Original subtitles

It creeps!

It crawls!

It's this big, blobby yellow thing.

It's slime mold!

A slithering shape-shifter like no other on this planet.

AUDREY DUSSUTOUR It reminded us

of this alien organism from a '50s movie

that ate people.

"The Blob"!

This one-celled wonder has no brain.

No brain, no organs, no neurons.

Yet it's able to do some of the behaviors

we normally associate with animals with brains.

How does it solve a maze?

It is amazing.

Escape captivity?

Compete for resources?

Build efficient networks?

You start to think, does this organism

possess intelligence?

All of these are fundamental components

to being smart.

No brain?

No problem.

Clearly now, we see

that this can be done by one cell.

Can this ancient organism shed new light

on the evolutionary origins of intelligence?

We can think of them as how intelligence started

way back.

"The Secret Mind of Slime,"

next, on "NOVA."

Lurking in the forest's shadowy undergrowth

lies an unlikely predator.

It creeps along, stalking its prey.

Yet it is not an animal.

It has a fondness for dark, humid places,

yet it is not a fungus

nor a plant.

It's a single-celled organism,

but not a bacterium.

It's known as slime mold.

It has no eyes, no mouth, no stomach,

no legs.

Yet it can "see," "smell,"

and move around

through its pulsating network of veins,

gorging itself on bacteria,

fungi,

yeasts,

and growing exponentially.

This strange yet humble creature holds secrets that have

biologists, neuroscientists, and mathematicians

scratching their heads.

Because this organism, without a brain or a nervous system,

seems capable of making choices,

solving complex problems,

and devising strategies.

And it is forcing scientists to rethink intelligence

as something that does not imply a need for a brain.

Tanya Latty is a researcher at the University of Sydney

who studies slime mold.

You can find slime mold all over the place.

They're in leaf litter, they're in the soil,

they're on bits of wood.

They're small structures that almost look like mushrooms.

Not only is Tanya an expert on slime mold,

she's one of its biggest fans.

How could you not love them?

It's this big, blobby, yellow thing, you know,

it's just fundamentally cool.

I stand by that!

"Slime Mold Identification and Appreciation."

There it is.

She even follows them on Facebook.

The spores are gorgeous.

They're, they're beautiful.

The slime molds might be one of the most abundant things

in the soil.

There are spores everywhere.

Biologists have puzzled

over where exactly this creature fits

into the great tree of life.

Slime molds branched off from that tree

before the plants, the fungi, and the animals.

They're single-celled organisms, but the type of cell they have

is quite different from bacteria.

There's at least 900 different species of slime mold

that we know about,

and that number is probably a massive underestimate.

The slime mold most people think about

is Physarum polycephalum.

It's bright yellow, it grows really fast,

and it's become kind of our lab rat

most scientists are studying,

probably because it's the easiest one

to grow in the lab.

Some of them have great names, like the Dog's Vomit.

They also come in reds and grays and browns and white.

Tanya was a latecomer to slime mold research.

She began her career studying the behavior of insects.

I'm an entomologist by training.

I work with ants,

bees, and other invertebrates.

But ten years ago,

while researching bees at Hokkaido University,

she had a chance encounter with slime mold

through one of the most respected experts in the field:

Professor Toshiyuki Nakagaki.

Slime mold is a serious subject of study in Japan,

one going back generations.

The Emperor Hirohito himself

was a learned biologist

who established a taxonomy of slime mold,

and even discovered a new species of the organism.

In my research, I focus on this single, simple cell

through the disciplines of physics and math.

I was able to see how he was doing things

and learn a little bit about the slime mold.

Toshiyuki had been studying

how this curious organism would react

when faced with a challenge traditionally posed to animals.

He did some of the first really awesome experiments

on slime molds solving mazes.

Could a slime mold find food

placed at the far end of a labyrinth?

I had never even heard of slime mold before I took this job.

So here you have this organism that has no brain, no organs,

no neurons of any kind.

Yet it's able to do some of the behaviors

we normally associate with animals with brains.

It is mysterious.

Astounding.

Solving a maze is amazing.

How can a single-celled organism

have such a capacity?

Toshiyuki has devoted his career to studying this question.

I mean, when you think about it,

99% of the living things on our planet are brainless.

