Biphasic Sleep: Why I Believe the Midnight Awakening May Be Part of Human Design
The Forgotten Hours
One of the most fascinating concepts I have encountered in my study of longevity, ancestral health, and human performance is the possibility that what we consider "normal" sleep today may not actually reflect the way human beings evolved to sleep. Modern society has conditioned us to believe that healthy sleep means climbing into bed, sleeping uninterrupted for eight straight hours, and waking only when the alarm goes off. If we awaken at two o'clock in the morning, we immediately assume something is wrong. We label it insomnia, become frustrated, check the clock, reach for our phones, and often create anxiety around an experience that may have been a normal part of human life for thousands of years.
The more I have explored this subject, the more I have become convinced that many people are not suffering from a sleep disorder at all. Instead, they may be experiencing a biological rhythm that modern life has largely forgotten. Throughout much of human history, people commonly slept in two phases. They would retire shortly after sunset, sleep for several hours, awaken naturally during the middle of the night, remain awake for a period of reflection, prayer, conversation, reading, or intimacy, and then return to bed for a second sleep until dawn. This pattern was so common that there were actual names for it: first sleep and second sleep.
What fascinates me is that this period of wakefulness was not viewed as a problem. In many cultures, it was viewed as one of the most valuable parts of the day.
What History Tells Us
Historian A. Roger Ekirch spent decades examining diaries, literature, court records, medical texts, and personal journals from centuries past. His findings revealed hundreds of references to segmented sleep throughout Europe and beyond. References to "first sleep" and "second sleep" were so commonplace that they required no explanation. Everyone understood what they meant.
People often went to bed shortly after darkness fell, slept for approximately four hours, awakened naturally, and then spent one to three hours engaged in activities that today might seem unusual for the middle of the night. Some prayed. Some read. Some reflected quietly. Others visited with family members or spent time with their spouses. Afterward, they returned to bed and completed their second sleep before dawn.
This should make us pause and ask an important question. If waking during the middle of the night was once considered normal, why do we now assume it is abnormal?
The answer likely lies in the dramatic social changes brought about by industrialization. Artificial lighting extended our days. Factory schedules demanded rigid routines. Clocks replaced the sun as the primary organizer of human life. Over time, society adapted to a consolidated sleep schedule, but our biology may not have fully adapted with it.
What the Science Says About Biphasic Sleep
One of the reasons I find this topic so compelling is that modern sleep research appears to support what historians have uncovered. In the early 1990s, sleep researcher Thomas Wehr conducted experiments designed to mimic the lighting conditions that humans would have experienced before electricity. Participants were exposed to prolonged periods of darkness for several weeks. What happened next was remarkable.
Many subjects spontaneously adopted a segmented sleep pattern. Rather than sleeping continuously for eight hours, they typically slept for about four hours, awakened naturally for one to three hours, and then returned to sleep for another four hours. Even more interesting was how they described the experience. Rather than feeling anxious or distressed, many participants reported feeling peaceful, reflective, calm, and deeply relaxed during the waking period.
Researchers also observed elevated levels of prolactin during these nighttime awakenings. Prolactin is often associated with feelings of calmness and contentment, creating what some researchers described as a state resembling meditation. In many ways, these individuals were experiencing something very similar to what our ancestors may have routinely experienced for centuries.
The Creative Brain Between Sleep and Wakefulness
The neuroscience behind this phenomenon is equally fascinating. When we awaken naturally during the night, the brain often remains partially immersed in theta-wave activity. Theta waves occupy a unique neurological territory between wakefulness and sleep and are associated with creativity, intuition, imagination, memory integration, dream processing, and insight.
This is the same brainwave state that many meditation traditions attempt to cultivate intentionally. It is a state in which the analytical mind quiets and the subconscious mind becomes more accessible. Many individuals report that some of their most profound insights, solutions to difficult problems, and creative breakthroughs arise during these hours.
As a longevity physician, I find this particularly interesting because modern life rarely provides opportunities to access this state naturally. We spend most of our waking hours reacting to emails, meetings, notifications, deadlines, and endless streams of information. The midnight awakening may represent one of the few times when the brain can operate without those distractions and engage in deeper forms of processing.
Mozart and the "God Hours"
Perhaps this is one reason I have always been fascinated by Mozart, who remains my favorite composer. Beyond the beauty and technical brilliance of his music, I have always been intrigued by the extraordinary creativity that seemed to flow through him. Whether composing, improvising, or simply imagining new works, Mozart appeared to access levels of creativity that continue to astonish us centuries later.
Many creative individuals throughout history have spoken about the unique quality of the late-night and pre-dawn hours. Some have referred to these periods as the "God Hours," not because they belong to any particular religion, but because they seem uniquely suited for receiving inspiration rather than forcing it. There is something profoundly different about being awake when the world is asleep. The noise disappears. The demands of the day fade away. The mind becomes quiet enough to hear thoughts that might otherwise be drowned out by the chaos of modern life.
I often wonder whether many of history's greatest works of art, music, literature, and invention were born during these forgotten hours when the brain was operating in a state somewhere between dreaming and waking.
Rumi and the Sacred Hours Before Dawn
Long before neuroscience existed, poets and mystics understood the significance of these nighttime hours. One of my favorite observations comes from the great Persian mystic and poet Rumi, who wrote:
"The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don't go back to sleep."
I have always loved that line because it captures something many people have experienced but struggle to describe. There is a quality to the hours before dawn that feels fundamentally different from the rest of the day. The world becomes quiet. The mind becomes quiet. The ego becomes quieter. Whether one approaches those moments through prayer, meditation, contemplation, journaling, or simple reflection, there is often a sense that wisdom is more accessible than it is during the noise and activity of daylight.
