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How the Brain Fuses the Senses

How the Brain Fuses the Senses: A Classic Paper That Changed How We Think About Perception

Imagine walking down the street when you hear a dog bark and, at the same time, see something moving toward you. You don’t process the sound and the sight separately. Instead, your brain fuses them into a single, urgent message: something is coming — pay attention.

That ability to combine information from different senses is so seamless that we rarely notice it. But understanding how the brain does this turns out to be one of the most important questions in neuroscience.

In 2008, neuroscientists Barry Stein and Terrence Stanford published what is now considered a foundational paper on multisensory integration — the process by which the brain combines signals from sight, sound, touch, and other senses into unified, meaningful experiences. Rather than focusing on perception in the abstract, this paper zoomed in on something surprisingly concrete: what individual neurons actually do when they receive information from more than one sense.

What they uncovered reshaped how scientists think about perception, attention, development, and even disorders of sensory processing.

Let’s unpack the ideas — using the real scientific terms, but in plain language.

What is multisensory integration, really?

Multisensory integration (MSI) refers to the brain’s ability to combine information from different sensory modalities — like vision and hearing — in a way that improves detection, speed, or accuracy.

Crucially, this is not just about having multiple senses active at the same time.

From a neuroscience perspective, multisensory integration means this:

A neuron responds differently to a combined stimulus (for example, sight + sound) than it does to the strongest single stimulus alone.

That difference is what makes MSI interesting. It shows the brain is doing nonlinear computation, not just adding things up.

Meet the multisensory neuron

A multisensory neuron is a neuron that responds to — or is influenced by — more than one sensory modality.

For example:

  • A neuron might fire when it sees something,

  • fire when it hears something,

  • and fire even more strongly when it both sees and hears the event.

This “extra” response is not automatic. It follows rules.

Enhancement, depression, and why “more” isn’t always more

 When multiple senses are combined, a neuron’s response can change in two main ways:

  • Multisensory enhancement:
    The neuron responds more strongly to the combined stimulus than to the strongest single-sense stimulus.

  • Multisensory depression:
    The combined response is actually weaker than the strongest single-sense response.

Both are forms of multisensory integration.

Why would the brain ever suppress information when more senses are involved? Because integration isn’t about piling on signals — it’s about deciding what matters.


Superadditive, additive, and subadditive: three ways neurons combine senses

One of the most important contributions of this paper is the idea that multisensory integration comes in three computational flavors:

  1. Superadditive
    The combined response is greater than the sum of the individual responses.
    This is the biggest “boost” and happens when signals are weak.

  2. Additive
    The combined response is roughly equal to the sum.

  3. Subadditive
    The combined response is less than the sum — sometimes barely more than one signal alone.

This leads to a key principle called inverse effectiveness.

Inverse effectiveness: why weak signals benefit the most

Inverse effectiveness means this:

The weaker the individual sensory signals, the bigger the relative benefit of combining them.

If a sound is loud and a visual signal is clear, your brain doesn’t gain much by merging them — each is already informative. But if both signals are faint or ambiguous, combining them can dramatically improve detection.

This principle explains why multisensory integration is especially important in:

  • low visibility,

  • noisy environments,

  • early development,

  • and many clinical conditions.

Why location matters: the spatial rule

The brain assumes that signals belong together only if they come from the same place.

In the paper, Stein and Stanford show that multisensory neurons follow a strict spatial principle:

  • Visual and auditory receptive fields (the regions of space a neuron responds to) must overlap

  • If a sound comes from one location and a visual signal from another, integration weakens or reverses

This makes sense from an evolutionary perspective: if cues don’t align in space, they might represent different events.

Timing matters too: the temporal rule

Even signals from the same place won’t be integrated if they are too far apart in time.

The brain uses a temporal binding window — a period during which signals can be linked despite different sensory delays (for example, sound travels slower than light).

Integration is strongest when neural responses overlap in time, not just when stimuli occur simultaneously.

