Often I seem to be conscious, but not aware

I go back and forth, trying to decide whether being conscious and being aware are the same thing, or different things. Sometimes I equate the two. But I recall someone (Ron E.?) expressing a different opinion in a comment on one of my posts. 

At the time I discounted that idea. But after what happened to me in my Tai Chi class yesterday -- which wasn't all that different from what has happened to me many times before -- I'm more inclined to believe that being conscious and being aware are indeed distinct mental processes.

We were doing a form that I was very familiar with, the 37 Form, or Cheng Man Ching form. Near the beginning of the form I suddenly felt that our instructor, Warren, had missed some moves. After that, the form seemed normal.

When we were done, Warren said something like he often does. I think it was "Any questions or comments?" I blurted out, "Well, we skipped high pat, followed by three kicks." Instantly several other people said, "No, we did that." So did Warren.

At first that surprised me, as I had no recollection of doing that part of the form, even though I was told that I had indeed done the moves. Then I said, "I remember trying to decide what to have for dinner, Amy's Pad Thai or Veggie Loaf. Guess that thought was more powerful than paying attention to the form."

So I was undeniably conscious, because I had done the entire form and I wasn't sleepwalking. Yet there was a gap in my awareness of doing the form. 

I think my Tai Chi experience of being conscious, yet not aware of a physical action, was unusual only in that I'd spoken of this to a group of people, who let me know that this is what happened. Otherwise, it was basically the same as when I close the door on my car, walk away, and then go back to check to see if I'd locked the door.

I do this fairly frequently. Not once, I'm pretty sure, have I ever found that I didn't lock the door. It's such a habitual action -- touching the door handle of my Subaru Crosstrek after turning the car off -- that I do it automatically, which frees my mind to be aware of other things.

Also, when I do a Tai Form on my own, as happens at the end of my exercise routine at our athletic club, it isn't unusual for me to be unsure if I'd done all the moves of my favorite lengthy Water Boxing form. Since I know that if I do the entire form, almost always I end up in just about the same position as where I started, if I finish the form and am in that position, it's a strong sign that I did all the moves.

Yet my awareness was elsewhere while I was doing part of the form. That "elsewhere" was some thought, most likely, because when I'm aware of what my body is doing, there's no gap in my awareness. Same with locking my car. 

In Susan Blackmore's book, Ten Zen Questions, her first question is "Am I conscious now?" Here Blackmore seems to be equating "conscious" with "aware." At least that's how this passage sounds to me.

Am I conscious now?

Of course I am. Yes, I am conscious now.

But something odd happened. When I asked myself the question it was as though I became conscious at that moment. Was I not conscious before? It felt as though I was waking up -- coming to consciousness when I asked the question -- because I asked the question.

What is going on? (Calm down. Take it slowly.) Am I conscious now?

I can remember what was happening just before I asked the question, so it seems that someone must have been conscious. Was someone else conscious a moment before -- as though the waking up is a change in who is conscious? 

It certainly didn't feel as though it could have been me because I just woke up, but surely it wasn't anyone else, for who else could there be in here?

Another possibility is that I wasn't really conscious before I asked the question. This is deeply troubling. For I've never asked this question before. Surely I cannot have been unconscious, or semi-conscious, all my life, can I? Perhaps there are lots of things that make me conscious apart from asking this particular question.

Even so, this is rather scary. It certainly seems as though I must spend a lot of my time unconscious, otherwise I could not have this definite sensation of coming awake when I ask "Am I conscious now?"

It's interesting how this simple question of being conscious (or aware), or being unconscious (or unaware), points to profound philosophical and neuroscientific issues. Seemingly this supports a contention that "I" does not exist as most of us think it does, given that the entity we call "me" can exist in so many different states.

In one of her final chapters Blackmore says this.

So I reject many of those common assumptions and would say instead the following:

There is nothing it is like to be me.

I am not a persisting conscious entity.

I do not consciously cause the actions of my body.

Consciousness is not a stream of experiences.

Seeing entails no vivid mental pictures or movie in the brain.

There is no unity of consciousness either in a given moment or through time.

Brain activity is neither conscious nor unconscious.

There are no contents of consciousness.

There is no now. 

I am not claiming to provide a coherent alternative, much less a new theory of consciousness, but here is my best attempt to describe what I think we should be trying to explain.

At any time in a human brain there are multiple parallel processes going on, conjuring up perceptions, thoughts, opinions, sensations, and volitions. None of these is either in or out of consciousness for there is no such place.

Most of the time there is no observer: if consciousness is involved at all it is an attribution made later, on the basis of remembering events and assuming that someone must have been experiencing them in the past, when in fact no one was.

If this doesn't make sense to you, don't worry. Remember: her book is called Ten Zen Questions. The questions are easy. It's the answers that are difficult.

Comments

[Ron E.]

Yes, it may have been me: consciousness, awareness, the self and mind are subjects I often pedantically write about. I’ve copied below one of my past comments which describes aspects of consciousness and awareness: -

Here are two interpretations of consciousness and awareness: -

‘Consciousness can be thought of as a dualistic, embodied, and embedded cognitive process, where-as awareness is a nondual and nonlocal process.’

