Flies have two wings that are capable of moving independently from each other; these wings go back and forth on a single axis during flight. Technically, the unequal angles of the wings to the abdominal region could have prevented flight. Yet in the case of flies, this abnormal situation is not a hindrance and results in a harmonious wing stroke.

Let’s bring our palms together over our head and then lower them near our legs. How many times can we make this movement in a second? Let’s say two, three, or maybe four times if we are really quick. Flies have the ability to stroke their wings hundreds of times in just a second. There are benefits associated with this series of movements. The surface of the wings and the rear section of the head are equipped with sensitive hairs that are in charge of registering air currents and mechanical pressures and conducting relevant flight data to the brain. The unwanted effects of air currents towards the body surface and wings during the flight are detected via these hairs that house receptors. Thus, the wings are controlled according to the signals arriving from the brain. Therefore, a fly can feel an air curtain (like an insect screen) against it instantly and often times flies away. Sometimes, they also stroke their wings hundreds of times per second to avoid the negative effects of air resistance on the wings. Without these receptors and serial wing movements, the air current would stick to the wing’s surface and would not let the fly, well, fly.

Is it a fly or a plane?

We sometimes witness comparisons between the flight specifications of planes and flies. However, it is a great injustice to the fly to be put in the same basket as a plane. The products of modern technology, such as a plane, are invented after drawing inspiration from the meaningful skills of animals like a fly. It is not possible to build planes with a wing width smaller than 15 centimeters; there are disadvantages to wings smaller than that in terms of generating lift. On the other hand, flies have much smaller and more fragile wing structures (relative to their bodies) and can maintain their flight in a perfect fashion. When a fly extends its rear legs, covered with hairs designed especially for cleaning the wings, and sweeps them over its wings, doesn’t this suggest a fly is more impressive than a plane?

It challenges mountaineers!

A fly challenges mountain climbers by easily moving on the four walls and ceiling of a room – and even on slippery surfaces like glass. What is its secret?

Its ability to stand or walk on the ceiling without being defeated by gravity is possible via some of its organs. The final sections of fly’s legs are like hooks and the tip of this hook is equipped with suction pads. When flies touch a surface, a sticky fluid is secreted from the suction pads. Flies can remain suspended on the ceiling with the help of this fluid. When it approaches the ceiling, extends its legs to the front and flips towards the opposite direction of its approach, it sticks to the ceiling on its abdomen.

The grand architecture in the eye of the fly

Can you complete a jigsaw puzzle of 8000 pieces in a second without any missing pieces? It seems impossible, but let’s accept that you have. Can you fit this puzzle into an area that’s just a couple of square millimeters? It’s not possible for a man of intelligence to pass this test. However, the fly completes this miraculous task every time it uses its eyes in our rooms. We are unaware of the fact that the fly, which draws patterns of colors under the sun light, has such amazing eyes. Its eye is created to contain nearly 8000 ommatidium, which function almost as small eyes. Different areas can be seen via each ommatidium and once images are put together in the brain, the whole picture forms. Through these tiny eyes, shaped as hexagons that resemble honey combs, a fly can see as close as 2 mm – and can even see behind its body! Because of the wise hexagonal design, the ommatidia are placed in the most economical way possible; there are no missing spaces which could cause a lack of clarity. The optical speed of a fly’s eye is nearly 4-10 times faster than the human eye. Flies can see the ultraviolet section of the light spectrum and this allows them to evade predators easily in dim environments. Every time a fly uses its eyes, it’s as if it gives the message, “Look at how miraculously I’ve been created. Do you think that my creation could have been in vain?” Such complexity is an inspiration to scientists as they try to develop new technologies.

One of the features of flies that surprises scientists most is the way they use a neural network of a very limited number of neurons to perform so many complex movements. Biologist Michael Dickinson expresses his astonishment as to how a neural system of such small scale can accomplish all of these features.

Do not ever kill a fly!

Flies consume plenty of energy during flight. A regular supply of oxygen is needed to compensate for the energy they use. Air is inhaled via a constriction of the abdominal muscles when the fly lands on a surface. However, during the flight, air enters via the serial movements of the wings. Air that enters through the openings of the chitin layer surrounding the fly is transported to cells via small channels.