The superior colliculus: a multisensory hub for action

Much of the paper focuses on a midbrain structure called the superior colliculus (SC).

The SC is involved in:

  • orienting the eyes and head,

  • shifting attention,

  • rapidly responding to important events.

It turns out the SC is packed with multisensory neurons — making it a perfect place to study how integration works at the single-neuron level.

Importantly, multisensory integration in the SC directly improves behavior: faster responses, better localization, quicker reactions.

Cortex is essential — even for midbrain integration

One of the paper’s most striking findings is that multisensory integration in the superior colliculus depends on the cortex.

When researchers temporarily deactivate certain association cortical areas:

  • SC neurons still respond to multiple senses,

  • but they lose multisensory enhancement,

  • and the behavioral benefits disappear.

This shows that multisensory integration is not a simple reflex — it’s a distributed circuit process involving dialogue between cortex and midbrain.

Multisensory integration is learned, not innate

Perhaps most surprisingly, the ability to integrate senses is not present at birth.

In animal studies:

  • newborn neurons respond to multiple senses,

  • but they cannot integrate them effectively,

  • integration develops only with experience.

When animals are raised without normal cross-sensory experience (for example, in darkness), multisensory integration fails to develop — or develops incorrectly.

This makes multisensory integration a powerful example of experience-dependent brain plasticity.

Cortex does things differently

In higher cortical areas, multisensory integration becomes more complex.

Instead of focusing only on where and when, cortical regions care about:

  • meaning,

  • context,

  • semantic congruence.

For example, brain areas involved in communication respond more strongly when facial movements match vocal sounds — and may suppress responses when they don’t.

This shows that multisensory integration is not a single process, but a family of processes shaped by the goals of each brain region.

Is there really such a thing as “unisensory” cortex?

The paper ends by raising a provocative question: if even early sensory areas receive input from other senses, should we still call them “visual cortex” or “auditory cortex”?

The authors take a cautious stance:

  • Traditional sensory labels still matter,

  • but multisensory influences are more widespread than once thought.

Rather than abolishing the idea of unisensory cortex, they suggest recognizing transitional and integrative zones.

Why this paper still matters

Even 2 decades later, this paper remains foundational because it showed that multisensory integration:

  • is nonlinear,

  • follows clear rules,

  • depends on development and experience,

  • emerges from distributed neural circuits,

  • and directly shapes perception and behavior.

It laid the groundwork for modern research on:

  • attention,

  • peripersonal space,

  • predictive processing,

  • sensory differences in autism and ADHD,

  • and how the brain constructs a coherent world from noisy inputs.

In short, it taught us that perception is not about passive reception — it’s about active synthesis.

Stein, B. E., & Stanford, T. R. (2008). Multisensory integration: current issues from the perspective of the single neuron. Nature reviews. Neuroscience9(4), 255–266. https://doi.org/10.1038/nrn2331 



A paradox many neurodiverse people face — being told to show emotion, only to be judged when we do.

Read Full Article at


 

My TedX talk

  My Ted X talk titled "Pebbles in the Pond of Change

Hari Srinivasan, shares a powerful message about the power of small actions in creating ever-widening ripples in the pond of change. Drawing from personal experiences and the legacy of disability rights leaders, he redefines progress as a journey that starts with simple, accessible steps. His inspiring message encourages everyone to identify and act on their own "small pebbles" to drive societal transformation.

2025, Quietly

 2025 Quietly

On neuroscience, disability, staying with the mess, and the work that continues anyway.


I don’t always write year-in-review posts; my last one was the year I graduated from UC Berkeley; a giddy experience. But this one felt worth writing down—not as a highlight reel, but as a record of how a year actually unfolded.


2025 unfolded quietly—with a calendar that filled up faster than I expected and a body that occasionally reminded me (loudly) that plans are always provisional. Coming off a stressful 2024 dominated by qualifying exams, the year felt different—more open. Looking back, 2025 was a year of steady academic progress, the kind where progress doesn’t always feel dramatic in the moment, but adds up when you stop and actually take stock.