But they need to find food,

they need to find partners to reproduce often.

They may need to hide from predators.

How do you do all of that when you don't have a brain?

When I came back to Australia, I thought

it would be awesome to have one of these as a lab pet.

And it lived in my desk for a few weeks.

I started to notice that it was doing things

a lot like my ants were doing.

So she introduced Physarum to one of her colleagues,

Audrey Dussutour.

I was a post-doc in Australia

studying nutrition in ants.

It looked like an old omelet.

The next day, it had escaped from the box we had put him in.

It reminded us

of this alien organism from a '50s movie

that ate people...

And grew and grew as it ate.

It's unstoppable, it just kind of keeps coming.

And then the world could fall before the blood-curdling threat

of "The Blob"!

Physarum doesn't eat people.

It eats oatmeal, but it's really a glutton.

It doubles in size every day.

I nicknamed it "Blob."

Physarum began consuming their time and attention.

And soon, Tanya and Audrey

shifted the focus of their research

to this remarkable creature,

so radically different than any other they'd studied,

with abilities beyond what could be expected

from a single cell,

beginning with an unmistakable knack

for finding food.

Slime molds have receptors all over the cell body.

And that allows them to detect

different chemicals in the environment.

It's very similar to our sense of smell.

We have receptors in our noses,

and we're actually detecting chemicals

coming off of our food in the air.

Slime molds are doing the same thing,

but they're doing it through the soil or through a liquid medium.

Like the surface of a petri dish.

They're able to sense the chemical cue

and that's what draws them towards the food.

Slime mold's receptors sense a wide range

of these cues in their environment.

It can detect moisture and perceive the pH.

It can perceive light because it has photoreceptors.

So even though it is a single cell, it is, all at once,

an eye, nose, ear, and so on.

But it was how Physarum used these senses

that captured their attention:

an awareness of its environment;

an ability to navigate;

and how it moved with seeming purpose.

Here's an organism that knows how to react

and adapt to its environment, consistently and efficiently.

They knew that Physarum's receptors

allowed it to react to different stimuli.

It will move towards a substance, like sugar,

but it will also move away from certain substances, like salt.

But was Physarum simply reacting to these stimuli?

Or was it using these receptors to do something more complex?

Was it taking in this information

about its environment

and making choices?

So for their first experiment,

they would present Physarum

with one of the most basic choices

facing any living organism...

what to eat.

We can offer it a choice between different food sources.

The purpose of this experiment

was to see how Physarum regulates its nutritional needs.

But before they could even begin,

they'd have to determine

what exactly Physarum's nutritional needs were.

In nature, Physarum feeds on a diverse diet

of micro-organisms from the forest floor.

But in laboratories around the world,

they're fed a single food... oats.

Slime molds inexplicably love rolled oats.

And that's good for them, but for this experiment,

we had to design different diets.

So we had to invent special recipes for Blob.

Making their Australian laboratory

seem more like a British bake-off.

We had to do a lot of different mixing and cooking

to figure out

the ratio of proteins to carbohydrates

that the slime mold did the best on.

So, the ones that maximize their growth.

We created these sort of crèmes brûlées.

We called them custards.

35 different recipes.

Each had a particular ratio of protein to sugar.

To determine which of these recipes was best,

the judge in this test kitchen

was Physarum.

They placed Physarum on each of these 35 mixtures of protein

and carbohydrates... basically, sugar...

and found that Physarum needed both to survive.

But too much protein, and Physarum would split apart.

Too much sugar proved fatal.

With just the right balance,

Physarum grew and remained healthiest.

Audrey and Tanya had found Physarum's optimal diet.

Now they were ready to test if Physarum could find it

when presented with multiple options.

We offered Physarum a buffet.

In this buffet,

Physarum had a variety of custards to choose from,

each with a different ratio of protein to sugar.

Could Physarum find one with the proper balance

among these seven different ratios of nutrients?

There was one slight problem.

Physarum is slow, it is extremely slow.

Way slower than a slug.

Not even half the speed of the minute hand on this watch.

Physarum... is... slow.

At least 24 hours for a single experiment.

So to observe and record their slime mold experiments,

Tanya and Audrey relied on time-lapse photography.

In images taken over periods of hours and even days,

Physarum comes to life,

unfurling its tendril-like extensions

called pseudopods.

