The More You Study Consciousness, the Weirder It Gets | The Ezra Klein Show
Ezra Klein talks with the science writer Michael Pollan about his new book, A World Appears, the record of five years touring the science of consciousness. They walk the whole arc: a beeper experiment that catches the banality of inner experience, William James and the stream of consciousness, anesthetized plants and plant neurobiology, the evolutionary case that consciousness handles uncertainty too complex to automate, Alison Gopnik's lantern versus spotlight consciousness, and the discovery that feeling lives in the body. The conversation moves to a brain scan showing a thought firing four seconds before awareness, global workspace theory, the creative power of the wandering mind, and then the far edges, idealism and panpsychism and the brain as a radio receiver rather than a generator. It closes on a Copernican redefinition of the human, squeezed between conscious animals and seemingly conscious machines, on attention as a contested collective resource, and on wonder and the don't know mind rather than any answer.
Published Mar 31, 20261:31:01 video45 min readAdded Jun 17, 2026Open on YouTube →
At a glance
Ezra Klein sits down with the science writer Michael Pollan for a 91 minute conversation about Pollan's new book, A World Appears: A Journey Into Consciousness. The book is the record of five years Pollan spent touring the science of consciousness, the theories, the experiments, the meditation retreats, and the psychedelic trips, and finding himself in stranger and stranger territory the deeper he looked. Klein opens on the paradox that frames the whole hour: consciousness is the only thing we truly know firsthand, and yet we do not know what it is made of, how it works, or why it exists, and the closer you look the weirder it gets.
The two of them walk the full arc: a beeper experiment that catches the raw banality of inner experience, William James and his stream of consciousness, anesthetized plants and "plant neurobiology," the evolutionary case that consciousness exists to handle uncertainty too complex to automate, Alison Gopnik's lantern versus spotlight consciousness, the body as the true seat of feeling, a brain scan that shows a thought firing four seconds before you know you had it, global workspace theory, the case for the wandering mind, and then the far edges: idealism, panpsychism, the brain as a radio receiver rather than a generator. It lands, against every expectation for a science book, on wonder rather than an answer, and on a politics of attention as a shared resource being strip mined.
The beeper experiment, and the banality of the inner life
Klein opens not with theory but with an experiment Pollan put himself through. There is a psychologist at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas named Russell Hurlburt who has spent 50 years doing what he calls Descriptive Experience Sampling. He equips you with a beeper worn in the ear that emits a very sharp beep at random moments. The instant it fires, you write down exactly what was in your mind at that moment, no reaching for the phone, no doubt about timing. You collect a day's worth, maybe five or six beeps, never knowing when the next is coming. There is an observer effect, Pollan notes: you catch yourself thinking "God, if it went off now, that would be embarrassing." But over the day you forget about it.
What struck Pollan was how banal his beeps were. The one he describes in the book: he is waiting in line at a bakery, deciding whether to buy a roll or use the heel of bread he has at home to make a sandwich for lunch. Not profound stuff. Then Hurlburt interrogates each beep to make you a better student of your own mind, because, it turns out, very often we do not know what we are thinking. He asks: did you speak that or hear it spoken? Was it in language or in image? Pollan had no idea. He said there was sort of an image of a roll, but unspecific, "kind of an emoji of a roll, not a real roll."
Klein recognizes this immediately. A lot of his own thoughts, if pushed, are "the feeling of a thought," present but not spoken, not lettering on a projector screen, something less than a fully formed thing. Pollan's phrase, which Klein loves, is that many of our thoughts are "gossamer wisps of mentation." Hurlburt's finding after 50 years is that people think in radically different ways. Some think in pure words, some in pure images, and some, he claims, in "unsymbolized thinking," thoughts that are neither words nor pictures. And at the end of the session he roasts Pollan: he tells him he is low on inner experience. Pollan did not know how to take it. We all assume we have a lively inner life, and to be told you may not have one is unsettling. Part of why Hurlburt reached that verdict, Pollan admits, is that he argued constantly. He found the idea of chopping thoughts into discrete chunks impossible: in that bakery line there was the smell of baked goods and cheese, the image of a woman in front of him in a hideously loud plaid skirt, his awareness of the other people, the question of whether he recognized anyone. His thoughts were "inter infected" by one another, one coloring the next, and Hurlburt kept drilling until Pollan would separate them, which felt like violence to the actual texture of the mind.
William James and the fringe
That tension is why James keeps surfacing. Klein notes that William James "always ends up the godfather, the leading source of metaphor in any book like this." Pollan: James is the father of psychology in America, now regarded more as a philosopher because psychology has become so empirical. James wrote like a phenomenologist, about the lived experience of thought. Pollan first met him while writing How to Change Your Mind, through James's The Varieties of Religious Experience and its famous chapter on mystical experience; James experimented with drugs himself to probe the outer reaches of consciousness. James is "kind of unreadable yet also a great writer," his sentences so long and intricate that they lose a modern reader about 80 percent of the way to the period, Pollan jokes, but the observations put the modern consciousness scientists to shame. The scientists reduce experience to simple things like visual perception or qualia, their word for the felt qualities of experience. James went far beyond qualia.
James's gift, Klein says, is "his precision in describing how imprecise the stuff of the mind is." Pollan reads the passage he loves, on how the objects of our thoughts can never be disentangled from what James variously called their "auras, halos, accentuations, associations, effusions, feeling of tendency, premonitions, psychic overtones," and Pollan's favorite, the "fringe of unarticulated affinities." The fringe. This is the borderlands of mental experience: sink into a daydream, and what exactly was that, not quite a word, not quite an image. Pollan's read is simply that our mental life is far more intricate, complex, and shadowy than we give it credit for, and that it is in the nature of reductive science to simplify in order to understand. It would be very weird, he says, to start from a Jamesian view of the stream and try to make it scientific. The deeper irony Klein names: consciousness is the most familiar thing to us and yet the most unfamiliar, and the more you attend to it, the more elusive it becomes. Meditators learn this fast. You quickly realize you have thoughts you are not thinking and images you did not conjure, popping in on the verge of sleep. The idea of thoughts thinking themselves is bizarre to most people, and Pollan's conclusion is that the poets and novelists are further along than the scientists, which is why the book turns toward literature later for a subtler grasp of thought.
Figure 1. The hard problem, the spine of the whole conversation. The brain side is measurable and physical; the experience side is private and felt. Nobody can say how the first produces the second, or why a perfectly efficient unconscious machine ever needed to light up into felt experience at all.
Plants: anesthesia, sleep, and the reanimated world
Klein steers to the chapter on plants, starting with a fact Pollan taught him: you can anesthetize a plant. A group of botanists call themselves "plant neurobiologists," a deliberately provocative name since there are no neurons in plants. They are trolling conventional botanists, Pollan says, and in the field it is fighting words. Klein, delighted, calls them "plant dorks." They run experiments on how intelligent plants are, how they respond and solve problems, and whether they are conscious, though Pollan prefers the word "sentient."
He draws the distinction carefully. Sentience is the base form: the ability to sense your environment, register the valence (is this good or bad), and respond appropriately. Bacteria do it through chemotaxis, recognizing food molecules from poison and acting accordingly. Consciousness, in his usage, is how humans do sentience, with bells and whistles added: the stream of consciousness, self reflection, being aware that we are aware, where most creatures are simply aware. He notes an aside that we recently learned chimps have imagination, shown by experiments where they play a tea party game, pouring an empty pitcher into cups and getting fully into it while clearly knowing it is not real. "Every time we build a wall and say only humans can do this, we find that actually no, other animals can."
The anesthesia experiment: scientists exposed plants to anesthetics that work on humans, including xenon gas, which is bizarre because xenon is inert, with no chemical reaction, yet it still puts us under. A carnivorous plant or the sensitive Mimosa pudica, which collapses its leaves when touched, will, under the gas, enter a period where it appears asleep and then regain its responsiveness. The fact that plants have two states of being, lights on and lights off, is "a very pregnant idea." Klein brings in Thomas Nagel's famous essay What Is It Like to Be a Bat?: the test for consciousness is whether it is like anything to be that creature. So perhaps it is like one thing to be a plant awake and like something else, or nothing, to be one anesthetized. But Klein presses the limit. Nagel's "like something" is internal, to the organism. You could imagine a state change with no inner experience at all. Pollan's own toaster example proves it: plug in a toaster and it toasts, unplug it and it stops, but we do not think it is like anything to be a toaster in either state. Response to stimuli does not by itself imply subjective experience. The difference between plants and toasters, Pollan grants, is complicated, but living things have purpose, directionality, a built in good and bad, where the "care" we attribute to a thermostat is just us projecting; the thermostat does not care whether it is 70 or 65 degrees.
The researcher behind much of this is Stefano Mancuso at the University of Florence, who has also shown that plants sleep, meeting criteria for sleep that Giulio Tononi defined, which we thought belonged only to higher mammals and birds. It turns out even insects sleep. Some take that as evidence of consciousness. Klein, knowing Pollan is a gardener, asks the question everyone reaches for: are we causing plants pain? When we mow the lawn, is the smell of cut grass the scream of suffering? "That'll make you crazy," Pollan says. Klein's sharp rejoinder: people already know we cause pain to cows, pigs, and chickens on an industrial scale and simply do not think about it, so plainly mass suffering does not make humans crazy. Pollan flags the related Silicon Valley anxiety about owing moral consideration to possibly conscious machines, and Klein's suspicion lands hard: there will be a lot of concern about machine welfare right up until the moment it becomes against someone's interest to act on it, and the far future debate (boomer versus doomer) is partly a way to avoid what is right in front of us.
On plant pain specifically, researchers split. One believes yes, we are hurting plants, "but hey, that's just life," because if you give up animals and plants you are down to salt. Mancuso disagrees: pain would not be adaptive to a creature that cannot run away. The central fact about plants is that they are sessile, rooted, stuck in place, which dictates everything, including why their language is biochemical. They produce chemicals to defend, intoxicate, and attract. They are aware of being eaten and often do not mind; grasses benefit from grazing, and fruits and nuts are gifts plants are happy to hand to mammals. Pollan does not worry about pruning his plants, which respond with new growth, joking that he goes through plenty of things that make him grow that he does not enjoy either.
Psychedelics, animism, and plant intelligences
Some of the book grew out of Pollan's experiences with psychedelic mushrooms, which, he concedes preemptively to the letter writers, are not plants. A common psychedelic experience is a new openness to animism, the sense that the world is far more alive than it seems in normal times. Animism, Pollan notes, is close to our species default: traditional cultures the world over hold that a spirit infuses living things, and also rocks, cliffs, sky, clouds. Most children are animists until school knocks it out of them. We live inside an anomalous "bubble of Western scientific materialism," and push in almost any direction, travel, a psychedelic experience, and questions about it reopen. He came out of the plant research, not the trips, with a genuine sense that the world is more alive than he had thought.
Klein raises something he has noticed from psychedelic circles: people who work with plant psychedelics over long periods, mushrooms, iboga, ayahuasca, tend to come to believe they are communing with plant or spiritual intelligences, a sense of "something on the other side," whereas with synthetic psychedelics like LSD or ketamine nobody leaves believing there is an LSD spirit on the line. Pollan agrees, especially for ayahuasca, a brew of two plants where neither alone has much effect. Ask the ayahuasqueros how anyone discovered that obscure recipe and they say, sincerely, "the plants taught me." Western science does not know how to listen to that; it sounds ridiculous. But Pollan: "if I came out anywhere on this whole book, it's that my mind is much more open than it was to a lot of weird stuff, just because the normal stuff hasn't really panned out that well." Why would plant based psychedelics do this more than synthetic ones? He credits set and setting, the idea Timothy Leary is known for, that the experience is shaped profoundly by physical setting and mindset. Plant based brews come wrapped in jungle imagery, leopards and vines. Does he buy the shamans? No, "but there's 5 percent of me that was like, OK, maybe. I've entered this never say never realm with this research."
Why consciousness evolved: the social animal and the zombie problem
Klein turns to the mainstream story: as life grows more complex, conscious experience escalates to help organisms achieve goals; consciousness is adaptive, built by evolutionary pressure. Pollan backs up to set the table. At least 90 percent of what your brain does, you are not aware of: monitoring the body, maintaining homeostasis, processing peripheral vision, smell, touch, all without conscious awareness. If this automatic machine is so good, why does any of it become conscious at all? That is the heart of the hard problem. Why aren't we just zombies? Wouldn't that be simpler?
The leading answer, which Pollan calls a persuasive "just so story," is complexity. You can automate behavior up to a point, but for us that point is social life. We are fundamentally social beings, dependent on others, with an unusually long stretch of helpless infancy. Social life cannot be automated; it is too complex. You need to anticipate what someone will say and how a remark will land, which is theory of mind, the ability to imagine your way into other people, the basis of compassion. Creatures that could imagine what was going on in another's head did better than those who could not. Pollan finds it persuasive. Klein raises a puzzle: a baby or one year old is intensely socially dependent and clearly has a vivid, in fact more intense consciousness than an adult, because the adult is far better at filtering information. The theory implies consciousness gets richer as you grow more goal directed, yet experience plainly narrows as you become more goal directed. Pollan agrees you could argue young children are more conscious than adults, "almost inarguable," and that we prune consciousness down as we age the way we prune so much else in the brain.
Lantern versus spotlight
This is where Alison Gopnik, the developmental psychologist at Berkeley, enters with a frame Pollan found powerful. Her first advice to him: never forget that the people who work on consciousness are not typical in their consciousness. They can sit in a chair and read for hours and think out problems, an extreme version of what she calls "professor consciousness," pure spotlight. She contrasts it with children's "lantern consciousness." Instead of one beam of attention fixed on a single object, the child takes in information from all 360 degrees. It looks undisciplined and unfocused, and it is why some kids cannot sit still in school; they are still flooded from every side. But it lets them solve problems adults cannot, think outside the box, do more divergent thinking. As we age we narrow the focus, which lets us get things done, put on our shoes efficiently, host a podcast, but it means putting on blinders. There is a trade off. And psychedelics, Gopnik says, return us to lantern mode. When she first tried LSD, not until her 60s, she realized "this is how the kids are thinking. They're tripping all the time." Her line: "just have tea with a four year old and you'll see."
