Consciousness

Consciousness. We all have it, and we know it is important. We are able to direct our attention, to choose courses of action, to notice differences in our environment. We are aware of ourselves as selves—perceiving creatures with distinctive characteristics and motivations. But in Western culture, consciousness has been de-emphasized because of its “subjectivity.” Since the early 20^th century, the questions of consciousness—where does it come from? How can we use it well? What does it mean to “expand” it?—have been largely avoided. Sigmund Freud broke the mind into three entities: the id, the ego, and the superego. In his model, consciousness was an ephemeral capability that was somehow involved in the battle to maintain a balanced ego in the face of the “darker” urges of the id and the cultural rules of the superego. Much of the battle was waged beneath the surface, and psychotherapy was used to make the history of the battle available for conscious deliberation and perhaps more “control.” Stream of consciousness writing explored the fragmentary and embryonic nature of our conscious minds—jumping from one idea to another, from one experience to another, making surprising connections from time to time, tempted to drift endlessly and without purpose. But for many years the questions of consciousness—which are central to the human condition—were avoided. It was seen as a personal thing that could not be readily measured except by our behaviors (B.F. Skinner’s Behaviorism eliminated it entirely in favor of studying visible behavior patterns without regard for consciousness at all). Consciousness was a preoccupation for poets and novelists and dramatists, but it was largely ignored by scientists.

Now, in the early 21^st century, a group of brave scientific thinkers have begun to explore the origins and characteristics of this vital aspect of human mindfulness. Some continue to treat consciousness as an ephemeral and unimportant part of the working of our minds. Daniel Dennett Marvin Minsky, and others explain the mind in terms of vast numbers of competing unconscious processes that are occasionally observed by, but not directed by, consciousness. But several are making the case that consciousness, though limited in many ways, is still central to the working of our minds. Antonio Damasio, for instance, has theorized that our sense of self emerges from the difference between two feedback loops in our nervous system: the body loop, which maps the state of the body at all times, and the “as if” loop, which notices possible differences in our body and the environment, and posits outcomes of those differences. Merlin Donald reminds us of the very limited scope of conscious awareness—only 15 seconds or so—but insists that consciousness is the center of brain organization, the pattern-builder that relies on memory, sensory input, and cultural records to extend the reach of the mind vastly.

Gregory Bateson does not grapple with consciousness itself, but provides a helpful framework for understanding its “job” in Mind and Nature. Consciousness is the stage on which knowledge is explored and extended. Difference is the engine that drives our perception, and consciousness is the pattern-finder and storer of significant differences. Writing enables consciousness to extend the moment of consideration vastly.

I believe that the mind organizes experience using stories—dramatic “moments” and overarching tales of meaning–and metaphors–connections between different domains of experience. Thus narrative and poetry are central to the way we think and make meaning in the world.