Flies locate their food via their smell receptors. Thus, a fly in the air easily lands on the food source that it detects. The taste organ detects whether the food is an ideal source or not. Usually, their choices of food are human foods, waste remains, and dirt. There are two tubes located in the mouth of the house fly. It sucks liquid food with one of the tubes; saliva containing enzymes is secreted on the food source with the other hose so that digestion is facilitated. A fly secretes plenty of saliva in order to liquefy the solid foods it prefers.

Flies that use dirt and waste as a nutritional source are considered as disease contracting pests. However, this is a major fallacy. Flies are actually the health officers of the ecosystem. They turn microorganisms ineffective as they take in their food; the digestive enzymes that they carry play role in completing this important task. Due to this important task, it should be remembered that killing a fly is very unfortunate. Great scholar, Bediuzzaman Said Nursi, notes that flies are assigned to terminate unhealthy microorganisms and materials.

Scientists led by Prof. Andy Beattie have noticed that flies are resistant to all kinds of dirt, including from meat and manure. He said that these organisms should be super resistant to infections, otherwise they could not survive and that our work to gain antibiotics from them has been partially successful. In fact, studies focused on obtaining antibiotics from flies started in the past century. English and Swedish scientists isolated certain antibiotics from flies in 1930 and 1947. Efforts to isolate antibiotics from flies continue today.

Reproduction in black flies!

Black flies reproduce quickly. In suitable humidity and temperature, eggs start to hatch in just 10 hours. Larvae feed on liquid materials, though they need bacteria living on solid food to convert it into liquid form. Therefore, an acid is secreted inside the digestive track of the fly that can terminate most of the bacteria. Thus, the insect becomes free of bacteria, ready to fly. One fly can lay more than 100 eggs at one time and between 600 and 1000 in their lifetime. They can lay eggs again after just three days.

When looking at the information we have, it’s clear that flies are acrobatic flight masters with mind blowing features. We should abandon the negativity towards flies and contemplate the perfection of creation by considering their many remarkable skills – and working to discover even more secrets about them.

Katharine, “Kadriye,” Branning was one of the passengers on a Turkish Airlines flight to New York on September 9, 2011, a flight which could not reach its destination that inauspicious day. Taken from her book Yes, I Would Love another Glass of Tea: An American Woman’s Letters to Turkey, the following is one of her imaginary letters to Lady Mary Montagu who lived in Turkey three centuries ago.

Unbelievably, about an hour out, the Kaptan came back on the intercom and stated in Turkish that we needed to return to Istanbul yet again. The entire cabin groaned and grumbled, and I began to doubt that I would ever get home that day. Only this time, his voice sounded odd, and he said, very vaguely, that we needed to return because “All American airspace has been closed.” I was immediately seized with panic, for I knew that something very, very terrible must have happened, for American airspace has never been closed in our entire history.

You certainly survived some dangerous scrapes on your travels, both on route to Turkey and on the return trip home to London. In one of your early letters, you relate a hair-raising crossing of the Alps, where your carriage almost plummeted over the precipice into the Elbe. The hazards of snow and Tartars awaited you at every turn on the road after that, and your boat almost capsized during your Channel crossing on your return home. I would like to relate to you the story of a difficult travel experience I had, one of an eventful return to my homeland after a stay in Turkey.

This trip started out on a warm and crisp late summer morning in Istanbul. It was the last day of a glorious voyage to eastern Turkey, where I saw some of the wildest beauty known to man: from the white snowy peak of Noah’s Mount Ararat to the deep cobalt blue of Lake Van and to the intense dark emerald green of the Kaçkar Mountains. It was a day when I felt particularly blessed because I had been lucky enough to witness such stunning examples of nature, God’s most loving gift to man. It was a day with a crystal clear sapphire sky and bright sun. It was the morning of September 11, 2001.

The return trip home announced itself like so many others before it. I traveled the familiar road to the airport filled with an infinite sadness to be leaving Turkey at the end of an intense time of learning, joyful play and living history, mixed with anticipation of the happiness of being reunited with loved ones at home. Candy, halvah, bonjuk blue bead trinkets, lokum, and Turkish coffee were purchased in the duty-free shop; and the last copies of the newspaper Hürriyet were tucked into my carry-on bag. As I passed through the first, second, and third security checkpoints, I commented to myself how thorough these Turks were when it came to ensuring security in this often volatile point of the world. I felt safe.

