Selective Permeability Is a New Vision of Inhibitory Consciousness
- Brainz Magazine
- Jun 30
- 8 min read
Dr. Dragana Favre is a psychiatrist, psychotherapist, and a seeker of the human psyche's mysteries. With a medical degree and extensive neuroscience education from prestigious institutions like the Max Planck Institute and Instituto de Neurociencias, she's a seasoned expert.
What if the conscious mind is not an open window but a living membrane, a threshold that breathes, flexes, and filters what may cross from the vast inner sea of the unconscious into the fragile light of awareness? Modern neuroscience, depth psychology, and even the humble cell suggest that this boundary is not a static wall but a dynamically regulated field, an oscillating filter that both protects and nourishes the psyche. In this view, consciousness is not merely the bright stage where thoughts parade; it is the selective passageway that allows symbolic life to emerge, and, just as vitally, to be contained.
This idea has deep roots in both neurobiology and Jungian psychology and is finding new support in contemporary research on neural oscillations. The human brain is never still. Beneath the apparent calm of thought and perception, billions of neurons fire in coordinated rhythms. These oscillations, waves of electrical activity, are now understood to play a crucial role in regulating what information is accessible to awareness at any given moment. For decades, the dominant view held that consciousness arises from complex integration: the more connected and synchronized the brain, the brighter the flame of awareness. But a growing body of evidence suggests that this is only part of the story. Selective inhibition, the ability of the brain to suppress, filter, and gate sensory input and internal signals, may be equally vital (Jensen & Mazaheri, 2010; Hanslmayr et al., 2016).
Think for a moment of the cell membrane, that elegant bilayer of phospholipids studded with proteins that shuttle ions, nutrients, and signals in and out of the cell. The membrane does not merely hold the cell together; it actively shapes its relationship with the environment. Proteins embedded in the membrane act as gatekeepers, opening and closing channels, responding to changes in voltage or chemical binding. The cell membrane is not a static barrier but a living process, constantly adjusting its permeability. In a sense, the membrane is the cell’s intelligence, it decides what the cell shall take in, what it shall keep out, and how it shall respond to the world.
Could consciousness work the same way? The analogy is compelling. In the inhibitory-symbolic model of consciousness, the psyche’s boundary is like a semi-permeable membrane, modulated by oscillatory “gatekeepers” that regulate which unconscious contents cross into awareness. Theta and gamma oscillations, for instance, have been shown to coordinate memory encoding and retrieval (Lisman & Jensen, 2013). These rhythms are not just background noise; they shape the very flow of mental content, synchronizing or desynchronizing networks so that only certain thoughts, images, or sensations are allowed passage.
Jung intuited something similar long before modern neuroscience could glimpse the brain’s dance of waves. In his model, the ego, the center of consciousness, is surrounded by a vast unconscious containing complexes, archetypes, and the collective psychic inheritance of humanity (Jung, 1960/1976). Yet not every archetypal image or instinct floods into consciousness at once; the psyche filters and regulates this material, often defensively but sometimes creatively. Jung described the “transcendent function” as the process by which tension between opposites generates a new, symbolic third, a means of metabolizing unconscious content so it can be integrated without overwhelming the ego (Jung, 1957/1960).
Viewed through a modern lens, this function is not purely metaphorical. Oscillatory dynamics might be the neurophysiological basis of this symbolic filtering. When the brain shifts into theta–gamma coupling, for instance, it appears to open “windows” for deeper associations, novel connections, and the emergence of dreamlike images (Fell & Axmacher, 2011). The conscious mind, then, is not a spotlight shining on static content but a porous membrane that vibrates, flexes, and tunes itself to the frequencies of inner and outer worlds.
Yet, like the cell membrane, this psychic boundary is not perfectly sealed. It is riddled with leak channels and potential ruptures. Anyone who has experienced intrusive thoughts, nightmares, or psychotic flooding knows how the unconscious can push through, unbidden and unfiltered. In these moments, the membrane’s selective inhibition fails; what was meant to be contained or transformed spills into waking life, often in the form of overwhelming affects or symbolic confusion. Conversely, too rigid a membrane, over-inhibition, can leave a person cut off from the wellsprings of vitality and meaning. In clinical terms, this might manifest as alexithymia, dissociation, or numbing, the “deadening” Jung warned of when the ego cannot face its own shadow.
One of the striking things about the cellular metaphor is that it reminds us this boundary is living tissue. The fluid mosaic model, first proposed by Singer and Nicolson in 1972, emphasized that the membrane is not a fixed wall but a shifting, responsive field. Lipids and proteins drift within it, new channels form and dissolve, and signals trigger cascades that reconfigure its structure. Likewise, the oscillatory membrane of the psyche is dynamic. Neural rhythms change with attention, mood, trauma, and practice. Meditation, for example, appears to alter patterns of theta–gamma coupling, enhancing the capacity to observe thoughts without being overwhelmed by them (Lutz et al., 2004). Psychedelic states temporarily dissolve or “loosen” this membrane, which can result in either creative breakthroughs or disintegration, depending on how well the material is integrated (Carhart-Harris et al., 2014).
