Beyond Neuroscience in Culture, Research and Design

Originally published by the Centre for Conscious Design.

I enthusiastically dived into the intersection of neuroscience and architecture in the early 2010s, driven by a curiosity to learn, using scientific methods, how spaces could help us thrive. However, over the past 15 years, while I’ve integrated its important insights into my architectural practice, I’ve grown disheartened by its methodological limitations. Meanwhile, many practitioners and scientists who work or study the built environment have embraced the notion of neuroarchitecture.

Through conversations with professionals across disciplines—from medicine to interior design—I’ve been encouraged to put my thoughts into writing. Today, I aim to introduce a broader framework within research-informed design that includes neuroscience and also transcends its limits: Conscious Design. Beyond terminology, this article addresses the societal values that architecture and research reproduce—something everyone committed to improving the built environment must consider.

Culture

Neuroarchitecture, or design informed by neurosciences, suggests a design that targets the brain and nervous system to deliver unique experiences, but it falls short of capturing the broader cultural shift I care about. It focuses on outcomes, like regulation, restoration, awe, inspiration, and connection—which, don’t get me wrong, I deeply value because they profoundly relate to wellbeing and affect. However, the culture I long to see in the world extends beyond healthier neurophysiological induced behaviors; it encompasses the entire process of ideating, creating, and inhabiting places.

Conscious Design is a framework developed by itai Palti following Palti’s and Bar’s 2015 Manifesto for Conscious Cities_¹. It advocates for multidisciplinary, participatory, context-driven project ideation; ecological, local and culturally meaningful building techniques; and responsible, adaptable, empowering relationships between people and space—a philosophy captured in the Conscious Design Principles.

Our culture has bred deep inequalities, and I believe that those who shape the built environment have a responsibility to foster inclusive representation in place-making. Focusing solely on the final outcomes, filtered through a well-intended neuroscience-informed lens, to me overlooks a critical question: How do we even get there?

I invite you to take a step back with me for a moment, to reconnect with our shared goal of bringing positive change through the built environment. Many of us entered our fields—whether in architecture, healthcare, education, public service, the arts, or technology—with the hope of improving other’s lives, enriching communities, and creating spaces that nurture well-being. Yet, the world is riddled with just the opposite.

Think—what is the root of much pain and dysfunction in the world? To me, the answer lies within us—within the societies and cultures we’ve inherited. This isn’t about any one person, but the values we collectively uphold: the pursuit of efficiency, control, competition, perfection, and profit. These toxic norms—manifesting as rigid gender roles, emotional suppression, and the need for constant optimization, among many others—impact us all. (Ah, and also manifest in the nonfunctional built environment we have inherited, by the way). Toxicity weighs heaviest on the most vulnerable, in heartbreaking ways. On a larger scale, these patterns perpetuate systemic violence and oppression.

We long for a new culture—one grounded in care, curiosity, creativity, rest, imperfection, seasonality, sustainability… but embracing this shift is hard, isn’t it? We need to constantly catch ourselves. When we rush through tasks or criticize ourselves, we must breathe deeply, stay present, and accept that mistakes are part of the process. For our own physical and mental well-being; it is paramount to become conscious of our behaviors. Yet we need constant reminders, because we are all deeply entangled in the toxic patterns we wish to escape. It’s a kind of trance: even when we reject these values, we slip into unconsciously reenacting them.

Architecture reflects a culture and a society, but it also shapes it. Changes in the built environment can drive cultural transformation. Take Copenhagen, now the world’s most bike-friendly city. Decades ago, it wasn’t designed for cycling. Intentional urban interventions made biking accessible, but it was also a shared social vision of a healthier world that fueled these changes. The same principle applies to the design of buildings, large and small. The healthier a home is, the more a family benefits. The healthier, more equitable spaces for the public are, the more a community flourishes. But for this to happen, the community must first understand these advantages, back a new vision, and invest its resources. It’s like therapy: half the work is deciding to seek support. Over time, as the benefits are integrated, individuals—and communities—begin to thrive.

Research

Research plays a crucial role in supporting cultural transformations. It brings new light into the relationships between causes and effects, unravels new facts about our physical, emotional, social needs and behaviors, and determines the effectiveness of practices or “treatments”. Neuroscience, in particular, has offered many valuable insights into empathy, navigation, and stress, helping designers create better environments.

