Consciousness and humanity

Humanity, our great collective with no Earthly rival, exists as a product of our consciousness – the mind’s subjective experience of self and world. Subjective experiences may have evolutionary origins as far back as the Cambrian Period some 500 million years ago, when capacities for egocentric representations of the world seeded in the brains of stem vertebrates and, by different mechanisms, in stem insects1. As for vertebrates, so also for insects: the possibility of each individual having its own subjective awareness of the surrounding world and its mobile body within it. Early humans in North Africa more than 140,000 years ago communicated selfhood with bead necklaces or bracelets made from sea-snail shells2. This earliest use of symbolic ornaments may have expressed a radical leap in subjective experience, into self-awareness extending to self- or group-enhancement. By 75,000 years ago, social enhancements had developed into shifting fashions for wearable beads3.

Subjective experience for modern humans encompasses a vivid consciousness of all our mental states: our individual thoughts, motives, intentions, desires, fears, doubts, inspirations, longings, pleasures and sorrows, comforts, hopes and hurts, and their expression in relationships, manners, gestures, prejudices, aggressions and confessions. And for any mental activity that may have evaded wakeful awareness, the unconscious mind lies waiting to motivate and guide our rational and irrational behaviours4. For all our avowed self-knowledge, we spend a great deal of time thinking and talking about ourselves, endlessly failing to fathom reality except from within it5. What component, then, of our shared humanity exists beyond the clamour of conscious and unconscious minds?

Fernando Pessoa, who placed his confessions under a pseudonym, written on loose scraps of paper and never published in his lifetime, reflected6:

“In all my moments of spiritual liberation there was a dormant sorrow, vaguely blooming in gardens beyond the walls of my consciousness, and the scent and the very colour of those sad flowers intuitively passed through the stone walls, whose far side (where the roses bloomed) never ceased being a hazy near side in the obscure mystery of who I am, in the drowsiness of my daily existence.”

Why were the flowers sad? Because he would not heed their unwavering invitation: Into my garden come! Wake from your stupor, poet! I would; I want to be in the garden of happy flowers, beyond the measure of consciousness. I will break walls to find it! Oh, but no – my very desire immediately hides the treasure from me. Damn you consciousness, for constructing your fortifications, all that infrastructure of humanity, from the mind’s own products. Pessoa was not alone in his conflict with self-defeating individuality.

Suppose we cease this futile struggle, consider surrendering … what would we surrender? Given the timebound structure of mental activity, which is very tiring, we could surrender our grip on time. What would we surrender to? We can surrender to grief, or to love or joy, those unmediated freedoms that come from within. How should we do it? Suppose that we perceive the scent and colour of flowers, any flowers, directly and joyfully, without judgement of them or intentions for them, not drowsily but with sensitivity towards them7. Does our raw delight and innocent wonder not expose an essence of our universally shared humanity? Let’s imagine it does, and further that one humanity, comprised of many subjects, entails a moral duty to curb prejudices and aggressions against one another, and uphold justice for all8. How lovely is that – morality borne of an immeasurable freedom.


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C.P. Doncaster, Timeline of the Human Condition, star index