From Savanna to Cushion: The brain's evolved nature ... 1
- Anne White
- 15 hours ago
- 10 min read
“Our sense of wonder should increase before this
intricate mechanism that makes magic possible.”1
Antonio Damasio
I am curious: Is there a correlation between Gurdjieff’s teaching and modern neuroscience? How far into the spiritual can neuroscience currently measure? How far into the measurable does the spiritual track? Where’s the overlap? Where do the material and the spiritual part company?
Ravi Ravindra, professor emeritus at Dalhousie University in Halifax, Nova Scotia, where he taught physics, philosophy, and comparative religion, opines:
"The scientific motivation... seems to be, 'How can the spiritual energy be utilized in doing better science...?' The spiritual point of view, on the other hand, seems to be, 'How can science … be of service to the spirit?'"2
The latter question interests me. Shall we make a start, not to attempt a comprehensive review of neuroscience (I’m not a scientist), but to explore how science can be of service to the spirit? And if I accidentally confuse the anterior insula with a town in Baja, I trust a kind neuroscientist will send a polite note.
The predictive machine
The brain has not evolved to be a passive receiver; rather, it is a predictive machine that instantly guesses what will happen based on our past experience, beliefs, habits, and learned responses—all stored in memory.3 Incoming sensory and motor signals confront this conditioning, and the brain confirms a hypothesis. This top-down perception—where the brain uses prior knowledge to interpret incoming sensory information—is less an awareness of what is than a confirmation of what was expected.4 Reality gets a vote later, but conditioning and memory usually speak first. If both hindrance and help reside in our craniums, what are they?
The mechanics are truly extraordinary. Every sensory signal—sight, hearing, touch, taste (but not smell)—is sent directly to the thalamus (the gatekeeper).5 Before we have consciously parsed an event or evaluated its meaning—say, a friend’s angry words, a frightening diagnosis, a near-accident on I-95 (or a more positive impression, the sudden, breathtakingly beautiful sight of a green wall of old-growth woods on a summer morning)—the thalamus has already sent a signal directly to the amygdala (the alarm system)—"Pay attention!”
In cases of perceived threat, the amygdala then fires an immediate response, and a general state of mobilization sweeps the body: heart rate increases, muscles tighten (jaw, shoulders, chest), breathing shallows, cortisol and adrenaline flow into the bloodstream, intention disappears, and attention narrows.6
Before we have consciously parsed an event or evaluated its meaning—say, a friend’s angry words, a frightening diagnosis, a near-accident on I-95 (or a more positive impression, the sudden, breathtakingly beautiful sight of a green wall of old-growth woods on a summer morning)—the thalamus has already sent a signal directly to the amygdala (the alarm system)—"Pay attention!”
The amygdala, a further survival mechanism that evolved on the savannas of Africa, is the same mechanism today that once warned our ancestors of predators. The amygdala is not a neutral detector; it is asymmetrically biased toward the negative.7 We register negative stimuli faster than positive ones; we weigh negative information more heavily in decision-making and memory, and we dwell longer on negative experiences than positive ones. To cognitive neuroscientist Rick Hanson, “The brain is like Velcro for negative experiences and Teflon for positive ones.”8
This is survival architecture. An organism that underweights threats dies. The brain evolved to react quickly to rustling in the bushes and growls in the night. The threats have changed—cyberattacks, cruel emails, vicious social media posts—but in spite of the fact that a nasty email is not a sabertoothed tiger, the amygdala continues its protective work. (Actually, neural threat-detection circuits have warned beings of predators for hundreds of millions of years;9 we probably need the bias less today, but we inherited it.) The literature suggests that the amygdala doesn't simply detect; rather, it scans for patterns and, with the prefrontal cortex (PFC), it matches incoming stimuli with memory, then labels and predicts.10
Lost in thought
We know well the judging, mind-wandering, ruminating, projecting, story-telling, autobiographical “me.” This is the brain’s Default Mode Network (DMN), the network of brain , regions that is active during self-referential thought.11 (And of note but not discussed here: the DMN's "narrative, which is unique to each of us, plays a critical role in the construction of a sense of self, encompassing the individual self and the social self."12) The DMN takes the amygdala's signal—already labeled and emotionally weighted—and, with input from the hippocampus (the memory bank), begins to embroider13 a plausible story, which it seems to prefer to an unwanted fact. We often find ourselves with a story written before all the facts are in. We are quick to judge, quick to respond. It’s the wiring.
The point: the brain has already begun an emotional reaction before we can respond with attention, with discernment. We like to believe we are witnesses to our own experience—that we observe the world, feel our feelings, think our thoughts, consider alternatives, and then decide how to respond. Some researchers suggest that conscious awareness of an event that has just happened occurs somewhere between 100 and 500 milliseconds (that’s 1/10 to ½ of a second—really?)14 But what we are aware of is not the raw data itself; rather, it’s the brain’s already-processed version of it—burdened with memory, weighted with habit and belief, judged, and tagged with an emotion slanted toward the negative.
