The Nature of Consciousness

I believe that consciousness exists, and that it is singular, indivisible and shared by all of us. Our minds and bodies are not the source of awareness, but rather instruments through which consciousness experiences form and time. Each of us lives a unique path, shaped by our minds and bodies. But the awareness of these experiences arises from one shared field of consciousness. I believe that this field is primary to the physical, tangible aspects of reality that are more readily measured and recognized. Annaka Harris, in her philosophical masterwork, Conscious, posits a similar conclusion, by process of elimination. Federico Faggin, in his equally excellent Irreducible, does the same.

Coherence

There is a parable from India known as “The Blind Men and the Elephant.” In it, a group of blind men encircle an elephant, each touching a different part. One feels the trunk and insists it’s a snake. Another touches a leg and claims it’s a tree. A third grabs the tail and concludes it’s a rope. Each man is convinced he understands the whole, based on his limited contact. But the parable reminds us that no single, inherently imperfect, perspective captures the full reality—and that only by combining partial views can the truth emerge. If we find an idea that is consistently touched on from different angles, thousands of miles and years apart, it may be worth tracing what that coherence reveals.

That’s what I aim to do in the sections (and chapters) that follow: to gather diverse perspectives—spiritual, scientific, and logical—around the question of consciousness. Nothing will be proven, but the coherence among these varying sources is reassuring. It suggests that we might be converging on something real, or at least useful.

Spiritual and Philosophical Traditions

I am not proposing something radical. In fact, I think it is one of the more universal concepts across both spiritual (religious) and philosophical traditions and, increasingly, scientific pursuits. Before I back that statement up, I should clarify that I believe that the notion of “God,” or really any deity, is a well-intended mental model our ancestors developed for what is inherently an almost impossible concept to fully understand. The idea that there’s just one consciousness, which we share and which is infinite, is hard for our four-dimensional brains and minds to grasp. And indeed, the conception of a God might end up being correct. I am indifferent. I am merely stating that the notions of universal consciousness and God are probably one and the same.

Starting with the Judeo-Christian lineage, it is a clear theme in the Hebrew and Christian bibles that God and mankind are one, and that mankind are therefore also one. Genesis 1:26 says: “Then God said, ‘Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness...’” But the words for “image” and “likeness” are much richer in meaning than the translation suggests. Perhaps the clearest explanation I’ve seen for the meaning of “image” in this verse comes from Claus Westermann: “The designation of man as the image of God must be understood in light of the ancient Near Eastern concept where the king is the image of a god. Genesis universalizes this royal dignity.”⁸ A good explanation for “likeness,” and also for the seeming redundancy comes from Nahum Sarna: “The use of both terms—‘image’ and ‘likeness’—may reflect a Hebrew tendency toward intensification through synonymity, but also allows room for nuance. ‘Likeness’ points to abstract, moral or spiritual aspects.”⁹ So, taken together, God creates man as His representative, and endows man with a spiritual similarity to Himself.

Genesis 2:7 provides further food for thought. “then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being.” It is noteworthy that God also created lots of other animals, but none get this “breath of life;” yet, clearly, they are alive. So, what’s special about the breath of life? Quoting Sarna again: “The ‘breath of life’ (nishmat chayim) is the animating force bestowed by God, distinguishing humans from other creatures by endowing them with intellect and moral capacity.”¹⁰ The specialness of humankind is something to which we will return later in the book, but it bears noting that this breath of life remains inside of man, it does not return to God. That breath of God remained in Adam, and as his descendants were born, it was in them as well. We see here, perhaps, a poetic attempt to conceptualize how humans became individual nodes of a universal consciousness (or, God).

Taken together, these passages give us a comprehensive Judaic conception of mankind: given by its Creator an animating force that includes intellect and moral capacity; like God in a spiritual way; and here on Earth as God’s representatives, each and every one of us. It is a powerful metaphor that points to us all being connected to this universal consciousness.

This theme recurs in a great many traditions. We won’t belabor them here, but simply provide a quick survey of some examples:

• In Hinduism, there is a parallel for this “breath of life,” (prana, which is the vital life force, or animating energy in us) and also the more central premise that our innermost selves are part of a universal reality (Atman is Brahman).
• The stoic philosopher Epictetus was clear: “You are a distinct portion of the essence of God; and you contain a certain part of Him in yourself.”¹¹
• Several African, and indigenous North- and South-American traditions go a step further, describing a universal presence or force that permeates all things, animate and inanimate both (Àṣẹ in the Yoruba religion of west Africa, Wakan Tanka in the Laktota Sioux tradition, and Newen in the Mapuche tradition all echo this concept).
• The Chinese belief in Qi reflects this as well, but only among all living things.
• Many European Pagan traditions mirror well the Jewish one, exemplified in the Norse myth of creation: Odin breathes “önd” into the first humans, giving them life and awareness, and imparting a divinity into our being.

I learned of the stoic philosophical tradition from my friend Michael Russo, who was raised Catholic, but who also introduced me to transcendental meditation, and who is a staunch believer in reincarnation (I am not). He and I have had many philosophical conversations on these and related topics, and it is clear to us that the overlaps are abundant and significant.

It is ultimately not essential to find parallels across traditions, but they do exist in abundance—and it seems useful to note them. Outside the Abrahamic religions, the idea of a universal consciousness present in all things is often taken for granted. But even within Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, if we resist the urge to anthropomorphize God too literally, we may find that this idea is less foreign to these traditions than it first appears. Perhaps the notion of God was always an attempt to wrangle a concept that exceeds the limits of human cognition—and in that light, shared consciousness and the divine may not be so different after all.