? I don’t have a role in mind, but I do have things I’d love to be involved in. One of those things is research… development in any area, especially STEM areas. I think I'd love to be involved in some sort of research in a future role, no matter what area. I would love to be involved personally or professionally in some kind of community service, like volunteering to work with kids or high school students who are interested in STEM. In high school, I had people who spoke to me about STEM and I found that really helpful. Things like that do make a big impact on students and what they choose or what they are encouraged in going forward.. I would love to be working with a team of diverse professionals solving issues that affect people in society day-to-day. When diverse minds come together, there is opportunity for great things to come out of that. I think that is how I would like to make a positive impact. What is your role at OmniSci? I am a writer and basically I’m given a platform to write on the theme an article about something that I’m interested in. There’s quite a lot of flexibility to that and part of the great thing about this role is that I’m also supported by an editor to help me with my ideas. How did you get involved with OmniSci? What made you want to get involved? In O-Week, I met someone who mentioned the club. It stuck in my head. During week two or three, I was like I really want to join some clubs, ones that I can contribute in and make some friends, ones that would have some like-minded students in it. Hence, I became a member and I heard about the role of writer in the email. Are there other roles or article ideas that you would be interested in trying in the future? I definitely would like to keep writing. There is just so much in the astrophysics area that I’m interested in, but also in the STEM area in general. Moving forward I’d like to contribute as a writer interviewing really interesting people at our university, the University of Melbourne. I think we have some great researchers, amazing talented people, on different projects. As I’ve been supported by my editor and Editor-in-Chief, I would like to in the future also support other writers as an editor or as part of another role in the club to support other writers and members to develop their ideas. Can you give us a sneak peek of what you're working on this issue? Examining the illusion of time is something that I’ve thought about before, how our perception of time on a day-to-day basis is subjective. Sometimes it flies by, sometimes it goes so slowly and why we feel that. Because I come from a physics background, I wanted to bring physics into this and examine those experiences. Right now, I am now at the writing stage on the experience of time, how it varies based on our surroundings, emotional stage and physical state. It is possible that it’s nothing more than an illusion created by the limitations of our perception and conditions of our observation. Moving forward I would like to explore this — it’s a fascinating topic — and interview someone in the field of astrophysics more on the theory of relativity and how time moves relative to the observer, time's connection with gravity… that’s where I’m at right now. What do you like doing in your spare time (when you're not contributing at OmniSci)? I enjoy reading about a variety of different topics, whether that’s fiction, physics, different science areas, but also philosophy. I enjoy sometimes playing chess, hanging out with my friends, and I’m also into watching different plays. I watched Macbeth recently and I'm going to watch another play soon. Do you have any recommendations for any books, articles, plays, other kinds of things that you’ve been getting into? With plays I would say it can depend on what you like. If you find that a play is hard to read, I would suggest not giving up, and going and seeing if you can watch it. Sometimes that can be more engaging. With philosophy I just like researching… there’s lots of different philosophical resources out there. I learn a lot when I’m talking to someone and they don’t agree with me and I go in with an open mind. By the end of the conversation my opinion might have changed, or I might have learnt a completely new philosophical idea that might have changed my view on a certain issue. Which chemical element would you name your firstborn child (or pet) after? I would say... Uranium or Thorium. In grade eleven or grade twelve, my physics assignment was on nuclear power so I spent a lot of time researching Uranium and Thorium, and nuclear fusion, nuclear fission and nuclear power in general. I spent a lot of time, not just on my assignment, but in my own time learning about nuclear power and its future. Either of those, just because I’ve spent a lot of time researching it. I don’t think a child, but potentially a pet if I run out of other ideas. Is there anything else that you wanted to share with the OmniSci community? I think the club in general is quite inspiring. The fact that most people are volunteers and students are taking initiative and time out of their schedule to be a part of this. Read Mahsa's articles Big Bang to Black Holes: Illusionary Nature of Time

