The research literature on why people join tightly bound religious groups is around sixty years old now, and it has been unusually consistent on a finding that never quite made it into general conversation. Those who join are rarely the credulous ones. They are frequently educated, sceptical about the society around them, and carrying a sense of obligation they had not yet found anywhere to put.

What the studies keep landing on instead is timing and company. Somebody meets the group during a stretch when the ordinary structures of a life have come loose, and meets it through a person they have already come to like.

The pattern appears across several independent studies of different movements, conducted by researchers who disagreed with each other about a great deal else. It is also a literature with real boundaries, which we take up further down.

What the 1965 model actually proposed

Most of this traces back to a paper by John Lofland and Rodney Stark, published in the American Sociological Review in December 1965 as “Becoming a World-Saver: A Theory of Conversion to a Deviant Perspective”. The group they observed was a small millenarian movement on the American west coast. It was later widely understood to have been the first American cell of the Unification Church.

Their model was sequential. Conversion required a person to be experiencing enduring and acutely felt tension, and to interpret that tension in religious rather than political or psychiatric terms. From there, the person had to come to see themselves as a seeker, and to encounter the group at what the authors called a turning point in life. An affective bond with a member then had to form, competing outside attachments had to weaken, and the recruit had to be drawn into sustained daily interaction.

Seven conditions, each necessary, none sufficient alone.

How far the scheme travelled was contested almost immediately. Lofland returned to the same movement in a 1977 article in American Behavioral Scientist, revising his account of how its conversion organisation had changed. Within a decade other researchers were putting the model to work on other groups, with mixed results.

The turning point does more work than the personality

Lofland and Stark meant something specific by a turning point: a stretch in which old lines of action had been completed, disrupted or broken off, and new ones had not yet formed. Graduation. A move to a city where nobody knows you. The end of a marriage. Recovery from a long illness. The month after the work you organised yourself around stops. Somebody in that position has more unassigned hours, fewer people who would notice a changed schedule, and no ready answer to the question of what they are doing with their life.

Later social movement research made a related structural argument. David Snow, Louis Zurcher and Sheldon Ekland-Olson, writing in the American Sociological Review in 1980, found that recruitment ran along existing social networks and worked most efficiently on people with few countervailing commitments holding them in place. That literature came to call the condition structural availability.

Friendship arrives before belief

Sturdiest of all is the finding about who does the recruiting. Rodney Stark and William Sims Bainbridge brought quantitative data from three quite different radical religious groups to the American Journal of Sociology in 1980, and made the case that interpersonal bonds were the essential mechanism. They treated the older deprivation-based explanations and the newer network-based ones as complementary rather than rival, and observed that social ties underpin commitment to conventional faiths as well.

On that account, doctrine comes second. People become close to members and take on the beliefs afterwards, as part of the cost and the pleasure of belonging. It accounts for the failures too. Recruitment stalls when the people already in somebody’s life stay close enough to keep asking questions.

Barker’s figures, and the part that gets left out

Eileen Barker, now emeritus professor of sociology at the London School of Economics, published The Making of a Moonie: Choice or Brainwashing? in 1984, after close to seven years of fieldwork. She attended workshops and communal centres, and put long interviews and questionnaires to four distinct populations: current members, ex-members, non-joiners who had been through the movement’s recruitment approach and declined it, and separate control groups of uninvolved people from comparable backgrounds. Parents, spouses and friends were surveyed too.

Her retention figures are the interesting part. Writing later in the Encyclopedia of Religion and Society, Barker put it plainly: the overwhelming majority of those exposed to the alleged brainwashing techniques did not join the movement. Most of those who did join left of their own accord within a couple of years. Enumerations in the 1984 book put the yield of the residential two-day workshop, described at the time as the movement’s most effective instrument of persuasion, at fewer than a quarter of attendees staying beyond a week.

Very little stuck.

In the same entry, Barker describes the intake of the early 1970s as disproportionately middle-class and well educated: young people giving up college and careers to work long hours on the street for the movement. She characterises the membership of that period as youthful idealists with few responsibilities.

The idealism and the availability arrive together.

How to read the psychiatric data

Marc Galanter, Richard Rabkin, Judith Rabkin and Alexander Deutsch published a study of 237 Unification Church members in the American Journal of Psychiatry in February 1979. Members completed a 216-item questionnaire. They scored below the mean of an age and sex matched comparison group on a general wellbeing scale, and reported significantly more distress in the period before conversion than after it.

Two cautions on that. The pre-conversion measure is retrospective self-report gathered from people currently inside the group, and a movement that teaches members to read their earlier life as empty has supplied both a reason and a vocabulary for describing it that way. Elevated distress before a transition also sits some way short of psychiatric instability, which a cross-sectional questionnaire was not designed to assess.

What survives is less comfortable than either misreading. Whatever else the organisation was doing to its members, they reported feeling better inside it than they remembered feeling outside.

What the literature does not settle

Nearly all of it describes one window: American and British new religious movements between the mid 1960s and the mid 1980s, examined by sociologists who were arguing, often explicitly, against the brainwashing accounts then running in the press. That argument shaped which questions got asked.

Within the model itself, the turning point element has had a harder time than the friendship element. David Snow and Cynthia Phillips tested the Lofland-Stark sequence against data on the Nichiren Shoshu Buddhist movement in America, writing in Social Problems in 1980, and found little empirical support for the model in its entirety. The tension, seekership and turning point conditions fared poorly in their data. Affective bonds and intensive interaction held, and the authors concluded that conversion was highly improbable in their absence. Any ordering inside the pattern belongs to those datasets and those groups.

How people get in also says almost nothing about what happens to them once they are inside, and the two questions have frequently been run together, including by critics who read this body of work as going easy on the groups it described. An entry route can be entirely ordinary while the organisation waiting on the other side of it does real damage.

Across these studies, what predicted joining was what else somebody had on that month, and who was already sitting beside them.

The post Researchers who study cults say the people most likely to join aren’t the gullible or the unstable: they’re often people in the middle of a life transition who met the group through someone they already liked appeared first on Space Daily.

Published in Animal Behaviour in August 2015, the experiment was a small piece of domestic theatre staged in front of 54 dogs. The owner sat in the middle. A stranger sat on either side. For eight to ten seconds the owner struggled with the lid of a transparent container holding a roll of vinyl tape, then turned to one of the strangers and held the container out, asking for help.

In one version the stranger took the container in both hands, the lid came off, and the owner cheerfully showed the tape to the dog. In another, the stranger turned away and the owner kept failing. Afterwards both strangers held out an identical treat on an open palm at the same moment, neither of them looking at the dog.

The dog chose one.

Dogs who had watched the refusal took food from that person less often than from the stranger on the other side who had done nothing at all. Across the four trials each dog completed, choices of the refuser fell significantly below the chance level of two, at P = 0.023. Hitomi Chijiiwa, Hika Kuroshima, Yusuke Hori, James R. Anderson and Kazuo Fujita published it as “Dogs avoid people who behave negatively to their owner: third-party affective evaluation”.

This is one study, not settled consensus. None of us are comparative psychologists, and what follows is a reading of the paper, of the university’s own summary published on 24 June 2015, and of the research it sits beside.

What the dogs were actually watching

One obvious objection is that a person turning their body away is simply unpleasant to watch, and the design anticipates it. Dogs were assigned to one of three groups of eighteen. In the helper condition the owner asked and received help. In the nonhelper condition the owner asked and was refused. In the control condition the owner worked at the lid for the same interval, paused briefly, and the actor turned away without having been asked anything. In that condition too, the owner failed to open the container.

Dogs in the control condition showed no preference. Turning away, on its own, cost the actor nothing. What cost the actor something was turning away after being asked.

Smaller details make the result harder to explain away. Inside the container was a roll of tape, of no use to a dog, and the authors record that no dog tried to get it out at any point. The neutral person sat looking at the floor throughout, nobody made eye contact with the dog at the moment of choosing, positions were counterbalanced, and every dog got a treat whichever hand it went to.