This belief was not unique to Rumi. Christian monks rose during the night for prayer. Jewish traditions included midnight vigils. Islamic traditions continue to honor Tahajjud prayers performed during the deepest hours of the night. Across cultures, across centuries, and across religions, human beings repeatedly recognized that these hours possess a unique spiritual and psychological significance.
Industrialization and the Rise of the Eight-Hour Sleep Ideal
Although many people assume that sleeping eight uninterrupted hours has always been considered normal, the historical record suggests otherwise. The widespread expectation of consolidated sleep emerged alongside industrialization, artificial lighting, and the demands of factory-based work. As societies shifted from agricultural rhythms governed by sunlight to schedules dictated by clocks and production quotas, sleep gradually became compressed into a single block that fit the needs of the industrial economy.
I want to be careful here because there is a great deal of misinformation surrounding this topic. There is no credible evidence that mattress companies invented the concept of eight hours of sleep or that the science supporting sleep was fabricated. However, it is fair to say that modern society strongly favored a sleep pattern that maximized consistency, predictability, and work productivity. Over time, the expectation of uninterrupted sleep became so deeply ingrained that many people came to view any nighttime awakening as a medical problem.
The reality is likely more nuanced. Some individuals thrive with eight continuous hours of sleep. Others may naturally drift toward a more segmented pattern. Human biology is often far more flexible than modern culture allows.
A Longevity Perspective
From a longevity perspective, context is everything. Not every nighttime awakening is healthy. Sleep apnea, excessive alcohol consumption, blood sugar instability, chronic stress, cortisol dysregulation, hormonal imbalances, chronic pain, and numerous medical conditions can fragment sleep and impair recovery. Those issues deserve proper evaluation and treatment.
However, if an otherwise healthy person occasionally awakens during the night, spends some time reading, praying, journaling, meditating, or reflecting, and then naturally returns to sleep, I do not automatically view that as pathology. In many cases, it may simply represent an ancient biological rhythm expressing itself through modern physiology.
Health is not determined by rigid rules. It is determined by function. If a person awakens refreshed, maintains energy throughout the day, thinks clearly, and enjoys good overall health, then an occasional biphasic sleep pattern may simply be another variation of normal human biology.
My Perspective
As I've grown older, studied longevity more deeply, and spent decades caring for patients, I have become increasingly convinced that health is not simply about forcing ourselves into rigid rules. Much of what we call health is really about learning to listen. Listening to our bodies, listening to our intuition, listening to the people we love, and ultimately listening to God.
For me personally, these early morning hours have become some of the most productive and meaningful hours of my day. If I wake up at two or three in the morning and there is something weighing on my mind, an idea that won't leave me alone, a problem that needs solving, or a vision for one of our companies, I don't immediately fight it. I don't panic because I am awake. Instead, I have learned to honor it. I often get out of bed, sit quietly, and begin writing. Some of my best ideas for The Hormone Zone, RegeneZone, The Longevity Protocol, patient care systems, future projects, podcasts, and even books have emerged during these quiet hours when the world is asleep.
There is a clarity that often appears during this time that is difficult to access during the middle of a busy workday. I find myself creating lists, outlining goals, organizing priorities, and thinking about the future with a level of focus that is rarely available when phones are ringing, emails are arriving, and life is moving at full speed. Many times, what seemed complicated the evening before becomes surprisingly clear in the stillness of the early morning.
Just as importantly, these hours have become a time of reflection and prayer. There are moments when I simply lie quietly beside my wife, hold her close, and think. I pray. I reflect on the blessings in my life, the challenges in front of me, the patients who need my help, my children, my grandson, my family, and the responsibilities that God has entrusted to me. Sometimes I ask for guidance. Sometimes I ask for wisdom. Sometimes I simply sit in gratitude.
One phrase that has become increasingly important to me over the years is, "Let go and let God." During the daylight hours, it is easy to believe that everything depends on our effort, our planning, and our ability to control outcomes. The quiet hours of the night remind me that there is a difference between responsibility and control. I can do my best, prepare diligently, serve others faithfully, and pursue excellence, but ultimately there are things that belong in God's hands, not mine.
Perhaps that is one reason I have come to appreciate these awakenings rather than fear them. They provide a rare opportunity to step away from the noise of the world and reconnect with what truly matters. Whether it is creativity, prayer, reflection, gratitude, planning, or simply sitting quietly with my thoughts, I have found tremendous value in these forgotten hours. In many ways, they have become a gift rather than an interruption.
I am not suggesting that everyone should intentionally wake up in the middle of the night. Nor am I suggesting that every nighttime awakening is healthy. But I do believe that if you occasionally find yourself awake during these sacred hours, it may be worth considering that your body is not necessarily malfunctioning. It may simply be inviting you into a space that our ancestors, poets, mystics, and great thinkers understood well—a space where creativity, reflection, wisdom, and faith can flourish.
Final Thoughts
The longer I practice medicine, the more convinced I become that many aspects of health are not about forcing the body into artificial patterns but about understanding the wisdom built into human biology. We evolved under the cycles of sunrise and sunset, not under LED lights and smartphone screens. We evolved in rhythm with nature, not with email notifications and twenty-four-hour productivity.
Perhaps the midnight awakening is not something to fear. Perhaps it is an invitation. An invitation to pray. An invitation to think. An invitation to create. An invitation to reconnect with ourselves and with God. In a world filled with constant noise and distraction, these forgotten hours may be among the last opportunities we have to experience true stillness.
The poets understood it. The mystics understood it. The great composers may have understood it. And perhaps, if we stop fighting it long enough, we may rediscover that these forgotten hours were never a problem at all. They were a gift.