There was a delay of almost 2 hours before we could leave, due to the proverbial and mysterious “engine problems.” Finally we took off, but after only one hour out in flight, the pilot (“Kaptan”) came on the intercom to tell us that we needed to head back to Istanbul because the pesky problem was apparently still not cleared up. The stewardesses stored away the food service carts, seatbelts were fastened, and we returned, deplaned, and waited another two hours in the same embarkment area. A Turkish Airlines (THY) employee finally announced that a new plane had been found and that we would be heading out shortly. Once again, off we took, convinced that surely this time, all problems were behind us.

Unbelievably, about an hour out, the Kaptan came back on the intercom and stated in Turkish that we needed to return to Istanbul yet again. The entire cabin groaned and grumbled, and I began to doubt that I would ever get home that day. Only this time, his voice sounded odd, and he said, very vaguely, that we needed to return because “All American airspace has been closed.” I was immediately seized with panic, for I knew that something very, very terrible must have happened, for American airspace has never been closed in our entire history.

About a half an hour later, the Kaptan came back on, still in Turkish, and said that it looked like the problem was that a “big building in New York City has suffered some kind of attack.” And then I knew in the pit of my stomach what that “big building” had to be: it could be none other than the one I see day and night from my window of my apartment, standing like a sentinel for the whole world to see: the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center. And I knew somehow that the assault was not a mere accident, but had to have been a terrorist attack.

At last the plane landed back in Istanbul. The cabin hostess made an intercom message requesting that everyone remain in their seats. The Kaptan came on and gave a message in Turkish, and then made another one in English so that the few Americans on the plane would be able to finally understand what was going on. He spoke very clearly and slowly, not because his command of English was weak, but because he was searching for the right words to communicate his message as gently and carefully as possible. In a voice obviously trembling with emotion, he said: “Dear Ladies and Gentlemen. I must inform you of some very sad news. There has been a terrorist attack on the big building in New York City, the World Trade Center. It is very, very bad, and many people have been hurt. To all the American people on this plane, I want to say I am so so sorry for you and your country today.” And then we heard him sob. To hear that sob made me realize how intense it must have been for him, an ever-gracious Turkish host, to announce that news to us, his “guests” in his aircraft home. The Kaptan must have felt devastated that a plane, object of his livelihood, had been used as an instrument of destruction. He was surely heartbroken, too, because he already knew the terrorists were fellow Muslims. His soft sob made the imagined bang of the crash in my ears all the more loud, and the whole incident became very real for me, although at the time, I had no idea that the Towers were to fall and that the terrorists were allegedly Muslims.

Because of those engine problems, we had been saved the fate of so many others who were flying home to America that day. Instead of being stranded, the few Americans on that Turkish Airlines flight that day had the great fortune, in the midst of all the ensuing chaos, to be returned to a country that would open its arms and take care of them.

When we stepped off the plane and came into the airport terminal, there stood in front of us a platoon of people of all kinds, lined up in total silence. The entire airport staff had gathered there to wait for us: some were officers dressed in suits and ties, some wore THY service uniforms and ties, some were baggage handlers in their grey tunics; there were the char women in their pink aprons standing attention next to their cleaning carts, police officers with their thick black leather belts, food service attendants in their white paper hats, security clerks in their black blazers, and so many others in a blur of colors and clothes. It seemed as if the full airport had come forth to form this very human wall to surround us with their protection. After that point everything became a slow motion blur, as if I were about to faint or as if I were underwater, with people moving towards us but no sounds coming from their mouths. But I do remember clearly all the hands coming forth – those famous magic Turkish hands that appear whenever there is a need – taking us by the elbow and guiding us to the baggage claim area. I do not recall what was said to me at this point; all I remember were their eyes – and it was the sadness that I saw in those eyes that made me realize the gravity of the situation. I distinctly remember, however, a grey-haired, handsome man in a charcoal suit with a walkie-talkie in his hand, who came up to me. In perfect English he said, “Please do not worry, you are being taken care of. We will be taking you by a van to a nearby hotel to stay. It is very beautiful and nice, do not worry. You will stay there for the time it takes for things to normalize and for you to go home again. Do not worry. We will take care of you. But know that when you go into your room and turn on the television, you will see images of a brutality never before seen, and that you will be very upset. There will be someone at a table in the lobby, a health worker, who will be there for you to speak with if it all becomes too much for you. Good luck and God bless you.” And to this day I can still see the sharp dark features of the unshaven face of the skinny man in a ragged black suit coat who stuck out his hand to whisk away my suitcase and to load it in the van for me.