The half of the result that goes missing

In the helper condition, the dogs’ choices were indistinguishable from chance. Watching a stranger step in and solve the owner’s problem did not make that stranger more attractive than a person who had spent the whole sequence studying the carpet. Reported effect sizes were r = 0.54 in the nonhelper condition, against 0.32 in the helper condition and 0.16 in the control, neither of the latter two reaching significance.

Chijiiwa and colleagues flagged the lopsidedness themselves, noting that the same one-sided pattern has turned up in three-year-old children and in the tufted capuchin monkeys their lab had tested earlier. Their reading was that negative evaluation comes first, with positive evaluation of helpful agents arriving later in human development. Whether dogs show the positive version under other conditions they left open, and put on their own list of things to test next.

Why the shape of it is familiar

Anyone who has spent time with the human negativity-bias literature will recognise the contour. Most of that work traces back to Roy Baumeister, Ellen Bratslavsky, Catrin Finkenauer and Kathleen Vohs, writing in Review of General Psychology in 2001. They worked through evidence across everyday events, close relationships, feedback, learning and impression formation, and found the same skew almost everywhere they looked. Bad impressions form faster than good ones and hold up better against later evidence that contradicts them.

That paper deserves the same scrutiny we are applying to everything else here. It is a narrative review rather than a meta-analysis, assembled a quarter of a century ago and before psychology’s replication reckoning, and its authority comes from breadth of convergence rather than from any single robust result.

Most people can audit the ordinary human version of this themselves. A colleague who did not back you in a meeting stays filed, retrievable years later, in some detail. The one who did back you is remembered as having been there. Help that arrives because it was requested tends to get absorbed into the expected, and things absorbed into the expected stop being events.

What the study does not establish

It does not show that dogs have a moral sense, and the authors do not claim it. Their framing in the university summary puts the weight on affective functions, not on language or on close evolutionary proximity to humans, and allows that the process may be automatic rather than conscious.

One alternative route stays open. That control condition rules out the turning-away gesture and holds the owner’s failure constant, which is careful work. What it cannot fully hold constant is the owner. A person who has been visibly refused may carry themselves differently in the seconds afterwards than a person who has simply paused, and a dog reading its owner’s bearing would produce the same result as a dog evaluating the actor. Separate work from the same lab that year, by Akiko Takaoka and colleagues, showed how finely dogs track human reliability when their own interests are at stake.

Eighteen dogs per condition and four trials each is a small foundation, and the adjacent human literature has become less tidy than it looked. A 2007 study by Kiley Hamlin, Karen Wynn and Paul Bloom reported that infants prefer a character who helps over one who hinders, and it became the anchor for the claim that social evaluation appears in the first year of life. A preregistered multi-laboratory replication run through the ManyBabies framework and published in Developmental Science targeted the video-stimulus version instead of the original live puppet show. Across 37 laboratories and 567 retained infants aged five and a half to ten and a half months, the preference did not differ from chance.

That has not settled the matter against Hamlin. Replication attempts have gone both ways over nearly two decades, and swapping live puppets for video is itself a candidate explanation for a null result. Contested is the accurate word.

Kyoto’s own follow-through is instructive. Running the identical procedure with cats, Chijiiwa and colleagues reported in Animal Behavior and Cognition in 2021 that cats showed no avoidance of the person who had refused their owner. They published the null result rather than leaving it in a drawer, which is more than the field always manages.

The bookkeeping

What the dog result suggests, if it holds, is how little machinery this kind of accounting requires. No language, no theory of anyone’s motives, nothing at stake, and the record still comes out one-sided. A mechanism that cheap is unlikely to be one that insight corrects, and whether knowing about the asymmetry does anything to interrupt it is not a question this literature has answered.

In their write-up, the Kyoto group listed what they wanted to test next. One was whether a helper would earn a positive evaluation if the help came unprompted. That idea is smaller and more testable than anything about moral sense: being asked may change what an act is worth to whoever is watching.

The post At Kyoto University, dogs who saw a stranger snub their owner later took fewer treats from that stranger, and what’s hard to shake is how closely it mirrors us: keeping careful account of who let us down while barely noting who showed up appeared first on Space Daily.

Stupidity is not low intelligence. It is damage without gain to anyone involved.

Scientists from the Salk Institute have determined that brain waves in the visual cortex serve as a computational engine, allowing the brain to construct internal representations of the external world that enhance prediction, reconstruction, and perception capabilities.

While the scientists behind the new study focused their work on the visual cortex, they suspect that similar brain waves washing over other areas of the brain’s surface likely serve a similar role for other sensory systems.

Unraveling the Role of Traveling Brain Waves in the Visual Cortex

The human brain uses electricity to communicate between synapses. Research has shown that this electrical activity can travel in waves across the brain’s surface. Called neural traveling waves, the phenomenon’s role in brain function and consciousness is not completely understood.

Previous studies have established that traveling brain waves play a significant role in behavior and attention. In 2020, Salk neuroscientist John Reynolds, PhD, successfully identified traveling brain waves in the visual systems of animals during a wakeful state.

According to a statement from Reynolds, the senior and co-corresponding author on the new paper, and colleagues, the 2020 research effort also found a direct correlation between traveling brain waves in the visual cortex and an animal’s ability to perceive objects directly in front of them. The authors suggest this discovery explained the “classic conundrum” of searching for something like a pair of keys or a phone that was right in front of you the whole time.

Although the connection between traveling brain waves and an awake animal’s ability to perceive objects seemed solid, Reynolds said he was left wondering why. 

Process is Analogous to LLM’s Like ChatGPT

In their newly proposed theory, Reynolds and colleagues suggest that traveling brain waves are not simply “electrical noise” resulting from the brain’s normal relaying of signals. Instead, the Salk Institute team proposes that the neural connections responsible for the generation of traveling brain waves change their physiological structure, or “synaptic weights,” to more accurately reflect the outside world.

“Each sight, smell, sound, and action of an animal alters the connections that generate these waves, building the neural circuitry that the brain uses to construct an internal representation of the external world,” the team’s statement explains.

In the visual cortex, the part of the brain responsible for receiving and processing visual information, the team proposed that traveling brain waves perform four distinct functions. These include modulating visual perception from moment to moment and turning recent visual sensory inputs into “internal representations” of objects, people, and surroundings.

The team proposes that traveling brain waves also help humans generate short-term predictions about their surroundings, and “store and replay patterns that represent memories of events unfolding in time.” Reynolds said the process laid out by his team is analogous to how ChatGPT and other LLMs translate and interpret data.

“They learn statistical structure from language and use that knowledge to generate meaningful and appropriately structured text that reflects the patterns of language,” the researcher explained. “The brain may be doing something functionally similar—a biological generative model built from the ground up by experience.”

“One Step Closer” to Understanding How Our Brains Compute the World

When detailing the potential impact of their proposed role for traveling brain waves in the visual cortex, the team highlights the contrast between a rich and complex world and its general predictability.

“Objects around you exist in 3D space, you see the world in retinal images that change with your eye and body movements, and the laws of physics and physiology overlay this all,” they explain.

Reynold’s team says that traveling brain waves are merely the brain’s way of internalizing these predictable “regularities” and encoding them in its synapse network. If correct, they said that this encoding would allow the brain to “infer the likely causes of sensory input and construct an internal model of the world.”

“This framing brings us one step closer to understanding how our brains compute the busy, messy world around us, turning a complicated sensory onslaught into behaviors and experiences,” they conclude.

The study “Neural traveling waves in cortex: network mechanisms and potential roles in neural computation” was published in Neuron.

Christopher Plain is a Science Fiction and Fantasy novelist and has spent the last six years as Associate News Editor and Head Science Writer at The Debrief. Follow and connect with him on X, learn about his books at plainfiction.com, or email him at christopher@thedebrief.org

I can’t blame my patients for turning to its straightforward assessments. But it has real risks – and care may require human messiness

“Chat told me I should break up with him.”

