The sun is shining and the bright blue sky is dotted with a few cheerful, puffy clouds. There’s just a dusting of snow on the concrete driveway where a steel-blue Ford Explorer sits waiting, looking ready to live up to its name. It’s a sight I know by heart: the rooftop cargo carrier is open just a crack, through which a rainbow mix of skis and snow boots is visible. The liftgate is raised to reveal a careful arrangement of two suitcases (a big black one and a small purple one), a gray work bag, a large canvas tote monogrammed with a blue “W”, three duffle bags (two paisley and one dark navy), and a big, blue plastic cooler with black wheels and a white lid. Five backpacks, five water bottles, five ski coats, four phones, and an iPad are scattered through the main area of the car. Though I can’t see them, I know that there’s also a pack of gum, a bag of Werther’s caramels, and a CD of carefully curated Disney songs in the front console. The CD hasn’t been used in years, not since we started listening to satellite radio and Spotify, but nobody would ever dream of removing it from the car. Hawaiian Rollercoaster Ride has become as much a part of this 4-hour journey as the five passengers and their yellow dog.

The packed car, ready for a trip up north, is one of the most vivid images in my memory. I’ve never questioned its reality. Descartes in his Meditations on the First Philosophy, however, might challenge me to prove whether those things I so clearly remember are real at all. Under the assumption that to be fully conscious is to know the difference between what is real and what is an illusion in one’s life, Descartes sets out in Meditations to identify if and how objective reality differs from his perception of reality. His first argument that “something that contains…everything to be found in [an object]” (28) must exist in order for that object to exist establishes a basis upon which he can build further reasoning, specifically that an object must also exist in order for an idea of that object to exist. In other words, an idea is not nothing, so it cannot come from nothing. This line of reasoning assures that an objective reality does exist: since we have ideas, there are definitely real objects which inspired those ideas. Yet, simply knowing that everything comes from something provides no insight into how objective reality differs from perceived reality. There is certainly room for the possibility that our sense of consciousness is an illusion, since what we perceive as objective reality could actually just be a rearrangement of the building blocks of objective reality.

Fictional stories offer a parallel to this phenomenon: even when humans make up stories, the settings, characters, and actions within  these stories are necessarily based in  nonfiction. For example, in Greek gods and goddesses do not exist, but they have human-like forms  and interact with nature and other beings as humans do. Today, we understand Greek mythology to be fictional. However,  the ancient Greeks did not believe their gods and goddesses to be fictional even though these Greeks lived in a reality made up of the same basic building blocks  as we do today. If the Greek deities were real from the perspective of the ancient Greeks, how can we prove that our perceived reality is any more true  than the existence of Mount Olympus? What causes us to attribute reality to one thing and deny the reality of another, even though they are made up of the same basic building blocks? 

 Like the beliefs of ancient Greeks differ from those of modern Americans, people have differing perceptions of reality across the world today.  In order for a group of people to function as a society, though, their perceptions of reality must have some degree of similarity. I originally interpreted Descartes’ definition of consciousness as the ability to understand objective reality, and used his arguments to assert that, while we might not be able to know objective reality individually (and therefore can’t reach an individual consciousness), we can participate in a collective consciousness through shared perception of reality.  I thought participation in this shared consciousness classified a human as conscious: in Westworld, the non-sentient hosts interact with each other, but their perceptions and actions are ultimately shaped by their programming. In contrast, the human perception of reality is constantly influenced by interactions and exchanges of perspective with others. This outlook on consciousness is valid, and in fact relates to Norbert Elias’s ideas of consciousness coming from interaction with other people. However, I was still wondering what leads to the development of an individual consciousness. If we all participate in a shared perception of reality, how much do we share? How many of our thoughts are our own?

Although I acknowledge that I share a perception of reality with other people, I also think of myself and others as individuals. Trips up north were one instance where this concept of individuality was tangible. In a world where people and politics were changing all the time, my family had only to go “up north” to remember who we were. I was the planner, the responsible one who packed everyone’s shoes and snow gear. My sister, ever the compassionate one, made sure to get the dog’s food and toys.  My mom, the caregiver and ringleader, packed the cooler. My brother was the untroubled one, happy to simply follow instructions and fill everyone’s water bottle. My dad, creative and stoic, packed his tools and projects for the weekend but also made sure to do most of the driving.  

Regardless of the validity of our perception of reality, the way we interact with the world is inherently dependent on our perception of it. As Descartes seeks to understand objective reality by stripping away all beliefs he holds that have any possibility of doubt, he finds that a major source of doubt is the unreliability of sensory perceptions. A logical path to resolving this doubt would be disregarding sensory perception altogether, but I found that as the piece develops, Descartes actually begins to rely on the reflexive nature of perception in order to defend the existence of consciousness.

Descartes adamantly rejects the physical senses at the beginning of Meditations. Early on, he observes that everything he has “up till now accepted as most true [he] has acquired either from the senses or through the senses” (12). We see, hear, feel, smell, and taste, and adjust our actions based on these things. Yet these sensory perceptions don’t always give us an accurate picture of the world around us. For instance, people are often deceived about the color or size of objects by optical illusions. Our senses don’t just deceive us while we’re awake though: Descartes builds distrust in the senses with the observation that we experience sensory perceptions while dreaming without even being exposed to stimuli. 

