In an Unspoken Voice

by Peter A Levine

  For most of us, the multitude of primal impulses is generally hidden from our rational appreciation. Yet, in sharpening our focus, we can begin to discern an internal savannah, one populated by ancient instincts that manifest as coherent behaviors, sensations, feelings and thoughts. These primal reactions and responses are organized and orchestrated by “hardwired” neurological mechanisms. The assemblage of physiological processes, known as “fixed action patterns” and “domain-specific programs” (and the stimuli that release them, the so-called innate releasing mechanisms, or IRMs), are the legacy of our long evolutionary past. It is worth mentioning that the term fixed makes these behaviors seem more rigid than they really are. This is probably due to a mistranslation of the original German word for these responses, Erbkoordination, which translates, descriptively, as “legacy coordination.” This latter term infers a strong genetic component but one that is not fully determined and is subject to modification.

  According to Darwin,115 emotions are accompanied by bodily changes and by “incipient” bodily action. He describes, for example, the typical bodily action that accompanies rage:

  The body is commonly held erect; ready for instant action … The teeth are clenched or ground together … Few men in a great passion … can resist acting as if they intended to strike or push the man [with whom they are enraged] violently away. The desire, indeed, to strike often becomes so intolerably strong that inanimate objects are struck or dashed to the ground.116

  However, Lorenz modified this view of instinctive action patterns by pointing out that “even highly irascible people will refrain from smashing really valuable objects, preferring cheaper crockery.”117 Emotion thus is associated with a tendency to specific action, a readiness for that action—but the action may be restrained, moderated or modified.

  Instincts, in essence, are expressed as actions—that is to say, as physical urges and movements. In early evolution, instinctual programs were “written” primarily for the action system. Instincts, therefore, are about movement—how to find food, shelter and a mate, as well as how to protect ourselves. These responses need no learning. They are hardwired in the service of our survival. One of the most basic instincts is our reaction to large looming shadows; another, which we share with even the smallest of creatures including mammals, birds, and possibly even moths, is our innate fear of eyes swooping down from above (presumably those of an avian predator).‖ Arguably, this may be the genesis of our fear of the “evil eye,” expressed in many cultures in talisman, ritual and art.118 An example of these innate reactions was sent to me by a friend concerning an episode with their young son:

  Aleksander, a usually calm, happy and peaceful child, was sixteen months old and still only crawling and standing, not yet walking. (He would start to walk at eighteen months.) He and his father went to a friend’s house to play. An adult friend was holding Aleksander on his lap and showed him a bag of rubbery or gelatinous eyeballs (the kind that that if you squeeze them, one will pop out). Aleksander did not seem to like the toy; he showed this by sharply turning away and making faces. Later, when Aleksander was sitting on the floor, a friend showed him the toy again, this time standing and squeezing the eye from above. The distance between the child and the popped eye was about four or five feet. Aleksander, in a fraction of a second, turned 180 degrees and catapulted backward, screaming and waving his hands and legs. He landed on the opposite wall crouched in the corner. Both adults were startled by the reaction and immediately went to the child. His father held him in his arms, and after a short time Aleksander calmed down.

  Instinctive movements may be large and powerful like Aleksander’s reaction to the “evil eye” of a bird of prey and the other fight/flight responses. Or they can be subtler, as in the small gasping when one cries inside. Instinctual movements can also be delicate, such as in the tiny throat movements that generate our most tender murmurs and whispers for our babies and lovers.

  In the Beginning, before the Word, Was Consciousness

  The primal consciousness in man is pre-mental, and has nothing to do with cognition.

  It is the same as in the animals.

  And this pre-mental consciousness remains as long as we live the powerful root and body of our consciousness.

  The mind is but the last flower, the cul-de-sac.

  —D. H. Lawrence, Psychoanalysis and the Unconscious

  Why did consciousness ever evolve in the first place? Why aren’t we, and all other animals, just going about our business without an inkling of our internal experience? After all, who needs all the feeling and suffering that goes along with consciousness? Without a satisfactory answer, we are left with a hole in the whole Darwinian argument. Wouldn’t any behaviors or functions that are so widespread throughout the kingdoms of man and beast be there because they are a requisite of survival? To begin to address this question we need first to inquire, simply, about the presumed function of consciousness.

  The Darwinian struggle for survival manifests as a continual arms race between predator and prey. The capacity for successful predation and clever evasion is a constantly evolving process. Combatants try out and refine (through genetic selection as well as through learning) diverse strategies enhancing strike capacity, camouflage and flight. They do this to ensure the right to eat and avoid being eaten. Anything that will help in maintaining an edge in the food supply war would generally be incorporated into the evolving scheme of brain and body.

  Even by the Cambrian period (some 500-plus million years ago) the fossils that have been preserved paint a picture of lethal jaws by which predators could dismember their prey, as well as exoskeletons that served as protection against attack from their enemies.a In addition, the creatures of this period had prehensile limbs and appendages by which they could pursue their prey and escape from their predators. Thus the typical modus operandi of this epoch became one of predatory/prey struggle for survival.