Forward by Dr. Jen Martin Issue 1: September 24, 2021 Image from Dr Jen Martin I’m sitting cross-legged on top of an enormous granite boulder which is intricately patterned with lichen and overlooking the forest. It’s pouring with rain and the weather matches my mood: I feel confused and lost even though I know this patch of forest better than the back of my hand. For years I’ve been working here night and day studying the behaviour of a population of bobucks or mountain brushtail possums. I know their movements and habits intimately, having followed some of these possums from the time they were tiny pink jellybeans in their mothers’ pouches. I love this forest and its inhabitants, and I feel privileged beyond words that I’ve had glimpses of the world through these animals’ eyes. But today I feel despondent. I chose ecology because I wanted to make a difference in the world: to protect animals and the habitats they depend on. And there’s no question field research like mine is essential to successful conservation. To protect wildlife, we need to understand what different species do and what they need. But there’s a missing link. The people with the power to make decisions to conserve nature aren’t the same people who will read my thesis or papers or go to my conference talks. And that’s why I feel so lost. Why have I never learned how to share my work with farmers, policy makers and voters, all of whom may never have studied science? Why didn’t anyone tell me: it’s not just the science that matters, it’s having the confidence and the skills to communicate that science to the people who need to know about it? "Science isn't finished until it is communicated." Sir Mark Walport Fast forward 15 years and I can see my afternoon of despair in the rain was a catalyst. It’s why I decided I needed to learn how to talk and write about science for different audiences. And why I decided the most useful contribution I could make as a scientist was not to do the research myself, but rather to teach other scientists how to communicate effectively about their work. Science communication has been my focus for more than a decade now. You only need think of the Covid-19 pandemic, or the biodiversity or climate crises to realise that scientists play a pivotal role in tackling many of the problems we face. But scientists need to do more than question, experiment and discover; even the most brilliant research is wasted if no one knows it’s been done or the people whose lives it affects can’t understand it. Sir Mark Walport, former Chief Science Advisor to the UK Government, said: ‘Science isn’t finished until it’s communicated’. And I couldn’t agree more. The more scientists who seek out every opportunity to share their work with others - and know how to communicate about their work in effective and engaging ways - the better. And that’s why I couldn’t be more excited about OmniSci. Science really is everywhere, and I invite you to revel in its complexity, wonder, and relevance in these stories. And to applaud the science students behind this magazine who want to share their knowledge and passion with you. These are the scientists the world needs. Dr Jen Martin (@scidocmartin) Founder and Leader of the UniMelb Science Communication Teaching Program (@UniMelbSciComm)

< Back to Issue 8 A Psychological ‘Autopsy’ of Ludwig van Beethoven: Dissecting Genius and Madness by Kara Miwa-Dale 3 June 2025 Edited by Steph Liang Illustrated by Ashlee Yeo ‘No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness.’ – Aristotle Preface This is not an autopsy in the traditional sense. No scalpels or specimen jars will be involved. Instead, it is an autopsy of the mind – a retrospective exploration of the inner world of the great classical composer, Ludwig van Beethoven. Beethoven was considered a genius for revolutionising Western classical music with his emotionally powerful, structurally innovative, and highly complex compositions. He broke from convention, pioneered new musical forms, and continued to create masterpieces even after becoming completely deaf. Drawing upon insights from genetics, neuroscience, psychiatry, and anthropology, alongside the testimonies of Beethoven’s peers, we will piece together an understanding of how genius, creativity and mental affliction may be intertwined. Was Beethoven’s genius a product of