And, ‘Consciousness and awareness are often used as synonyms, but they have different meanings. Consciousness is the state of being aware of an external object or something within oneself. Awareness is the state or ability to perceive, feel, or be conscious of events, objects, thoughts, emotions, or sensory patterns. Awareness is more fundamental than consciousness, as it can exist without consciousness, but not vice versa.’

I think we need to include the mind in all this. In Psychology Today Jacob Sage M.D. Posted January 31, 2011. “As a neurologist, I contend that consciousness is nothing more than the ability of our brain to acquire information (which is the state of being awake) AND all the content that the information contains AND the ability to get all that information into and out of memory. The key word is "ALL". If you have all that, you are conscious of the blue sky and the red sun. Nothing more is needed to be conscious of that beautiful sky. My contention is that the brain can do all that, and, therefore, a functioning brain is identical to a conscious mind.”

All living organisms demonstrate the ability to be aware – even a simple cell is aware enough to respond to other cells, to light and dark etc. – but are they conscious? Some refer to them as being ‘minimally conscious’, though awareness seems more accurate for cells. In this sense trees and flowers are aware – they are comprised of cells that interact, reproduce and generally respond to their environment.

Animals certainly have an awareness of ‘me’ and ‘not me’, otherwise they could not survive in what is generally a hostile environment. Perhaps the difference is they do not (like us) form mental con-structs around their feelings that they recognise as being a ‘me’ alone that is being affected.

So, is this it? In not forming mental constructs are we experiencing a mind that is quiet, a mind that is not overlaying what is being sensed with its ‘store’ of contents? Or, as J. Krishnamurti often pointed to – ‘choiceless awareness’. I can envisage that such choiceless awareness can be the same as pure consciousness where in such moments there is just natural awareness, awareness that is untainted by the contents of consciousness.

Just for good measure, I’ll throw this in again from Sri Nisargadatta: -
“Awareness is primordial; it is the original state, beginning-less, endless, uncaused, unsupported, without parts, without change. Consciousness is on contact, a reflection against a surface, a state of duality. There can be no consciousness without awareness, but there can be awareness without consciousness, as in deep sleep. Awareness is absolute, consciousness is relative to its content; consciousness is always of something”.

[Spence Tepper]

The effort to understand intellectually awareness vs consciousness depends upon at what level and perspective one is viewing the question. From a clinical perspective human beings move through various levels of wakefulness and awareness all the time. The human brain functions in parallel all the time completing myriad functions mostly without the owner's awareness.

In spiritual practice one raises, by focused attention, their awareness of what they choose to contemplate. And so they raise their consciousness, which is both awareness and understanding combined. The human brain cannot possibly understand the oneness of all things. It wasn't designed for that.

But the spiritual practitioner experiences this quite often, without any conceptual intermediary. And in so doing this affects what they see and understand using that tiny brain.

You could say that consciousness and awareness exist outside of the brain, or that the brain is a filter, and thus a prison house of consciousness. Or you could just say these are different parts of the brain.

But in all cases, spiritual practice, meditation practice, helps integrate our experiences, provides a larger context into which all experience has its place.

And it does this with an attendant experience of joy, acceptance (Every moment is in balance, as it must be), and compassion. Because becoming more aware, understanding how all things are connected, one also realized the suffering of others, and our place in helping.

[Appreciative Reader]

Enjoyed this discussion about awareness and consciousness. Particularly your comment, Ron. Very insightful.

I'd caution you, though, that Nisargadatta is talking about something very different here, in my view, than your perfectly sensible comments here. Sure, awareness is primordial, in the sense that an amoeba is aware of itself and its environment. But when Nisargadatta talks about primordial awareness, he is --- in my view, and as I understand it --- essentially treading woo, and talking about something very different than you were here, even though superficially the words might look like they convey similar meanings.

(I'm no expert on N. Happy to correct my view if it turns out that the commonsense everyday mundane sense of the word 'awareness' is all he was alluding to.)

[Ron E.]

A.R. yes, good point re ‘woo’. I read ‘I Am That’ many years ago and although finding it repetitive came away with the idea that he talks about awareness from the point of view of being here now. But words can have various meanings so who can be sure? He does say: - “Awareness becomes consciousness when it has an object. The object changes all the time. In consciousness there is movement; awareness by itself is motionless and timeless, here and now.”

My thinking moves along the basis that all we can ever really know and be sure of is the present moment – all else is conditioned thought, conjecture, ideas, opinions, personal knowledge etc. Just plain old present awareness can seem to be a bit removed, even a little scary in that the safety net of a mind filled with apparent security appears threatened.

Stephen Batchelor succinctly referred to this: - "The penetration of this mystery requires that one not foreclose it by substituting an answer, be it a metaphysical proposition or a religious belief. One has to learn how to suspend the habit of reaching for a word or phrase with which to fill the emptiness opened by the question.

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