But what we are aware of is not the raw data itself; rather, it’s the brain’s already-processed version of it—burdened with memory, weighted with habit and belief, judged, and tagged with an emotion slanted toward the negative.
Gurdjieff might call the DMN the “formatory apparatus.”15 While the two are not exact equivalents, they do suggest a mechanical pattern of “waking sleep” that can dominate perception and action. Jean Vaysse, French surgeon and interpretive writer of the Gurdjieff teaching, speaks about sleep:
“…(W)aking sleep, a state which man takes to be active, and in which he spends half his life. He moves around, decides, does business, talks politics, crushes or kills his neighbors, discusses lofty subjects … all in this state, which he calls waking, or a clear state of consciousness. … This state is passive.”16
If we observe ourselves as the DMN continues its circular narrative—for minutes, hours, days, even years—we see that we are habitually and mechanically swallowed up.
Gurdjieff aptly calls this “identification”—being taken, engulfed, lost in the emotion of the moment.17 And if we look more closely, we see that our take on matters is almost always dualistic, a very human response to impressions—I like, I don’t like; I want, I don’t want; us vs. them; good vs. bad—that deep meditation may reduce, allowing the brain’s networks to work together.18
Jean Vaysse on identification:
“Man forgets himself and loses himself in all the problems, large or small, that he finds along the way. His interest and his attention are taken in turn by each problem, and he completely forgets the real goals which he had set himself. … The most powerful, the most immediate identification, and also the least visible, is a man’s identification with the image he has formed of himself.19
Obstacles, everywhere obstacles! A rather daunting situation for the spiritual seeker whose aim is to avoid expressing negative emotions and to receive impressions directly without confronting prior beliefs, opinions, and conditions. What is possible for the seeker given this Stone Age brain of ours?
A beginning: a small space
Research suggests that just as the DMN has begun its narrative story—but before its embroidery takes over—a brief window opens. Research suggests that at this moment, conscious attention can intercept and modify automatic processes,20 an opportunity to see “my story” rather than to become it. Neuroscience recognizes this space. The opportunity is real, and it is narrow. Others—philosophers, spiritual teachers ancient and modern—have pointed to this space quite precisely: Ramana Maharshi, Meister Eckhart, Hubert Benoit, and Thich Nhat Hanh, among others.21
... at this moment, conscious attention can intercept and modify automatic processes, an opportunity to see "my story" rather than to become it.
And oddly enough, the fact that the amygdala’s negative bias and the DMN’s predictive perception are pre-cognitive and automatic provides the practitioner with excellent material to work with. (Notice I didn’t say “against,” which suggests grasping, a sweaty tug of war, usually an effort of the ego.) Obstacles are the way. A seeker can master her tools (attention, self-observation, conscious labor and intentional suffering, for example), shepherd her energy, open, and bring attention to her aim—to see, then to understand.
Further, emotions are now thought not to be hard-wired but to be constructed as needed in the moment22 (What a relief!), providing hope that, if observed in the moment, they can be deconstructed and, with sustained practice, eventually be transformed. Without struggle, there’s no practice. Without practice, there’s no change.
The “switch”
In the Gurdjieff teaching, we are asked to bring our aim and a new attention to this small space—just as the DMN begins its narrative. Here, at this critical moment, we bring a sincere wish to wake up, to see, to understand, and not to be engulfed.
Here, we have help. Enter the astonishing insula cortex (IC). Tucked deep into folds and not understood until recently, the insula cortex and its network sense changes in intention.23 A “switching mechanism” (as yet poorly understood) is thrown: the insula and correlated salience networks help the brain shift from the DMN’s self-referential thinking to the Central Executive Network’s24 (CEN) active engagement and focused attention.25 Where attention goes, blood goes; blood rich in oxygen—metabolic energy—increases in the CEN and decreases in the DMN. 26 As its energy source diminishes, the DMN becomes quieter and “my story” recedes, making space for direct experience. For some of us, this is the quietest the narrator has been all day.
What we do here is up to us: focus on a specific task that needs doing in the world—return to a math problem, listen closely to a friend speak, wake up in science class, write a letter to a distant parent, finish a difficult essay. Or seek a deeper, freer, more vertical attention with help from higher energies available to us.
I begin to see that my attention is not all mine. Those who are paying attention often experience this switching mechanism as a subtle “seesaw”—one moment mind-wandering, the next aware as conscious attention reengages. A razor’s edge, requiring conscious effort.
What we do here is up to us: focus on a specific task that needs doing in the world—return to a math problem, listen closely to a friend speak, wake up in science class, write a letter to a distant parent, finish a difficult essay. Or seek a deeper, freer, more vertical attention with help from higher energies available to us ...