When the few Americans on that flight arrived at the hotel, we were ushered to our rooms with the hushed consideration usually reserved for funeral services. After I entered that room, in that indeed very beautiful hotel, sat down on the edge of the bed and saw those images on the television screen, I knew that the grey-haired man had not exaggerated. I learned of the story of the “attack on the big building in New York.” I learned that it was done in the name of Allah, the most Merciful and the most Compassionate.

I stayed there for a week, unable to get personal news of the tragedy, with only the droning reports of CNN and those never-ending images of the impact of the crash played over and over as if one time was not enough to gouge it in your memory forever. Was my husband safe? Was my assistant, who crossed under the Towers every morning on her commute in from New Jersey, lying flattened under the tonnage? How was everyone in my downtown neighborhood, now closed off from the world, coping with the tragedy? Over and over again as I saw those images of that hole ripped in the sky, I felt as if a hole had been ripped in my heart. When I saw those crushed beams, I felt as if my own bones had been crushed. I clearly remember the next morning when I went out of the hotel to get some air, there fluttering in front of me on a giant flagpole was the Turkish flag – its red color symbolizing the blood of its own fallen – at half mast. It was then that I understood that this tragedy was not one that had just struck my city, but it was affecting the entire world as well.

One night that week when I couldn’t sleep I got up to write a letter. I did not know exactly to whom I should address it, but I just felt that writing a letter would help me in that moment of stress, for putting emotions to paper seemed the only possible outlet for my grief, as the shock of it all had pushed my tears way down deep inside of me. At least for that moment in time, I could control something in the world: the flow of words onto paper in my own proper universe.

One morning about eight days later, the hotel staff called to say that we were to be ready to leave in an hour: the US airspace had opened and that we were being sent home. We were to be picked up at the hotel by a special THY van and taken to the airport.

Before leaving, I went to the front desk of the hotel to ask what I owed them for all the expenses I had incurred staying there: the luxurious room, the breakfasts, the vain phone calls, and faxes home. I did not know the protocol of such a situation, but I wanted to make sure I had taken care of everything. The young woman at the front desk just looked at me, bowed her head, and whispered, “You owe us nothing.” I could not bear to look at her, overwhelmed by the hotel’s charity, the intensity of this tragic event and my incapacity to thank her for the role she played in my well-being. I could not speak but handed to her the envelope with the letter I had written on that night I was unable to sleep. She looked at the addressee, visibly moved, and then back at me, and quietly said “Thank you.” And it was only then that my tears started to fall, as if all the immeasurable solace and tender consideration provided over the past week made the horror of the event suddenly too much to keep inside.

We piled in the busses and arrived at a still-hushed airport and boarded the flight to New York City, mirroring the same steps of a week prior. No one talked much on that 11-hour flight home: everyone was either too frightened to be in the cursed skies, in one of these apparatus now associated with an instrument of mass destruction, or quite simply because we were all apprehensive about what we would find once at home. The city I found when I arrived that night was as quiet as the plane. The former glorious view onto the World Trade Center from my Greenwich Village apartment was now filled with a billowing, yellow-grey cloud, glowing in the day from the sun reflecting off all its dust and in the evening from the giant high-intensity lights set up at the site. The furnishings of my home were covered, that day and for many months to come, with the pulverized dust of those fallen Twin Towers and the ashes of its 3,000 victims. Each day as I cleaned it away, day after day for months, I ceremoniously repeated prayers and recited Scripture for all of those innocent souls reduced to the dust I was wiping away.

New York City healed, the United States healed, and I healed. We are still living the consequences of that ignominious event up to this day, some small, some large, some local, some international. In many ways, I wonder if the recovery from that day was for me harder than most Americans. Although I personally suffered no loss of life in the crash, I still felt a tremendous loss to my city and in my faith in my fellow man. I felt betrayed by Islam, this faith that had earned a special respect in my heart; I felt betrayed that several fanatics of this religion I considered so pure and so noble had tarnished it beyond apparent forgiveness. I could not believe that the Islam I knew, through my studies, through my life shared with Muslims, through the many Muslims I had met in Turkey, those who believed in a God, the most merciful, the most compassionate – could be anything like those who had done this act. When I saw the dangerous turn my grief was taking – veering towards doubt, bitterness, and deception – I knew it had to stop. It was then that I made a vow. I perhaps could not control the outcome of all the events in the world, I reasoned, but I could control my immediate sphere, the orbit around me that I influence. It is said that perhaps everything in life happens in order to help us live. And so from the horror of that day, I told myself that I needed to recommit my efforts to support understanding between people and religions and that I needed to continue more than ever my dedication to fostering cross-cultural relations. It made me realize that if a person like me, who had such respect for Islam, was feeling such negative emotions against Muslims, what must the average American be thinking? I needed now to be a bridge-builder more than ever.