I love knowledge. The neuroscientist part of me is always looking for patterns, mechanisms, explanations—how systems adapt, where things break. That instinct hasn’t gone anywhere. But disability doesn’t work like a clean equation. And life doesn’t reduce to mechanisms.


There were health bumps this year. The kind that don’t ask permission. They slowed me down, forced adjustments, and reminded me—again—that there’s no clean story here. 

Disability is messy—messy, messy. Many days are just downright hard.


Academically, 2025 was one of my strongest grounding years yet. Not in a flashy way—but in the steady, settled sense that the work is maturing, finding its voice, and reaching the people it’s meant to reach.


Publishing entered the year quietly, through drafts, revisions, and the unfamiliar process of seeing early work move toward completion.


Journal publications (3 first-author, 2 co-author):

Several other manuscripts are still winding their way through peer review—living in that space  of waiting and cautious optimism.


Alongside writing, I spent time on the other side of the process too: completing peer reviews, joining the editorial team of Autism in Adulthood, and serving as incoming Student Editor for Vanderbilt Reviews Neuroscience. Reviewing isn’t glamorous, but it’s where the research fields quietly decide what counts—a responsibility that should not be taken lightly.


On the research front, something important happened: I completed an initial pilot study for my own work. Careful steps, but real data. So not only did my research task do what its supposed to do and measure; it turned out that my task was a novel measure of multisensory science. And its simple and intuitive design meant it is accessible to a wider range of autistic participants. I also had my first dissertation committee meeting, which helped guide the direction of the research moving forward. Along the way, I presented my research at multiple conferences, received two research poster awards, and was invited to the Sigma Xi scientific honor society.


In July, I traveled to the UK with my research lab for the IMRF conference in Durham—a meeting devoted entirely to multisensory science. It was the kind of conference where no one needs convincing that perception is embodied, contextual, and relational. Everyone spoke the same sensory language and that made the science feel both rigorous and expansive.


Getting there was part of the experience. The long train ride from the rather chaotic King’s Cross station up to Durham gave the trip a sense of gradual arrival—watching the landscape shift before the intensity of the conference began. The train journey spilled into a small moment of levity—a poem I wrote, “We all live in a multisensory world,” was loosely set to Yellow Submarine and echoing a phrase my research mentor often repeats. Evenings found their own rhythm: dinners with lab mates (including a Turkish one), narrow alleyways, and dancing at Durham Castle, which still serves as a student dorm at Durham University. Imagine getting to live in a castle.


Durham cathedral itself is hard to stand in without thinking of Harry Potter—so steeped in that imagery that you half expect a spell to echo through the nave. I also saw the Magna Carta—all surviving versions in one place. Impressive, yes, but what also came to mind was a long-running version-control problem. When the guide pointed out how rosaries in portraits were painted over or restored depending on the era, it felt like a visual changelog of belief systems being edited to fit the moment.


After the conference, I spent a couple of quieter days in Kent with the lively Aunty Bessie, who is Tongan, enjoying her stories and updates from Tonga. I needed that shift in pace.


One of the unexpected highlights of the year was serving on the Scientific Advisory Committee for the Autism Europe Congress in Ireland in September. It was an honor—but also a reminder of how powerful it is to be in rooms where disability-centered research is treated as foundational, not peripheral. And get to witness how autism is being unfolded in Europe. I’m not the most “social” person in face-face interactions,  but it was  meaningful to meet folks who had been just email voices before.


Outside the conference halls, Ireland itself left an imprint. The grass really does have a special shade of green—and the rainbows don’t arc politely across the sky; they stretch a full 180 degrees, as if insisting on being seen. You half expect a leprechaun to appear at the edge of the light, digging for gold where the rainbow meets the meadow. I also saw the rugged coasts of Northern Ireland, including basalt rock formations believed to be bridges built by giants, and heard tales of Irish and Welsh giants from a tour bus driver who delivered them with complete sincerity, along with the rendering of an Irish ballad “Cockles and Mussels”, of a fishmonger calling out her wares.