Figure 2. Gopnik's distinction. The child's lantern floods awareness in every direction, undisciplined but divergent and creative. The adult's spotlight locks onto one object, efficient and goal directed but wearing blinders. Psychedelics, she found, return the adult to the lantern.
Consciousness as felt uncertainty
Klein names a theory he says he has thought about more than any other in the book: consciousness as "felt uncertainty." Beautiful, he says, "although in practice I find it very unpleasant." The phrase comes from Mark Solms, a neuroscientist and psychoanalyst in South Africa, author of The Hidden Spring. Solms's theory: consciousness arises when you cannot automate things, specifically when you face competing needs. Say you are both hungry and tired and must decide which to privilege; that takes decision making, and consciousness opens a space to resolve the uncertainty. If everything were predictable, with a neat algorithm for every contingency, you would not need consciousness. But life is full of uncertainty, and that is where consciousness shows up.
Klein finds it half true and half wrong. True, because his own mind is drawn to uncertainty: it ruminates over whatever he is most emotionally uncertain about, not always the useful uncertainties. But two problems. First, the child or the adult on psychedelics is not drawn to uncertainty in the same way; psychedelic consciousness is much more about experience, where uncertainty in Klein's mind is spotlighted, less experiential, a distraction from experience. Pollan grants it is a good point he had not thought hard about, and reaches for pluralism: we should be "pluralists of consciousness," because there are many kinds, psychedelic consciousness, James's mystical forms, everyday spotlight consciousness, the consciousness of a meditator, the peculiar consciousness of writing. We carry a toolkit.
Consciousness lives in the body
The second problem with "felt uncertainty" sets up the conversation's emotional center: felt where? We treat consciousness as a thing happening in the mind, but Pollan calls his biggest discovery the realization, for "someone who lives in his head most of the time," of how important the body is to being conscious. We identify with our heads, maybe because the eyes are there. But consciousness probably arises with feelings first, starting with hunger and itchiness, only later getting filtered up into the cortex to become the complicated thinking we pride ourselves on. Feelings are how the body talks to the brain, and "the brain exists to keep the body alive, not the other way around." We are not just a support system for three pounds of tofu in our heads. These bodily feelings are the beginning of conscious experience, and without them, it is questionable you would have consciousness at all.
Klein agrees consciousness is an interplay of both: he feels uncertainty in his solar plexus and thinks about it in his brain. Where do you feel moral disgust? In your belly. Pollan recounts the ginger experiment: subjects given ginger before being shown a morally distasteful image were less disgusted, because the ginger settled their stomachs. Moral disgust is channeled through the gut. This has large implications for AI consciousness, because feelings are not just signals or bits of information; they are something more somatic, and it is hard to imagine how a computer gets there. Crucially, "feelings have no weight if you don't have a vulnerability, if you don't have the ability to suffer and perhaps be mortal." Otherwise a feeling is just more information.
Then Klein narrates something happening live. Mid conversation he had written himself a note to come back to a section because it was good, and he realized that what triggered the note was not a thought but a body signal: his skin got pricklier, a heightened sensitivity, an alert to his mind to pay attention. His body has reactions and his mind then has to interpret why. Pollan ties this to James again: feelings, emotions, thoughts. Emotions are the physical manifestation; James held that emotion starts in the body, anger begins with a racing heart, and the brain then interprets why the heart is racing, deciding maybe it is fear. The brain is constantly interpreting messages from a body that is feeling on its own, reacting to its environment a million ways. This overturns how you think about digitizing or automating consciousness. If feelings come first, and feelings are embodied, then the brain in a vat does not work, and neither does the transhumanist dream of downloading consciousness onto a machine: you are not going to have a body, so how would that work?
Klein extends it into practical wisdom. If you walk into the self improvement world asking "how do I get smarter," the answer is always train your mind, study, read, journal, with almost nothing about deepening the connection between mind and body. As his own work has become more creative, he has come to think that is a mistake; a huge amount of what he has had to get better at is paying attention to his body so his mind can do something with signals he does not control. We misinterpret them: a hungry child reads hunger as frustration or anger, and we all learn over time to interpret what the body says. Where do adults learn it? Meditation a little, body scans. Pollan invokes Antonio Damasio's 1994 Descartes' Error, which showed that feelings and emotions belong in decision making and that people who could not experience emotion made worse decisions; Damasio rehabilitated feeling in brain science after centuries of drumming it out. Pollan's cheeky hypothesis for why: maybe the kinds of people who do this research are just really out of touch with their bodies. "I'll be hearing from some of them," he adds.
The villain of the embodiment story is Descartes. Klein recalls the philosopher who did not believe animals could feel pain, seeing them as functionally robotic, which helped justify the vivisection of live animals. Descartes was so convinced of his own idea, the monopoly of human consciousness ("I think, therefore I am"), that when animals screamed he heard not suffering but automatic noise. It is, Pollan says, a chilling demonstration of the power of an idea to override our feelings and instincts, to literally change what we see and hear through an ideological lens, and we do it all the time.
A thought, four seconds before you know it
Klein picks up the sequencing, how feelings precede thoughts, with a striking study. The scientist is Kalina Christoff, a psychologist whose field is spontaneous thought: daydreams, mind wandering, creative thinking, flow. She is interested in how things cross from the unconscious into conscious awareness. She works with trained meditators, people with 10,000 hours of practice, puts them in an fMRI, and gives them a button to press the instant a thought intrudes, because even expert meditators get interrupted; her lesson, very freeing to people, is that the mind cannot be controlled. When subjects pressed the button, she looked back at activity in the hippocampus, a source of memories, and found it took roughly four seconds between the hippocampus lighting up and the person becoming aware of the thought. Four seconds, an eon in brain time. What is happening in those four seconds for a thought to transit from unconscious to conscious, and why so long? She does not know.
One candidate explanation is global workspace theory: thoughts compete for access to conscious awareness in a Darwinian process, and only the most salient wins entry to the "workspace," from which it is broadcast to the whole brain. Pollan's objection: a lot of trivial stuff somehow gets through, so the salience story is incomplete. Klein has a deeper allergy to the theory, calling the name "bloodless and built on personal computers in 1998, productivity ideas." But the underlying picture, that something in the mind runs a process deciding what enters the spotlight, rings true. Genuinely shocking events (a car accident beside you) shortcut straight in, but moment to moment there is a competition, and the more aware Klein is of it, the less in control he feels, "one of the great and slightly terrifying lessons." The question of the unconscious, the factory producing the thoughts and the process deciding what to put on the front shelves, does not feel mild to him.
The two of them turn it into a meditation on why we attend to what we attend to. Klein: if he could talk to the algorithm in his mind the way you can now tell Claude how to behave, he would change it, worry less about interpersonal conflict, spend less time wondering whether people are mad at him. Pollan reframes it as overapplied rules. Klein's biggest complaint is that he thinks too much about relational stress, but he was bullied in school, and being out of joint in relationships can genuinely harm you, so it is easy to see how a mind would overlearn the rule "scan for relational threat at all times." Something happens over a lifetime, not the same in all people, shaped by experience: people who grew up in famine store more food when older. And it is driven by success, not pleasure; the mind learns algorithms that promote problem solving and keep the peace even when they do not feel good. "Our minds are invested in our success, not our pleasure." Meditation, like psychedelics, reveals how strange our minds are and how little volition is really involved; we think we are calling the shots but to a remarkable extent we are not. There is a classic meditation exercise: look in your brain for who is thinking those thoughts, who is feeling those feelings, and you will not find anybody.
The wandering mind and the economics of attention
Between the unconscious and the goal directed sits the wandering mind, whose role, Klein argues, we have come to diminish. Christoff studies it; the precondition is boredom, "I've got nothing to do," and suddenly you are off daydreaming. She treats it as an important, understudied part of life precisely because it is not "productive," and almost all of psychology has gone into productive thought. She sees it as a space of creativity; a great deal of creative thinking comes out of mind wandering and daydreaming, something novelists do constantly, and she argues we have lost it, our interiority crowded out by technological distraction.
Klein pushes back on calling it unproductive: he thinks it is very productive, just by a different definition. The biggest barrier to his own true productivity, doing better with the same resources, is that he does not spend enough time letting his mind wander. His most creatively important moments come when he thought he was taking a break, on a walk, not driving his mind into the ground flicking through web pages while too tired to absorb anything, and then the insight arrives; the spotlight's blinders get in the way, and wandering opens them. Pollan agrees, but channels Christoff's point that "nobody wants mind wandering workers; the capitalists want us to be spotlight consciousness." Her own example: her job right now is to grade blue book exams, but her real life project is making sense of her life, and she would be better off taking a walk. There is a tension between what the economy counts as productive thought and what is emotionally productive, or what the economy should count as productive if it were smarter; you cannot quantify it hour to hour.
Klein describes his single most creative mind state: reading something on paper with no screens around, when his mind becomes highly associational. He looks up with ideas, often not about the book at all, the book a scaffolding for a certain quality of attention. It is achieved most easily on airplanes, where there are no distractions, and never with a screen in view. Pollan asks, do you have a pencil in your hand? Yes. The lesson: if we wanted humans to be more creative, much of our received wisdom is wrong. We would put people more in touch with their bodies and teach them to find states of open association and mind wandering, putting themselves in the way of inspiration because it is not controllable the way we wish. Christoff edited The Oxford Handbook of Spontaneous Thought, and its history shows that wildly creative composers and novelists often worked only four or five hours a day and spent the rest unstructured, wandering, walking. Everyone knows the link between walking and breaking through a stuck problem. But phones and social media keep us from looking up, from making associations, because scrolling leaves no time for association, just hit after hit, shrinking the very space of creativity, and the algorithms are sophisticated and know how our minds work. When is Pollan most creative? Walking the Berkeley Hills, though he admits that half the time he fills his head with AirPods and a novel or a podcast, and has to remember to take them out and listen to what is around him. Time in nature, off all media, he calls a hygienic space for consciousness.
To the far edge: idealism and panpsychism
As the book widens to less goal oriented theories, Klein notes two things Pollan tracks: how many consciousness scientists are now dabbling in psychedelics, and how those experiences are upending their theories. The phenomenon is partly selection bias, Pollan jokes, people know they can tell him about their trips, but it is striking, "the felt experience of truth on something" hitting scientists who until that moment accepted only what they could prove. They know they ingested a chemical, and yet the experience was so authoritative they will not dismiss it.
The exemplar is Christof Koch, a prominent researcher who began the modern quest with Francis Crick in the late 1980s and early 1990s and who has changed his mind profoundly several times, rare in a field where, per the saying, "science changes one funeral at a time." Koch, the prototypical brain guy who ran the Allen Institute in Seattle and spent decades with neurons and electrodes assuming consciousness lived in the brain, went to Brazil for a series of ayahuasca experiences and had an experience of "mind at large," a phrase from Aldous Huxley's The Doors of Perception, in which consciousness seemed to be outside his brain. When Klein challenged him that it was just a drug experience, Koch would not take that as disproof or even cause for skepticism. He reached for the Mary's Room thought experiment: a scientist who knows everything physical about color but has lived in a black and white world steps out and experiences color for the first time. What has been added to her knowledge? Koch said, "I was like Mary," and nobody could convince him back in "the box of scientific materialism" that it had not happened; it was as sure as anything in his life. Now he explores idealism.
What is idealism? The philosophy that consciousness is a universal field and precedes matter. We automatically assume matter is primary, that everything reduces to matter and energy. Idealism says no, start with consciousness; matter comes second. The argument against materialism, Pollan says, is the one running through the whole hour: there is nothing we know with more certainty than consciousness, it is the thing known directly, while everything else is inferred through it. So why do we privilege the thing we infer (matter) over the thing we know (consciousness)? "Maybe a smarter person than me knows there's a logical fallacy there. I don't see where it is." Related is the idea Klein says he first heard from Pollan: the mind as an antenna or radio receiver, not generating consciousness but receiving and interpreting a signal. Break the TV and it stops working, but the waves it was absorbing are not gone, and you should not look inside the TV set for the weatherman. The brain is critical, and damaging or anesthetizing it damages consciousness, but in a different role. The unsettling point: the evidence works the same either way, generate or channel; it is hard to argue one is better. We simply stipulate that the brain generates consciousness as an emergent property, which "sounds really scientific, but if you press, it's just abracadabra." It does not actually explain anything.
The difference between idealism and panpsychism: panpsychism holds that every particle carries a quantum of consciousness, of psyche. Just as 200 years ago we added electromagnetism to the stock of what reality contains, we should add psyche as another fundamental thing, a kind of new materialism with something extra. It is a big price, adding something entirely new to the stock of reality, but it solves where consciousness comes from: everywhere, it was already here. These ideas sounded crazy to Pollan at first, until he saw that materialism has hit a wall in consciousness studies, a gap it cannot cross from a good theory like workspace theory to the question "who is receiving that broadcast?" The opposite camp, illusionism, says consciousness is just an illusion, but an illusion is itself a conscious experience, so what about the subject? "That's where everybody starts waving their hands." Pressed on which view he finds plausible, Pollan admits he does not know, leaning a little toward brain as radio receiver, "weird to spend five years on a book and come to an answer like that," but as he warns in the book, you may know less at the end than the beginning and a lot of other things besides.
Position
What is fundamental
Where consciousness comes from
The hard part
Physicalism / materialism
Matter and energy
An emergent property of complex brains
Cannot say how matter makes felt experience
Global workspace
Brain processes
Salient thoughts win a competition, get broadcast
Who or what receives the broadcast?