This dissonance between perceived and objective reality is present  in Westworld too, in the separate existences of park and the real world. The park is the only reality that the hosts know to be true, but it is clear to the humans and audience that there is a world outside of the park which is the “true” one. There is nothing in the park that should make the hosts skeptical of its reality: the park is like our perceived reality to the hosts,  and the world outside of the park is objective reality.

Westworld implies  that in order to achieve consciousness, one must be able to access objective reality. The human characters are inherently conscious, and they know the objective reality of the outside world and can separate this from the perceived reality of the park. Similarly, hosts first start acting consciously when they access the world outside of the park. Maeve, for example, starts to become conscious  only when she is taken out of the park for repairs. Westworld fails to answer the question of how the hosts gain access to objective reality, however. As outsiders watching Westworld, we can see a clear distinction between perceived reality (the park) and objective reality (the real world). Making that distinction is almost impossible in our own lives: how could we possibly know whether the things we perceive equate to true reality  when we have only our fallible sensory perceptions to rely on?

What Westworld fails to take into account is that whether we are perceiving an alternate reality or objective one, we can still know that we ourselves exist. Descartes’ realizes that he exists “so long as he thinks that he is something” (17). The idea that we can trust our minds without necessarily trusting our senses is confusing, however, Descartes reminds us that “perception does not derive from [objects] being touched or seen but by their being understood” (22). Perception is a function of the mind, and from Descartes’ dualist point of view, the mind is separate from the physical world. Therefore, it is not the accuracy with which we perceive reality that makes us conscious, but our ability to know that we are perceiving at all. 

It is at this point that, in contrast to his initial resolution to “never trust completely” (12) the senses, Descartes starts to rely on sensory perceptions to form a reflexive defense of consciousness. In “Second Meditation”, Descartes writes of the different ways he uses senses to identify a piece of wax (visual, feel, smell, etc.). Although he acknowledges the full possibility that what he sees is not really the wax, he reasons that if he judges “that the wax exists from the fact that [he touches] it, the same result follows, namely that [he exists]” (22). According to this dualist perspective, consciousness has little to do with Westworld’s idea of  knowing objective reality and much more to do with our ability to form sensory perceptions.

If we can identify or judge something from what we see, feel, hear, etc., regardless of how inaccurate that judgment is, we ourselves must first exist. When we think about ourselves in our environment, we are aware that our senses are causing us to be aware of that environment, thus we know that we ourselves exist. This is the reflexive quality of consciousness: being aware that one is aware of something is a separate phenomenon from actual awareness. This ability to think critically about our surroundings does not depend on what we are sensing, it is a function of the mind. Therefore, even if our perception of reality is completely different from objective reality, we can still be conscious. 

As an example, after eighteen years of traveling the same route to get  up north, I can confidently recall the specific road signs and landmarks: if mom’s driving, we get on I-96 towards U.S. 127. Dad tends to choose the faster (but less scenic) route, driving up U.S. 23 to I-75. Either way, we end up in Grayling, MI, and then head west. In Kalkaska, the kids make sure to alert everyone when the car reaches the trout statue. In Rapid City, we watch wistfully as we pass the Cone Corral (whose ice cream is reserved as a morale booster for the sorrowful trip home). Turning left on Crystal Beach Rd, we squint through the darkness to see the south end of Torch Lake as we drive over the mouth of the Torch River. The bridge is lit up by red, white, and blue string lights arranged in the shape of an American flag. We drive on, passing a few cherry orchards, a sheep farm, and a quarry before turning right onto Indian Rd. A final left turn onto NW Torch Lake Drive, and my family arrives at a big gray house with forest green shutters, the Cottage. My assessment of the journey’s progress is mainly based on my sense of sight, which could, at any time, be deceiving me. According to Descartes’ reflexive view, the validity of those images doesn’t matter for determining whether I am conscious while observing them. What does matter is that I am not just passively taking in information through sight, but am aware that I am seeing in the first place.

In his argument, Descartes vows to dispense with physical perception as he argues for consciousness, as there are “never any sure signs by means of which” features of the physical world can be verified (13). One could argue that Descartes’ dispense of physical reality invalidates his reflexive defense of consciousness, since perception would not be possible at all without a physical world to perceive. What this counterargument fails to acknowledge, however, is that reflexivity does not only rely on sensory input. Reflexivity is simply the ability to think about one’s own thinking and understand that you are making choices. Therefore, one can think reflexively (and still achieve consciousness) simply by observing their own mind. Descartes does this in “Second Meditation” his when he defines himself as “a thing that thinks” and then proceeds to categorize all the different types of thinking he does: he “doubts, understands, affirms, denies, is willing, is unwilling, and also imagines” (19). Just as one can be acutely aware of the fact that they are perceiving external stimuli, they can be aware that their mind is thinking, daydreaming, or doubting. Awareness of one’s own thoughts, ideas, and limitations is still a thinking reflexively, therefore external reality is not a necessary precursor to consciousness at all. 