Dare I say it: that was my best conference yet. And for once, I wasn’t stressed at all for an entire trip.


2025 continued as a media year. Two pieces in particular traveled further than I expected:

  • The Physics of Autistic Inertia
  • Do You Grow Out of Autism?

One of the most meaningful milestones was co-writing a book foreword with Dr. Temple Grandin: Unique Journeys, Common Ground in the Autism for Dummies Book. That collaboration mattered to me not just intellectually, but personally. I've grown up hearing her name.


Invited presentations:

  • NSF ERVA: Engineering Visioning the Future for Neurodivergence (Vanderbilt)
  • UC Berkeley Neurodiversity Symposium (Keynote)
  • Teaching two classes on autism research at the Stanford SNP-REACH Summer Program
  • Autism Tree Global Neurodiversity Conference (UCTV)
  • Chennai & Bangalore autism community events (India)

In November, I traveled to India to see grandma. India trips are always layered. In recent years, several visits have coincided with the loss of grandparents—I’d lost two in close succession—and that changes how you experience time, family, and return. This visit carried that weight too, alongside moments of connection, memory, and grounding.


And then December arrived. Quietly. Without fanfare.


I was named an awardee of the SfN Neuroscience Scholars Program.


What stayed with me wasn’t the recognition itself, but what it symbolized. Coming on the heels of last year’s NSF GRFP, along with other awards and the Sigma Xi invitation earlier this year, it felt less like a single moment and more like a steady throughline: that disability-centered neuroscience belongs inside the field, shaping how it moves forward.


If there’s a theme to the year, it’s this: momentum doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it arrives quietly, carrying both grief and growth, and asks you to keep going—with care.


None of this happened in isolation. Whatever worked this year did so because of an ecosystem around me—my superstar research mentors Mark Wallace and Carissa Cascio, my teammates in the Wallace Lab, Keivan Stassun and Tim Vogus at the Frist Center for Autism and Innovation. Their patience, flexibility, and steady support made it possible for me to keep working through challenges that aren’t always visible, and to do work that would not have been possible on my own.


I’m an “awe-tistic neuroscientist” and a writer who loves ideas—but I don’t want ideas to float above people. I’m still learning how to turn knowledge into care, and how to stay curious without losing humility. I’m a thinker with a very deep inner world; I experience the outside sensory world intensely—and I’m still figuring out how to bridge the two. Disability is messy, and solutions often feel far away. The work continues not because it’s clear, but because it’s necessary.


2025, quietly. 2026, still unfolding.


With Neurodiversity-Lite, the company derives the added bonus of being seen as having fulfilled its corporate social responsibility of hiring disabled employees while not really making a dent in addressing the employment gaps faced by the majority of the autistic community.

 

 "There’s a danger in imposing neurotypical standards of happiness that may feel inauthentic to autistics." - Hari Srinivasan

Read on... https://www.liebertpub.com/doi/10.1089/aut.2024.38246.pw

  I got to co-write the Foreword for this book with Dr Temple Grandin.







My TedX Talk

  My Ted X talk titled "Pebbles in the Pond of Change

Hari Srinivasan, shares a powerful message about the power of small actions in creating ever-widening ripples in the pond of change. Drawing from personal experiences and the legacy of disability rights leaders, he redefines progress as a journey that starts with simple, accessible steps. His inspiring message encourages everyone to identify and act on their own "small pebbles" to drive societal transformation.

Unlike self-executing laws, such as traffic regulations, the Americans with Disabilities Act does not automatically ensure accommodations are provided.

 

 "We need to redefine the table itself so that everybody can be represented. It’s not just about sitting at the table; it’s about ensuring that the table reflects the full diversity of the autism community and that our voices are truly heard and valued." - Hari Srinivasan

Read on... https://www.liebertpub.com/doi/10.1089/aut.2024.38246.pw