Illusionism
Matter; experience is a trick
Consciousness is an illusion
An illusion is itself a conscious experience
Panpsychism
Matter plus psyche
Everywhere; it was already here
Adds a whole new ingredient to reality
Idealism
Consciousness
Primary; matter comes second
How does one mind become many separate selves?
Figure 3. The map of positions Pollan toured over five years, from the mainstream materialism that "hit a wall" to the antenna theories he ended up unable to rule out. Every row buys an answer to one question at the cost of another, which is why the conversation lands on wonder rather than a verdict.
The Copernican moment, sovereignty, and the politics of attention
Klein offers his book tour theory: he had told Pollan that How to Change Your Mind was a book about the mind posing as a book about psychedelics, and that this new one is a book about psychedelics posing as a book about the mind. It keeps happening: not just Koch, but a scientist building a robot to make consciousness who takes 5-MeO-DMT and realizes everything is love, plus Pollan's mushrooms, plus many people noting offhandedly that they too have had experiences. There is a larger ontological shock here than the stylized "you ingested a chemical, of course you had a chemical experience," which Pollan calls totally unsatisfying. Part of the interest in psychedelics, he says, is taking back our consciousness: the day you do one is not a day on your phone, it is a day you have fenced off, done with intention, reclaiming and exploring your own mind. He returns to Huxley's transmission theory, which Huxley got from Henri Bergson: in normal times the brain admits only the trickle we need to get through the day, and psychedelics open what Huxley called the "reducing valve" so more consciousness gets in, the mind at large, but also more sensory and bodily information, and crucially "it's ours, it's mine."
Pollan was surprised how interested people are in consciousness, having expected an academic topic. Two things changed it. First, "we feel our consciousnesses are just full of bullshit right now," full of stuff we do not want to be thinking about, our minds under pressure from everyday life, capitalism, the need to succeed financially, and a president who intrudes on our consciousness more of the day than any previous one; take phones away from kids and they are actually grateful. So there is a desire for sovereignty over our own minds. Second, we are entering what Pollan calls a Copernican moment, a possible redefinition of what it means to be human. On one side, animals and even plants turning out to be conscious, eroding what we thought was our special thing; on the other, machines that will be smarter than we are, that many will believe (whether or not it is true) are conscious and act on that basis. Who are we if we are not the smartest, most conscious being? Are we more like the animals who can feel and die and suffer, or more like the thinking machines who speak our language?
This flows into "consciousness sovereignty" and "consciousness hygiene." Pollan has been arguing we should protect the precious space of interiority, a place of mental freedom, while acknowledging that for ruminators, going there does not feel good, and he is a ruminator himself, prone to circular, spiraling thought that keeps you focused without making progress. Still, you can take some control. Meditation is one great way, as challenging as it is: "here's my mind, I'm with my mind, it might be painful, but no one is telling me what to think." We spend so much time thinking the thoughts, rants, and obsessions of other people. Meditation puts a fence around consciousness; you put down the phone, keep a pad to dump the to do items, and when it works there is great pleasure in watching the show go by. (And yes, Pollan insists, contradicting Hurlburt, he does have an internal life.)
Klein names the harder truth: people often do not like being put in a room with their own consciousness, citing the old line that much of the world's trouble comes from man's inability to sit in a room by himself. He recalls a period of heavy meditation when he only got more upset, until the teacher Will Kabat-Zinn said something he never forgot: "so you're not enjoying the process of insight." Klein turns it on the president, who he thinks cannot sit alone with himself without constant distraction and ego reinforcement, a complicated relationship with his own consciousness. One of the great lies about meditation is that it is peaceful; in fact it is often agitating, and it is much more peaceful to distract ourselves. We spend a lot of time anesthetizing ourselves, and there is a generative kind of boredom we no longer experience because we have so many ways to fill the space, a productive unproductivity we have given up but could easily reclaim. Hygiene here means keeping your consciousness from being polluted, from letting others dictate its contents.
Is that consciousness or attention? Closely related, Pollan says: attention is a subset of consciousness, and attachment is another part, emotional attachment, which is now what the companies are going for with chatbots, having already won our attention. He has met people building "attentional liberation movements," like Friends of Attention, and people creating schools around it, a burbling sense that attentional freedom is increasingly a political and structural question. Klein frames attention as a collective resource, a shared capacity being exhausted by figures like Trump and by algorithmic media; a society with diminished, irritable, distracted attention is politically different, easier to manipulate and angrier. The more we allow these intrusions, the less consciousness is a space of freedom, and the more you give that up the more you think other people's thoughts and the more vulnerable you are to lies; nurture your own mind and you are likelier to think independently. How do you think independently while scrolling? You react, but you are not setting the agenda, an algorithm is. Klein notes it is the nature of capitalism to intrude on ever more of our time, citing the Netflix line, Reed Hastings' years ago, that the company's primary competitor is sleep, "one of the more dystopic things I've heard a CEO say." They are competing with the part of our consciousness that wants to think its own thoughts, because there is more money in us thinking theirs.
The cave, and the don't know mind
The coda, Klein's favorite chapter, is Pollan's time with Joan Halifax, the Zen teacher who tells him she has "divested herself from all meaning," and who, rather than granting interviews, sends him to a cave. Pollan had admired her, had been on a panel with her; she has deep psychedelic history, having been married to Stanislav Grof and administered large doses of LSD to the dying in the 1970s, one of the better applications of psychedelics, easing terminal cancer patients. Pollan was working on the chapter about the self and the Buddhist idea that the self is an illusion, which he understands intellectually yet finds the self still stubbornly operating in his life. Halifax had described her Upaya retreat center in Santa Fe as "a factory for the deconstruction of selves," so he went to get deconstructed.
After days with the monks, she said they should go up to the retreat and he would stay in the cave. Not his thing, he is not a camper, but she promised "a five star cave." Past a 25 mile dirt road and a half mile hike, cut into a hillside with a glass door overlooking a meadow, no electricity, no running water, he stayed three or four days while she kept ducking his interviews, finally saying she had divested from meaning. Disaster for an interviewing journalist, but she wanted him to have an experience instead, and he did. Like a long meditation retreat, it edged toward the psychedelic: alone, the borders of self attenuate and grow porous, and you realize how much our identity as selves is a social identity, reinforced by everyone who treats us like a self. Alone in the middle of nowhere with no media, it softens. Meditating for hours, he found life itself became a meditation, with more profound meditations chopping wood and sweeping out the cave than sitting on the platform.
It shifted his thinking. He had been caught in a "very Western, very male" frame of problem and solution, the hard problem of consciousness needing to be solved, narrowing his attention onto that one question for five years. In the cave he realized there is the problem of attention, but also the simple fact of it, and the fact is "so marvelous and so astonishing and mysterious," so why was he not paying more attention to that, being more present? One night, going out to pee under a new moon with no light pollution, the vault of stars was more numerous and gorgeous than ever, and it was not "out there" but reaching all the way down to him, occupying the same intergalactic blanket. All his learned ways of looking at the sky, the brain as a prediction machine running concepts and frames, fell away, leaving just "me, stars, space." It shifted him from solving a problem to being within one.
Klein, who earlier said the book adds wonder even as it subtracts certainty, confesses that going through the theories, integrated information theory and the rest, he kept thinking how sad he would be if any of them were true. If you could prove global workspace theory was the truth of consciousness, or prove consciousness merely evolved as a byproduct for reducing uncertainty, he would hate it. Pollan's reply, a lesson from Halifax and from his wife Judith, an artist, who lectured him that "not knowing has its own power." It is the Zen idea of cultivating the don't know mind. Not knowing opens you in a way that knowing closes you down. We are frustrated with not knowing, but it is our existential predicament about many things, and the long work is getting comfortable with it: more wonder in the face of mystery. That, Klein says, is the place to end, before the closing question.
Key takeaways
Consciousness is the one thing we know firsthand and the one thing we cannot explain; the hard problem is why an efficient unconscious brain ever lights up into felt experience at all, rather than running as a zombie.
Inner experience is far stranger and more granular than we assume. Hurlburt's beeper sampling and James's "fringe of unarticulated affinities" both show thoughts as wisps, not discrete chunks, and that we often do not know what we are thinking.
Sentience (sense, valence, respond) is widespread, in bacteria, plants, insects; human consciousness is sentience with extras like self reflection. Plants can be anesthetized and meet sleep criteria, which is spooky without proving they are conscious.
The leading evolutionary story is that consciousness exists for what cannot be automated, above all complex social life requiring theory of mind, and Mark Solms's version names it "felt uncertainty," the space opened to resolve competing needs.
Consciousness narrows with age: Gopnik's lantern (child, 360 degrees, divergent, creative) versus spotlight (adult, focused, efficient, blinkered). Psychedelics return adults toward the lantern.
Feeling comes first and lives in the body. The brain exists to keep the body alive; feelings (Damasio, James, the ginger and disgust experiment) are the ground of consciousness, which is why downloading a mind without a body is incoherent.
Kalina Christoff's fMRI work found a roughly four second lag between hippocampal activity and conscious awareness of a thought, and the mind cannot be controlled; we attend to what we have learned to attend to, optimizing for success over pleasure.
The wandering mind is creatively productive even though the economy treats it as waste; phones and algorithmic feeds strip mine the associational space where insight forms.
Materialism has hit a wall, opening room for idealism (consciousness is primary) and panpsychism (psyche is a fundamental ingredient), and the brain may be a receiver of consciousness rather than its generator, with the evidence frustratingly compatible with either.
The frontier is a Copernican redefinition of the human, squeezed between conscious animals and plants on one side and seemingly conscious machines on the other, making attention a contested collective resource and "consciousness hygiene" a real defense.
The book ends not on an answer but on wonder and the "don't know mind," with the claim that not knowing opens you where knowing closes you down.
Chapters
0:00:00 Intro
0:01:22 The beeper experiment
0:06:08 William James
0:10:48 Plant sentience
0:21:54 Psychedelics and animism
0:26:20 Why Consciousness Evolved
0:28:51 Lantern vs. spotlight consciousness
0:31:42 Consciousness is "felt uncertainty"
0:44:56 Thoughts before awareness
0:46:01 Global Workspace Theory
0:53:38 Mind-wandering and creativity
1:03:22 Idealism and panpsychism
1:12:05 Consciousness sovereignty
1:18:27 Attentional liberation
1:21:15 The Cave
1:28:20 Book recommendations
Notable quotes
"Here is the amazing thing, the deep paradox of consciousness. It is the only thing we truly know, the only thing we have certain actual firsthand experience of, and yet we don't understand it at all." Ezra Klein, 0:00:15
"Many of our thoughts are these wisps of mentation." Michael Pollan, 0:02:49, on the texture James called gossamer.
"The more I thought about consciousness, the more elusive the phenomenon becomes." Michael Pollan, 0:06:40
"Every time we build a wall and say only humans can do this, we find that actually no, other animals can." Michael Pollan, 0:08:50, on chimp imagination.
"It does not make human beings crazy to cause mass pain to living things on an industrial scale." Ezra Klein, 0:11:29, turning the plant pain question back on factory farming.
"The plants taught me, and they will mean it. And we don't know, through the lens of Western science, how to listen to that." Michael Pollan, 0:16:20, on ayahuasqueros.
"You have spotlight." Ezra Klein to Pollan, on adult consciousness, against the child's lantern, around 0:18:51.
"The brain exists to keep the body alive, not the other way around. We're not just a support system for this amazing three pounds of tofu in our heads." Michael Pollan, 0:23:30
"Feelings have no weight if you don't have a vulnerability, if you don't have the ability to suffer and perhaps be mortal. Otherwise a feeling is just more information." Michael Pollan, 0:24:45, on why machines may not feel.
"Our minds are invested in our success, not our pleasure." Michael Pollan, 0:50:11
"Look in your brain for who's thinking those thoughts, who's feeling those feelings, and you won't find anybody." Michael Pollan, 0:50:48, the meditation exercise.
"The capitalists want us to be spotlight consciousness." Michael Pollan, 0:55:40, on why mind wandering is called unproductive.
"You shouldn't look in the TV set for the weatherman." Michael Pollan, 1:09:30, on the brain as a receiver, not a generator, of consciousness.
"Consciousness is an emergent property of the brain, which sounds really scientific, but if you press, it's just abracadabra. It doesn't really explain anything." Michael Pollan, 1:01:50
"We're competing with your dream time." Reed Hastings of Netflix, quoted by Klein, 1:19:00, on sleep as the rival.
"I've divested a meaning." Joan Halifax, quoted by Pollan, 1:25:30, the Zen teacher refusing the interview.
"Not knowing opens you in a way that knowing closes you down." Michael Pollan, paraphrasing his wife Judith and the don't know mind, 1:27:40
This is an interview, so the page reconstructs what two careful thinkers actually say, and it is worth marking what is settled science and what is open. The hard problem of consciousness is genuinely unsolved and recognized as such across philosophy and neuroscience; that part is not fringe. The embodiment thread (feelings as bodily, Damasio's somatic marker work) is mainstream and well supported. The evolutionary and social accounts, plus global workspace theory and integrated information theory, are live, respected, and contested research programs, not consensus truths, which Pollan flags by calling them "just so stories" where appropriate. The far edge, idealism, panpsychism, the brain as a radio receiver, is taken seriously by a minority of serious researchers (Koch's recent turn is real) but remains a minority view that most working scientists reject; Pollan is candid that he leans toward it on intuition while admitting he cannot find the flaw in materialism's critics, which is honest rather than conclusive. The plant sentience claims are real experiments under real dispute; "plant neurobiology" is a contested label by design. Treat the psychedelic testimony as exactly what it is, sincere first person reports that shifted scientists' priors, not as proof of any metaphysics. The strongest, most defensible takeaway is also the one the conversation ends on: that attention is a finite, shared, and increasingly contested resource, and that cultivating a "don't know mind" is a reasonable stance toward a question this far from closed.