The Turkish part of my 9/11 story has one last chapter. About five months after the incident, I returned to work after my lunch break one day, and the front desk receptionist handed me a very large wooden box. A THY envelope with my name on it taped to it. The letter was from the New York director of Turkish Airlines, extending his wishes for my well-being and telling me that he desired to offer this token of appreciation on behalf of the THY staff for my letter, the one I had addressed “to Turkish Airlines and the People of the Republic of Turkey” and left at that hotel desk months before and which had finally come into his hands. It was inconceivable to believe that after all that had already been done emotionally and materially for me, that the warm arms of the Turks were continuing to surround me with compassion and goodness.

Inside of that giant box, encased beautifully in an elegant walnut and glass frame, was a large, oval plaque in silver. On this plaque, inscribed in fine cursive calligraphy, was the iconic message “Maþallah” which translates as “how beautifully God created” and is used by Turks to mean “may God protect you from all evil.”

Yes, Turkey – this magnificent and most generous of nations – has shown me that I must never doubt the infinite goodness of my fellow man.

Sincerely,

The theoretical background of the computer was developed at the beginning of the 20th century, but it was not until the Second World War that progress was made in developing electrical calculating machines. Now we have a new era; the era of computers. In the beginning, the computer was a machine that had a very limited capacity and calculation, and it was only used in a very few important centers. With the passage of time, computers began to be used in business centers, and eventually the production of personal computers became more widespread. Nowadays, we can see many high-tech machines, like handheld PC’s and robot dogs everywhere we look.

In the last fifty years, computer technology has developed rapidly. With respect to this, logical-thinking devices have also been greatly developed. Artificial Intelligence (AI) provides the logical thinking for these types of devices. The goal of AI is to attain the level of logic that “living systems” (i.e. humans) possess. The improvements in AI systems are encouraging to the scientists involved in the field; they now believe that not only can a humanlike machine be built, but, in fact, a machine that is more advanced than humans can be developed. The debate on this subject has separated scientists into two camps. AI advocates claim that in the future people will have the opportunity to make advanced devices that have a better ability to think and decide than humans have. On the other hand, many scientists think that the decision-making mechanism of the human brain contains something that is beyond electronics and that cannot be replicated in an electronic device.

Before going into details, we must first answer the question “what is intelligence?” A being is intelligent if it understands and evaluates some “known data”; if it makes logical inferences and avoids redundant processes and therefore arrives at a sound solution. The famous English mathematician Alan Turing claimed that “if the interrogator cannot distinguish the machine from the human” then the machine is assumed to be intelligent. The Turing Test consists of an interrogator, a machine and a human placed in three rooms. The interrogator is in contact with the human and the machine over text terminals.

The theory of computation was first propounded by Alan Turing in 1936. He described, in basic terms, “The Turing Machine” which is an abstract machine with an unlimited amount of storage space that can go on computing forever without making any mistakes. The Turing Machine only performs three basic operations; reading, writing, and moving the read-write head. According to the Turing Theorem, all computers are Turing equivalent; that is, any process that can be done by a Turing Machine, can be done by a computer and similarly any process that can be done by a computer, can be done by a Turing Machine.

Figure 1 A simple illustration of a Turing Machine

The Turing machine is an abstract model of computer execution and storage that gives a mathematically precise definition of algorithm or “mechanical procedure.”

All computers perform algorithmic processes. Algorithm means a step by step progression. In other words, you have a certain situation. You solve that situation and proceed to another situation that is better than the last one. Using this step by step solution method you are able to reach the goal situation. This is an algorithmic problem. An example will make this easier to understand:

Suppose we have any 10 numbers.

Problem: What is the sum of these numbers?

Figure 2 The algorithm that gives the sum of any given 10 numbers.

As shown above, the sum is “0” in the beginning. A loop with 10 processes is prepared and the next number is read. The number is added to the sum and the algorithm moves to the next number. The process continues until the 10 numbers have been finished. After the process is finished, the result is written.

On the other hand, there are many known problems that do not have any algorithmic solutions. A simple example is given in the following:

Problem: Find a number that is not the sum of three square numbers.

