I have realized that there is an interesting tension in the
way I think about consciousness. On the one hand, I am a student of
consciousness who is fascinated by attempts to understand it scientifically. I
am intrigued by ideas involving information as fundamental, consciousness
existing beyond spacetime, and the possibility that what we call physical
reality emerges from something deeper than matter. I want to know whether
consciousness can somehow be described mathematically, informationally, or scientifically.
But there is another side of this that fascinates me just as
much. Consciousness has a richness that seems difficult to contain within
scientific terminology alone. Human beings across cultures and throughout
history have reported experiences that we normally place under the enormous
umbrella of spirituality: animism, mystical experiences, ancestor spirits,
angels and demons, ghosts, near-death experiences, past-life memories,
synchronicities, visions, altered states of consciousness, and the idea of something
like the Akashic Records—a deeper repository of information or memory woven
into reality itself.
I find myself standing between these two worlds.
I don't want to abandon science for spirituality, but
neither do I want to explain spirituality away simply because our present
scientific models have difficulty accommodating it. If consciousness really is
foundational rather than something accidentally produced by neurons, then
suddenly some of humanity's oldest spiritual intuitions deserve another look.
Perhaps what ancient people described as spirit and what
modern thinkers describe as consciousness are not entirely separate categories.
Animism becomes particularly interesting from this
perspective. The ancient intuition that nature is somehow alive or inhabited by
consciousness may sound primitive from a strictly materialistic worldview. But
if consciousness is fundamental to reality, animism begins to look less like an
intellectual mistake and more like an early human attempt to describe an
experiential relationship with a conscious cosmos.
The same possibility extends to mystical experiences,
encounters with apparently nonphysical beings, near-death experiences,
past-life experiences, and other anomalous phenomena. I am not saying that
every story must therefore be literally true. I am saying that the
philosophical landscape changes dramatically once consciousness is no longer
confined to the brain.
And that is where I find the tension so fascinating.
Science asks me to describe consciousness carefully, examine
evidence, remain skeptical, and search for mechanisms. Spirituality asks me to
remain open to experience, mystery, intuition, meaning, and dimensions of
reality that may not fit neatly inside our present categories.
I increasingly suspect that these two approaches do not have
to be enemies.
Perhaps information is the architecture of consciousness
while spirituality is what consciousness feels like from within.
Maybe the scientific study of consciousness is examining the
structure of something that mystics, shamans, contemplatives, prophets, and
ordinary people undergoing extraordinary experiences have been encountering for
thousands of years.
If consciousness really is foundational, then the boundary
between consciousness research and spirituality may eventually become much less
distinct than it appears today. Science may be describing the structure of the
mystery while spirituality describes our participation in it.
And perhaps I don't need to eliminate the tension between
those two perspectives.
Perhaps that tension is precisely where the most interesting
questions begin.


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