Full transcript
Here is the amazing thing, the
deep paradox of consciousness.
It is the only
thing we truly know.
The only thing we have certain
actual firsthand experience
of.
And yet we don’t
understand it at all.
We don’t know
what it’s made of.
We don’t know how it works.
We don’t know why it exists.
And the closer we look at
it, the weirder consciousness
gets.
The more we try
to describe it,
the more our language
begins to fail.
I find that so delightful
that something so close
can remain so mysterious,
that such a central question
about the universe is
happening inside of us all
of the time.
Now, that’s not to say we
haven’t tried to understand
it, or that we haven’t learned
a lot from those efforts.
In his new book, "A
World Appears: A Journey
Into Consciousness,"
the science writer
Michael Pollan takes a
tour of those efforts,
of those theories,
of those experiments,
of those psychedelic trips
and meditation retreats,
and he keeps finding himself
in stranger and stranger
territory deeper
inside the mystery.
So I want to have him
on to talk about it.
As always, my email
[email protected].
Michael Pollan, welcome
back to the show.
Thank you.
Good to be back.
So I wanted to begin
with an experiment
that you participated
in during the reporting
of this book, where
you wore a beeper
and tried to record what
was going on in your mind
when that beeper went off.
What did you learn from that.
When’s the beeper
going to go off?
So the experiment was there’s
a psychologist at University
of Nevada, Las Vegas
named Russell Hurlburt,
and he’s been sampling inner
experience, as he calls it,
for 50 years.
And the way he does it is
he equips you with a beeper.
You wear this
thing in your ear,
it emits a very sharp beep.
Exactly what it was
and when it was.
There’s no reaching for your
phone or any doubt about what
you’re dealing with.
And then you’re supposed
to write down what you were
thinking at that very moment,
and then you collect a day’s
worth of beeps, which
could be five or six beeps,
and you never know when
it’s going to go off.
It’s got various kind of
observer effect problems.
You wonder, God, if the beeper
went off now, what would
I have to say.
Oh, that would really
be embarrassing.
So you’re there is this
self-consciousness,
but you forget about it
over the course of the day.
And I was struck by how
banal my beeps were.
I mean, I would be like the
one I describe in the book is
I’m waiting on line at a
bakery and I’m deciding,
should I buy a roll or use the
heel of bread I have at home
to make a sandwich for lunch?
This is not profound stuff.
And then he interrogates you
about them to try to make
sense of it and help you
become a better student
of what’s going on
in your own mind.
Because it turns out very
often we don’t know what we’re
thinking.
At least I didn’t know
what I was thinking.
And he would say, now,
did you speak that
or did you hear that spoken?
I was like, I have no idea.
Was it in language
or was it in image?
And I said, well,
there was sort of an image.
It was kind of very
unspecific, kind
of an emoji of a roll.
Not a real roll.
And he’d take you through it.
And it was an incredibly
challenging process.
I want to stay on
that for a second.
I would say that a lot
of thoughts I have,
if you push me there,
the feeling of a thought,
I know it’s there,
but it’s not spoken.
I’m not looking at lettering
on the projector screen
of my brain.
It’s something less than
a fully formed thought.
This word "thought" implies
a kind of roundedness
to the thing that
just doesn’t exist.
And many of our thoughts are
these wisps of mentation.
That I love that "gossamer
wisps of mentation" is how you
put it in the book
Yeah and then also,
many people think in totally
uncivilized thoughts,
which I don’t really
understand what those would be
if they’re not words
and not images.
But his finding after
50 years of this
is that we think in
very different ways.
He roasts you at the
end of the experiment.
Oh man, you finish this up
and he says that you are low
on inner mental
experience. Yeah I didn’t know
how to take this.
I mean, we all think we
have a lively inner life,
but absence of one?
It never occurred to me that
raises a question for me,
which is to what degree
was what you were recording
in this experiment different
than your perception of how
your mental life
feels to you in a day.
Very different.
And so what was the difference
and what do you make of it.
I just assumed I had
a little more going on
than he thought I had.
But part of the reason he
came to that conclusion
is I argued with him a lot.
I found the whole idea
of separating thoughts
into these discrete chunks
absolutely impossible.
When I was on that
bakery waiting in line.
There was the smell of
baked goods and cheese.
They sell cheese
at this place.
There was the image of
this woman in front of me
who had this very
loud plaid skirt
on that was kind of hideous.
There was my awareness of
the other people there.
Did I recognize anybody?
I often bump into
people I know here.
My thoughts were so inter
infected by one another.
One thought coloring the next.
And he just kept drilling
down until I absolutely
would separate all that.
But I had read a lot of
William James at this point.
He’s got this amazing essay on
the stream of consciousness,
and he’s an incredibly
acute observer of the nuance
and subtlety of our thoughts.
And he talks about things like
the unarticulated affinity
between two thoughts, or how
one thought colors the next
and then the other, and that
it is a stream and you can’t
pull anything out of the
stream without completely
disturbing it.
Let’s talk about
William James,
because he always
ends up the godfather,
the leading source of metaphor
in any book like this.
Who is he?
So William James is the father
of psychology in America.
He is now regarded
more as a philosopher.
And that’s because psychology
is so empirical now.
He was really I don’t
know if he used this word,
but he acted like wrote
like a phenomenologist,
which is to say about the
lived experience of thought.
And I first got acquainted
with him when I was working
on how to change your
mind, because he’d written
the varieties of
religious experience,
and there’s a fantastic
chapter there on mystical
experience.
And he experimented
with drugs himself
to look at these kind of outer
reaches of consciousness.
He’s kind of unreadable,
yet he’s also a great writer
at the same time.
There’s something about his
sentences that are so long
and intricate that he loses a
modern reader about 80 percent
of the way to the
period, at least me.
But the observations
are just so refined
and they put to shame all
the scientists working
on consciousness.
I mean, I hate to say that
because I respect a lot
of them, but that he’s
onto the subtlety of mental
And they, of course, are reducing
it to fairly simple things
like visual
perception or qualia,
which is their
word for quality
qualities of experience.
He goes so far beyond qualia.
So I had a head
full of James when
I was doing this experiment,
and it seemed to keep
doing violence to that. I was.
I recognized my thinking more
in James than in Hurlbert’s
questions.
One thing I love about
James is his precision
in describing how imprecise
the stuff of the mind is,
and mind stuff is a word.
A phrase of his, yeah,
I want to quote you quoting
him here because I love this.
You’re writing.
"The objects of our
thoughts can never
be completely disentangled
from what James variously
calls their auras, halos,
accentuations, associations,
effusions, feeling
of tendency,
premonitions,
psychic overtones."
And you say, perhaps
my favorite "fringe
of unarticulated
affinities." Yeah, the fringe.
It’s so beautiful.
But talk to me a bit
about that because I do
think that I do a
meditation often where you
note what is going on in your
attention and your thoughts
and even within
thoughts you note.
Did I hear that?
Did I see that?
Did I feel that?
And it always also
seems to me to be
doing a kind of violence.
I’ll sink into a
dream a little bit.
And what was that exactly.
It wasn’t quite a word.
It wasn’t quite a visual.
All this stuff that
you just quoted.
Tell me a little
bit about that.
The borderlands of
mental experience.
I think it’s just a reminder
that our mental life is just
far more intricate, complex,
and shadowy than we give it
credit for.
It’s in the nature of
reductive science to simplify
things in order to
better understand them.
It’d be very weird to
start from a Jamesian view
of the stream of consciousness
and try to understand that
scientifically.
I feel like one of the central
questions of your book,
and one reason I like the
topic of consciousness
so much, is that it
is the only thing
we have actual experience of.
It is the most
familiar thing to us,
and yet actually
quite unfamiliar.
And I mean, this is one of the
great lessons of meditation
or psychedelics
more unfamiliar
the more you attend to it.
Yes, that is
really interesting.
I mean, the more I thought
about consciousness,
the more elusive the
phenomenon becomes.
And meditators get acquainted
with this pretty quickly.
You realize pretty quickly
that you have thoughts
that you are not thinking.
You have images that
you haven't conjured,
where did they come from?
You’re on the verge of sleep
or sleepiness and they just
pop into your mind.
And, this idea of thoughts,
thinking themselves
is bizarre to most people.
But I just think the
poets and novelists
are further along than the
scientists as they often are.
And that’s one of the reasons
I kind of turned toward
literature year later in
the book for a more subtle
understanding of
the thought process.
Well, let’s stay with the
scientist for a little while.
At least.
One of the things you
tried to do in the book
is track their efforts
to reduce consciousness
to something measurable, and
maybe protohuman nonhuman.
You have a great
chapter on plants,
and I guess maybe a place to
start with the plants is you
taught me something I didn’t
which is you can anesthetize
a plant.
Isn’t that mind blowing?
Can you talk a bit
about that experiment
and what it seems to imply?
So there’s a group of
scientists, botanists,
and they call themselves
plant neurobiologists,
which is a very tendentious
thing to say because there are
no neurons involved in plants.
They’re trolling more
conventional botanists.
I think I appreciate when
people troll each other
in ways that laymen
don’t even understand
I was like, oh,
that seems fine.
No, it’s fighting
words in the field.
O.K, so they’re plant dorks.
Plant dorks.
Absolute plant dorks.
And they do all
these experiments
to see how intelligent
plants are,
how much they can respond
and solve problems.
And they’ve also done
experiments to try
to determine if they’re
conscious or I would use
the word sentient
is more reasonable,
although they will use
the word conscious.
Do you want to say the
difference in your mind
between those two words?
In my mind, sentience
is a kind more
base form, basic form
of consciousness.
It’s what perhaps all
living things have.
It’s the ability to sense
your environment and recognize
what’s the valence.
Is that a positive or
negative thing happening?
and then respond
appropriately.
Bacteria can do this.
They have chemotaxis.
They can recognize
molecules that
are food and molecules
that are poison
and act appropriately.
So it’s a very basic form.
Consciousness is how
humans do sentience.
And we’ve added lots of
bells and whistles the stream
of consciousness
self-reflection the fact that
we’re aware that we’re aware
other most other creatures are
just aware.
Although we recently learned
that chimps have imagination,
which is kind of mind blowing.
How do we learn that?
Experiments they got
chimps, as I recall,
to play a kind of tea party
game as you would play with
a kid and they’re pouring an
empty pitcher into cups they
get completely into
the game, and they.
And there’s some reason you
can tell that they know it’s
not real.
So they’re imagining this.
Every time we build a wall
and say, only
humans can do this,
we find that actually
no other animals can.
So anesthetized plants.
So one of the experiments
these guys did
was take anesthetics that work
on humans, including a really
bizarre one called xenon gas.
I say it’s bizarre because
xenon gas is inert,
yet somehow it puts us out
if you expose us to the gas.
Which is weird because there’s
no chemical reaction going on.
And if you take a carnivorous
plant or a sensitive plant,
mimosa pudica, which is the
one, the tropical plant,
if you touch it, it kind
of collapses its leaves
and you give it the
xenon gas or any number
of other anesthetics
that work on us.
There’ll be a period where
they appear to be asleep,
and then they’ll
regain their ability.
So the fact that plants
have two states of being
is a very pregnant idea.
And there’s this at least two
states of being at least two
states.
Two that we’ve identified
on and off, right.
Lights on, lights off.
That to some implies
consciousness.
There’s the famous
definition of Thomas Nagel,
who wrote this great essay
called "What Is It Like to Be
a Bat?"
And his test for
consciousness is
if it is like anything to be
a creature, that creature then
is conscious.
So it is like one thing when
the plants are awake and it is
like something else
when they’re not,
or it’s no longer
like anything.
But the switch in state is
very much like consciousness.
Let me hold you on that,
because as I understand
the Thomas Nagel essay, it’s
that it is like something
to the organism.
Yes it’s internal.
And so you could
imagine a situation
where a world in which
it is not like anything
for the plant to be awake.
You give actually an example
related to this in the book,
where you say when you
plug a toaster in Yeah,
you threw me off
Yeah toast with it.
But when you plug it out,
we don’t think it is like
something different or unlike
something for the toaster
to be turned off.
I don’t think it’s like
anything for it to be
a toaster.
In so in either state, the
fact that something has
response to stimuli doesn’t
necessarily imply it has
a subjective experience.
That’s true.
The difference between plants
and toasters is complicated.
But living things have
a sense of purpose.
They have directionality.
They have good and bad.
Any kind of things like
that we give to a thermostat
is really just us giving those
qualities to the thermostat.
The thermostat doesn’t
care on its own,
whether it’s 70
degrees or 65 degrees.
So I don’t think it’s
proof of consciousness,
but it’s really spooky and
interesting that plants can.
And this researcher
in question, his name
is Stefano Mancuso.
He’s an Italian researcher at
the University of Florence.
He’s also shown
how plants sleep.
They’re like characteristics
that mark a creature’s ability
to sleep, which we thought
only belonged to higher
mammals, I guess.
Or no birds.
Birds sleep too.
But we didn’t think really
simple creatures slept.
It turns out even
insects sleep.
And Giulio Tononi
is the scientist
who came up with the criteria
for sleep and plants meet
I think all of them,
which is interesting.
And some.
And some take that as
evidence of consciousness.
You’re a gardener. Yeah. Do you
think you’re causing plants
pain by pruning them?
So you’re bringing up the
issue that immediately comes
to mind when you start hearing
about plant consciousness,
which is, are we hurting them?
When we mow the lawn,
is that beautiful scent
of freshly mown grass,
the scream Yeah the
scream suffering?
And that’ll make you crazy.
A great way to put it.
But if you say it’ll
make you crazy.
But I actually people know
we’re causing pain to cows
and pigs and chickens and
just don’t think about it.
Exactly so it turns out it
does not make human beings
crazy to cause mass pain to
living things on an industrial
scale. Yeah although there’s
all this worry about this
in Silicon Valley that our
tender hearts should go out
to these machines that
might be conscious.
And we owe moral
consideration to the machines.