It's detected that food cue, and it's extended a pseudopod out.

I get the impression they don't super-like

that blue food source.

In fact, it contains levels of sugar

that would be lethal to Physarum.

And so, it heads elsewhere.

You can see it's sort of dividing

into a bunch of pseudopods...

It's contacted that one in the middle.

I'm not sure if it's actually chosen that one.

It's the best ratio it's sensed so far.

It begins eating, and continues searching.

Slime mold can, and so it does.

It'll first engulf the food

and then send out pseudopods to start looking,

because you never know what's around the corner.

The slime mold soon abandons that source.

It's sort of shifted.

The slime mold clearly likes the left side better.

On this side is the best nutritional balance.

Given seven options,

Physarum found the optimal ratio of protein to sugar.

Blob headed towards the custard that would maximize growth.

It will always try to optimize

both protein and sugar.

But had Physarum made a decision?

Was this truly a choice?

We have to be very careful

using words like "choice" or "decide."

We're not saying that they have feelings

or that they're thinking or doing those decisions

the same way that we do.

What we are saying is that slime molds are able to make choices

because, if you give them an option

between two or more items,

they will consistently make certain choices over others.

Choice or not, they had conclusively shown

that Physarum had effectively taken in information

about its environment

and turned that into action...

action that in itself is mystifying.

It begs the question, "How does a cell move

"if it has no appendages,

no legs?"

It's a system quite unique in nature.

If you look at it closely, you'll see

that it is crisscrossed with a network of veins.

The veins of slime molds are constantly pulsing,

and that drives it forwards.

In Bremen, Germany,

Hans-G ünther D öbereiner and his team

study the mechanics of Physarum's movement.

There is a stream of what we call protoplasm.

You can see here that there's a flow within these veins.

That flow is produced by proteins

that wrap around the veins

and rhythmically squeeze and relax,

propelling the protoplasm within.

And that liquid is driven through the veins

to the growth front of Physarum.

The growth front is Physarum's forward-moving branches,

fed by these veins.

But how does Physarum coordinate this movement

in order to navigate towards its next meal?

In our bodies, we have a brain that tells

the rest of our body what to do.

That's not the case in the slime mold at all.

It's totally decentralized.

And so every bit of slime mold

is essentially deciding for itself.

What "every bit" would be in a single-celled organism

is confusing, even for the people that study Physarum.

So to better understand what the "parts" are

that make up this single cell,

Hans-G ünther's team shredded Physarum

into thousands of tiny fragments.

The veins, the pseudopods...

all of the familiar structures... are gone.

What remains are random bits of protoplasm,

the goo that Physarum is made of.

For Physarum,

this is a minor setback.

Viewed under a microscope,

these bits are already pulsing.

And as they watch, Physarum begins forming back together.

These separate, small objects join up

to form an interconnected network.

You can see more and more of them coming together.

Physarum is reassembling itself

into its familiar network of veins,

fanning out in every direction.

Hans-G ünther has found that Physarum's parts

are interchangeable.

A dog is always a dog.

A bacterium is always a bacterium.

But Physarum is more like...

A Transformer.

It's a natural, biological Transformer.

Any part of the slime mold can pretty much recreate

any other part of the slime mold.

And that's because, if you think of a slime mold

as being almost like a soup,

there is all these different components of the cell

that do different jobs.

They can organize and pack tightly to form a vein.

They can be less packed together

to form this free-flowing cytoplasm.

It will just reorganize itself and become a slime mold again

with all the normal slime mold bits.

So it can totally reorganize itself.

These individually pulsing bits

are the key to its movement.

If certain areas begin beating faster than others,

Physarum will move in that direction.

Cytoplasm will flow in the area where there's the most pulsing.

And one thing that controls these pulses

is Physarum's receptors.

Once that receptor detects the food, that triggers

that part of the slime mold that's closest to the food

to start pulsing faster.

And so the slime mold starts to flow

in the direction of the food.

Hans-G ünther has been mapping

Physarum's patterns of structure and movement,

and says that, in many ways,

it resembles the flow of traffic

on human transportation networks.

In Japan, members of Toshiyuki's team have been studying this.

Physarum is particularly interesting

because it is, basically, an adaptive transportation network.