However, the fields of neuroscience and cognitive science, with their lab-based focus, often eclipse other areas of study. It’s rare, although appreciated, to find practitioners who praise science-informed design who also examine the social and economic outcomes of equitable processes in the creation and management of spaces. While neuroscience research is important, it has limits. It focuses on the direct effects of specific environmental elements—like light or material—on brain functions related to sensation, emotion, motivation, and knowledge. But to turn around systemic problems we are required to look beyond these familiar findings. To promote more inclusivity in design, we need to create, read and apply research on the physical, socio-emotional, and monetary outcomes of participatory and inclusive spaces and design processes. And that is something Conscious Design actively aims to do.

I deeply respect colleagues who have transformed their enthusiasm for neuroscience into careers in neuroarchitecture, although I disagree. A quick Google search reveals five times as many entries since 2020 for “equitable urbanism” as for “neuroarchitecture”. The results of an informal survey I conducted at the 2023 Intentional Spaces Summit, with 44 participants from academic, business, nonprofit and government sectors, align with this disparity. The desired outcomes most widely agreed upon (90.3%) were social, with equity and inclusivity ranking ahead of other measures like affordability and accessibility—though these are understandably interconnected. So, why have we methodologically prioritized neuroscience when the call for inclusivity is so clear?

This imbalance reflects the cultural norms we’ve inherited. We unconsciously prioritize what is objective, quantitative, and machine-driven over what is subjective, qualitative, and multicultural. We trust science more than the humanities, and within science, we elevate neuroscience above psychology. Advanced technology in neuroscience creates an illusion of certainty, even though the field remains highly interpretative. This preference reveals a systemic bias toward whiteness, precision, and control, rather than toward conversation, diversity, and lived experience. And to be clear, this isn’t about any one person—it’s about the system. Researchers and practitioners depend on the funding available to them, and that funding often favors these familiar biases.

Last decade, it was easy to believe in neuroscience because it was revolutionizing education, communication and health. But just a couple years ago, we were less aware of the toxic social structures embedded in our culture than we are now. For example, many of us overlooked the realities of mental health and neurodiversity—in ourselves and others. These blind spots are reflected in certain “neuro” designs: trendy, plant-peppered spaces that nonetheless reinforce isolation and privilege, widening social divides.

We need to embrace discomfort because what feels natural is following toxic cultural norms. If challenging these habits on the personal realm requires deliberate practice, overturning them on our communal endeavors demands supporting approaches that help heal our damaged ecological and social systems. Groups who embrace change, for example the queer community, remind us to pay attention and practice new ways of using language. In each uncomfortable choice of pronoun there is the opportunity to reflect on the restrictive culture we come from and move toward one that honors the full spectrum of gender identities, fostering inclusion for all. Why not extend this mindset to the field of research-informed design? By broadening our perspectives beyond the lab-science (un)certainties, I believe we can create more consciously.

Design

To integrate health into the world, we need a broader, more holistic focus on how processes impact communities. Think of hospitals, for example. Through a brain-body lens, we can design clinic spaces that promote better resting and working environments. But this alone does not address the toxicity embedded in the medical burnout-culture or the systemic rejection of illness, disability and poverty. What if a healing center were co-designed and stewarded by the community it hosts and serves? Could this help people feel more comfortable with the idea of seeking help? And in doing so, could it ultimately save lives and reduce costs?

The system won’t change overnight, but we must work with what we have. Even if we aren’t in a position to directly implement collective intent in design, we can learn about it. We can amplify the voices of those using architecture to create opportunities for the most disadvantaged. We can take accountability for our limitations and advocate for the changes we long to see. Not backing equity-driven approaches is also a choice; perhaps an unconscious one, until we are made aware of it.

Our understanding has evolved, and our methods must evolve with it. Merging neurosciences and design is still important. This isn’t an either-or situation. But I believe we must first pursue inclusivity in design, or we risk reproducing the same imaginaries that created unequal societies.

Conscious Design respects the value of empirical methods while expanding the focus beyond the brain to other essential areas of inquiry. It looks at social wellbeing as something that’s built through processes and through the way we create, collaborate, and engage with one another, not merely through experiences designed to target the nervous system. I want to advocate for a field that understands its influence—a field that drives meaningful cultural change by examining everything, from who sits at the table to the meaning of a single word. Join me!

1 Palti, I., & Bar, M. (2015, August 28). A manifesto for conscious cities: Should streets be sensitive to our mental needs? The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/cities/2015/aug/28/manifesto-conscious-cities-streets-sensitive-mental-needs