I instructed my face to remain therapist-neutral, but I must have smirked. The truth is, I was annoyed. We had been discussing the viability of this relationship for weeks, and in an instant AI had brought the answer. “How do you feel about it?” She said this had been her gut feeling all along. The following session, her relationship was over.

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© Photograph: AnnaStills/Getty Images

© Photograph: AnnaStills/Getty Images

© Photograph: AnnaStills/Getty Images

It’s a harrowing tale of deadly winters in Berlin captivity

The post What Became of the Chimps Who Revolutionized Our Understanding of Animal Behavior? appeared first on Nautilus.

A dog’s nose is a gateway to a richer world, and scent-filled walks, games, and food hunts can transform boredom and stress into excitement, focus, and discovery. While we are captivated by a vivid sunset and breathtaking views, dogs have their noses to the ground, reading the odor stories left behind by other dogs and [...]

We are writers and editors reading the research, not clinicians, paediatricians, or child psychologists. What follows is reflection on published studies, not guidance for any individual family. The findings here are drawn from controlled research; population-level patterns are not prescriptions for your own child.

Feed some children sugar and others a sugar-free sweetener, and make sure nobody knows who got which. When you do that, the sugar does nothing measurable to how the children behave. That is the result pooled across roughly two dozen experiments in a 1995 review, and it has held up for three decades.

The children on sugar do not get more wound up. What changes, in a separate line of research, is the adult watching them.

Two dozen trials, no measurable effect

The anchor is a review published in JAMA in 1995 by Mark Wolraich, David Wilson and J. Wade White, then in the Department of Pediatrics at Vanderbilt University. Pulling together the controlled trials available at the time, they concluded that “sugar (mainly sucrose) does not affect the behavior or cognitive performance of children”. Reviewers note the analysis covered 23 experiments across 16 scientific papers, which is where the “two dozen” figure comes from.

This does not prove sugar can never matter. A small effect, or an effect in some particular group of children, could not be ruled out. What the pooled trials showed was no demonstrable change in behaviour, not certainty that sugar is harmless for everyone. The popular version tends to flatten into “sugar has no effect, full stop,” which the data does not quite support.

Why the trial design matters

The strength of the finding comes from how strict the rules were. To count, a study had to feed children a set amount of sugar, compare it against a look-alike sweetener, and keep everyone in the dark about which was which: the children, the parents, and the research staff all had to be kept from knowing.

That last part shapes everything. If a parent does not know sugar was served, they cannot pin behaviour on it. Picture a parent watching a child eat cake at a party and then act up: the parent has already decided what caused it. Take away that knowledge, and the effect disappears. Which raises the obvious question of where the effect was coming from in the first place.

The experiment where the parent was the variable

A study published a year earlier, in 1994, answered it about as directly as an experiment can. Daniel Hoover and Richard Milich, at the University of Kentucky, tested thirty-five boys, aged five to seven, whose mothers described them as sensitive to sugar.

The trick was in what the mothers were told. As the authors put it: “In the experimental group, mothers were told their children had received a large dose of sugar, whereas in the control condition mothers were told their sons received a placebo; all children actually received the placebo (aspartame).” Every boy got the sugar-free sweetener, but half the mothers were told their sons had been loaded with sugar.

The only thing that varied was the belief planted in the mother. And that belief moved the ratings. The authors report: “Mothers in the sugar expectancy condition rated their children as significantly more hyperactive.” How much trouble they saw tracked the story they had been given, not anything the child had eaten.

The behaviour that actually shifted was the mother’s own. The authors note that these mothers “exercised more control by maintaining physical closeness, as well as showing trends to criticize, look at, and talk to their sons more than did control mothers.” 

This is one small study of thirty-five boys, so read it as a vivid demonstration of how the effect works, not a universal law about all parents. The direction, though, is hard to miss. Told a child had been given sugar, a mother hovered closer, watched harder, and found more to correct.

Why the belief outlasts the evidence

The 1995 authors had a plain explanation for why the belief persists despite the trials: expectation and simple association.

Sugar tends to turn up alongside the things that wind children up. Birthday parties, holidays, late nights, crowds of other children, a break from routine. The cake is present at the chaos, so the cake gets the blame.

An expectation, once held, tends to confirm itself in ways that are hard to spot from the inside. A parent who believes sugar causes trouble watches the child more closely after sugar, and closer watching finds more to flag. The child does not have to change for the report to change. Anyone who has scrutinised someone more carefully because they were warned to expect a problem has run a small version of this experiment without meaning to.

None of this means sugar is good for children. This is not an argument about diet or dental health, which are separate questions with their own evidence. The narrow claim is only this: under blinded conditions, the behaviour change so many adults are sure they have seen does not seem to show up.

The sugar-and-hyperactivity story may end up being less about children than about how confidently an adult can misread a moment once they already know what the answer is supposed to be.

If you are worried about a child’s attention or activity levels,  we recommend you consult a paediatrician or child psychologist rather than making any decisions on articles such as this.

The post Sugar may not make children hyperactive: across two dozen controlled trials the sugar did nothing measurable. In one small experiment, what changed was the parent — mothers who thought their sons had been given sugar rated them as more hyperactive and hovered closer. appeared first on Space Daily.

Psychologist Candice Odgers has studied adolescent mental health for 25 years. She fears the current debate around smartphones obscures some of the biggest issues facing teenagers – from the impact of Covid to the health of their adult caregivers

The quickest way to make being online safer for children and teens would be to kick all adult men off the internet, the Canadian psychologist Candice Odgers believes. Men are the biggest perpetrators of sextortion and most likely to spread misinformation, she says.

Odgers is not recommending this as a policy for governments to adopt: “That would be crazy, right? It would be unfair.” But she is on a drive to puncture the prevailing narrative that the best way to address online harms is a social media ban for teenagers.

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© Photograph: Jessica Pons/The Guardian

© Photograph: Jessica Pons/The Guardian

© Photograph: Jessica Pons/The Guardian

Men and women performed similarly on most multitasking measures, but a difference in conversational engagement may shape how their overall ability is perceived. A person can keep cooking, search for information, and track a visual task without appearing overwhelmed. But if they stop responding during a conversation, others may quickly assume they are losing control. [...]

A large longitudinal study examined whether hormone exposure from combined oral contraceptives is associated with changes in emotional eating. Hormonal birth control is widely used, but its effects can extend beyond pregnancy prevention. New research suggests that, for some women, the active hormone pills in combined oral contraceptives may also influence eating behavior. In a [...]

For thousands of years, humans have deliberately manipulated their breathing in search of something outside the ordinary waking mind. Now, scientists are finding measurable evidence that the right pattern of breathing may push consciousness into territory normally associated with psychedelic drugs.

In the first randomized controlled study to directly examine breathwork-induced altered states of consciousness, researchers found that a single 90-minute session of intense, continuous breathing produced significantly stronger psychedelic-like effects than meditation, including mystical experiences, feelings of oneness, visual changes, and powerful emotional breakthroughs.

Even more intriguingly, participants reported greater psychological understanding and behavioral changes a week later.

Published in Frontiers in Psychology, the findings add to a growing body of research investigating whether deliberately altering respiration can provide a drug-free pathway into altered states of consciousness,  possibly reproducing some of the psychological effects increasingly associated with psychedelic therapy.

The study focused on conscious connected breathing, or CCB, a form of high-ventilation breathwork involving continuous breathing without pauses between inhalation and exhalation.

Unlike the slow, deliberate breathing commonly associated with relaxation, high-ventilation breathwork intentionally increases the rate or depth of respiration.

During trials, participants continuously breathed through their mouths, actively inhaling and passively exhaling while listening to music that progressed from loud and fast-paced to progressively slower and softer over 90 minutes.

“Results from this preliminary experimental study indicate that breathwork is associated with larger acute psychedelic-like effects than meditation,” researchers write. “These exploratory relationships and preliminary observations provide greater context around breathwork-induced ASCs and support the feasibility of ASC-focused breathwork research for future confirmatory trials.”