  Then, for about 280 million years, animals had begun to move in relation to physical space and gravity. Terrestrial adaptation demanded the addition of more complex behavioral repertoires. The navigation of new and unpredictable environments required creatures to incorporate and integrate external sense perception (such as sight, hearing, touch, taste and smell) so as to be able to survey the environment for obstacles and threat, as well as to acquire the basic necessities of life. At the same time, the instinctual programs required interoceptive (internal) feedback from muscles and joints to signal tension and position, more precisely allowing animals to know where they were in space at any given moment.

  The predator/prey struggle demanded the capacity to plan ahead, both for attack and for evasion. The inhabitants of this period had to be able to solve the complex Newtonian physics problem of two moving bodies—that of its prey (or stalking predator) and that of itself. They had, in other words, to anticipate the future in a terrain that was uncertain and difficult to predict. The only way to accomplish this was to have awareness of five dimensions, three in space, one in gravity and one in time. Accurate timing required the integration of events in the recent past with those in the present moment. Extrapolation into the future then became the sought-after “fittest” pièce de résistance for survival.

  In the absence of clairvoyance or telepathy, the future can only be anticipated through the permutation and recombination of “recollected” (implicit) past experiences. Nature seems to have arrived at a grand solution to the complex calculus of prediction. Her name is consciousness. Such a “device” (i.e., mechanism) facilitates this game of “take-and-put.” In other words, if I take this present situation and, based upon past experience, place it (in the body/mind’s eye) there; then such and such is likely to occur in the future. The capacity to anticipate and predict movement is the basis of what consciousness is all about. Consciousness at its very most basic level is a strategy, simply an evolutionary invention that allows an animal to better predict its trajectory (in space, gravity and time). It does this in relation to p
otential sources of food, shelter and threat. This is the role that consciousness “plays”—or that plays itself in consciousness. The “game” of driving a car, sailing a boat, skiing, playing tennis or dancing could not occur without consciousness. And then, abstractly, consciousness is played out in the symbolic logic of checkers, chess, letters, words and mathematical relationships. In this sense, the modern-day chimpanzee rates as a novice in consciousness, while the dog, cat, pig and rat, in diminishing order, demonstrate a nascent capacity for consciousness. However, any animal that is able to modify its behaviors (in response to changes in its situation) is imbued with some form of consciousness.

  In this way “mindedness” derives directly from improved organization and execution of bodily movement in space and time.119 Without predictive consciousness, we could not grasp and remove a carton of milk from the refrigerator or make a sandwich and eat it. We could not solve a quadratic equation or write a book. All of these wonderful talents have evolved, however, because an archaic consciousness helped us to avoid being eaten by a stalking predator and to be cunning in pursuit of our prey. With crisp parsimony, the father of modern neurophysiology, Sir Charles Sherrington, a gentleman of few words, put it this way: “The motor act is the cradle of the mind.”

  Our basic survival instincts are the evolutionary engine upon which the castle of consciousness was built. While consciousness is not a uniquely human attribute, conscious awareness varies in quality and quantity in relationship to the complexity of each organism’s nervous system, but not in the essential phenomenon itself. I am reminded of a “trick” performed by my dog, Pouncer (an exceptionally bright dingo–Australian shepherd mix), suggesting a fairly sophisticated form of conscious awareness. I shall use him as an example:

  Pouncer loved to go cross-country skiing with me and resembled a snow-dolphin as he joyfully leaped through the flaky white mounds by my side. However, when I chose downhill skiing, he would have to spend most of the time in my truck with only an occasional run around the parking lot. One morning, ready for a downhill day on new powder, I brought my downhill boots and skis up from the basement. Resigned, Pouncer flopped to the floor in apparent disappointment. However, after a bit, he got up, marched out of the room and returned a few moments later from the basement with one of my cross-country shoes gripped firmly in his mouth. He shook it in front of my face as though to tell me he had a different plan for the day. His point was so well made, and I was so touched, that I couldn’t help but change my course of action accordingly. Had Pouncer possessed full linguistic capability, words couldn’t have made his point any more clear than did his disarming unspoken response. As evidenced by Pouncer’s response, the give-and-take game of predictive consciousness does not involve symbols or abstractions but, rather, has its elementary roots with “plus-and-minus” values and purposive action; or, how do I get from here to there in a way that imparts an overall positive outcome?