madness, a triumph over it, or something different altogether? The Subject Name: Ludwig van Beethoven Occupation: Composer Age at Death: 56 Reason for Autopsy : To investigate the elusive connection between creativity, mental disorder, and the mysterious concept of genius I. The Witnesses: Testimonies from the Living To those that knew him, Beethoven was a paradox. One friend called him “half crazy”, noting violent outbursts, erratic moods and obsessive tendencies (1). Others saw him as “merry, mischievous, full of witticisms and jokes” (2). His talent and creative genius, however, were never in doubt. The poet Goethe, who met him in 1812, wrote: “Beethoven’s talent amazed me. However, he is an utterly untamed personality” (3). Based on Beethoven’s letters and accounts from friends, modern psychiatrists suspect that he may have lived with bipolar disorder (4). Yet, there is no way to be sure. Like the mind itself, Beethoven resists full understanding – a genius shaped by forces we may never fully comprehend. II. The Geneticist How can DNA offer insight into Beethoven’s genius? Often described as the blueprint of life, DNA offers fascinating insights into human potential – highlighting our predispositions, vulnerabilities, and even talents. However, it only tells part of the story. In 2023, an international team of scientists sequenced the DNA of five authenticated locks of Beethoven’s hair (5). Not long after, another group of researchers used this data to calculate a polygenic score estimating his genetic predisposition for beat synchronisation, a trait believed to be linked to musicality (6). Polygenic scores add up the small effects of many different genes to estimate someone’s likelihood of expressing a complex trait – like musical ability. Because these traits are influenced by many different genes working together, polygenic scores can be a helpful tool in exploring their biological basis. Curiously, Beethoven’s polygenic score for beat synchronisation was surprisingly low, implying that he wasn’t predisposed to have a strong sense of rhythm. Does this mean that Beethoven defied his own biology? Not necessarily. Polygenic scores have significant limitations. They don’t account for environmental influences – like the years of rigorous musical training that Beethoven underwent – or complex gene-gene and gene-environment interactions. Additionally, these scores are based on modern genetic datasets, so applying them to someone from the 18th century can reduce the reliability of the interpretation. That said, the story becomes even more fascinating when we consider research linking polygenic risk scores for psychiatric conditions – such as bipolar disorder and schizophrenia – to creativity. One large study found that people with a higher genetic risk for these conditions were overrepresented in artistic and creative jobs, although the association was small (7). This doesn’t mean that mental illness causes creativity, or that all creative people have a mental disorder, but it hints at a complex biological overlap. III. The Psychiatrist How does one make a psychiatric diagnosis from the grave? It is an impossible task, and an imprecise science, but we can draw inferences from historical accounts of a person’s behaviour. Beethoven seemed to exhibit behaviours consistent with bipolar disorder, a mental health condition characterised by extreme mood swings that include emotional highs (mania or hypomania) and lows (depression). Letters written by Beethoven himself, along with observations from friends, may provide some insight. He was notably “prone to outbursts of anger, baseless suspicions, quarrels and reconciliations, fruitless infatuations, physical ills, changes of residences…and the hiring and firing of servants" (1). One friend remarked that ‘he composes, or was unable to compose, according to the moods of happiness, vexation or sorrow’, suggesting that his creative output fluctuated with his shifting emotional state (1). Individuals with bipolar disorder experience manic or hypomanic episodes marked by elevated mood, increased energy, rapid thought processes, reduced inhibition, and heightened confidence (8). These episodes may enhance creative thinking by promoting divergent thinking – the ability to generate novel ideas or unusual associations (9). Research shows that the medial prefrontal cortex, a brain region active during divergent thinking, is typically engaged during manic states (10). While it would be inappropriate to assign a clinical diagnosis based solely on anecdotal evidence, it is possible to speculate that Beethoven’s prolific composing periods might have corresponded to manic or hypomanic episodes. But how can we distinguish a clinical mood disorder from mere bursts of creative inspiration or