Putting Breathwork Head-to-Head With Meditation

Breathing techniques have played a role in spiritual and contemplative practices for millennia. Yogic traditions include both slow and rapid breathing methods, while intentional respiration also appears in Qigong, Sufi dhikr, and shamanic practices.

Researchers say the scientific study of high-ventilation breathwork remains in its “embryonic” stage. However, that is slowly beginning to change.

As The Debrief previously reported, researchers using MRI and physiological measurements found that intense circular breathwork could produce altered states resembling those associated with psychedelics. The intensity of participants’ subjective experiences was tracked with changes in cerebral blood flow and autonomic nervous system activity.

However, those earlier investigations lacked a control group.

The new research, called the Airways to Alteration, or A2A, trial, attempted to address that limitation by directly comparing high-ventilation breathwork with an established contemplative practice: body scan meditation.

Researchers recruited 24 relatively healthy adults between 18 and 65. All had previously practiced conscious connected breathing without experiencing an adverse event.

Twelve participants were randomly assigned to the breathwork group. The remaining 12 underwent a 40-minute guided body scan meditation.

The researchers deliberately chose meditation as an active comparison rather than simply asking a control group to do nothing. Both groups lay on mats, used eye masks, listened to music, and participated in similar orientation and grounding procedures.

Meditation itself has also been associated with altered states and mystical experiences. In effect, the researchers were comparing two practices capable of shifting subjective awareness.

What happened next, however, was markedly different.

Breathwork Produced Stronger Mystical Experiences

Immediately after the sessions, participants completed several standardized psychological questionnaires commonly used in psychedelic research.

The breathwork group scored significantly higher in overall mystical experience, oneness, positive mood, and “ineffability”—the feeling that an experience is difficult or impossible to adequately describe in words.

On the study’s measure of total mystical experience, the median score for breathwork participants was 14. The meditation group scored 8.5.

The difference in emotional breakthrough was even more striking.

Participants who completed breathwork had a median Emotional Breakthrough Inventory score of 336. Those who meditated had a median score of 57.5.

Researchers also examined five dimensions commonly associated with altered states of consciousness. Breathwork participants reported significantly higher levels of “oceanic boundlessness” and “visionary restructuralisation.”

Oceanic boundlessness encompasses experiences including feelings of oneness, spiritual insight, bliss, and a loosening of the ordinary sense of self. Visionary restructuring includes changes in visual perception and imagery.

One participant described experiencing “very interesting visual hallucinations” alongside a “very cathartic emotional release.”

Another said the session produced stronger psychedelic qualities than they had experienced during previous breathwork sessions.

“The experience was emotional and cathartic,” the participant reported, noting that “at one time, I cried but not with sadness, more with a strong feeling of what life is all about and how incredible it is and how lucky we are.”

Not everyone described the experience as psychedelic. One participant said they remained fully present throughout the session and primarily experienced a physical and psychological release.

Still, the overall pattern revealed that compared with meditation, intense breathwork was associated with substantially stronger acute alterations in consciousness.

The Effects Didn’t Necessarily End When the Breathing Stopped

What may be the study’s most consequential finding emerged a week later. Researchers asked participants to complete a Psychological Insight Scale designed to assess meaningful personal realizations following psychedelic experiences.

The breathwork group reported a median psychological insight score of 33.67. The meditation group scored 5.83. Self-reported behavioral change followed a similar pattern. Breathwork participants had a median score of 50, compared with 5.5 among those who meditated.

Both differences represented large effect sizes.

The results suggest that the altered state produced during breathwork may be associated with psychological changes that go beyond the acute experience.

“Amongst the secondary outcomes, the breathwork group self-reported substantially greater psychological insight and accompanied behavioral change compared to the meditation group, with large effect sizes observed for both measures,” the researchers explain. “This finding suggests that breathwork could be connected to meaningful psychological breakthroughs, accompanied by translation of these insights into tangible behavioral modifications.”

The researchers caution that these personal accounts are anecdotal and that the qualitative portion of the study was limited. Still, the reports appeared broadly consistent with the measurable differences in mental insight and self-reported behavioral change.

A Surprising Connection to Sleep

The study also uncovered an unexpected difference involving sleep. Both groups showed improvements in stress, anxiety, depression, and overall mental well-being. However, researchers found a considerable difference between the two groups: breathwork produced significantly greater improvements in sleep-related impairment.

Median sleep impairment scores in the breathwork group dropped from 54.8 before the intervention to 39.2 afterward. Scores among meditation participants remained comparatively stable.

More intriguingly, improvements in sleep were correlated with the intensity of participants’ mystical experiences, feelings of oneness, and oceanic boundlessness.

In other words, participants who reported deeper altered states also tended to report greater improvements in sleep.

Exactly how the two may be connected remains unclear. The researchers note that sleep is itself an altered state of consciousness and plays an essential function in memory consolidation and insight, including the mental reorganization that can lead to new understanding. Still, the apparent link between deeper breathwork-induced altered states and improved sleep remains preliminary.

Breathwork Is Not Simply a Psychedelic Without the Drug

Despite the comparisons, researchers caution against treating every altered state of consciousness as the same phenomenon.

A psychedelic state induced by psilocybin, a hyperventilation-driven state produced through breathwork, and deep meditative absorption may overlap on psychological questionnaires. That does not mean the brain achieves those states through identical mechanisms.

Nevertheless, the similarities are difficult to ignore.

Previous research has found that high-ventilation breathwork can produce effects on standardized altered-consciousness measurements within the range observed after moderate-to-high doses of psilocybin.

The earlier neuroimaging research covered by The Debrief also found that the depth of breathwork-induced altered states tracked with changes in cerebral blood flow and autonomic nervous system activity.

This latest study takes that research one step further. Rather than simply demonstrating that breathwork can produce psychedelic-like experiences, the controlled comparison suggests those experiences are substantially more intense than the effects produced by body scan meditation under broadly similar environmental conditions.

Promising Results, but Major Limitations

Researchers repeatedly emphasize that the A2A trial was a small, exploratory study and does not yet provide evidence that breathwork is a proven replacement for psychedelic-assisted therapy.

All participants had prior breathwork experience, which may have led them to enter the experiment with expectations about what would happen. The study was also open-label, and participants knew whether they were breathing intensely or meditating.

Additionally, the breathwork session lasted 90 minutes compared with 40 minutes for meditation. Breathwork participants also listened to more intense music and were explicitly told about the possibility of expanded states of consciousness, emotional expression, and unusual physical sensations.

Those differences could have influenced the results.

The study also excluded people with a range of cardiovascular, respiratory, neurological, and psychological conditions. No adverse events were reported, but researchers acknowledge this was unsurprising, as participants had already practiced the technique without prior adverse reactions.

For that reason, the findings should not be interpreted as evidence that intense breathwork is safe or appropriate for everyone.

Future experiments will need to recruit people who have never practiced breathwork and tease apart the different ingredients involved.

The findings also leave several important questions unanswered. How much of the altered state is driven by rapid breathing itself, and how much comes from the music or group setting? Perhaps most importantly, researchers still need to determine how strongly the expectation of a profound experience shapes what a person ultimately experiences.

Yet, for a field increasingly interested in whether altered states can be harnessed for therapeutic purposes, the outcomes yield an interesting possibility.

Under carefully controlled conditions, consciously manipulating something as fundamental as breathing appears capable of profoundly changing how people experience themselves and the world around them.

“A logical next step would be replicating our study in breathwork-naïve participants to help mitigate expectancy effects and determine whether such ASCs emerge as profoundly as in experienced practitioners,” researchers write. “Future research contrasting HVB effects across participants with varying experience levels and in different environments is essential for informing the public about safe breathwork engagement.”