This interplay between permeability and protection may be crucial for understanding the symbolic life of the psyche. Jung wrote that symbols are not mere signs; they are living images that bridge the known and the unknown. A healthy membrane allows symbolic material to cross over, to be metabolized into language, art, ritual, or insight. But when this process is blocked, either by excessive inhibition or by a chaotic flood, the symbols lose their transformative power. They become literalized, either repressed and sterile or enacted compulsively, as in addiction, projection, or repetitive trauma.
Consider the archetype of the trickster, which Jung (1954) described as an agent of disruption, the bringer of paradox and play. In the membrane model, the trickster might be likened to the transient pores that form spontaneously in the cell membrane, a rupture that allows something unexpected to slip through. Trickster moments break rigid patterns, destabilize stale certainties, and let the psyche reconfigure its boundaries. Yet, if the membrane is too weak, the trickster can become a saboteur, not a herald of transformation but an agent of chaos.
The oscillatory rhythms that underlie this boundary function are exquisitely sensitive to internal and external conditions. Chronic stress, trauma, and unresolved complexes can distort these rhythms, tightening the membrane when it needs to open or tearing it when it needs to hold. In this sense, therapy can be seen as membrane work, the slow, courageous process of restoring the oscillatory capacity to filter, contain, and transform. The analyst’s presence becomes a kind of external membrane: a safe container within which the unconscious can be approached, symbolized, and reintegrated.
Jung’s notion of individuation, the lifelong process of becoming the person one is meant to be, depends on this delicate balance. One must not be flooded by the unconscious, nor cut off from it entirely. The self, in Jung’s terms, is the whole field, conscious and unconscious, ego and archetype, bounded and boundless. The ego’s task is not to dominate or repress the unconscious but to relate to it through a flexible, living threshold.
This vision resonates with the emerging science of brain rhythms. Research increasingly shows that cognition is not simply about activating more areas of the brain but about orchestrating them in time, synchronizing and desynchronizing, opening and closing gates, and filtering signals with exquisite precision (Fries, 2015). Just as the cell survives by regulating its membrane potential, the psyche survives by regulating its symbolic potential. In this light, neurosis can be seen as a membrane disorder, a breakdown in the gating function that either locks vital energy away or lets it flood the system chaotically.
To stretch the metaphor further, the proteins embedded in the membrane, the channels, pumps, receptors, are like the neural oscillatory mechanisms that adapt moment by moment to the psyche’s needs. These “gatekeepers” do not act alone; they respond to the larger environment. A cell’s membrane changes in response to signals from other cells, just as the psyche’s boundary is shaped by culture, relationships, language, and ritual. Even the gaps and flaws in the membrane have meaning: they allow for novelty, for the unplanned emergence of new configurations. They are the shadow’s aperture, the place where the hidden might surprise us into growth.
In a time when our nervous systems are bombarded by endless stimuli, news feeds, alerts, social pressures, the capacity for selective inhibition has never been more vital. A healthy membrane means we can stay open to symbolic nourishment without being drowned in noise. It means we can dream without losing the thread of waking life. It means we can face the archetypal depths without surrendering the hard-won coherence of the self.
In the end, the living membrane is more than a metaphor; it is a reminder that consciousness is an ecological process, a threshold where psyche and soma, symbol and neuron, past and potential meet. To tend this threshold is to honor both containment and flow, boundary and openness. It is to remember that what keeps us whole is not a fortress wall but a supple, breathing filter, a field of oscillations, shimmering like a cell beneath the microscope, alive with the power to decide what shall cross over and become life.
Dragana Favre, Psychiatrist and Jungian Psychotherapist
Dr. Dragana Favre is a psychiatrist, psychotherapist, and a seeker of the human psyche's mysteries. With a medical degree and extensive neuroscience education from prestigious institutions like the Max Planck Institute and Instituto de Neurociencias, she's a seasoned expert. Her unique approach combines Jungian psychotherapy, EMDR, and dream interpretation, guiding patients towards self-discovery and healing. Beyond her profession, Dr. Favre is passionate about science fiction, nature, and cosmology. Her ex-Yugoslavian roots in the small town of Kikinda offer a rich backdrop to her life's journey. She is dedicated to helping people find their true selves, much like an alchemist turning lead into gold.
References:
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Fries, P. (2015). Rhythms for cognition: communication through coherence. Neuron, 88(1), 220–235.
Hanslmayr, S., Staudigl, T., & Fellner, M.-C. (2012). Oscillatory power decreases and long-term memory: the information via desynchronization hypothesis. Frontiers in Human Neuroscience, 6, 74.
Jensen, O., & Mazaheri, A. (2010). Shaping functional architecture by oscillatory alpha activity: gating by inhibition. Frontiers in Human Neuroscience, 4, 186.
Jung, C. G. (1954). The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious. Collected Works, Vol. 9 (Part 1). Princeton University Press.
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Singer, S. J., & Nicolson, G. L. (1972). The fluid mosaic model of the structure of cell membranes. Science, 175(4023), 720–731.