The body, the feelings
And here, the sensation of the body begins to ground us. The insula cortex brings attention to a moment-to-moment sensation of the body—interoception—transforming raw bodily signals into sensation and feelings, and tells us to pay attention to sensation and felt experience right now.27 The brain stops thinking about a self and begins to feel a self, grounded in the body. The present, anchored in sensation, has a neutral tone—with neither past concerns nor future projections—unlike the DMN, which is noisy with constant inner head-chatter about the past and present.
Jeanne de Salzmann, to whom Gurdjieff left the responsibility for his teaching, speaks about the importance of sensation:
“I need to see that what is lacking is a connection with my body. Without a connection, I am caught in thoughts or changing emotions that give way to fantasy. … My body could be the greatest support for experiencing my existence. It is on the level of the earth and draws strength from it. … I do this by sensation.”28
One may ask, How is this neuroscience helpful to me? For some, it may not be of interest; it may get in the way. It’s just knowledge, after all. But it may be knowledge that can be “in service to the spirit,” knowledge that can inform my practice and lead to understanding.
Watch for Part II on September 15: From Savanna to Cushion: The Possibility of Awakening
Endnotes:
1 Damasio, Antonio, Descartes’ Error: Emotion, Reason, and the Human Brain. (New York: Penguin Group, 1994), xvi.
2 Ravindra, Ravi, “Science and the Sacred: Wandering, One Finds Honey.” Paper written for Mandala of Indic Traditions, n.d.
3 Seth, Anil, Being You: A New Science of Consciousness. (New York: Dutton, 2021), 81–90.
4 Seth, 76-81.
5 LeDoux, Joseph, The Emotional Brain. (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996), 161.
6 LeDoux, 164.
7 LeDoux, 164-165.
8 Hanson, Rick, Hardwiring Happiness: The New Brain Science of Contentment, Calm, and Confidence (New York: Harmony Books, 2013), 27.
9 LeDoux, 104-110.
10 LeDoux, 175; Seth, 107.
11 Barret, Lisa Feldman, Seven and a Half Lessons About the Brain (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2020), 119–126.
12 Menon, Vinod, "20 Years of the Default Mode Network: A Review and Synthesis.” Neuron 111, no. 16 (2023), 2469.
13 Menon, 2484
14 Libet, Benjamin, Mind Time: The Temporal Factor in Consciousness (Cambridge, MA:Harvard University Press, 2004), 123–137.
15 Gurdjieff, G. I., Views from the Real World. (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1973), 130. (Formatory apparatus: part of the lower thinking function that operates mechanically, processing information through fixed associations, binary oppositions, and rote patterns rather than genuine understanding.)
16 Vaysse, Jean, Toward Awakening (San Francisco: Far West Undertakings, 1978), 49.
17 Vaysse, 134-136.
18 Josipovic, Zoran, "Neural Correlates of Nondual Awareness in Meditation." Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences, 1307 (2014), 1-5. (I found this fascinating: Josipovic suggests that the “fragmentation of our ordinary dualistic experience may reflect the brain’s organization, the segregation of the cortex into intrinsic and extrinsic networks,” two systems that are normally “anticorrelated: the intrinsic network (the DMN) and the extrinsic (the task-positive attention networks. … During ordinary consciousness, they tend to compete with each other. During nondual awareness—deep meditation—that competition is reduced, allowing both to work together.” The ancients knew this. Neuroscientists are conflicted.
19 Vaysse, 135, 137.
20 Siegel, Daniel J., The Mindful Brain: Reflection and Attunement in the Cultivation of Well-Being (New York: W. W. Norton, 2007), 302.
21 A few examples: Thich Nhat Hanh: follow the breath to the space. Meister Eckhart: a presence remains watchful beneath the chatter of thought. Ramana Maharshi: beneath the noise, an opening is always there. Hubert Benoit: the space is the moment before the dualistic machinery takes over.
22 Barrett, Lisa Feldman, How Emotions Are Made: The Secret Life of the Brain. (New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2017), 31-33.
23 Menon, Vinod and Uddin, Lucinda, "Saliency, Switching, Attention and Control: A Network Model of Insula Function." Brain Structure and Function, 214, nos. 5–6 (2010): 659–663. (An often cited and rather dense scientific paper; however, the explanation of the proposed “switching” mechanism is clear enough early in the paper. The figures—fMRIs—also help.)
24 The CEN supports focused attention, working memory, planning, decision-making, and deliberate control of thoughts and actions.
25 Menon, Uddin, 659-663.
26 Barrett, Lisa Feldman, Seven and a Half Lessons About the Brain (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2020), 10-11.
27 Damasio, Antonio, Self Comes to Mind: Constructing the Conscious Brain (New York: Pantheon Books, 2010), 263–266.
28 de Salzmann, Jeanne, The Reality of Being. (Boston: Shambhala, 2010), 63.