Zen and the Art of Consciousness

Blackmore asks herself, "Am I conscious now?" and answers "Of course I am. Yes, I am conscious now." But she feels as though by asking the question, she has in a sense "awakened" herself, which leads her to wonder if she was conscious just before asking. She repeatedly asks herself the question, each time saying "yes". As she continues asking it over the years, the "waking up" experience becomes more gradual. Likewise, asking the question all the time becomes easier, and eventually, "The words aren't really necessary any more. Rather, there just seems to be a questioning attitude, an openness of mind."

Blackmore tries to figure out what she was conscious of just beforehand. When she asks, she can remember many sensations—for instance, the wood floor and the cat's purr. It seems as though she had been aware of them for a while back in time, yet she only seemed to "notice" them when she thought about the question. Likewise, Blackmore thinks about her breath, which "is always there", but she's not sure if she was watching it prior to asking the question.

Blackmore is skeptical of current efforts to find neural correlates of consciousness because "if I don't know which sights and sounds I was conscious of, and which I was not, then this whole line of scientific research must be entirely misguided."

Blackmore probes who "she" is. One approach is to find "a boundary, or edge, or divide" between what she's looking at and the person doing the looking. For instance, noticing a twist of her hair, she asks, "Am I this side of the hair and the experiences the other? No. That’s silly." She tries to trace a path from the external world through to herself, but she can never find herself. "Look for the viewing self and find only the view. I am, it seems, the world I see."

Blackmore observes flowers and asks where resides the experience of them—e.g., their yellowness. Clearly it's not in the flowers themselves because, for instance, what looks yellow to Blackmore would look different to a bee with a very different visual system. Another option is that the color is represented by a pattern of neural firing in her visual cortex, but it's not clear why that neural activity is "yellow itself".

Blackmore reflects on the nature of "abiding in tranquillity and moving in thought." She notices that her thoughts can seem to take on "parallel threads". Some thoughts "happen right here, in the midst of tranquillity" while others are more active. The latter "drag part of the mind away" and split it in two. Blackmore envisions this "as a theory about what is happening in the brain, with groups of neurons organising themselves in different places, their patterns arising and falling away, though with no experiencing self."

Blackmore asks whether time exists. She thinks about the present, past, future, and imaginary things. She realizes that "Although I can label them differently, and they vary in vividness and how much confidence I have in their details, they all seemed to be made of the same kind of stuff."

Blackmore recounts experiences during mindfulness when she felt as though she could "leap off into nothingness" and briefly not exist. She feels as though events in the world arise from nothingness, "springing up out of no-place and no-time".

Blackmore considers the metaphor of "life as a string of beads" and rejects it because her mind seems to contain "many streams" of experience that "arise and fall away, their observers coming and going with them." Her reflection leads her to agree with Daniel Dennett's critique of the Cartesian theater. Instead her experience is closer to Dennett's multiple-drafts model. She also feels how to be her own thoughts, reminiscent of William James's view that "thought is itself the thinker, and psychology need not look beyond".

Blackmore explores the absence of free will in a causally closed universe. After having pondered the problem for a long time, Blackmore's sense of free will faded:

This seems to be all that happens; decisions are made because of countless interacting events, and afterwards a little voice inside says "I did that", "I decided to do that".

Still, Blackmore learned during a Zen retreat that she could take responsibility. Once a decision was made, "That's what happened, these are the consequences. Things just are the way they are."

Blackmore explores questions of reincarnation, self-continuity, and "the timeless, emptiness, or void, or whatever it is, out of which phenomena appear."