Anyway, I think here’s my
suspicion about that because I
do think it is possible
we’re going to make sentient
machines, machines that have
some experience of what it is
like to be a machine.
And I think that you will find
there’s a lot of concern about
that until the moment it turns
out to be against anybody’s
interest to act.
You would have to do
anything about it.
And also, they love the
conversation about the far
future or near far future of
whether it’s boomer or doomer
view, because it’s a great way
not to deal with what’s right
in front of us.
One of the things
that has struck me,
and it’s a theme of your book
is our ability as human beings
to wall off our experience
from that of everything else
in the world.
I forget the great philosopher
you’re quoting here,
but there is one of them who
just doesn’t believe animals
can feel pain, sees them
as functionally robotic.
Well, Descartes.
Descartes
And that is in part helping
to justify vivisections
of live animals and rabbits.
And it’s just like I
have two dogs.
I’ve been around some rabbits.
The idea that you would
believe those animals
are not feeling
pain, it actually
raises a pretty
profound for me
question about human
consciousness and our ability
to interpret what we are
seeing around what we would
like it to be, as
opposed to what
it is Yeah that and
the power of an idea.
I mean, he developed this idea
that humans had this monopoly
I think, therefore I am.
In other words, the thing I
know is that I’m a conscious
being and nobody else has it.
No other creature has it.
And he was so convinced
of his own idea
that when these
animals screamed
sounds that we would have
no trouble interpreting
as suffering.
He didn’t hear
it as suffering,
he just thought it
was automatic noise.
And it is hard to believe.
And it’s true.
I mean, it tells you something
about the power of an idea
to overcome our
feelings, our instincts.
But we do this all the time.
And he was so
wrong about this.
It’s not funny, but we see
things through an ideological
lens, and it shapes what
we actually see and hear.
And it changed
the sound of those
screams to him to
into meaninglessness.
So then what about plants.
Are we causing mass
suffering to plants? Yeah,
and I talked to
Stefano Mancuso
about this and some
other researchers.
Some one in particular
believes yes, we
are causing pain to plants.
And his take was but
hey, that’s just life.
If we don’t eat plants, we’re
down to salt, basically.
If you give up on
animals and plants.
Mancuso doesn’t think so.
He thinks pain would not be
adaptive to a creature that
can’t run away.
And the big fact about plants,
of course, is they’re sessile,
they’re stuck in
place, they’re rooted,
and that dictates
everything about them.
And it’s the reason why
they’re the language in which
they work is biochemical.
They produce chemicals
to protect themselves,
to intoxicate, to attract all
different kinds of things.
So he says, they’re aware
that they’re being eaten.
They often don’t mind.
The grasses actually
benefit from being eaten.
And then of course,
there are all the fruits
and nuts that they’re happy
to give away to mammals.
So I don’t know where
I come out on that.
I don’t think my plants,
when I prune them, I mean,
they like being pruned they
respond with more growth
and new leaves.
And so I’m not too
worried about that.
There are a lot of things I go
through that make me grow that
I don’t like.
I would say it’s been
a consistent experience
of my life.
Well, it’s a short
term, long term thing.
Perhaps when you cut
them with the secateurs
that bothers them,
but they respond
in a really constructive way.
There is also another,
more complex way plants are
operating on this book, which
is that some of this book is
motivated by experiences
you’ve had with psychedelic
mushrooms.
Which are not exactly
plants, but O.K, Fine.
You’ll get letters.
I’m just saving
you the trouble.
And you have an
experience there
that I have heard from
many others, which
is a kind of
openness to animism.
Yes that may not have
been there before. Yeah,
that’s a very common
experience on psychedelics.
The world seems
much more alive
than it does in normal times.
Animism is very interesting
because it’s kind
of our default as a species.
You go around the world, you
look at traditional cultures.
They believe that there’s
a spirit infusing,
especially living things, but
also rocks and cliffs and sky
and clouds and everything.
And most kids are animists
till they go to school.
And then we knock
it out of them.
So it’s interesting that we
exist in this unanimous bubble
of Western scientific
materialism.
But you, you push in
any direction or travel
in any direction or have
a psychedelic experience
and suddenly questions
are raised about it.
And I think that’s what’s
interesting about what these
plant neurobiologists
are doing.
They're returning us to if
it’s not full scale animism,
it’s reanimated world.
And I did come out
of this experience
not the psychedelic
experience, but the research
experience of looking at
plant consciousness or plant
sentience with a
sense that the world
is more alive than I thought.
I was just weighing
whether or not
I want to ask you this
question, but I think I do.
Go for it.
So something I have noticed
from psychedelic circles,
which I’m much less
plugged into than you are,
is people who work with plant
psychedelics over long periods
of time tend to find
themselves or believe
themselves into, as working
with plant or spiritual
intelligences.
People who do mushrooms
or iboga or ayahuasca.
There’s a sense of there being
something on the other side
in a way that artificial
psychedelics, ketamine, LSD.
People do not leave believing
there’s an LSD spirit
on the other end of the phone
Yeah and just as somebody
who’s one of your previous
books was on psychedelics
and doing this book, that
the reason I think people get
pushed towards animism isn’t
necessarily the more narrow
question of what happens
when you anesthetize a plant,
but people are having some
kind of experience there where
they feel there are plant
intelligences communicating
to them.
Oh yeah.
Especially on
ayahuasca, especially
on ayahuasca, which
is a plant based.
It’s two plants.
It’s a brew of two plants.
And if you ask most
ayahuasqueros
How did you, how
did anyone ever figure out
the recipe.
Because it’s so obscure
that these two plants cooked
together would
have this effect,
and neither by themselves
has any effect or much of any
effect.
And they’ll tell you,
the plants taught me,
and they will mean it.
And we don’t know through
the lens of Western science,
how to listen to that.
It sounds ridiculous to us.
I mean, if I came out
anywhere on this whole book,
it’s like my mind is much
more open than it was to a lot
of weird stuff, just because
the normal stuff hasn’t really
panned out that well.
So it’s true.
Now, why would the
plant based psychedelics
be more likely to do this
than the chemistry based
psychedelics.
I think it’s set and setting.
Timothy Leary’s great
contribution was explaining
that the psychedelic
experience is shaped
profoundly by the physical
setting in which it takes
place and the mindset, the
mental setting that you bring
to it. When you’re using a
plant based, psychedelic you.
I mean, the imagery
is all jungle imagery.
People see leopards
and they see vines.
And do you think that’s
because set and setting?
or because of
something in the.
So you don’t buy the shamans
who tell you we were told this
by the plants?
No, but there’s 5
percent of me that was like,
O.K, maybe. I’m kind of I’ve
entered this never say never
realm with this research.
So certainly the
mainstream interpretation
of what consciousness is that
as life becomes more complex,
as unlike plants
were moving around,
that you have an
escalating complexity
in conscious experience
in order to achieve goals
That consciousness
is being created
through evolutionary pressure.
It’s adaptive.
It’s adaptive. Yeah one thing
you do is go through a couple
of the ideas of what it could
be adaptive towards Yeah tell
me some of them.
So I’m going to back up a
little bit to make sense
of this idea.
One of the big
questions is your brain,
at least 90 percent of what
it’s doing you’re not aware
It’s doing all this work
monitoring your body,
maintaining homeostasis.
Perceiving things
in your environment
without you being
consciously aware of it.
Peripheral vision, smell, scent, touch
all these kind of things.
So the question then
becomes why does any of it,
if this automatic
machine is such,
is so good at what it
does, why does any of it
become conscious?
That’s part of the hard
problem of consciousness.
Why aren’t we just zombies?
Wouldn’t that
have been simpler?
And the reasons
and to some extent,
these are evolutionary
just so stories.
But they’re persuasive that
basically you can automate
things until you get to
a level of complexity.
And for us, it’s
our social lives,
the fact that we are
fundamentally social beings,
absolutely dependent on other
people with a long period
of complete dependence for
babies and children compared
to other species, we need to.
Social life cannot
be automated.
It’s just too complex.
So you need to be able to
anticipate what I’m likely
to say, how a remark
is going to land.
We call it theory
of mind, this idea
that we can imagine our way
into other people, basis
of compassion and
things like that.
So once we entered this
realm of great complexity,
automating our responses
just wasn’t going to work.
And the creatures that had
consciousness that could
imagine what was going on
in another human’s head did
better than people who didn’t,
and failed to imagine what was
going on in someone
else’s head.
I find that a pretty
persuasive theory.
I guess one question
it raises is you look
at a baby or a one-year-old.
They are very, very
socially dependent.
And I think they
are clearly having
a very intense experience of
consciousness, justice a more
intense one than I have.
My consciousness is much
better at filtering out
information than theirs is.
You have spotlight
I have spotlight
So I’m curious to hear
you talk a bit about that
because on the one hand, it
feels like that idea would
imply consciousness becomes
richer as you become more goal
directed, but I think it’s
quite clear that it becomes
narrowed as you become
more goal directed Yeah,
I think you could make a case
that young children are more
conscious than we are.
I think it’s
almost inarguable.
And yeah.
Which is a kind of interesting
thing that we prune
consciousness down the way
we’re pruning so many things
in the brain as we age.
But this idea of
lantern versus spotlight
consciousness I
found very powerful.
I learned it from
Alison Gopnik,
who’s a child psychologist,
developmental psychologist
at Berkeley, and she gave me
a lot of good advice as I was
embarking on this.
The first was, don’t never
forget that the kinds
of people working on these
questions about consciousness
are not typical in
their consciousness.
These are people who can
sit-in a chair for a really
long time, read books
for a really long time,
think out problems.
They have an extreme version
of spotlight consciousness,
which she calls
professor consciousness,
so that was very helpful.
She contrasts this with
children’s consciousness,
lantern consciousness.
So instead of having that one
degree of attention focused
on some object, they’re taking
in information from all 360
degrees.
It seems very undisciplined,
very unfocused.
You find it when
kids get to school.
Some kids can sit
there and do it,
and a lot of kids can’t
because they’re still taking
in information from
all these sides.
It allows them.
It’s interesting.
It allows them to solve
problems that adults can’t
solve.
They think outside the box.
They have more
divergent thinking.
And then as time goes
on, we narrow our focus.
It allows us to get a lot
done to put on our shoes
in a semi efficient
manner in our podcasts
and but it involves
putting these blinders on.
So there’s a trade off.
And one of the
things psychedelics
do and Allison made
this point to me
also is return us to
And, she said in an interview
with me and to other people,
when she first tried LSD,
which wasn’t until I think her
60s, she realized, oh, this
is how the kids are thinking.
They’re tripping all the time.
And she said, just have
tea with a four-year-old
and you’ll see.
And there’s a lot
of truth to that.
I think I want to get at
another theory of what
consciousness is for, which
is I think the language
in the book is consciousness
is felt uncertainty Yeah isn’t
that beautiful.
That is very beautiful.
Although in practice I
find it very unpleasant.
But it.
What does that mean?
So the phrase comes
from a scientist
named Mark Solms, who
is a neuroscientist
and a psychoanalyst
in South Africa.
And he’s written a really
interesting book called
"The Hidden Spring"
And his theory is that
consciousness arises when you
can’t automate things.
And in this case, he’s talking
about the fact that you might
have two competing needs.
Let’s say you’re hungry and
you’re tired and you have
to decide which to privilege.
And that takes
decision making.
And what consciousness
does is open up this space
to resolve uncertainty.
So if everything was
predictable in the world
and you could be certain
when this happens,
that happens, and you had
a kind of neat algorithm
to deal with contingencies.
You don’t need it.
But a lot of life presents
us with uncertainty,
and that’s when
consciousness arises.
I think I’ve thought about
this part of the book more
than any other, and I think
that’s in part because the way
my mind works, and I’m not
sure how generalizable this
is.
My thoughts attract to
uncertainty in my life.
I just ruminate and
ruminate and ruminate over
whatever I am typically most
emotionally uncertain about.
Not always, by the
way, the most useful
forms of uncertainty.
There are other
unsolved problems.
It would be better if my mind
was interested in thinking
about but I get it.
So on the one hand, this
idea that there is something,
at the very least,
that is attracting
the spotlight of my attention
to uncertainty feels true.
But I also have a couple
of questions and problems
with it.
One is that it doesn’t seem
like what we’re talking here
about is exactly
I mean, what you were just
saying about the child
or about the adult
on psychedelics,
they are not attracted to
uncertainty in the same way.
The experience of psychedelic
consciousness expansion
is, in many ways,
I think, less
of the experience
of felt uncertainty.
It’s a very good point.
It becomes much more
about experience,
whereas uncertainty, at least
in the way I experience it
in my consciousness, tends to
be a much more spotlighted,
much less experiential, it’s
a distraction from experience
Yeah I think that’s right.
I haven’t really
thought about that much.
I think that one
of my takeaways
is that we have to be kind of
pluralists of consciousness,
that there are many
different kinds.
And that psychedelic
consciousness
should be counted
as one of them,
or the mystical forms
that James talks about.
And then there’s everyday
consciousness and spotlight
consciousness and that.
So I think we all have a
toolkit to some extent.
And we experience, I mean,
the kind of consciousness
you experience
as a meditator is
very different than the
kind you do at work.
Or when writing, I mean,
writing is a great example.
That’s a very peculiar
form of consciousness.
So the other thing I was
thinking about with this
was consciousness
is felt. Uncertainty
felt where because I think
we think of consciousness
as a thing happening
in our minds,
something I think
actually that has come out
of my meditation for me.
But then I loved
seeing how much of it,
there was in your book is
recognizing how much is
happening in the body Yeah,
I think that’s my biggest
discovery.
As someone who
lives in his head
most of the time, how
important having a body
is to being conscious.
We really think of the head
as we identify with our heads
more than our bodies.
Maybe because our
eyes are there.
I don’t know.
But consciousness probably
arises with feelings first.
