In a laboratory at Johns Hopkins University, tiny clusters of human brain cells, organoids no larger than a sesame seed, are wired to digital interfaces, performing tasks from playing Pong to controlling robots. As described in Cosmos (March 2025), this emerging field of organoid computing, or "biological wetware," is hailed as a revolutionary step beyond silicon-based systems, offering unparalleled processing power and energy efficiency. Professor Thomas Hartung likens it to Star Trek's 1966 vision of brain-based computers on Treskelion, where disembodied brains controlled gladiatorial contests. Yet, what seemed like science fiction is now reality, and the risks are as staggering as the potential. From ethical dilemmas about sentience and pain to the practical challenges of controlling these systems, organoid computing could go horribly wrong if its sacred status as a scientific marvel overshadows critical scrutiny.
Organoid computing leverages human brain cells grown from stem cells, forming 2D or 3D structures that mimic aspects of neural activity. Australian researchers at Cortical Labs made headlines in 2022 when their "DishBrain" learned to play Pong, while Chinese researchers used organoids to control robots via the MetaBOC system. Companies like FinalSpark and Cortical Labs are now commercialising biocomputing units, offering cloud access to researchers at nine universities. These systems promise transformative applications: testing drugs for Alzheimer's or epilepsy directly on human-like neural tissue, modelling neurological disorders, or creating energy-efficient computers that outperform silicon chips. As Dr. Catherine Ball notes, human neurons "always beat silicon" in complex tasks, processing uncertain data with parallel efficiency that supercomputers, consuming a million times more energy, struggle to replicate.
The technological synergy driving this field is remarkable. Advances in keeping organoids alive, AI-driven data analysis, and micro-wiring for brain-machine interfaces have converged to make biocomputing feasible. Professor David Gracias at Johns Hopkins emphasises the logic of emulating the brain directly rather than mimicking it with silicon. With organoids containing 10,000 neurons, compared to a mosquito's 100,000 or a human's 86 billion, the potential for scaling up is vast, promising faster, greener computing for a world straining under digital energy demands.
Yet, the allure of organoid computing masks a darker underbelly: the ethical risks of creating entities that might feel, think, or suffer. The Cosmos article cites the 2023 Baltimore Declaration, led by Hartung, which calls for ethical frameworks to anticipate organoids developing "forms or aspects of consciousness." Unlike silicon systems, organoids are living tissue, raising questions about sentience, pain, and moral status. Could these "brains in dishes" experience suffering, especially when connected to sensory inputs like light or chemical sensors? Dr. Fred Jordan of FinalSpark acknowledges that organoids, treated as living organisms, require rest periods akin to sleep, challenging the notion of treating them as mere machines. The Star Trek Treskelion episode, where sentient brains enslaved humans for entertainment, serves as a chilling metaphor for what could happen if organoids gain rudimentary consciousness without oversight.
The ethical concerns are compounded by the lack of consensus on what consciousness entails. As Human Brain Organoids and Consciousness (2023) notes, there's no agreed definition, and detecting sentience in disembodied organoids is nearly impossible without behavioural cues. Researchers like Brett Kagan at Cortical Labs, argue that current organoids, with their limited complexity, are closer to mosquito-level cognition than human consciousness, but the rapid pace of development, integrating organoids with AI or implanting them in animals, raises fears of crossing an ethical Rubicon. The precautionary principle, advocated in Playing Brains (2023), urges caution, warning that future refinements could produce phenomenal consciousness, potentially trapping sentient entities in a "living hell" of uncommunicated suffering.
Beyond ethics, practical challenges loom large. Organoids require a liquid medium to survive, complicating their integration with digital systems, as water can short-circuit electronics. Gracias highlights the need for "wetware" computers that maintain perfusion, a paradigm shift in hardware design. Scaling up organoids to handle complex tasks demands vascularisation to prevent cell death, a hurdle researchers are only beginning to address. Moreover, interpreting the "language" of neural signals, chemical and electrical, requires massive data processing, as organoids fire on millisecond timescales. Misinterpreting these signals could lead to unreliable outputs, undermining applications like drug testing or robotics.
The societal risks are equally daunting. Commercialising organoid computing, as Cortical Labs and FinalSpark are doing, could democratise access to this technology, but without robust regulation, it risks misuse. Imagine a rogue lab creating organoids with enhanced cognition or private companies exploiting "wetware" for profit without regard for ethical boundaries? The Cosmos article notes dystopian fears of sentient organoids gaining control. The lack of legal frameworks, as highlighted in Beyond Consciousness (2024), means current regulations don't address organoid sentience or donor consent for stem cells, leaving a governance vacuum.
Organoid computing is a sacred cow of scientific progress, revered as a frontier that could redefine technology and medicine. Like all sacred cows, its promise blinds us to its perils, discouraging the critical scrutiny needed to navigate its risks. The cultural war over symbols, discussed in prior blog essays, finds a parallel here: just as national flags are questioned while new totems gain untouchable status, organoid computing is hailed as a saviour while its dangers are downplayed. The Star Trek reference reminds us that science fiction often warns of hubris, Treskelion's brains were not tools but oppressors. Today's researchers, like Kagan, insist they're collaborating with ethicists, but the pace of innovation outstrips ethical frameworks, risking a future where organoids become more than tools.
To prevent organoid computing from becoming a dystopian nightmare, we must slaughter the sacred cow of unchecked progress. First, robust ethical frameworks, building on the Baltimore Declaration, must define thresholds for sentience and pain, banning research that risks creating conscious organoids without clear safeguards. Second, international regulations should govern commercial biocomputing, ensuring donor consent and preventing exploitation, as suggested in Brain Organoids and Organoid Intelligence (2024). Third, public engagement is critical, scientists must communicate risks transparently, as Cosmos notes, to avoid backlash when ethical lines are crossed.
Practically, research should prioritise 2D organoids, which Kagan argues are less likely to raise ethical concerns, over 3D models that mimic complex brain structures. Funding should support interdisciplinary teams, neuroscientists, ethicists, and engineers, to balance innovation with responsibility.
Organoid computing holds immense promise, from revolutionising medicine to redefining computation, but its perils, ethical, practical, and societal, demand urgent attention. The Star Trek Treskelion analogy is a warning: brains in dishes, if mishandled, could become masters rather than tools. By questioning the sacred cow of technological progress and grounding innovation in reason, we can harness organoid computing's potential while avoiding a future where "what could go wrong" becomes a grim reality.
https://cosmosmagazine.com/technology/brains-grown-in-dishes-push-new-boundaries/