The nature of consciousness, and how to enjoy it while you can

Unraveling how consciousness arises out of particular configurations of organic matter is a quest that has absorbed scientists and philosophers for ages. Now, with AI systems behaving in strikingly conscious-looking ways, it is more important than ever to get a handle on who and what is capable of experiencing life on a conscious level. As Christof Koch writes in Then I Am Myself the World, "That you are intimately acquainted with the way life feels is a brute fact about the world that cries out for an explanation." His explanation—bounded by the limits of current research and framed through Koch’s preferred theory of consciousness—is what he eloquently attempts to deliver.

Koch, a physicist, neuroscientist, and former president of the Allen Institute for Brain Science, has spent his career hunting for the seat of consciousness, scouring the brain for physical footprints of subjective experience. It turns out that the posterior hot zone, a region in the back of the neocortex, is intricately connected to self-awareness and experiences of sound, sight, and touch. Dense networks of neocortical neurons in this area connect in a looped configuration; output signals feedback into input neurons, allowing the posterior hot zone to influence its own behavior. And herein, Koch claims, lies the key to consciousness.

In the hot zone

According to integrated information theory (IIT)—which Koch strongly favors over a multitude of contending theories of consciousness—the Rosetta Stone of subjective experience is the ability of a system to influence itself: to use its past state to affect its present state and its present state to influence its future state.

Billions of neurons exist in the cerebellum, but they are wired “with nonoverlapping inputs and outputs ... in a feed-forward manner,” writes Koch. He argues that a structure designed in this way, with limited influence over its own future, is not likely to produce consciousness. Similarly, the prefrontal cortex might allow us to perform complex calculations and exhibit advanced reasoning skills, but such traits do not equate to a capacity to experience life. It is the “reverberatory, self-sustaining excitatory loops prevalent in the neocortex,” Koch tells us, that set the stage for subjective experience to arise.

This declaration matches the experimental evidence Koch presents in Chapter 6: Injuries to the cerebellum do not eliminate a person’s awareness of themselves in relation to the outside world. Consciousness remains, even in a person who can no longer move their body with ease. Yet injuries to the posterior hot zone within the neocortex significantly change a person’s perception of auditory, visual, and tactile information, altering what they subjectively experience and how they describe these experiences to themselves and others.

Does this mean that artificial computer systems, wired appropriately, can be conscious? Not necessarily, Koch says. This might one day be possible with the advent of new technology, but we are not there yet. He writes. “The high connectivity [in a human brain] is very different from that found in the central processing unit of any digital computer, where one transistor typically connects to a handful of other transistors.” For the foreseeable future, AI systems will remain unconscious despite appearances to the contrary.

Koch’s eloquent overview of IIT and the melodic ease of his neuroscientific explanations are undeniably compelling, even for die-hard physicalists who flinch at terms like “self-influence.” His impeccably written descriptions are peppered with references to philosophers, writers, musicians, and psychologists—Albert Camus, Viktor Frankl, Richard Wagner, and Lewis Carroll all make appearances, adding richness and relatability to the narrative. For example, as an introduction to phenomenology—the way an experience feels or appears—he aptly quotes Eminem: "I can’t tell you what it really is, I can only tell you what it feels like."

Going beyond consciousness’ limits

The takeaway from the first half of Then I Am Myself the World is that IIT might offer the best-fit explanation for consciousness—a view, it’s worth mentioning, that is highly contested by many other neuroscientists. But the greater message, addressed later on, is that we, as human beings, have the capacity to expand and transform our own conscious experiences. Why settle for a life lived in semi-darkness when we can pull back the curtains and experience an explosion of light?

Koch discusses transformative states of consciousness in the second half of his book, including near-death, psychedelic, and mystical experiences. He also discusses the expansive benefits of sustained exercise—drawing upon his personal experiences as a bicyclist and rock climber—through which a person can enter “the zone.”

“Some consider these states a higher form of consciousness. Perhaps. I call them transformative ... transformative experiences achieve transcendence, conveying a sense of equanimity, a feeling that everything is as it should be.” He places special emphasis on ‘the flow,’ which he defines as “a mental state in which you are totally engaged with the world while only dimly aware of yourself.” Being in the flow, also known as direct awareness, is the experience of being completely present.

Notably, the posterior hot zones of Buddhist monks, who spend years training themselves to quiet mental noise through meditation, are silenced during states of pure presence. EEG measurements confirm this; a dearth of electrical activity in the brain, especially in the neocortex, translates into the experience of calm, immediate awareness. It seems likely, Koch says, that psychoactive substances and near-death experiences have a similar effect on the posterior hot zone, triggering experiences of “boundless space ... without body, without self, and without time.”

Yet, the average individual has few opportunities to experience such neocortical quieting. “As a denizen of the twenty-first century, you only rarely experience the spontaneity of this stream,” he writes. Yet, it is this silent space that he suggests makes one feel most connected and engaged with the direct experience of life.

Koch suggests that exercise, meditation, and the occasional guided psychedelic might be beneficial to many people. Substances such as psilocybin can enhance one’s feeling of well-being and facilitate pure presence. It is rare to have a close brush with death, and mystical transformations typically come unbidden; in contrast, psychoactive substances—though not entirely predictable—are more consistently available and can be managed safely. Koch’s book implies that there’s immense psychological benefit of entering "the flow" through chemistry that might outweigh the small risks involved.

Overall, Then I Am Myself the World is a smoothly written must-read for anyone interested in a detailed introduction to the relationship between the brain, consciousness, and transformative experiences. However, it also bears witness to Koch’s personal journey from a neuroscientist studying the tangible elements of brain states to a man swept up by a quest to expand and transform his own life experiences. As a reader, one can’t help but identify with Koch’s drive to live life to its fullest—ultimately, this is a human quest. Then I Am Myself the World is, at its heart, a cogent reminder to cherish our own conscious experiences while we have the power to do so.

Lindsey Laughlin is a science writer and freelance journalist who lives in Portland, Oregon, with her husband and four children. She earned her BS from UC Davis with majors in physics, neuroscience, and philosophy.