It starts with
things like hunger
and itchiness this
and only later
becomes as it enters, gets
filtered into the cortex,
becomes the kind of
complicated thinking
that we pride ourselves on.
I think that feelings
are based in the body.
Finally, it’s how the
body talks to the brain.
And we have to remember
this very simple fact, which
is the brain exists to
keep the body alive,
not the other way around.
We’re not just a support
system for this amazing three
pounds of tofu in our heads.
And once you realize that
realize that the body is
the message is
coming from the body
are really important
to the brain.
And these feelings
are the beginning
of conscious experience.
And if you didn’t have them,
it’s questionable whether you
would have consciousness.
There’s no doubt.
I think that the
experience of consciousness
is some kind of interplay
between both, oath.
I feel uncertainty
in my solar plexus.
I think about things
I’m uncertain.
Around in my brain.
Exactly and where do
you experience disgust.
Like moral disgust.
It’s in your belly.
You have a great experiment
in the book about ginger.
People giving ginger.
Could you describe
that? Yeah this
is a very cool experiment.
They gave people ginger
before exposing them
to some morally distasteful
event or something, or image.
And the people
who had the ginger
were less disgusted because
their stomachs were settled.
So our feeling of moral
disgust is kind of channeled
through our gut, which
is such a weird idea,
but that’s probably true
of a lot of feelings,
and that it has enormous
implications for this
discussion about A.I.,
whether it can be conscious
because feelings are
not just signals,
they’re not just
bits of information.
They contain information.
You’re getting a lot of
information from a feeling,
but it.
That’s the residue
of the feeling.
There’s something
more somatic about it,
and it’s very hard to imagine
how computers could get
to that.
And feelings have no
weight if you don’t have
a vulnerability, if you don’t
have the ability to suffer
and perhaps be mortal
otherwise a feeling is just
more information.
And we know feelings are a
lot more than that to us.
I want to describe an
experience I just had.
While we were doing that, I
wrote a note to myself to come
back to this part of
the conversation later,
to maybe clip it out because I
think it’s particularly good.
One thing I find I need to
do during these podcasts
is pay very close
attention to my body,
because what happened there
is not that I had a thought.
This is good.
Come back later.
What happened there is
that my skin got pricklier
and I noticed like a
heightened sensitivity.
And that was an
alert to my mind
to start paying attention.
Well, what am I trying
to pay attention to.
I see this all the
time in the podcast.
My body has reactions to
things that are going on,
and then my mind
has to interpret
why that is happening. Yeah
and the body is smarter
about things.
And, the mind which created
the questions document I
walked in here with is but
it’s such a strange experience
that something just happened
in my chest and my hands that
told me my body thinks this
part of the conversation was
good, and to put it into
my brain so I could write
a little note to come
back to it later.
William James
writes about this.
So you have feelings,
emotions and thoughts.
And emotions are more the
physical manifestation
of feelings.
I can tell your emotions.
I can’t tell your feelings.
Those are internal.
He said basically,
they start in the body.
Anger starts with a racing
heart or something like that.
And then the brain
interprets why
did the heart start racing?
Why did blood pressure go up?
Maybe it’s fear.
So the brain is constantly
interpreting the messages it’s
getting from the body, and the
body is feeling on its own,
reacting to its environment
in a million different ways.
And it totally changes how
you think about consciousness
and the potential
of automating
this or the potential
of digitizing it.
If feelings are that
if feelings come first.
And I just think that feelings
bear more thought in that
where do they come from.
Why are they.
How can they be simulated?
Feelings and bodies
bear more thought.
Yes, this is
something embodiment.
That consciousness is an
embodied phenomenon and that
the head, the brain in a vat
right meme just know it just
doesn’t work.
Ditto the downloading of
consciousness onto a machine.
The dream of the
transhumanists.
You’re not going
to have a body.
How’s that going to work?
I think if somebody
was to go out
into self-improvement podcast
world or school or anything
and their fundamental
question was,
how do I get smarter,
how am I more
intelligent, that the
answer you basically get
has to do with
training your mind,
studying, reading more,
journaling in the morning,
whatever it might be.
And there’s actually very,
very little about deepening
the connection between
your mind and your body.
As I have gotten older and
as my work has become more
creative, I think I’ve come
to think it’s a huge mistake,
that a huge amount of just
what I have had to get better
at over the years is paying
attention to my body such that
then my mind can do something
with these signals that are
not always easily
interpretable,
but have some intelligence
that I don’t feel like I am
in control of Yeah and
we misinterpret them.
I mean, think about you’ve
got young kids when they’re
hungry, they will misinterpret
that as frustration or anger
and you realize, oh, they just
need to eat and then they’ll
be fine.
So we do go through a process
of learning how to interpret
what our body is telling us.
But it’s true.
As adults, where do
you go to learn that.
I mean, meditation
a little bit,
doing body scans and things
like that I’ve done meditation
practices where the focus
is very much on the body
and what’s going on in every
different part of the body.
But I think we would be wiser
if we learned how to do this
and paid better
attention to our bodies.
And I also think
I mean, in a way,
this is the lesson of Antonio
Damasio’s first book in 1994,
"Descartes' Error,"
it was called,
and he was basically showing
that feelings and emotions
should be admitted into the
decision making process,
and he proved that people who
couldn’t experience emotion
or feelings made worse
decisions than people who
could and that there was
a kind of a gut check.
We have all these gut, we have
all these words for the gut
and thought.
And there’s some kind of
buried deep in the language
as this understanding that our
gut has something important
to tell us about a decision.
And so he kind
of rehabilitated
feelings and emotions in the
whole science of the brain.
But basically, we’ve been
drumming feelings and emotion
out of our understanding
of the brain for hundreds
of years.
And, I don’t know why.
I mean, it just this
idea of the pinnacle
of human consciousness
is the cortex
or the kinds of people who
do this research are just
really out of touch
with their bodies.
I like that as a hypothesis.
I’ll be hearing
from some of them.
Well fair enough.
I want to pick up on
something you said in there
about the sequencing,
about how feelings often
precede thoughts.
There’s a great piece of
research you bring up that is
research done on meditators
who are asked to note when
they are interrupted in their
meditation by a thought.
Can you describe that study?
Sure so this scientist,
Kalina Christoff Hadjiilieva,
a psychologist, her field
is spontaneous thought,
which I hadn’t thought
about that as a field.
And that includes things like
daydreams and mind wandering
and creative thinking and flow
and to try to understand this,
she’s very interested in the
question of how things get
from our unconscious into
our conscious awareness,
because we know there’s a lot
going on below the threshold
of awareness.
So she works with
trained meditators,
people who have 10,000
hours experience meditating,
puts them in an fMRI, gives
them a button to press as soon
as a thought intrudes.
Because even if you’re
an experienced meditator,
it’s going to
happen, she says.
It happens every tens
for everybody, she said.
The great lesson of meditation
is the mind cannot be
controlled.
It’s very, very freeing
to people trying.
What was interesting
about this
is that when people
press the button,
she would look back at
when something popped out,
when there was activity
in the hippocampus, which
is the source of memories
and other stuff as well.
But she was watching that
as a source of a thought,
and it took four seconds
between the fMRI showing
activity in the
hippocampus and the person
being aware of that thought.
So what is happening.
Four seconds in the brain.
Time is like an eon.
What is happening for
a thought to transit
from the unconscious
to the conscious?
And why does it take so long?
And she doesn’t know.
I’m sorry I can’t
pay this off.
But one of the
theories is called
global neuronal
workspace theory
that there are thoughts
competing with one another
for access to our
conscious awareness.
And they’re this Darwinian
process and only the most
salient ever gets
into the workspace.
And then broadcast
to the whole brain.
The problem with this theory
is there’s a lot of trivial
stuff that somehow gets
through, at least in my case.
I think there’s a lot of
traffic going back and forth.
And that’s something also that
you happen not just during
meditation but during
psychedelic experiences.
There’s lots of unconscious
material that comes up.
I actually find this to be
a problem with meditation
for me, which is that there’s
a lot of meditation that is
about open awareness or
trying to watch things happen.
Non-judgmentally yeah, but the
very act of having awareness
is very clearly changing what
is happening in my brain.
So the more awareness I
have, the more my brain feels
slightly or my mind feels
somewhat controlled,
and the less awareness I have,
the more I’m going to get
these little wisps
of meditation.
So there’s a meditation
teacher I really like whose
meditations are on YouTube
named Michael Taaffe.
And his attitude
is like, look,
the machinery of the mind
is going to go on, but just
put it down the way
you put down your phone
and just let it do its thing.
You can just ignore it.
And I find that very helpful.
And I have this sense of
a little buzzing going
on in this corner of thoughts
that I’m not paying attention
to.
But as Kalina shows it’s very
hard to control this material
and things are going to bubble
up and they’re interesting.
Well, I guess one of my deep
and fundamental questions
about being a
human being is why
I attend to what I attend to.
If I could go and talk to
the algorithm in my mind,
in the way that increasingly
you can go tell a clod how
it is you want Claude to act.
I would change the algorithm.
I would worry less about
interpersonal conflict
in my life.
I would spend a lot less time
thinking about whether or not
people are mad at me.
But there is some
process by which
I hate the term
global workspace
theory as a description of
what is going on in the mind.
It’s so bloodless and built
on personal computers in 1998.
Productivity ideas
Yeah, but that idea
that things are
competing and somehow
or another, some
part of my mind
is running some
kind of process
to decide what comes into
the spotlight of attention.
And if it’s really shocking,
there’s a car accident next
to me or a Yeah, there are
shortcuts Yeah like all
of a sudden, it’ll
move me there entirely.
But moment to moment there’s
some kind of competition
and what comes up.
I can be aware of it,
but the more aware
I am of it, the less
in control that I feel,
which is one of the great and
slightly terrifying lessons
And so that question of the
unconscious doesn’t seem mild
to me.
That is, the factory
producing thoughts comes from.
And then something
is deciding what
to put in the front shelves.
So you’re thinking about
it in terms of an algorithm
and and a mass of data.
And different things could
get pulled into it into it.
And that’s not a bad metaphor.
I mean, we don’t know
exactly how it works.
There is still this question
of if the workspace idea is
true, everything we think
should be of some consequence.
And we all know
that’s not true.
And so why do things that are
completely trivial or banal
enter our consciousness.
Freud would say we’re
suppressing more important
things, but there is clearly a
way that the mind learns what
to think about over time.
So to use the example of my
kids, it is quite clear to me
that my children do
not spend any time
during the day thinking
about things they
have to do in the future.
They might think it’s about
things they want to do
in the future, but they’re
never I think it’s been
a while since my last
pediatrician appointment.
I might need some shots Yeah.
You leave me with my mind
alone for much time at all.
And a to do list begins
bubbling through it.
It’s very, very persistent.
I mean, I meditate with paper
near me to just get things out
of there and onto the paper
so I don’t keep thinking about
them.
Somewhere along
the way, I went
from being a kid who is
pretty present in his life
and thought more.
I think about things I wanted
to think about or and became
somebody whose mind has bent
towards productivity Yeah,
not the only thing that
happens in my mind,
but it is clearly a
favored topic Yeah
and it makes you successful.
I mean, there are
standards by which.
Well, that makes sense.
So how should it.
So what I would say about
that is you brought up
something a minute
ago where you said,
well, the problem with this
theory is that why does
so much triviality emerge.
But I mean, couldn’t
you just say.
Well, it is overapplied rules.
Like, my biggest
complaint about my mind
is I think too much
about relational stress.
But you grow up,
you have a family,
you’re very dependent
on caregivers.
It’s very easy to imagine
how a mind would bend towards
really.
I was bullied in school.
You being out of
joint in relationships
can really harm you.
So it’s not unclear to me how
my mind might have overlearned
the rule scan for relational
threat at all times.
And so I’m curious about that
learning like something is
happening over time.
That is not the
same in all people.
It’s dependent on
life experience.
People who grew up in times of
famine tend to store more food
when they’re older.
There’s something happening.
And also and that pleasure
is not driving this.
I mean, it’s success.
It’s you are learning
algorithms that we’re going
to use that computer metaphor
that are even though it
doesn’t feel good, are
promoting the kind of behavior
that’s going to solve problems
and keep everybody happy,
maintain the peace, all
these kind of things.
So our minds are invested in
our success, not our pleasure.
I mean, one of the things,
I talked a lot about how
psychedelics inspired this
book, but meditation did too,
because as soon as you stop
to examine what’s going
on in your mind, which
many people don’t do,
but now tens of
millions of people do,
especially since the
pandemic, there are a lot more
meditators than there were,
is how strange our minds are
and how little
volition is involved,
and that we think we’re
calling the shots as conscious
human beings.
But to a remarkable
extent, we’re not.
And where that material
is coming from,
we can call it
the unconscious.
We don’t.
We don’t really know.
But it’s a less.
It’s just much less.
It’s just defamiliarized.
I mean, you’re just estranged
from your own mental processes
and this whole idea that
great meditation exercise,
will look in your brain for
who’s thinking those thoughts,
who’s feeling those feelings,
and you won’t find anybody.
Talk to me about
a state of mind
that has come up briefly
in our conversation already
that I think is between
unconscious and goal directed,
which is the wandering mind.
I think we have come
to diminish its role.
Oh, yeah, I think so.
So what is it and what
do we know about it.
Well, the wandering mind
exactly is just what’s
happening when you’re bored.
That’s the precondition, in
a way, for a wandering mind.
It’s like I’ve
got nothing to do.
There’s no task here.
I’m just killing time,
and suddenly we’re off
and daydreaming
or mind wandering.
There are very similar things.
I forget how clean it
distinguishes them.
But she does.
She thinks it’s a really
important part of life that we
haven’t studied because
it’s not productive,
and that all the work
in psychology goes
into productive
areas of thought.
I think that’s changing now.
You have people
studying and emotions
that are not necessarily
productive but are
is very useful.