Tim McMillan is a retired law enforcement executive, investigative reporter and co-founder of The Debrief. His writing typically focuses on defense, national security, the Intelligence Community and topics related to psychology. You can follow Tim on Twitter: @LtTimMcMillan.  Tim can be reached by email: tim@thedebrief.org or through encrypted email: LtTimMcMillan@protonmail.com 

More than a century after Sigmund Freud developed some of his most influential—and controversial—ideas about the human mind, a new study indicates that modern neuroscience may be arriving at a surprisingly familiar destination.

Researchers at the University of Oslo argue that Freud’s concepts of projection, wish fulfillment, transference, and the unconscious may share a fundamental architecture with one of the most influential emerging theories in cognitive neuroscience: the idea that the brain is essentially a prediction machine.

Rather than passively receiving information from the world, the brain may continuously anticipate what will happen next, compare those expectations with incoming sensory information, and either revise its internal model or act to make reality conform more closely to its expectations.

In a paper published in the journal Entropy, researchers propose that this modern “predictive processing” framework may provide a neuroscientific explanation for mental processes that psychoanalysts have described from the perspective of subjective human experience for more than a century.

The researchers do not claim that neuroscience has proved Freud right. Instead, they argue that psychoanalysis and predictive processing may describe some of the same fundamental operations of the mind at two very different levels of analysis.

“The predictive processing model is a paradigm of the mind where the brain’s main task is to construct and interact with the world through predictions,” researchers write. “The world we perceive and interact with is a world that we create from our past, from expectancies and actions.”

The basic idea behind predictive processing represents a significant departure from older models of perception. Traditionally, the brain was often described as something like an information-processing machine: a stimulus arrives from the outside world, the brain processes it, and a response follows.

Predictive processing effectively turns much of that sequence around.

Under this system, the brain is constantly generating models of what it expects to encounter. Those predictions are formed by previous experiences, biological needs, and learned expectations. Incoming sensory information is then compared against the brain’s predictions.

When the two match, all is relatively well. When they do not, the discrepancy creates what neuroscientists call a prediction error.

The brain can respond in at least two broad ways. It can update its internal model to better reflect reality, a process known as perceptual inference. Or it can act on the world in ways that make reality more closely correspond to its prior prediction, a process known as active inference.

Researchers point to a familiar example: the fear of snakes. Someone who assumes snakes are dangerous may gradually revise that expectation after repeated encounters with harmless ones, eventually becoming less afraid. But if the fear is strong enough, the person may avoid snakes entirely. By never getting close enough to discover that some pose no threat, their behavior prevents the prediction from being challenged—and, in effect, helps keep the fear alive.

“To perceive is to predict, to act is to act out the prediction,” researchers explain.

According to the researchers, this framework itself bears a striking resemblance to concepts developed by Freud and later psychoanalysts.

Freud proposed that people do not experience the world as completely neutral observers. Past experiences, desires, fears, and unconscious expectations can shape how they perceive other people and events. In psychoanalytic theory, “projection” can occur when a person attributes internal feelings or expectations to someone else.

A person who feels hostility, for example, may perceive others as hostile. Someone who expects criticism because of earlier relationships may interpret ambiguous behavior as rejection. In more complex cases, people may even behave in ways that encourage others to respond as expected.

The researchers argue that this resembles a form of prediction.

In both models, past experience creates a template to understand the present. The brain—or, in psychoanalytic terminology, the mind—attempts to reduce uncertainty by making the world familiar and predictable.

That does not necessarily mean making the world pleasant.

One of the more consequential implications of the proposed connection is that people may sometimes preserve painful or destructive patterns precisely because those patterns are familiar. A predictable threat can, in some circumstances, create less uncertainty than an unfamiliar form of safety.

The researchers use the example of a woman who was frequently criticized by her mother when she was a child. As an adult, she continues to carry an internal critical voice that tells her she is not good enough. Even when praised, she may dismiss the compliment as undeserved.

From a psychoanalytic perspective, she has internalized—or “introjected”—the critical relationship. From a predictive-processing perspective, positive feedback conflicts with a deeply accepted model of what she expects from herself and others.

The result is a provocative possibility. People sometimes reject evidence that their circumstances have changed because accepting it would require the brain to rebuild its model of the world.

“The one with paranoia and the one with a self-critical inner voice minimize surprise at the cost of reality testing and psychological flexibility,” the researchers write.

The proposed connection also reaches into the “free energy principle,” a conceptual framework associated with neuroscientist Dr. Karl Friston. In simple terms, the framework describes biological systems as continually working to limit uncertainty and maintain themselves within viable states.

For the brain, unexpected information produces what researchers describe as “surprisal.” The mismatch between anticipation and reality can force the brain to do additional work, either changing its model or changing its behavior.

This may help explain why surprise can be uncomfortable and why the familiar can feel safe even when it is objectively harmful.

Freud approached a similar problem via the concept of homeostasis, although he developed his ideas before the term became widely established. The researchers argue that Freud’s concept of “perceptual identity”—the predisposition to seek or recreate perceptions associated with previously satisfying experiences—may be particularly compatible with modern predictive processing.

If researchers are correct, it could have consequences for understanding psychotherapy.

In psychoanalysis, patients may repeatedly bring expectations formed in earlier relationships into their relationship with a therapist, a phenomenon termed transference. Someone accustomed to abandonment, hostility, or criticism may expect the therapist to behave in the same way.

A therapeutic relationship that repeatedly violates those expectations would create precisely the type of prediction error that forces an internal model to change.

In this view, cognitive awareness is not simply an intellectual realization. It may involve confronting the fact that a deeply embedded prediction about the world has failed.

That failure produces surprise. And surprise, the researchers suggest, may be one of the mechanisms that makes psychological change possible.

A patient who expects rejection yet repeatedly encounters a safe, reliable relationship faces a mismatch between prediction and reality. The person can attempt to preserve the old model, perhaps through interpreting benign behavior as threatening, or gradually update the model to accommodate a different possibility.

This is where researchers believe psychoanalysis may offer something that computational neuroscience alone cannot easily provide.

Predictive processing attempts to explain the mechanisms by which brains generate, test, and update predictions. In contrast, psychoanalysis has spent more than a century attempting to describe what those processes feel like from inside the person experiencing them.

The researchers are careful to acknowledge significant differences between the fields. Predictive processing is primarily a descriptive scientific framework intended to explain how minds and brains function. Psychoanalysis is a clinical practice concerned with psychological suffering and how it might be treated.

There is also a difference in emphasis. Neuroscience often studies ordinary predictions involved in perception and behavior, while psychoanalytic concepts such as projection have frequently been developed through observations of psychological distress and mental illness.

Most importantly, the paper does not present new experimental evidence demonstrating that Freud’s concepts relate to specific neural mechanisms. It is a theoretical synthesis proposing that two intellectual traditions, one built largely on clinical observation and subjective experience, the other on computational and neuroscientific models, may describe overlapping features of the mind.

Nevertheless, the proposed convergence is notable.

Freud originally hoped that psychological theories might eventually be connected to the brain’s biological workings, but the neuroscience of his era was nowhere near capable of doing so. For much of the 20th century, psychoanalysis and experimental neuroscience grew increasingly distant.

Predictive processing may offer an unexpected point of reconnection.

If the brain constantly uses the past to predict the present, then projection, transference, and even the tendency to repeat destructive patterns may be viewed not simply as abstract psychoanalytic concepts but as subjective manifestations of a more fundamental biological imperative: reducing uncertainty and maintaining a workable model of the world.

That position could ultimately change how researchers think about the relationship between the brain’s computational machinery and the intensely personal experience of being human. Rather than treating subjective experience and neuroscience as incompatible domains, the researchers suggest that each may illuminate what the other cannot see.

“Psychoanalysis consists of a vast resource of theories about the subjective mind, projection being central among these, and neuro-psychoanalysis adds an external view of the mind while studying the biological and neurological substrate of psychology,” researchers write.

“Relational encounters in a safe environment, as in psychoanalysis, can produce surprise,” the authors add, “which again permits new ways of predicting and being in the world.”