In this experiment,

Physarum is meticulously placed

over the entire surface of the labyrinth.

At the entrance and exit are oat flakes,

to see how Physarum will handle the presence

of two food sources.

One by one, it eliminates unproductive pathways

until there's just one vein left,

linking the two food sources by the shortest path.

By reconfiguring itself in this way,

Physarum has optimized its intake of nutrients.

But two points are easy.

Toshiyuki began to test Physarum's ability

to optimize its form over many more points,

eventually increasing the number to 37.

The number of possible ways to connect 37 points

is somewhere in the neighborhood of an eight

followed by 54 zeros.

Can Physarum find the optimal way?

And to make it interesting,

Toshiyuki and his team gave Physarum a real-world problem,

one that human engineers had already solved:

find the most efficient transportation network

in the greater Tokyo area.

Using oat flakes to represent principal towns and cities,

Physarum is placed where Tokyo would be.

Can Physarum create an efficient network?

Physarum explores its environment

and, as it discovers the oat flakes,

reconfigures its network of veins,

reinforcing the links between the food sources

and making the others disappear.

What we're getting is something that looks an awful lot

like the actual Tokyo metro system,

far more like it than we would expect by chance.

Physarum has created an optimal network.

Something it's done successfully for millions of years,

long before humans came along.

We noticed almost always,

when they were searching a plate,

they would never go back over where they had been before,

and that was unusual.

Unusual because that would seem to imply that Physarum

would have to remember.

We assumed that it didn't have any classic memory,

that it wasn't remembering where it had been,

which left the question, "Well, then, how is it doing it?"

The answer came from Physarum itself.

It had been leaving a trail of clues written in slime.

This gray stuff, that's the slime trail,

which is kind of like the slime trails that we see behind slugs.

So you have to ask, "Does Blob use its trail

to memorize its environment?"

Ants emit trails of pheromones

to mark their paths to where they've found food.

Then other members of the colony use that trail

as an "external memory"

to navigate to the food and back.

Because we worked with ants, we were kind of familiar

with this idea of having an external form of memory;

it's not encoded in a brain, it's marked on the environment.

In Physarum's case, its trail is a signal to keep away.

That slime is, in fact, a repellent.

Slime mold never wants to go back to where it has left

its own slime.

So we set up an experiment to see if this slime was being used

as a kind of external memory:

the U-Shaped Trap.

The U-Shaped Trap was an experimental challenge

used in early machine-learning research

to test things like a robot's navigational memory.

A robot is given a goal, which it can sense,

and a U-shaped barrier, which it can't.

I mean, if you don't have a system of memory

or some other mechanism,

you just keep running into the wall.

And that's not a good thing.

Robots without a system of memory would often

remain trapped in this loop.

In this experiment,

Physarum's goal was food.

Blob can spot the food source at a distance

because it is diffusing into the environment.

If the slime mold

just follows that smell cue, it's gonna hit a wall.

And without some sort of memory or some other system,

we expect it

to just keep smashing itself against that wall,

and it won't escape.

So what will Blob do?

So the slime mold would go down, hit the wall,

but when it goes to do it the second time,

it detects that it's already been there

and sort of takes a step back,

and you can almost see it tracing the wall,

and then coming up the side and zipping down

and finding the food source really quickly.

So once we'd shown that Blob was able to do that,

we performed the experiment a second time,

but this time,

we covered the environment with slime.

We made Blob think it had already explored the area.

The slime mold can still detect there was a food cue

and it still moved towards it,

but it was unable to tell the difference

between where it had been and where it hadn't been yet.

And so because of that when it got to the bottom of the U,

it just gets stuck and can't quite figure out how to get out.

It was no longer able to find the food source.

And so Tanya and Audrey concluded

that Physarum's trail does, in fact,

serve as an external memory.

For slime mold researchers,

the mounting evidence of these behaviors

led them to pose a question

that makes many scientists nervous.

When you see what Physarum polycephalum can do...

it can get through a labyrinth, create optimized networks,

escape from a trap, balance its own diet...

you start to think: "Does this organism possess intelligence?"

So that word is tricky.

Defining intelligence is not an easy thing,

and certainly many people have different definitions for it.

The question of intelligence

depends a lot on how we define intelligence.