So she just thinks this
is a space of creativity
and that a lot of
creative thinking
comes out of mind
wandering and daydreaming.
And it’s something
novelists do all the time.
I mean, they get pretty good
at daydreaming and she says,
we’ve lost this.
The space of our interiority
for this kind of thinking
is diminished because
of our distractions,
our technological
distractions.
I want to challenge not
that she believes this,
but this idea that it’s a
non-productive form of I think
it.
Oh, I think it is
very productive.
It’s just how are you.
How are you defining
productivity?
I would say the
biggest barrier for me
and productivity,
true productivity,
which is the ability to do
better with the same amount
of resources that you already
have is that I don’t spend
enough time with my mind
wandering. Yeah and it is
routine that the absolutely
most creatively important
times I will spend.
I thought I was taking
a break Yeah, I thought
I was doing something else.
I was taking a walk.
I wasn’t just driving my
mind further into the ground,
flicking through web pages
when I was already too tired
to absorb information.
Then all of a sudden I’ll have
the insight or I’ll realize
where I should
call this person.
And I don’t know
where it comes from,
but it’s those moments
of insight, epiphany,
creative leap that comes
into my spotlight that
the spotlight gets in the way
because of those blinders.
And I think when you’re
daydreaming or mind wandering,
the blinders are kind of
opened up and you’re taking
in information
from more places.
No, she argues that it’s
just the belief that this is
unproductive thought because
nobody wants mind wandering
workers.
The capitalists want us to
be, spotlight consciousness.
And she gave the example
she gave is like, right now,
my job is to grade
blue-book exams,
and that’s what I
should be doing.
But my real life project
is making sense of my life
and having a fulfilling life.
And I would be
better off taking
a walk or mind wandering.
So there’s a tension.
There’s a tension there
between what the economy
considers productive thought
and what emotionally is
productive thought
or creativity now,
or what the economy should
consider productive thought.
If it were smarter.
It just you can’t quantify
the hour to hour level.
One of the most interesting
mind states for me is a mind
state I functionally only have
when I am reading something
on paper without screen
distractions around me,
which is it becomes my mind
becomes highly associational,
and I’ll be reading and then
I’ll look up and I’ll have
ideas.
They’re often not
about the book at all.
It’s like the book itself is a
scaffolding of a certain kind
of attention.
But I’m aware and I’m awake,
and so I’m noticing other
things.
It is by far my
most creative state.
Do you have a pencil or a
pen in your hand? Yeah, yeah.
And it is achieved more easily
on airplanes than anywhere
else because then you really
don’t have distractions.
But it can happen
at a coffee shop.
But it won’t happen if
I’m looking at a screen.
And so it’s made me think
about how if we wanted humans
to be more productive,
more creative, more.
I think a lot of our
received beliefs about this
are really wrong.
We’d want to put people more
in touch with their bodies.
We’d want to teach them how
to find the states of open
association and
mind wandering.
You want to put yourself in
the way of inspiration more
often, because it’s not
controllable in the way we
wish it were.
Completely agree.
Kalina edited this
book, "The Oxford Companion
to Spontaneous
Thought", and there
is a history of
spontaneous thought
that looked at how incredibly
creative people, composers,
novelists, how they
spent their days
and they only work like
four or five hours.
They spend a lot of
time in unstructured,
wandering, walking.
And we all know there’s a
connection between creative
thinking and walking.
You’re much more likely to
break through if you’re stuck
in your writing or
whatever else you’re doing.
If you get up from the
desk and take a walk
instead of just like
worrying that problem.
So there, I mean, yeah, we
could reorganize our lives
in a way.
But the one thing we do
know is how our phones,
our social media are
bringing down that viewpoint,
keeping us from looking
up, keeping us from making
associations because there’s
no time for association.
You’re just scrolling
and something else comes
in and you’re getting
another little hit.
And so we’ve shrunken that
space and it is a space
of creativity.
And there’s no reason
we can’t reclaim it,
but we have a lot of trouble
doing it because algorithms
are really sophisticated and
they know how our minds work.
When are you most creative?
Walking I would say
it’s where I walk a lot.
I work, I walk in the Berkeley
Hills and although even then
I have to say, half the
time I fill my head.
I have my AirPods on.
I’m listening to a
novel or a podcast,
listening to you
when I could be.
Let’s not be too hasty in
diminishing the importance
of informational input here
Yeah, no, it is important.
But anyway.
And I have to remember to take
out the AirPods and listen
to what’s going on.
And we haven’t talked
about time in nature,
but that’s I think,
a very hygienic space
for consciousness is being off
of all media, of all kinds.
As the book evolves,
you start widening
to less and less goal oriented
theories of consciousness.
And one thing that is
happening throughout the book
that you’re very
attentive to is, first,
the number of scientists
of consciousness,
scientists of the mind who are
now dabbling in various forms
of psychedelics Yeah,
that was a surprise to me.
And two.
Well, you’ve part of the
reason it’s happening,
so it shouldn’t be
that surprising.
Well, there’s and
there’s a selection bias.
People know they can talk to
me about their trips. Yeah it’s
quite a role you’ve created
for yourself in public life,
and to the way that is
upending their theories
I mean, you have a number of
scientists who come in and out
through the book who
are saying, well,
I thought this and then
I had this experience,
and I think it’s
really interesting,
the felt experience of truth
on something that people who
up until that moment would
only accept what they could
prove and were reducing
everything to the provable
Yeah like they know they
ingested a chemical.
And yet what that
felt like was.
So they’re not
willing to dismiss.
And so authoritative Yeah and
you’re alluding to Christof
Koch, who is a very prominent
consciousness researcher.
He was there at the beginning
when he and Francis Crick
began on this quest to
understand consciousness
in the late 80s, early 90s.
And he’s an exemplary
scientist in that he’s changed
his mind in profound
ways several times.
That doesn’t.
I find that doesn’t usually
happen among scientists.
The saying that science
changes one funeral at a time.
Not in his case.
He went to Brazil and had
an ayahuasca, a series
of ayahuasca experiences.
Now, this is the prototypical
brain guy, right.
He ran the Allen Brain
Institute in Seattle.
He’s been messing around
with neurons and electrodes
for years and years and years,
and assumed that the source
of consciousness was
going to be in the brain.
He has this experience
of mind at large.
This is a term that
comes from Aldous Huxley
in the doors of perception,
that consciousness
was outside of his brain.
And I challenged him
on it and I said, well,
there’s a drug experience.
And he would not take that
as disproof or even reason
for skepticism.
And he used as an example,
a famous thought experiment.
You have this brilliant woman
who is the world’s expert
on color, up on vision and
she knows everything there is
to know about cones and rods
and how the whole system
works.
But she lives in a completely
black and white world.
She steps out one day and
has the experience of color.
What has she learned.
What has been added to
her stock of knowledge.
And he said, I was like Mary.
And I had had this vision.
And who.
And nobody could convince me
when I went back in the box
of scientific materialism
that it hadn’t happened.
It had happened.
It was as sure as I have
been of anything in my life.
And now he’s
exploring idealism.
What is idealism?
Idealism is the philosophy
is a universal field, and that
consciousness precedes matter.
We automatically assume
that matter is primary.
Everything can be reduced
to matter and energy,
and they can be
reduced to each other.
Idealism is no, no, no.
You got to start
with consciousness.
Matter comes second.
The argument for it is or the
argument against materialism
is that as we’ve been
saying, the thing,
there’s nothing with more
certainty than consciousness.
It’s the thing, directly.
Everything else is inferred
you see through consciousness.
So why is it that we
privilege the thing we infer
rather than the thing we know?
Why do we privilege matter
as the ultimate source
of everything?
I was like, now, maybe a
smarter person than me knows
there’s a logical fallacy
there, I don’t know.
I don’t see where it is.
So the idealism theory
is related to this idea.
You bring it up in the book.
I think you’re the first
person who I’d ever heard
about this from.
The mind may be like an
antenna Yeah, or a radio
receiver or a radio receiver.
It’s not generating
the consciousness.
It is receiving
some kind of signal
and then interpreting it.
And in the same way
that if you break a TV,
it’s not going to work.
It’s not going to work.
But that doesn’t mean the
waves that it was absorbing
are gone Yeah and you won’t.
You shouldn’t look in the
TV set for the weatherman.
I mean, and that’s kind
of what we’re doing,
but it’s channeling this
information from the universe
and that that’s why the brain
is involved in a critical way.
And if you damage
the brain, you
damage consciousness or
anesthetize the brain
or whatever.
But it’s involved
in a different way.
And the evidence kind of
works the same either way,
whether you say the brain
generates consciousness
or channels consciousness.
It’s hard to make a case that
one is better than the other.
We just assume that the
generating consciousness
is how it works.
And we just kind
of stipulate this.
The term scientists
use is that the brain,
that consciousness is
an emergent property
of the brain, which
sounds really scientific.
But if you press,
it’s just abracadabra.
It really.
It doesn’t really
explain anything.
What is the difference between
idealism and panpsychism?
Panpsychism is the idea
that every little bit,
every particle has a quantum
of consciousness, of psyche.
And that in the same
way, 200 years ago,
we added electromagnetism
to the stock
of what reality consists
of material reality
consists of we
should add psyche.
It’s another thing.
So in a way, it’s a
new materialism or it’s
materialism was
something added to it.
It’s a big price to pay for
your theory that you’re adding
something completely new
to the stock of reality,
but it solves the problem
of where consciousness comes
from.
It comes from everywhere.
It’s just it was already here.
So these ideas
are they I mean,
when I first
learned about them,
I thought, these are crazy.
But then you realize that the
materialism is kind of hit
a wall with consciousness
studies and that there is this
gap that we can’t seem to
cross from a very good theory
like workspace theory
to well, wait a minute.
When you say you’re
broadcasting to the whole
brain, who’s receiving
that broadcast?
And then you have
other people saying,
well, consciousness
is just an illusion,
but an illusion is a
conscious experience.
So what about the subject?
And that’s where everybody
starts waving their hands.
What level of plausibility do
you assigned to that? To what?
I guess either, but I think
I’m thinking of a more novel
brain as radio receiver.
I have to say, I don’t know.
It’s weird to spend five
years on a book and come
to an answer like that.
But as I said at one point,
this is a book where you may
know less at the end than
you do at the beginning,
but you’ll know a
lot of other things.
It’s a very fun tour.
I told you at the beginning
of this I’d give you my theory
of the book tour.
Towards the end of our
conversation, when we sat down
around how to change
your mind, your book
I told you that I
thought that was a book
about the mind posing
as a book about psychedelics.
And I think this is a book
about psychedelics posing
as a book about
the mind because
and not to do violence to it.
Both were actually
about their subject.
But it is striking to me how
often in this book it’s not
just Koch
There’s the scientist
who is building, I think,
a robot trying to make
consciousness, and then does,
I think 5-MeO-DMT and
realizes everything is love.
There’s your mushrooms.
There’s a lot of people who
note offhandedly that they
are.
There seems to be something
here that it has caused
a larger ontological
shock than I
think, a stylized
description of well,
you ingested a chemical.
Of course you had a chemical
experience would naturally.
It’s a totally unsatisfying
explanation Yeah, well,
I think that the interest
in psychedelics is partly
an interest in taking back our
consciousness and exploring
it, because one of the
things that happens,
the day you do a
psychedelic is not a day.
You’re looking at your phone.
It’s a day that you’ve put a
fence around if you’re doing
it right and not just
walking around the streets
of Manhattan tripping, but
you’re doing it with some
intention, and you reclaim
your mind for a period
of time, and you explore it.
And this idea of
expanding consciousness.
There’s a line in Aldous
Huxley that I’ve always really
liked.
He believed in this
transmission theory
of consciousness, which he got
from Henri Bergson, who really
was the person who
first put that forward.
Was that in normal
times, our brains
admit only the trickle
We need to get through
the day to be productive,
to do what we need to do.
But there’s so much more.
And what he said
psychedelics did
is open what he called the
reducing valve so that more
consciousness got in.
What was that consciousness to
him, it was the mind at large.
But I find it’s also
sensory information.
Bodily information.
I mean, sometimes trips are
incredibly somatic and they’re
all about the body and other
times they’re about visual
material.
But it’s ours.
It’s mine.
Although some people go to
a divine place about it.
And so I’m just out there
starting to talk about
And I’m like, I’m curious
that people are so interested
in consciousness.
Like, I didn’t expect this
when I started on this book
Really Yeah.
No, I didn’t, and it seemed
a very academic topic.
And I think two things
have changed that.
One is the fact
that I think we
feel our consciousnesses
are just full of bullshit
right now.
And there’s so much stuff
we don’t want to be thinking
about that we’re
thinking about.
And you take phones
away from kids,
and they’re actually grateful.
Even once they get over
the shock of living without
a phone for a day or
while they’re in school,
because our consciousness is
under pressure from everyday
life, capitalism and the
need to succeed financially.
We happen to have
a president who
intrudes on our consciousness
for a lot more of the day
than any of us
have had experience
before with
previous presidents.
So I think there’s some desire
to get back to some more
sovereignty around
our consciousness.
And psychedelics are
part of that, too.
And there is also that is I
say in the book where we’re
entering a Copernican moment
of possible redefinition
of what it means to be human.
On the one hand, we have
all these animals and even
plants that turn
out to be conscious.
What we used to think
was our special thing.
And on the other side,
we have these machines
that are going to be
smarter than we are.
And some people think
they’ll be conscious,
but whether they can or not,
we’re going to think they’re
conscious and act
on that basis.
Which raises all
sorts of problems.
So who are we exactly if
we’re not the smartest,
most conscious being?
And are we more
like the animals
who can feel and
die and suffer,
or are we more like the
thinking machines who
speak our language.
You talk about consciousness
as a reducing valve,
as a filtering mechanism
of sensory experience.
And we’ve talked a little
bit about the wider,
more lantern like
consciousness of children,
whom we.