genius? The U-shaped curve hypothesis offers one explanation, proposing that the relationship between ‘madness’ and genius is not linear (11). Mild to moderate expressions of bipolar disorder may actually enhance creativity by promoting divergent thinking, whereas severe illness can be debilitating and reduce creative output. This raises the possibility that Beethoven experienced a less severe form of bipolar disorder – one that fueled rather than hindered his musical brilliance. Building on this, psychological research also suggests that people in creative occupations tend to score higher on measures of ‘openness to experience’ (12). This personality trait describes the extent to which a person is curious, imaginative, and receptive to new ideas or unconventional beliefs. Studies have suggested that openness to experience is elevated among individuals with bipolar disorder compared to controls with no mood disorder (13,14). It is possible that Beethoven’s creative genius was influenced, at least in part, by the interplay between his personality and traits associated with bipolar. However, it is important to acknowledge the very real challenges of living with mental illness and to avoid romanticising the condition as a source of artistic inspiration. IV. The Anthropologist Cultural narratives - like the ‘mad genius’ and ‘tortured artist’ tropes - have long romanticised and distorted the relationship between mental illness and creative brilliance. However, contemporary understandings of mental health increasingly challenge the idea that extraordinary creativity requires psychological suffering. Beethoven’s life was marked by adversity. His father, believed by some to be abusive, enforced a strict practice regime for his music lessons and struggled with alcoholism – an affliction that would later cast a shadow over Beethoven’s own life. During Beethoven’s mid-twenties, he began to lose his hearing, becoming completely deaf by around 44. Yet, he continued to compose innovative symphonies, relying only on the music in his mind. Did Beethoven’s suffering fuel his brilliance? While some studies suggest a link between bipolar disorder and heightened creativity, it would be a mistake to suggest that mental illness is a prerequisite for genius. Many highly creative individuals have no history of mental illness at all. So why, then, does the ‘mad genius’ stereotype continue to endure? During Beethoven’s era – the Romantic period – suffering was often glorified as a source of artistic inspiration. Mental illness was poorly understood, and the emotional extremes exhibited by artists with mood disorders were frequently mistaken for signs of genius. Emotional intensity and instability were often seen as sources of inspiration for genius works of art. It wasn’t until the 20th century that bipolar was formally recognised as a mental illness. It is hard to say, based solely only on historical records, whether Beethoven experienced a mental health condition, or was simply an emotionally intense and unconventional individual. What we define as ‘normal’ or ‘abnormal’ behaviour is complex and deeply influenced by the social and cultural norms of the time. V. The Final Verdict So, what can we conclude from this evidence? Was Beethoven a genius because of his madness? Or in spite of it? Perhaps these are the wrong questions. Such binaries oversimply a reality that is far more nuanced. They invite us to reconsider our definitions of ‘normality’, ‘illness’ and ‘genius’. It is important to acknowledge the very real and devastating challenges associated with mental illness. Yet, it’s also true that some traits associated with conditions like bipolar disorder – such as divergent thinking – may intersect with creativity in complex ways. Rather than viewing these conditions purely as deficits, we might ask: could some features of mental disorder be better understood as extreme expressions of the broader, messier spectrum of human cognition and emotion? In the end, Beethoven remains an enigma – not because he was ‘mad’, but because he was unknowable and defied neat categorisation. Perhaps that is what genius truly is: not a clinical condition, or a byproduct of suffering, but a mystery that transcends explanation. References 1. Hershman DJ. Manic depression and creativity. Prometheus Books; 2010 Oct 5. 2. Bezane C. Bipolar Geniuses: Ludwig Van Beethoven [Internet]. Chicago: Conor Bezane; 2016 Mar 15. https://www.conorbezane.com/thebipolaraddict/thebipolaraddictbipolar-geniusesbeethoven/ 3. Carnegie Hall. Friends of Beethoven [Internet]. New York: Carnegie Hall; 2020 Mar 19 [cited 2025 May 31]. https://www.carnegiehall.org/Explore/Articles/2020/03/19/Friends-of-Beethoven 4. Erfurth A. Ludwig van Beethoven—a psychiatric perspective. Wiener Medizinische Wochenschrift. 