Due to the fact that it is so tightly linked

to the human beings,

it is very difficult now

to speak about intelligence in other organisms.

A commonly accepted idea is that the only living organisms

who display intelligence

are those with a nervous system and brain.

I say with certainty that I believe this idea is wrong.

In my opinion, I call this intelligent behavior.

For centuries, most scientists believed

the trait of intelligence...

the ability to reason and think...

was unique to Homo sapiens.

It wasn't until the mid-20th century that researchers started

to document cognitive abilities in our primate cousins,

as well as other animals, farther and farther from us

on the evolutionary tree.

Chimpanzees and even crows making and using tools.

Whales and dolphins using sound to communicate complex ideas.

Birds demonstrating memories of places, things, and past events.

Sea lions that can grasp logic.

And evidence that many animals can actually count.

Audrey and Tanya now found themselves

among the small but growing ranks of researchers

pushing the boundaries of intelligence

beyond the animal kingdom altogether,

searching for signs of intelligence in organisms

with no brains at all.

The first conclusive evidence was soon found in plants.

In Florence, Italy, the idea of plant intelligence

has become the focus of some serious scientific study

thanks to these two biologists,

Stefano Mancuso

and Frantisek Baluska,

who founded the Society for Plant Signaling and Behavior.

The notion of intelligence in plants is not new.

Charles Darwin himself faced ridicule by his peers

when, after extensive experimentation,

he proposed that plants possessed a cognitive organ

and that it resided in their root tips.

Darwin says that in the tip of the root,

there's the precise equivalent of a small brain,

like the brain of an insect, that guides the plant.

We started to argue that this theory

is really not crazy theory.

They came to this conclusion after conducting

their own root-tip experiments.

It was thought that a root arrived

at an obstacle

and did something like that to find a way out.

Instead, what I saw was different.

The roots turned well before reaching the obstacle.

They were able to sense what was around them

and calculate the shortest path in response.

Stefano thought that this kind of "sensing" behavior

would require coordination of the cells in the root tip.

He discovered that a specific region

was sending out electrical signals

to the surrounding area.

Could this be the "brain" that Darwin hypothesized?

When this section was cut off,

the root could still grow,

but it lost the ability to sense its environment

and adapt accordingly.

From this, Stefano concluded that Darwin was correct:

plant roots did appear

to contain a kind of sensory organ.

Plants are like upside-down humans:

they have their heads underground,

and the part we can see is the reproductive part.

And that's how we should look at plants,

something like this pot.

Since plants now did seem to have some form

of sensory ability,

Stefano and Frantisek began searching

for more complex behavior

which might conclusively demonstrate intelligence:

memory and learning.

One of the most basic types of learning in brained creatures

can be seen in these pigeons,

who've learned not to fear humans.

They even tune them out.

Habituation, as it's called,

enables organisms to focus on the important information,

while filtering out the noise in the world around them.

To test for this type of learning in plants,

Stefano and his colleagues

turned to this intriguing specimen, Mimosa pudica,

which reacts to disturbances by folding its leaves.

If this reaction is purely mechanical,

they should respond this way every time they're disturbed,

even after numerous disturbances that don't prove to be harmful.

So they repeatedly dropped plants

from a height of six inches...

not particularly harmful for pudica.

And after only five or six drops,

the plants stopped reacting.

And yet, when they were disturbed in other ways,

they still responded by folding their leaves.

We showed that Mimosa pudica was able to memorize

different stimuli

and to differentiate

between a dangerous stimulus and one that wasn't dangerous,

and then respond accordingly.

This was, indeed, quite a sensation.

Stefano and his colleagues had documented intriguing evidence

of memory and learning

in a brainless organism.

For Audrey, this raised a tantalizing question.

So with Physarum we asked,

"Are we going to find this kind of ability

that can be found in plants?"

She and Tanya had proven that Physarum used

a kind of external memory.

But was it possible that Physarum

possessed some true internal memory?

Is slime mold capable of remembering?

Is it capable of learning?

That question is the Holy Grail.

Proving that Physarum had these capabilities could show

that a single-celled creature was capable of intelligence,

and might very well force scientists to reconsider

the idea of intelligence itself.

So we set up an experiment to see if Blob learned things...

a habituation experiment.