In this problem we had a bit of luck; we just tried 7 and were able to find the solution. Let’s change the problem a little bit:

Problem: Find a number that is not the sum of four square numbers.

The eighteenth-century mathematician Lagrange proved the well-know theorem that every number can be expressed as the sum of four squares. What this means for our computer is that if we were to simply go on in a mindless way trying to find such a number, the computer would simply chug away forever, never finding any answer. In order to solve this problem, therefore, Lagrange had to apply a method that was not algorithmic. Additionally, Penrose states that “there are certain classes of problems that do not have any algorithmic solutions.”

In fact, Turing described the situation where a computer fails to find a solution and therefore does not come to a stop (or a halt) as a “halting problem.” One good example of this, given by Penrose, is the completely deterministic, but non-computable “tiling problem.” We are given tiles called polyominoes and we have to place these tiles on a Euclidian plane

Figure 3. Various sets of polyominoes that will tile the infinite Euclidean plane (reflected-image tiles being allowed).Neither of the polyominoes in set (c), if taken by itself, will tile the plane, however.

In Figure 3 (a), it is obvious to see the tiling of the plane by tiling around a cross. In figure 3 (b) the same condition holds, but in part (c) the tiles cannot tile a plane by themselves, but only together. Another example is shown in the following.

Figure 4. A set of three polyominoes that will tile the plane, but in a way that never repeats.

The plane can be tiled by using three polyominoes, but not in an algorithmic way. In other words, the computer will try to tile the polyominoes by adding around each of them and, since it cannot find a pattern, it will go on forever and will not be able to arrive at a conclusion as to whether or not the polyominoes will tile the plane.

One of the most important factors that separate computers from the human mind is consciousness. Consciousness is the process of understanding. The computer can compute the data given, but it cannot understand what the data means. For example, when one of your friends calls you, you understand that he has called you and you respond. When you switch on a machine, it starts to work. It is not because the machine has understood that you have pressed the button; rather the electronic structure of the machine has been designed to work when you switch it on. The machine cannot understand; it is not conscious. Here are some more examples:

Figure 5. White to play and draw—easy for humans, but Deep Thought took the castle.

In the chess game above, by just playing the king left and right, white can bring the game to a draw. But, at first to make the game a draw, the white player has to understand the situation. Since the computer has no capability to understand, it may think that it would be more profitable to take the castle and therefore it loses the game.

Another example:

Figure 6. White to play and draw—again easy enough for humans, but a normal expert chess computer will take the castle.

There is a great temptation to take the black castle with the white bishop, but the correct thing to do is to pretend that the white bishop is a pawn and use it to create another barrier of pawns. Once you have taught the computer to recognize barriers of pawns, it might be able to solve the first problem, but it would fail on the second because it needs an extra level of understanding. The situation is very easy for a human, but as we mentioned, it is quite difficult for a computer.

These examples are halting problems because both situations have endless algorithms to identify the solution, so basically they need to be understood by an intelligent mechanism. Maybe the chess problems can be solved with enough computation, but again we can make the situation more complex. That is to say, the important thing is not computation, but understanding the situation.

In conclusion, the problems we mentioned above are some of the basic problems that AI has to overcome. The present technology is very far from being similar to the human mind. The human mind is not a simple substance; in fact, quite the contrary, it is an incredibly complex structure. There are many things that play a role in the human mind; it is not easy, perhaps it is even impossible, to build a mechanism that is like the human mind. 

References

• Adami C., Introduction to Artificial Life: Flavors of Artificial Life, 1999.
• Aksoy M. S., Artifical Intelligence, The Fountain, No.4, s.10.
• Artificial life and the Turing Test, Retrieved from World Wide Web: “http://http1.brunel.ac.uk:8080/depts/AI/alife/alife-main.html” http://http1.brunel.ac.uk:8080/depts/AI/alife/alife-main.html, 2000
• Crick F., The Astonishing Hypothesis: The Science Search for the Soul, Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1994.
• Penrose R., Shadows of the Mind: Consciousness and computation, Oxford University Press, 1994.
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• Penrose R., Shadows of the Mind: Quantum Theory and the Brain, Oxford University Press, 1994.
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• Petri H.L., Mishkin M. Behaviorism, Cognitivism and the Neuropsychology of Memory, American Scientist, Jan-Feb 1994. s. 3037.
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• searle.html, 2000.
• Interview with Ucoluk G., Can a More Advanced Mechanism than the Human be Built?, 1999.