Tim McMillan is a retired law enforcement executive, investigative reporter and co-founder of The Debrief. His writing typically focuses on defense, national security, the Intelligence Community and topics related to psychology. You can follow Tim on Twitter: @LtTimMcMillan.  Tim can be reached by email: tim@thedebrief.org or through encrypted email: LtTimMcMillan@protonmail.com 

A recent study documented a participant using an AI model to simulate a conversation with her late grandmother. According to her report, the experience offered a sense of closure that she had not experienced before.

This interaction was one of sixteen documented in a study published in the Proceedings of the 2026 ACM Designing Interactive Systems Conference. The research provides some of the first empirical data on how individuals respond to the opportunity to communicate with AI representations of deceased loved ones.

Researchers at the University of Colorado Boulder call these AI agents ‘generative ghosts.’ These systems use data such as writing, voice recordings, or photographs from the deceased to create simulated conversations. Some platforms, such as Project December and Séance AI, generate text-based versions of journal entries and messages. Others, such as HereAfterAI, include voice and images. A few companies have also developed virtual reality experiences that let users interact with holographic representations of loved ones.

Jack Manning, the PhD candidate in Information Science who led the study, expected the sessions to feel unsettling. “We originally thought it might feel very Black Mirror creepy to people and make them uncomfortable,” he said. “I ended up being completely wrong. People thought it was amazing.”

How To Build a Ghost

The study included 16 participants, aged 22 to 50, each of whom joined a Zoom interview about a deceased relative or friend. During the session, a facilitator led the conversation while another researcher entered details into a large language model, generating an AI representation of the deceased in real time.

Each participant interacted with two versions of the AI model for about twenty minutes each. One version spoke as the deceased, using the first person, while the other described the person in the third person. A facilitator stayed present to offer support if the conversation became emotionally difficult.

The results indicated a clear preference for the version that spoke as the deceased individual, rather than about them. Researchers described this as a preference for ‘reincarnation’ over ‘representation.’

What People Will and Won’t Forgive

Participants tended to overlook factual mistakes or made-up details from the AI. What mattered more was whether the AI captured the right tone and language. If the model used words or phrases that felt out of character, people were more likely to disconnect from the experience. The study found that getting the voice and manner right was more important than perfect factual accuracy.

How the AI communicated also shaped the experience. Participants preferred short, to-the-point sentences and even the use of emojis, rather than the longer, more formal responses that AI models often produce. This suggests that future versions of these systems should pay close attention to conversational style.

A Technology Both Wanted, and Feared

All sixteen participants indicated that they would be willing to use the technology again. However, most also expressed concerns about the potential risks of individuals in grief accessing these AI systems without supervision.

Lead researcher Jack Manning said his own experiences with loss have shaped his view of the risks and benefits of AI grief tools. He acknowledged that negative outcomes are possible but also noted that the technology could help some users find a sense of closure and peace.

Jed Brubaker, the study’s senior author and an associate professor of Information Science, said the lab took on the work precisely because the field had outpaced the research. “To our knowledge, we are conducting the first user experience studies of simulated AI ghosts,” he said.

The research team intends to involve mental health professionals in future studies. The next phase will evaluate the psychological risks and benefits of prolonged use of AI grief tools to ensure that empirical research guides product development.

Generative ghost technology is already available through commercial platforms, and people are actively using these systems. The study highlights that voice, tone, and pacing are often more important to users than factual accuracy. As the technology develops, researchers are working to address the challenges of providing appropriate safeguards and responsible design.

Austin Burgess is a writer and researcher with a background in sales, marketing, and data analytics. He holds an MBA, a Bachelor of Science in Business Administration, and a data analytics certification. His work focuses on breaking scientific developments, with an emphasis on emerging biology, cognitive neuroscience, and archaeological discoveries.

TikTok's For You Page (FYP) is the default home screen for users of the video-sharing platform. It's a personalized, algorithmically driven content feed, but the approach differs from other social media in that TikTok's algorithm relies heavily on implicit signals—such as how long users watch particular videos—as well as explicit signals such as likes or follows. And generally, that algorithm does remarkably well at predicting which videos will interest particular users.

But some users have voiced concerns that TikTok's almighty algorithm doesn't seem to incorporate negative feedback very well. Even when they don't watch a suggested video or click the "not interested" feature, they keep seeing those videos on their FYP. Northeastern University computer scientists put those suspicions to the test. According to their recent paper, the engagement signals do have an effect, but only temporarily. Then the algorithm gradually relapses unless a user consistently gives the same feedback over and over again.

The research group specializes in "algorithm audits," co-author Piotr Sapiezynski told Ars, to better understand online platforms: "how they work, how they fail, when they fail, how they harm individuals and societies." In this case, he and his co-authors wanted to take a closer look at user agency after hearing multiple anecdotal reports from TikTok users that their negative feedback—responding to prompts by indicating they aren't interested or want to see less of a certain kind of video—doesn't seem to remove those posts from their FYP. "On the other hand, it's unclear why the platforms would offer it, if it doesn't work," said Sapiezynski.

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TikTok's For You Page (FYP) is the default home screen for users of the video-sharing platform. It's a personalized, algorithmically driven content feed, but the approach differs from other social media in that TikTok's algorithm relies heavily on implicit signals—such as how long users watch particular videos—as well as explicit signals such as likes or follows. And generally, that algorithm does remarkably well at predicting which videos will interest particular users.

But some users have voiced concerns that TikTok's almighty algorithm doesn't seem to incorporate negative feedback very well. Even when they don't watch a suggested video or click the "not interested" feature, they keep seeing those videos on their FYP. Northeastern University computer scientists put those suspicions to the test. According to their recent paper, the engagement signals do have an effect, but only temporarily. Then the algorithm gradually relapses unless a user consistently gives the same feedback over and over again.

The research group specializes in "algorithm audits," co-author Piotr Sapiezynski told Ars, to better understand online platforms: "how they work, how they fail, when they fail, how they harm individuals and societies." In this case, he and his co-authors wanted to take a closer look at user agency after hearing multiple anecdotal reports from TikTok users that their negative feedback—responding to prompts by indicating they aren't interested or want to see less of a certain kind of video—doesn't seem to remove those posts from their FYP. "On the other hand, it's unclear why the platforms would offer it, if it doesn't work," said Sapiezynski.

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Creatine may be beneficial as more than just a muscle-building supplement, as new research is investigating whether the popular compound could hold promise as a treatment for depression.

The University of Ottawa’s Bassam Jeryous Fares led the new studies, described in a recent paper in Brain Research, examining how creatine affects brain chemistry, particularly involving depression.

As one of the most popular workout supplements today, creatine has been well studied for its effects on muscle growth. However, the new findings suggest that its cognitive impact may have remained underappreciated.

Hidden in the Data

For their research, the University of Ottawa team did not conduct new clinical trials. Instead, they reexamined existing data from a new perspective. The researchers identified five randomized controlled studies, published across six papers, in which neither participants nor physicians knew who received creatine or a placebo.

Together, the studies enrolled nearly 240 participants, evenly divided between the placebo and creatine groups. While most participants were women, the studies included individuals from South Korea, the United States, Brazil, India, and Israel.

The studies were focused on the mental impacts of creatine, with four looking at major depressive disorder and one at bipolar individuals enduring a major depressive episode, yet they varied widely in design. Due to these differences, the University of Ottawa researchers opted to summarize the trials separately rather than create a single set of statistics across them.

Uneven Depression Results

The results between the studies did not tell a single, cohesive story. In two of the studies, researchers reported significant positive results on major depressive disorder by combining five grams of creatine with the antidepressant escitalopram daily. Similarly, another trial combining creatine with cognitive behavioral therapy showed a greater reduction in symptoms than the placebo group.

However, the remaining studies found no measurable benefit. One focused on individuals who had previously failed to respond to depression medications and likewise found that creatine did not improve their symptoms. Similarly, a study involving adolescent girls with major depressive disorder and another involving women with bipolar disorder reported no improvement. In the bipolar group, creatine not only failed to show benefits but also induced hypomania or mania in two participants.