I wonder how different
the experience
of being conscious
in advanced modernity
with a smartphone
and a task list,
and we are really training
ourselves to narrow down
to be successful
in the economy.
We have structured and
much of the Western,
not only Western
world at this point,
we have altered what
it means to be human.
And I wonder how much
you’ve made the experience
of consciousness increasingly
unsatisfying by can overtrain
any muscle.
And what we are doing
staring in a narrowed way
at a computer.
I mean, there’s all this
great neuroscience on networks
between wide gaze
and narrow gaze,
which I really feel when
I look out over a mountain
range.
And when I look
at my phone, you
can feel we have narrowed how
it feels to be human being.
We have.
But it’s not too late.
I mean, tell me about your
consciousness, sovereignty,
ideas as you’re moving in here
into consciousness hygiene.
Well, I’ve thought a lot about
how can we protect this space
and one of the things I’ve
been talking a lot about
protecting our consciousness
and what a precious space
of interiority we have.
And it’s this place
of mental freedom.
But I realized for some
people going there,
it doesn’t feel good that
these are people who ruminate
a lot.
And I’m prone to a
lot of rumination,
which is very
circular thinking,
often not productive.
It keeps you focused
on something,
but not in a way
that’s making progress.
Usually it’s a spiral.
Maybe so, but
also realizing you
can take some control
over your consciousness
and that we need to
do more to defend it.
And meditation is one great
way and as challenging
as it can be.
You feel like, here’s my
mind, I’m with my mind.
It might be painful.
It might not be.
But no one is telling
me what to think.
I’m not.
We spend so much time thinking
the thoughts of other people,
the rants of other
people and the obsessions
of other people.
Meditation is, I think,
a really interesting way
to put a fence around
your consciousness.
You put down your phone,
you still have a pad
because you’re just trying to
get rid of those to do things.
But when it’s
working really well,
there’s great pleasure
in watching the show go
by and the things I wasn’t
expecting to think about
suddenly and imagery and
all this kind of stuff.
I do have an internal
life, contrary to what
that guy said.
So sure you do.
Michael, we believe
you for sure.
You’re not just a zombie here.
No Something you said a
minute ago pinged for me,
which is often people actually
don’t like being put in a room
with their consciousness.
There’s a famous old quote
I don’t have the speaker
in memory, but it says huge
amount of the world’s problems
come from man’s inability to
sit-in a room by himself. Yeah,
I remember I was in a period
of meditation a couple
of years back, and I was
trying to meditate a lot
because a lot was
happening in my life.
And I felt like I was just
getting more and more upset.
And I remember talking
to Will Kabat-Zinn,
who’s a great meditation
teacher in the Bay Area who we
both know.
And he said to me something
I’ve never forgotten.
He said, oh, so you’re
not enjoying the process
of insight.
And I actually think
this is part of actually
a lot of things to say.
Nothing of our president,
who I think is cannot sit-in
a room alone with himself,
cannot sit-in a room alone
with himself, I think without
a constant distraction and ego
reinforcement actually speaks
to a complicated relationship
he has with his
own consciousness.
It is sometimes actually quite
hard to be there by yourself.
And when you make
space for it and I
mean people go on
meditative retreat often
have very difficult times.
It can be, and I think
usually is very profound
and but you are often
going through struggle.
One of the great lies about
meditation is that it’s
peaceful.
In fact, it’s often
very agitating Yeah,
it’s much more peaceful
to distract yourself.
Or peaceful may not be the
word I’m looking for there,
but we distract ourselves away
from the internal agitation.
We spend a lot of time
anesthetizing ourselves,
and there’s a kind of boredom
that I think is generative
that we don’t experience
anymore because we have all
these amazing ways
to fill that space.
But that space was productive
in its unproductive way.
And we’ve given that up.
So that’s a space of
consciousness too,
that we could easily reclaim.
I think psychedelics are
one way to take control
of your consciousness.
I mean, that’s probably not
the right verb because there’s
so much that’s uncontrolled,
but it’s all you.
And I think that’s one of the
reasons that there’s so much
interest in it right now.
You’re blocking out a
lot during a psychedelic
experience as you go inside.
So those are the
kind of things
I think we need to think
in terms of hygiene
for this great gift we have.
And what does
hygiene mean here.
Hygiene towards what.
Keep it from being polluted.
Keep it clean.
Keep it, keep it.
Keep your consciousness
from letting others dictate
its contents basically.
Is that a question of
consciousness or of attention.
Well, they’re very
closely related.
And I think attention
not the same.
They’re not.
Well, I think attention is
a subset of consciousness.
So attention is part of it.
Attachment is another
part of it though.
Attachment yeah.
Emotional attachments.
That’s a big part of
consciousness too.
And that’s now having
won our attention.
Now the companies are now
going for our attachments
with chatbots.
I’ve just met people who
are increasingly working
on attentional
liberation movements,
the friends of attention
being a good example of this.
It just came out
with a new book.
And I’ve met people
creating schools on this.
And there isn’t an interesting
way burbling around a kind
of sense that a attentional
freedom is an increasingly
political and
structural question.
I think we see it fairly
clearly with our kids,
but I think we know it
with ourselves, too,
and it’s very hard to think
about how to create a coherent
politics around it and
activism around it.
And also nothing is
more fundamental,
including to how politics
works than what kind
of attention you’re
cultivating in a society Yeah,
absolutely.
Attention is a collective
resources I think is an under
is a underplayed frame
for this attention is
a collective capacity
that is being exhausted
by people like Trump.
By certain ways, the media
and algorithmic media works,
and a society with a more
irritable, distracted,
and diminished capacity for
attention is going to be
politically different than a
society with a healthier form
of oh, it’s going to be
easier to manipulate.
Definitely it’s
going to be angrier.
It’s going to be angrier.
I mean, the more
we allow these kind
of intrusions on our
consciousness or exploitation
of our attention.
I mean, I think they’re
very similar things.
The less it’s a space of
freedom and you give up
the space of freedom and
you’re thinking other people’s
thoughts and you’re much more
vulnerable to manipulation.
And if you really nurture your
own mind and your own sense
of consciousness, you’re much
less likely to fall for lies.
You’re much more likely
to think independently.
How? you know.
How do you think independently
when you’re scrolling?
You react, but you’re
not setting the agenda.
You’re letting an
algorithm set the agenda.
I think we’re vulnerable to
the kind of politics that
you’re talking about.
But it is the
nature of capitalism
to intrude on more and
more of our lives, more
and more of our time.
There was an interview with
the president of Netflix who
was explaining, in regard
to competition over
an acquisition or
something like,
we’re not competing with
other streaming services.
We’re competing with
your dream time Yeah,
this is Reed
Hastings years ago,
who said our primary
competitor is sleep Yeah,
yeah.
It’s one the more dystopic
things I’ve heard a CEO say.
I know it really is.
And they are competing with
the part of our consciousness
that wants to think
its own thoughts.
Because there’s more money
to be made if we think
their thoughts.
I particularly loved the
coda, the final chapter.
You go spend time
with Joan Halifax.
A great teacher, Zen teacher.
And she has a line
in there that coming
as it does at the end
of this very heady book,
she says that she has divested
herself from all meaning. Yeah
and you go to talk to
her, and she basically
sends you to a cave and
puts off talking to you.
Tell me a bit about that
experience, and also
what you took from
that extremely zen form
of teaching that you.
Well, exactly that you
were gifted Yeah I mean,
it was kind of an
experiential koan.
I mean I’m not going to.
I should have known
she’s zen teacher,
that she would be allergic to
concepts and interpretation
and everything I wanted to do.
It was like, duh.
So I wanted to see her.
I had met her once
or twice before.
I had a lot of
admiration for her.
We’d been on a panel together
because she had a lot
of experience
with psychedelics.
She was married to Stan Groff
and administered huge doses
of LSD to the dying
back in the 70s.
It’s such a wild project.
I know it really is,
although many people have
been helped by this.
I mean, it’s one of the better
applications of psychedelics,
I think, is helping people
with terminal cancer.
But anyway, I was working on
the self chapter at the time
and there’s this Buddhist idea
that the self is an illusion,
which I’ve struggled
with in various ways.
I understand how it’s true,
but yet self seems to be still
working in my life and I
wanted to talk to her about
that.
And she had described
her retreat center,
which is called Upaya.
It’s in Santa Fe as a factory
for the deconstruction
of selves.
It’s like, oh, that
sounds interesting.
I should go get deconstructed.
And so that’s why I went and I
got there and I spent a couple
days with adepts and the
monks and but then she said,
I think we should go
up to the retreat.
And she said, we’ll go
up there and you’ll stay
in the cave.
And I’m the cave.
That’s like, not
my kind of thing.
I’m not a camper.
And she said, don’t worry,
it’s a five star cave.
So we get there and then
after this 25 mile dirt road,
and then there’s another half
mile hike out to the cave,
and there’s no electricity
and there’s no running water.
And she somebody dug into
this hillside, these caves,
and with a glass door on one
side overlooking this meadow.
And there I was for the
next three or four days,
and she kept ducking
my interviews.
And at one point, she said,
I’ve divested a meaning.
shit, this is not
good for the journalist
conducting interviews.
But she wanted me to have
an experience instead.
And I did, and it was really
profound a meditation retreat
that you were describing.
It is almost a
psychedelic experience.
When you’re alone with
yourself and the borders
of self attenuate, they
become more porous.
You realize the extent to
which our identity as selves
is a social identity, and it’s
reinforced by everybody we
talk to because they’re
treating us like a self.
So we must be a self.
But if you’re absolutely
alone in the middle of nowhere
and you have no access
to media, it softens.
And then I was meditating
for hours at a time,
and it was very
interesting because life
became like a meditation.
In fact, I had more
profound meditations,
doing chores chopping wood and
sweeping out my little cave
than I did when I was
sitting on the platform.
And it was a really
profound experience.
And it shifted my thinking
about consciousness
in this way.
I had gotten caught in this
frame, very Western, very
male of problem, solution,
hard problem of consciousness,
solution.
And I had trained
my attention.
I had narrowed, right.
I had a focus on that
question for five years
of really struggling
to understand this.
And I suddenly realized,
well, there is the problem
of attention, but there’s
also the fact of it,
and the fact of it is so
marvelous and so astonishing
and mysterious.
And why aren’t I paying
more attention to that?
Why aren’t I being
more present?
One night, I woke up in
the middle of the night
to go out to pee.
And there is.
It’s a new moon, and there’s
no light pollution at all.
And the stars.
This vault of stars is more
numerous and more gorgeous
than it’s ever been.
But it’s not out there.
It’s reaching all the way
down to me here that we occupy
the same space, the same
intergalactic blanket.
And it was such all my
kind of learned ways
of looking at the starry sky.
We all have these predictions.
The brain is a
prediction machine.
All the concepts and the
frames just went away.
And it was just kind
of like me stars space.
And this is not such
an unusual experience,
but it made me, it
shifted my thinking
from solving a problem
to being within a.
You talked earlier
about the way
this book has a quality of
you read it and maybe less,
but it adds wonder.
And it made me think as I
was going through different
theories, integrated
information processing
or whatever it’s called Yeah
how sad I’d be if any of them
were true.
If you could prove to me that
global workspace theory was
the truth of consciousness,
if you could prove to me
consciousness evolved.
And all the things I
think are a byproduct
of an evolutionary process
for reducing uncertainty,
I would hate it.
Well, it’s funny.
This is a lesson I learned
not just from Joan,
but from my wife, who’s
an artist, Judith.
And she was lecturing me about
not knowing has its own power.
And of course, it is a zen
idea to cultivate the don’t
know mind.
And she’s right.
It does have a power.
And that not knowing
opens you in a way
that knowing closes you down.
And that we’re very
frustrated with not knowing.
But it is the state.
It is our existential
predicament
about many, many things and
getting comfortable with it.
I mean, it was
a long way to go
for me to get
comfortable with it,
but getting
comfortable with it.
Yes, more or more wonder
in the face of mystery.
I think that’s a place to end.
Always our final question
what are three books you would
recommend to the audience.
Three books for you.
Well, a book that was
really influential
in the writing of this book is
a book called "The Blind Spot"
It’s by a philosopher, Evan
Thompson, and two physicists,
Adam Frank and
Marcelo Gleiser.
It’s a critique of
Western science,
and it makes a very powerful
case that the blind spot
of the physical sciences is
inability to deal with lived
And so for science, read is
a certain frequency and read
to them is an illusion because
it’s constructed in the brain,
but they’re pointing out that
humans who experience red
as a fact of nature any
other fact of nature,
and you got to deal with it.
So how does science deal
with lived experience.
It’s a fantastic book.
Another book that was
as I was working on the
stream of consciousness
is a stream-of-consciousness
novel by Lucy Ellmann
called "Ducks, Newburyport"
It’s 1,000 pages,
one sentence.
And that sounds I know that
sounds really daunting and I’m
not going to pick that up.
You can open it
anywhere you want, read
10 pages, you can
listen to the audiobook,
you can fall asleep,
pick it up again.
It’s still there.
It’s like this
pool you can enter.
And it’s all the thoughts
of this middle class,
middle aged woman
who lives in Ohio,
who has a home
baking business.
And it’s everything
going on in her head,
including scrolling
on her phone.
But you have to infer that
because there’s no orient,
nothing to orient you.
But anyway, it’s great fun and
really funny and a brilliant
book.
Lastly, there was a
book about conscience.
There were several books
on consciousness I liked,
but the one I
want to recommend
is "Being You" by Anil Seth.
He’s an English
neuroscientist,
and it’s a book
about the self,
and he treats the
self as a perception.
And he’s one of the great
explainers of consciousness
and mental phenomenon
in general.
His TED Talk about reality is
as a controlled hallucination
has been one of the
most popular ever.
And he discusses
that here too.
But it’s a really good primer
on consciousness with specific
attention to the self.
So those would be my three.
Michael Pollan,
thank you very much.