The objective was to try and habituate Physarum

to a substance it was repulsed by.

In this case, salt.

Between this Physarum and a tasty snack

is a bridge a few centimeters long.

Normally, Physarum makes the crossing in about an hour.

For her experiment,

Audrey coated the bridge in salt.

Not enough to harm Physarum, but enough to leave a bad taste.

It took Blob ten hours to cross the bridge.

The next day, we'd do it again.

By day two, that same Physarum

was moving faster over the salt bridge.

This time, it takes eight hours to cross the bridge.

Audrey repeated this for five days, and each day,

Physarum moved more quickly across the salt bridge.

By the fifth day, Blob takes no more time

than our "control" Blob that crossed the bridge with no salt.

So Physarum ends up getting used to a substance it doesn't like.

It seemed that Physarum learned to tolerate,

or habituate to the salt.

Had Physarum actually learned that the salt wasn't harmful?

If this were true, it would mean that somewhere, inside Physarum,

there was a form of memory.

Of course, some were skeptical,

because we were up against the dogma

that learning was strictly reserved

for organisms with a brain.

So Audrey wasn't leaving things to chance.

If you want to prove

that a single-celled creature can learn,

you've got to be sure

you can convince your colleagues.

On each of these tiny salt bridges,

they repeated the experiment, again and again.

DUSSUTOUR 4,000 times

on 4,000 different Blobs.

The results were consistent.

Physarum had altered its behavior

through its past experiences,

a fundamental definition of learning.

Audrey had demonstrated learning and memory

in a single-celled organism.

A creature this simple

demonstrated the ability to learn.

But how do they do it?

Audrey showed very nicely in her work

that Physarum clearly has memory and learned from its experience

to adaptively make decisions about where it's going to go

and how it's going to explore its environment.

All of these are fundamental components to being smart.

Director of the Allen Discovery Center Michael Levin

listens in on the electrical signals

exchanged between cells.

My lab focuses on bioelectricity.

All cells are electrically active,

and these electrical signals enable cells

to join into networks that store memories

and process information and make decisions.

It was previously thought that these cognitive abilities

came from the conversations between many cells.

But Physarum had just proven that wrong.

Physarum is one single cell.

And so this takes us away from questions

of cell-to-cell communication,

all these things that multicellular organisms do

that we think of as really important for cognition,

but clearly now, we see

that this can be done by one cell.

Michael learned a lot about cellular communication

from his work with a curious multi-celled creature

called a planarian.

A small aquatic worm with the unusual ability

to regrow missing or damaged parts of its body.

They regenerate every part of the body.

So if cut into pieces, every piece of a planarian

knows exactly what a standard planarian body should look like.

When a planarian is cut in half,

its cells regenerate to rebuild a head at one end,

and a tail at the other.

Everything that's missing in the correct location,

and it stops when it's done.

But how?

Michael and his team began to tinker with planarian cells

to see if they could affect how these worms

controlled their regeneration.

We've discovered

that part of this control is an electric circuit

that allows these cells to store this kind of information.

And what we found is that if we temporarily...

just for 48 hours...

alter this electric circuit, and, in essence,

rewrite the finely encoded pattern memory

of these tissues...

When they regenerate, they can regenerate

as two-headed animals.

Michael and his team did this without any kind

of gene editing.

It was done purely through the manipulation of the signals

between its cells.

And so this tells you

that the information that is needed

to specify what kind of body you are going to make

is not entirely specified in the genome.

Michael says that cells function like electronic processors.

Bioelectricity is the software that is run on these cells,

and it can be rewritten.

Michael wondered if Physarum was using bioelectricity

as its system of memory.

What does it mean for a chunk of cytoplasm

that you can pick up and hold in your hand and analyze

molecularly, electrically, and so on

to really store an experience or a memory

or an inference from past experiences?

So they tested Physarum's veins

for signs of bioelectrical signals,

and found that it produced electrical waves

that matched the flow of its protoplasm within.

What we're doing is attempting to read the mind

of the Physarum.

As it turns out, reading Physarum's mind

is all about body language.

One of the important things about Physarum,

its body structure and its behavior are simultaneous.

In other words, the behavior of the slime mold is executed

by altering its body structure.

Meaning, if Physarum was communicating internally

using bioelectric signals,

those signals would change along with Physarum's shape.