Brain Power and Depression

The key to the discussion is a molecule called adenosine triphosphate, which carries energy to fuel biological processes. Creatine helps replenish that molecule in muscles, and since the brain uses more energy by volume than any other part of the body, it stands to reason that creatine would have a major impact on the brain.

Existing research into mood disorders has commonly identified changes in the brain’s creatine metabolism, leading to the suggestion that reduced energy production in the brain causes depression. Additionally, some speculate that creatine activates the same pathways targeted by antidepressants, but all links between mood and creatine remain correlational. 

“The signal is interesting, but it is not a verdict,” said lead author Bassam Jeryous Fares, a student in the Faculty of Medicine at the University of Ottawa. “Two trials pointed one way, and three pointed another. That is not the kind of evidence on which you change clinical practice. It is the kind that tells you the question is worth further exploration.”

According to the researchers, their findings suggest creatine may represent a promising avenue for future depression research. However, they emphasize that these studies are only an early step, and much more work is needed to determine whether the supplement can play a meaningful role in treating mood disorders.

The paper, “Creatine as a Treatment for Depression,” appeared in Brain Medicine on June 30, 2026.

Ryan Whalen covers science and technology for The Debrief. He holds an MA in History and a Master of Library and Information Science with a certificate in Data Science. He can be contacted at ryan@thedebrief.org, and follow him on Twitter @mdntwvlf.

In a laboratory at the University of Massachusetts Boston, the developmental psychologist Edward Tronick asked mothers to play with their babies for a few minutes, then drop their faces into a blank, expressionless mask. The infants, most of them under a year old, did everything they could to bring their mothers back. They smiled. They pointed. They screeched. They threw both hands up in a small, urgent gesture that looked, in slow motion, like a question: what is happening here?

That experiment is now called the Still-Face Paradigm, and it produced one of the most quietly radical findings in developmental psychology. Tronick’s later micro-coded studies of mother-infant interaction suggested that even in healthy, securely attached pairs, the two are out of emotional sync roughly 70 percent of the time. The match is the exception. The mismatch is the rule.

What separates the secure babies from the insecure ones is not how often the connection lands. It is how often it gets repaired.

The experiment that broke a comforting myth

Before Tronick, the dominant image of a good mother was a kind of emotional metronome — perfectly attuned, perfectly responsive, perfectly available. The still-face study turned that picture inside out.

Tronick filmed hundreds of mother-infant dyads frame by frame. He coded micro-expressions, gaze direction, vocal pitch, the timing of a head turn. What he found was that even the warmest, most engaged pairs spent most of their interaction time slightly off. The mother looked away as the baby looked up. The baby cooed as the mother adjusted a sleeve. They missed each other constantly. And then, often within a second or two, they found each other again.

Tronick described three phases that played out in his lab. The good was the moment of attuned exchange — the baby smiles, the mother smiles back, the loop closes. The bad was the still face itself, the rupture, the moment a baby’s posture collapses and her gaze drops. The ugly was something else entirely: according to Tronick’s research, the most damaging scenario is when there is no opportunity for repair, when the child stays stuck in the distressed state without reparation.

The rupture itself was not the wound. The absence of repair was. That distinction reframes nearly every parenting mistake a tired adult has ever made. Snapping at a toddler in a grocery aisle is a rupture. Walking out of the room mid-tantrum is a rupture. Looking at a phone when a child is mid-sentence is a rupture. None of these, on their own, damages attachment. What damages attachment is the rupture that never gets stitched back together.

Why seventy percent mismatch is good news

The 70 percent figure comes from Tronick’s micro-analytic coding of normal, securely attached mother-infant pairs. It is a baseline, not a failure rate. In the underlying work with Jeffrey Cohn, published in Child Development in 1989, the pairs spent only a small fraction of their playtime in genuinely coordinated states, cycling between matched and mismatched roughly every few seconds. Even the most competent caregivers were misreading their babies more often than they were reading them correctly.

The reason this is good news is mechanical. A baby raised in perfect synchrony would never learn the skill that matters most — how to come back from disconnection. Repair is a muscle. It only develops if it is used.

The predictive variable for secure attachment is not the frequency of attuned moments. It is the rate at which a dyad recovers from misattuned ones. Babies who experienced consistent repair learned, at a pre-verbal level, that disconnection was survivable. Babies who did not learned the opposite.

What rupture looks like at six months old

In the still-face videos, the sequence is almost unbearable to watch. A baby will try every social tool she has. She smiles. She vocalizes. She reaches. When none of it works, she does something stranger — she begins to self-soothe. She sucks her thumb. She turns her head away. She slumps. Her body learns, in the space of two minutes, that the social channel is offline.

Tronick characterized this withdrawal as adaptive rather than ominous — a way for an infant to conserve energy and self-protect when repeated bids for connection fail. Later neuroscience has traced how the presence or absence of a caregiver tunes an infant’s developing stress circuitry, work reviewed in Frontiers in Systems Neuroscience. The infant is not breaking. She is budgeting. She is learning that effort in this particular direction does not pay.

Multiply that across thousands of interactions over the first three years, and you get something close to a working model of relationships. Connection is reliable, or it is not. Repair is possible, or it is not.

The mechanism, in plain terms

What gets transmitted across a repair is more important than what gets transmitted across a match. In a matched moment, the baby learns: you see me. In a repaired moment, the baby learns something harder and more durable: when you stop seeing me, you come back.

That second lesson is the foundation of what attachment researchers call earned security. Adults who can tolerate conflict, sit with rupture, and trust that a partner will return after a hard conversation tend to have been raised by caregivers who modeled exactly that — not perfection, but reliable return. The inverse is also documented: where the early pattern was rupture without repair, the nervous system learned, before it had words, that the gap between disconnection and reconnection was unbridgeable.

A generation of parents has been told that any rupture is a rupture too far — that a raised voice, a moment of impatience, a snapped no will leave a mark. Tronick’s data says the opposite. The rupture is normal. The rupture is, in fact, the precondition for the most important developmental work a baby does. A parent who is never frustrated, never short, never blank-faced is not modeling a human being. They are modeling a vending machine. And the child who grows up watching a vending machine does not learn how to handle the day, years later, when the people they love turn out to be people.

The piece of parenting that turns out to matter most is the part nobody films. The apology two hours after the snap. The hand on the shoulder after the door has been slammed. The quiet sentence — I was wrong to talk to you like that — delivered without performance. That sentence, repeated across childhood, is what builds the working model of a world where mistakes are recoverable.

The reason repair is so load-bearing becomes clearest in its absence. Writing in Psychology Today, clinicians who work with adult children of narcissistic mothers describe a recurring pattern. The mother withdraws affection. The child performs harder. The mother eventually returns, but without ever naming the rupture, without acknowledgment, without the small sentence that closes the loop. The child of that dynamic does not learn that rupture is survivable. They learn that rupture is their fault, and that reconnection is contingent on performance — an imprint that shows up decades later as hypersensitivity to any sign of withdrawal, and an inability to trust the return when it comes.

How clinicians use the finding now

Decades after the original experiment, the still-face paradigm is now used in clinics to screen for risk in infant mental health. A 2009 review and meta-analysis covering dozens of studies documents how researchers have adapted the procedure across clinical and at-risk infant samples. The protocol is simple — a few minutes of normal play, a brief still-face, then reunion — but what gets coded is the reunion. How fast does the baby re-engage? How quickly does the mother re-attune? Does repair happen at all?

Therapists working with new parents now teach the rupture-repair cycle as an explicit skill. The training is not how to avoid mistakes. The training is how to come back from them — how to name what happened, how to make the body language match the words, how to let a small child see an adult acknowledge a misstep without collapsing into shame.