2021;171(15):381-90. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10354-021-00864-4 5. Begg TJA, Schmidt A, Kocher A, Larmuseau MHD, Runfeldt G, Maier PA, et al. Genomic analyses of hair from Ludwig van Beethoven. Current Biology. 2023;33(8):1431-47.e22. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cub.2023.02.041 6. Wesseldijk LW, Henechowicz TL, Baker DJ, Bignardi G, Karlsson R, Gordon RL, et al. Notes from Beethoven’s genome. Current Biology. 2024;34(6):R233-R4. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cub.2024.01.025 7. Power RA, Steinberg S, Bjornsdottir G, Rietveld CA, Abdellaoui A, Nivard MM, et al. Polygenic risk scores for schizophrenia and bipolar disorder predict creativity. Nature Neuroscience. 2015;18(7):953-5. https://doi.org/10.1038/nn.4040 8. American Psychiatric Association. Diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders: DSM-5-TR . 5th ed, text revision. Washington, DC: American Psychiatric Association; 2022. 9. Forthmann B, Kaczykowski K, Benedek M, Holling H. The Manic Idea Creator? A Review and Meta-Analysis of the Relationship between Bipolar Disorder and Creative Cognitive Potential. International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health. 2023;20(13):6264. https://www.mdpi.com/1660-4601/20/13/6264 10. Mayseless N, Eran A, Shamay-Tsoory SG. Generating original ideas: The neural underpinning of originality. NeuroImage. 2015;116:232-9. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.neuroimage.2015.05.030 11. Richards R, Kinney DK, Lunde I, Benet M, Merzel AP. Creativity in manic-depressives, cyclothymes, their normal relatives, and control subjects. Journal of abnormal psychology. 1988;97(3):281. 12.Feist GJ. A meta-analysis of personality in scientific and artistic creativity. Personality and social psychology review. 1998;2(4):290-309. 13. Matsumoto Y, Suzuki A, Shirata T, Takahashi N, Noto K, Goto K, et al. Implication of the DGKH genotype in openness to experience, a premorbid personality trait of bipolar disorder. Journal of Affective Disorders. 2018;238:539-41. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jad.2018.06.031 14. Middeldorp CM, de Moor MHM, McGrath LM, Gordon SD, Blackwood DH, Costa PT, et al. The genetic association between personality and major depression or bipolar disorder. A polygenic score analysis using genome-wide association data. Translational Psychiatry. 2011;1(10):e50-e. https://doi.org/10.1038/tp.2011.45 Previous article Next article Enigma back to

Issues Check out all our issues of OmniSci Magazine! Cover: Anabelle Dewi Saraswati 28 October, 2025 READ NOW Issue 8 Cover: May Du 3 June, 2025 READ NOW Issue 7: Apex Cover: Ingrid Sefton 22 October, 2024 READ NOW Issue 6: Elemental Cover: Louise Cen 28 May, 2024 READ NOW Issue 5: Wicked Cover: Aisyah Mohammad Sulhanuddin 24 Oct, 2023 READ NOW ISSUE 4: MIRAGE Cover: Gemma van der Hurk 1 July, 2023 READ NOW ISSUE 3: ALIEN Cover: Ravon Chew September 10, 2022 READ NOW SUMMER ISSUE 2022: A Year In Science Cover: Quynh Anh Nguyen March 23, 2023 READ NOW ISSUE 2: DISORDER Cover: Janna Dingle December 10, 2021 READ NOW ISSUE 1: Science is Everywhere Cover: Cheryl Seah December 24, 2021 READ NOW

< Back to Issue 8 Fungal Pac Man by Ksheerja Srivastava 3 June 2025 Edited by Rita Fortune Illustrated by Esme MacGillivray We live in a world where a fungus would probably beat you at Pac-Man. While playing, the average person just follows the dots, but fungi are playing a whole different game. Despite no central brain, they navigate complex mazes, optimise routes, and even communicate across vast networks. To do so, fungi use such efficient strategies that scientists are studying them as a means to improve everything from city planning to biosensors. Nature has been perfecting pathfinding long before we put a quarter in the arcade. The elongated bodies of fungi, known as mycelia, build vast and complex networks. These structures emerge from natural algorithms - specifically, a process called collision-induced branching (1). In this process, new growth divides into new paths upon meeting an obstacle. When fungal hyphae hit a wall (literally or figuratively), they don’t just stop; they branch out, adapt, and keep moving. Traditional path-finding algorithms like Depth-First Search (DFS) or Breadth-First Search (BFS) methodically crawl through paths, moving step by step without reacting to obstacles (2). Fungi, on the other hand, adjust on the fly, often landing on the most resource-efficient routes way faster. Imagine reaching a junction in Pac-Man and instead of choosing just one path, Pac-Man splits into two, each clone taking a different route to cover more ground. This is exactly why fungal networks often end up looking eerily like optimised transport