Michael's colleague Andrew Adamatzky

attempted to communicate with Physarum

by sending it electrical signals.

He found that different signals would cause Physarum

to grow in different ways.

Some signals sent between two points

made Physarum reconfigure its body

as it would between two oat flakes.

Other signals repelled Physarum,

causing it to shift its body away from the source,

much in the way it does with salt.

Andrew and Michael believe that this shows Physarum

is using bioelectricity to process information

as it adapts to the world around it,

and that Physarum's simple design was a step along the way

towards the evolution of multicellular organisms

with specialized cells like neurons

and more complex brain circuitry.

I think evolution discovered very early on

that electricity and the circuits that you can make

out of very simple electrical components

are an extremely powerful and robust system

for processing information,

making decisions, storing memories.

Things it now appears that Physarum was doing

long before the arrival of creatures with brains.

We started to wonder

whether a Blob that had learned something

could transfer its learning to another Blob.

In other words: could Physarum communicate a memory?

Because of what she had learned

about Physarum's shape-shifting nature,

Audrey knew she could cut it into pieces

and it would re-form.

If you take a Blob and cut it in half,

you always end up with two separate Blobs.

So how does that work?

It works because of Physarum's odd, soupy anatomy.

Most single-celled organisms have a single nucleus.

When they grow by dividing,

each new cell still has a single nucleus.

If you were to cut that in half

you'd have two halves of a dead cell.

But when Physarum grows, its nuclei divide,

and yet they all remain within the same cell membrane.

And that's why, when you divide one Physarum in half,

you will have two complete living Physarum.

And these Physarum

can also join together with any other Physarum

that they encounter.

If you then take those two Blobs and put them side by side,

they'll combine.

For Blobs, one plus one equals one.

The fusion occurs when the two membranes stick together.

They open up, and then the networks of veins

connect to create a single, autonomous Blob.

So Audrey brought together thousands of Physarum

that she had accustomed to salt

with others that weren't... so-called naïve ones.

If we allowed two Blobs to fuse together for three hours,

the information passed from one to the other.

The naïve Blob now liked salt.

It looked as though the memory was passed

through the system of veins.

Slime mold demonstrated the ability to communicate

the information it had learned.

And over time, Audrey began to notice

that Physarum from different places

showed different behaviors.

To Audrey, this is slime mold personality.

We realized that there were lots of differences

between our Blobs.

Depending on where they came from,

her Physarum seemed to have distinct characteristics.

The Japanese Physarum is fast.

The Australian careful and well-mannered.

Its behavior is much more consistent

from one day to another

and it does not escape.

The American is... problematic.

When the American Blob arrived,

we gave it organic oat flakes.

And it completely refused.

It even got out of its box

because it preferred the well-known American brand.

She put them to the test in a 250-millimeter dash.

And out of the blocks, Japan is certainly showing speed,

with America close behind.

The Japanese Blob

is extremely fast, but often makes bad decisions.

Australia has not yet started.

The Australian Blob

takes a little more time to make decisions.

Japan, now sending pseudopods in the wrong direction,

has lost its lead to the U.S.

But the U.S. appears to be slowing down,

possibly attempting an escape.

And Japan takes back the lead.

Australia still not sure whether to start.

America, now moving forward again...

And the winner...

Japan!

The discoveries of these pioneers

studying cognition in brainless organisms

have scientists rethinking thinking.

Organisms like slime mold provide a window

into evolution's early experiments

in problem solving.

We're just starting to scratch the surface of understanding

the cognitive capabilities of these really

radically different biological architectures.

We can think of them as how intelligence started way back.

The early origins of decision making.

We can also learn a little bit about some of the rules

that underlie problem solving

across lots of different types of systems.

And more importantly, for us, at least,

early solutions to problem solving like these

would lead to the specialization of cells.

They're an example of the most basic form

of multicellularity.

They don't have organs or anything like that,

but they're the very beginning of what we would expect to see

in multicellular life.

Neurons did not appear from scratch during evolution,

but actually are the result

of the specialization of much more ancient cells.

All of the machinery that we find in neurons, in synapses,

all of these things were present

even in our unicellular ancestor.

Leading to the development of more complex life,

and eventually, to creatures like us.