What Tronick uncovered in a windowless lab turns out to describe something larger than mother-infant pairs. It describes the basic mechanics of every close relationship a person will have. Couples therapists talk about it. Friendship researchers talk about it. The pattern is the same — rupture is inevitable, and repair is the variable that determines whether the bond holds.

The Orion Magazine essay that opens with Tronick’s still-face footage frames connection in nearly cosmological terms, as a binding force that works through resonance, repetition, and variation. The variation is the point. The misses are the point. The thing that looks like failure — the 70 percent of the time when one person reaches and the other looks away — turns out to be the medium through which the real work happens.

Fifty-one years after the still face

The babies in Tronick’s original footage are in their early fifties now. Some of them are parents themselves. Some are grandparents. The micro-expressions captured on those reels — the screech, the raised hands, the slow collapse and faster recovery — became the data that reshaped how an entire field thinks about love.

What the footage shows, in the end, is not a baby breaking. It is a baby waiting. The face goes blank. The baby works. The face comes back. The baby’s posture re-inflates in something close to real time, as if a small bellows had been filled. That moment of re-inflation — the second the connection comes back online — is the thing that, repeated thousands of times across a childhood, builds a person who can trust that other people will return.

The mismatch is most of the relationship. The repair is what makes the relationship hold.

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Chris Butler, the Honolulu-born surfer who renamed himself Siddhaswarupananda Paramahamsa and built a global Krishna-derived movement called Science of Identity, has reportedly not appeared in a verified public photograph since the mid-1980s. He reportedly stopped giving sit-down media interviews in 1977, the year his Hawaii following went from beach gatherings to organized ashram life, and the handful of grainy images that still circulate online, including the cover portraits used on his own audio cassettes, are now roughly four decades old. He is reportedly 78 years old, and almost no one outside his inner circle claims to know what he currently looks like.

That absence is the point of the movement, and the engine of its mystique.

The surfer who became a guru

Butler reportedly grew up in Honolulu in the 1950s, the son of a prominent local doctor and anti-war activist. He was reportedly a competitive surfer on Oahu’s North Shore in the 1960s, drifted through LSD and Vedanta, and around 1970 became a disciple of A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, the founder of the International Society for Krishna Consciousness, who gave him the Sanskrit name he still uses on cassette labels and book jackets.

By the early 1970s Butler was running his own offshoot in Hawaii, drawing a few hundred followers to lectures in Honolulu apartments and Kailua living rooms. He was photographed often during this period. He wore the saffron robes, the shaved head with the single tuft of hair at the back, and the painted clay markings on the forehead common to ISKCON monks.

1977: When the in-person guru began to recede

Something shifted in 1977. By most accounts from former members, Butler scaled back his public lectures that year and moved into a residence in Kailua, and the movement reorganized around audio cassettes of his talks rather than in-person darshan. Followers gathered in homes to listen to the tapes together. He did not disappear overnight, though. Through the 1980s he hosted a late-night Hawaii television program, Chris Butler Speaks, on which he delivered spiritual and theological lectures. It was only from the 1990s onward that he withdrew from public view almost entirely.

He reportedly gave one extended interview to a Honolulu reporter around the late 1970s. He has reportedly given no comparable on-the-record interview since. Requests from major media outlets over the following decades were reportedly either ignored or routed through intermediaries who declined on his behalf.

The clearest surviving portraits of him date from a small window in the early-to-mid 1980s, the same era as the television show. After that, the visual record essentially stops. A 1990s photograph occasionally surfaces in former-member forums, but its provenance is disputed.

A movement built on cassettes, then MP3s

Science of Identity Foundation, the nonprofit Butler reportedly founded in 1977, distributes his teachings through recorded lectures, books published under the Siddhaswarupananda name, and a network of affiliated yoga and meditation studios. The movement has claimed adherents across Hawaii, the Philippines, Australia, and New Zealand.

Followers describe a structure in which Butler’s voice is constant and his face is absent. New initiates may spend years inside the organization without ever seeing a recent photograph of him. The cassettes carry the same 1980s cover portrait. The MP3 files that replaced them carry the same portrait scanned to digital.

The pattern is a familiar one in accounts of charismatic movements: the deliberate cultivation of distance. The leader becomes a voice, a doctrine, a felt presence. The body recedes.

The Gabbard connection

Most of what the wider public knows about Butler arrived through political coverage of Tulsi Gabbard. Gabbard was reportedly raised inside the Science of Identity community in Hawaii. Her father, Mike Gabbard, was reportedly a prominent Butler follower before his own political career. When Tulsi Gabbard ran for Congress in 2012, then for president in 2020, then was nominated as Director of National Intelligence in 2024, reporters tried to photograph her childhood guru and were unable to do so.

Major publications including The New Yorker, The Intercept, The Daily Beast, and New York Magazine have published profiles attempting to describe Butler. None of them included a current photograph. Every illustration in those pieces used the same handful of decades-old images, sometimes cropped, sometimes color-corrected, always old.

Why old photographs make a person larger

The psychology of absence has been studied for years in the context of celebrity, romance, and authority. The scarcity principle in social perception holds that people assign greater value and intensity to figures who are harder to reach. The harder it is to see someone, the larger they tend to become in the imagination of those who wait. A guru you cannot photograph is, by that logic, more compelling than one who shows up on Instagram.

A related strand of work on attraction and what psychologists describe as love’s scarcity principle suggests that limited availability tends to signal importance, and that the absence of fresh information can produce a more intense bond than constant presence does. The pattern, first mapped in romantic relationships, translates to spiritual organizations with little distortion.

What former members describe

Accounts collected over the past decade from people who left the movement describe a community organized around a leader they rarely saw. Senior followers, sometimes called the inner circle, would occasionally travel to meet him. Rank-and-file members would not.

Some former members say they spent ten or fifteen years in the organization without ever being in the same room as Butler. They listened to him every day on tape. They quoted him. They prayed to a photograph of him taken before they were born.

One former follower said she had no idea what her guru’s voice sounded like at his current age. Only what it sounded like in 1982.

The visual record, frozen

If you search for Chris Butler today, you will find perhaps a dozen distinct images. A young surfer at Sunset Beach. A robed monk lecturing in Honolulu in 1972. A close-up portrait used on cassette covers, undated but stylistically consistent with the early 1980s. A long-lens photograph that may be from the 1990s and may not be him at all.

There is no verified photograph of him aged 60. None aged 70. None aged 78, which is his current age. The man who has shaped the daily life of thousands of households for half a century is, visually, a person who stopped existing during the Reagan administration.

Historical figures whose visual record is incomplete tend to be remembered through whichever image dominates the archive. Lincoln is the bearded president, not the clean-shaven lawyer. Einstein is the white-haired Princeton sage, not the patent clerk. Butler is the young Hawaiian monk on the cassette cover, because that is the only Butler the archive contains.

The Honolulu compound

Butler is widely reported to live in Kailua, on the windward side of Oahu, in a residential property owned through trusts associated with the Science of Identity Foundation. Reporters have described high walls, mature vegetation, and no visible activity. Neighbors have reportedly said they have lived next door for decades and have never seen him.

The property is roughly seven miles from Waikiki Beach, where he learned to surf in the 1950s.

A face the size of a generation

Forty years of visual silence is an unusual span. It covers the entire commercial history of the internet. It covers the introduction of the camcorder, the digital camera, the camera phone, the selfie, and the doorbell camera. A person who has not been photographed in forty years has, in effect, opted out of the visual era of human history.

The cassettes still play. The yoga studios still open in the mornings. The portrait on the cover, taken when Ronald Reagan was in his first term, is still the face that thousands of followers picture when they close their eyes to chant. The man himself, somewhere behind the wall in Kailua, is now closer in age to his own teacher Prabhupada at death than to the young surfer in the photograph.

The image does not age. The movement, organized around it, does not need it to.

The post Chris Butler stepped out of public view a generation ago and reportedly hasn’t given a real interview in decades — the clearest photos of the reclusive Hawaii guru are now roughly 40 years old appeared first on Space Daily.