systems, such as railway lines or power grids! (3) Some fungi aren’t just clever in how they grow - they can quite literally compute. Certain species, like Basidiomycete fungi, communicate through spikes of electrical activity pulsing through their mycelial networks, processing information in ways surprisingly reminiscent of neural systems (4). What makes them even more intriguing is their hypersensitivity to the world around them. These organisms can detect subtle shifts in their environment - both chemical and physical. It’s like they’ve memorised every path they’ve taken, so when a new pellet appears on the far side of the board, they don’t need to search blindly. They already know the fastest way there, no matter where the original Pac-Man started. Endophytic fungi, fungi that live inside plants without causing harm, have been used to create biosensors - devices that can detect environmental contaminants like pollutants or pesticides (5). When these fungi encounter harmful chemicals, they react, making them perfect for monitoring things like toxins in the environment. Scientists have even developed yeast-based biosensors to specifically detect chemicals like tebuconazole, a common pesticide (6). Fungi don’t stop at chemistry and computations. It turns out they’re mechanically perceptive too. In one study, oyster fungi incorporated into fungal insoles responded to compressive stress, hinting at applications in wearable tech or even seismic sensing systems (7). Mycelium-based composites also exhibit unique patterns of electrical activity as moisture levels shift, making them promising candidates for humidity-responsive technologies. As if that weren’t enough, some fungi have the incredible ability to glow in the dark, a phenomenon known as bioluminescence. This natural light can be harnessed in special sensors, which use the glow to indicate the presence of specific substances. Essentially, when the fungi detect certain chemicals, they light up, providing an easy way to spot pollutants or toxins (8). These properties make fungi wildly efficient. No random turns, no wasted loops, just constant feedback powering smarter decisions. They know where they’ve been, sense what’s coming, and find the fastest route every time. It’s Pac-Man with a built-in optimisation engine, and that’s exactly how fungi behave in the wild. How well do you think you’d do against this version of Pac-Man? Probably not great. Let’s face it: they’re not only outsmarting us, they’re doing it with no brain at all. As we look toward smarter and more sustainable technologies, fungi might just be the key to a new era of bio-inspired computing and environmental monitoring. Researchers are already tapping into their natural brilliance to create more efficient systems for everything from biosensors to sustainable materials. The next time you see a mushroom, remember: it’s not just a fungus, it’s part of a vast, intelligent network playing the ultimate game of survival, one optimised move at a time. In a world where efficiency and adaptability are paramount, fungi might just be the unsung heroes we need to help us solve some of the biggest challenges ahead. References Asenova E, Lin HY, Fu E, Nicolau DV, Nicolau DV. Optimal Fungal Space Searching Algorithms. IEEE Trans Nanobioscience. 2016 Oct;15(7):613-618. doi: 10.1109/TNB.2016.2567098. Epub 2016 May 13. PMID: 27187968. Hanson KL, Nicolau DV Jr, Filipponi L, Wang L, Lee AP, Nicolau DV. Fungi use efficient algorithms for the exploration of microfluidic networks. Small. 2006 Oct;2(10):1212-20. doi: 10.1002/smll.200600105. PMID: 17193591. Asenova E, Fu E, Nicolau Jr DV, Lin HY, Nicolau DV. Space searching algorithms used by fungi. InBICT'15: Proceedings of the 9th EAI International Conference on Bio-inspired Information and Communications Technologies (formerly BIONETICS) 2016. European Alliance for Innovation. Adamatzky A. Towards fungal computers. Interface focus. 2018 Dec 6;8(6):20180029. Khanam Z, Gupta S, Verma A. Endophytic fungi-based biosensors for environmental contaminants-A perspective. South African Journal of Botany. 2020 Nov 1;134:401-6. Mendes F, Miranda E, Amaral L, Carvalho C, Castro BB, Sousa MJ, Chaves SR. Novel yeast-based biosensor for environmental monitoring of tebuconazole. Applied Microbiology and Biotechnology. 2024 Dec;108(1):10. Nikolaidou A, Phillips N, Tsompanas MA, Adamatzky A. Reactive fungal insoles. InFungal Machines: Sensing and Computing with Fungi 2023 Sep 17 (pp. 131-147). Cham: Springer Nature Switzerland. Singh S, Kumar V, Dhanjal DS, Thotapalli S, Singh J. Importance and recent aspects of fungal-based biosensors. InNew and Future Developments in Microbial Biotechnology and Bioengineering 2020 Jan 1 (pp. 301-309). Elsevier. Previous article Next article Enigma back to