  Both successful attack and escape are promoted by a basic strategy that incorporates past experience in the service of imagining (“imageing”) future outcomes. The spanning of time allows choice of the imagined options. This strategy, however, is only effective when the organism is fully present in the now. If, on the other hand, we view the future solely in terms of the past—without a robust anchoring in the present—then, in the words of the country-and-western singer Michael Martin Murphy, “There ain’t no future in the past.” In other words, a future that is overly determined by the past ain’t no future at all. This fixation, set in the past, with no sense of a future that is different, is precisely what happens in trauma. If Pouncer couldn’t have imagined in the present, he most likely would have stayed resigned, and therefore a bit depressed. Unfortunately, unlike our animal friends, humans have a tendency, when under stress, to be pinned to the past. Only man routinely becomes lost in regret for the past and fearful of what will happen in the future, causing us to be disconnected and adrift from the now. One might even call this lack of living in the present moment a modern-day malady. It appears to be a by-product of a loss of connection with our instinctual animal nature.

  Finding our Way in the World: The Instinct of Purpose

  The “job” for each species is to adapt and maintain a place for itself in a very complex ecosystem. Evolution’s winnowing-out process has produced, for all species, a means of coping, through complex sets of actions, even in the most extreme situations. Whether we are frozen in terror, overwhelmed and collapsed or remain mobilized and engaged is determined largely by our ability to navigate the complex instinctual action patterns described by Darwin and elaborated by his followers. These complex organismic responses depend, in a context of social collaboration, on harmonious teamwork between chemicals, hormones, neurons and muscles. It is this complex coordination that allows animals to orient and to take the right actions to ensure the reestablishment of control and safety. When all of these intricate systems are working together coherently, we humans have the felt-sense recognition that we “belong” in the world, that our consciousness is expanded and that we are capable of coping with whatever challenges life brings our way. When these systems are not operating smoothly, we feel insecure and out of sorts. So while our literal survival in a postmodern (actual predator–sparse) environment does not so much depend upon expanded consciousness, the very survival of our sanity and selfhood does.

  Let’s take a step back to the beginnings of life to glean a deeper understanding of the concepts we have been exploring. A single-cell organism, like the amoeba, retracts when poked by a sharp object or withdraws from toxic substances. On the other hand, it propels itself toward a source of food by following along chemical nutrient gradients in the water. The totality of its behaviors involves approach and avoidance. It moves toward sources of nourishment and away from noxious stimuli. Later, as cells formed into colonies and neural nets developed to electrically communicate, movements became more organized and “purposeful.” The highly coordinated pulsing rhythm of the jellyfish, navigating in the surging sea, is an example of this coherent functioning. As organisms became increasingly differentiated and complex, first as fish and later as reptiles and mammals, the motor systems were fundamentally refined, and the organization gradually became more social in mammalian development.

  Our early hominid ancestors were social creatures who needed to be able to rapidly alert each other about novelty, danger and other emergencies. In addition, they needed to be able to predict each other’s behaviors, to establish hierarchies and to facilitate deception. The best way to hone those skills was by observing, and trusting, their own inner processes. In “Cells That Read Minds,” Sandra Blakeslee quotes the neurophysiologist Giacomo Rizzolatti:120

  “We are exquisitely social creatures. Our survival depends on understanding the actions, intentions and emotions of others. Mirror neurons allow us to grasp the minds of others not through conceptual reasoning but through direct simulation. By feeling—not by thinking.”

  To facilitate survival in an increasingly complex and socially mediated world, a new mammalian adaptation evolved: feeling states. Feelings are never neutral; they exist along what is called a “hedonic continuum” designating affective spectrum from unpleasant to pleasant. We never feel a neutral emotion. Whereas the amoeba either reflexively retracts when poked (avoidance) or moves toward something nourishing (approach), higher animals “feel into” such movements as being either pleasurable or painful. External sense organs transmute physical stimuli and convert them into nerve impulses registering sight, hearing, touch, taste and smell. Ubiquitous internal sensors monitor a multitude of physiological and visceral processes and sort them into comfortable and uncomfortable. Such was the wisdom imparted by William James—that it is the scanning of our internal sensations that becomes the crucible of feeling.

  A mammal baby does not have to learn that the taste of sugar is “good” and a hard pinch or a tummy ache is “bad.” The ingestion of sugar is necessary for energy production, hence t
he pleasure attraction; while the pinch can cause tissue damage, feels painful and is, therefore, to be avoided. Similarly, a very light touch can give us an uncomfortable creepy feeling simply because crawly things, in the evolutionary past, were likely to be poisonous. Our most compelling feelings of badness (avoidance) and goodness (approach) derive from visceral sensations such as nausea or belly warmth.

  Hedonic feelings are also important for group cohesion and, therefore, for survival. As an example, when we exhibit behaviors that are beneficial to the group, such as nurturance and cooperation, we are rewarded by feeling good. We may even rescue someone (or give them one of our kidneys) even though it may put our own life at risk. On the other hand, when we do something that may endanger the group, such as coveting another’s mate or possessions, or endangering one’s children, we are shamed and shunned. These feelings can be so distressing as to cause illness or even death.121 In fact as studies have shown, those individuals who experience the greatest health and positive self-regard, throughout the world and in all socioeconomic levels, are those with strong group affiliations.