Descartes completely detaches consciousness from physical reality in order to defend consciousness. Another text that relies on such a dualist perspective to support the existence of consciousness is the Bhagavad Gita: in this epic, the thinking self is clearly presented as separate from the physical brain, and Krishna argues that one can achieve consciousness through reflection and discipline instead of accepting consciousness as an illusion created by the physical brain.

Despite their similarity, these authors’ messages differ in how they relate consciousness to continuity of identity. Descartes suggests analysis of perception in the moment is the essential driver of consciousness. The ability to recognize that one is thinking allows for validation that the self exists: Descartes’ cogito, “I think, therefore I am.” In Descartes’ model, the self exists in each moment that one can recognize their ability to think and perceive. However, there is no guarantee of continuity of the conscious self over time: one is spontaneously conscious in every moment where they are aware of their own cognition.

Alternatively, the Gita proposes that consciousness is developed over time through discipline and reflection. The Gita takes a reductionist approach to the relationship between the mind and the brain: “Action is the product of the qualities inherent in nature,” in other words, intentions and actions are determined by the biology of the brain rather than being the result of one’s own free will. Still, consciousness can be achieved: the Gita argues that the mind can also have an impact on the brain, and that by disciplining the mind, one can begin to shape the way their brain (biological) determines intentions and actions. In this way, the repetitive practice shapes the brain over time until eventually, one has changed how their brain controls their mind.

The long-term process by which consciousness is developed according to the Gita also implies a continuous self, in contrast to Descartes’ instantaneous self. In order for one to suffer in the present as they discipline their mind, they must be motivated by the belief that they are the same person that will benefit from the discipline in the future. Otherwise, they would forego suffering in favor of experiences that benefit them now. This belief in a self that continues into the future, even as someone changes, is in direct contrast to Descartes conception of an instantaneous self. His “I” in the cogito consists of nothing but the pure consciousness doing the thinking, doubting, or imagining, and does not incorporate features of a past self or plans for a future self. 

Does the consideration of a continuous consciousness invalidate or simply complicate Descartes’ reflexive definition of consciousness? Before contrasting these two texts, I had not considered the assumption of a continuous identity to be optional. My family’s car trips up north have stayed the same in many ways over eighteen years, but I have certainly changed the way I look, think, and act. One notable aspect that is different today from when I was younger is my perception of time. In my earliest memories of up north trips, the drives took ages. I would bring stacks of books, coloring pages, and magazines, yet never enough to prevent me from getting bored. Now, I’ve been conditioned to bring books and magazines but I rarely use them. I usually let myself be lulled into daydreams by the buzzing of the road beneath me, or use the time to play road-sign games with my family. I thought that maybe, my shift in perspective is a sign of my maturity, evidence that I understand that good things require sacrifice and patience. Or, it might be an indication that I don’t make enough downtime for myself in everyday life. Despite how tremendously different I am now from that eight year old powering through American Girl magazines, however, I would never have considered that we might just be completely different people with a difference in perception of time. Descarte might challenge this consideration by asking how I can know for sure that we are the same, to which I don’t have a good answer for this aside from physical and situational similarities. However, I do think that a conception of continuous identity is compatible with Descartes’ reflexive defense of consciousness: self-awareness is the essential feature of consciousness, not the time scale over which that self-awareness is developed. Just as Descartes reminds readers that “perception does not derive from [objects] being touched or seen but by their being understood” (22), the Gita lays out that “the senses are superior to their object, the mind superior to the senses, understanding superior to the mind.” Whether this self-consciousness exists in the form of epiphanies (Descartes) or develops over time (Gita), both texts emphasize the same, fundamentally self-conscious state.

Furthermore, Meditations and the Gita both move beyond interaction with the material world and recognize that reflexivity can also help one understand themselves. In the Gita, Arjuna is advised to recognize that he is not “the actor” as a critical step on his path to enlightenment (9). Similarly, a central feature of Meditations’ argument for God’s existence is Descartes’ recognition that he is imperfect: Descartes’ idea of God is perfect, it could not have come from himself (an imperfect being), therefore God must exist. In these specific examples, thinking about one’s own mind allows one to become more aware of their limitations. For both authors, going beyond physical perception to reflect on their thoughts allows one to reach a deeper sense of self. 

Comparing Descartes’ writing with the Gita makes it clear that one’s ability to question fundamental drives and doubt the world around oneself are not just reasons to ponder the existence of consciousness, but ultimately evidence that one is already conscious. This comparison reveals that the frame of reflexivity is just as useful for understanding consciousness through examining one’s interactions with the physical world as it is for understanding consciousness by examining one’s own mind. A clear understanding of capabilities and limits allows both Descartes and Arjuna to move forward with a better understanding of their places in the world and therefore more fully developed identities. Ultimately, consciousness is still derived from the ability to think reflexively about oneself – now, it is clear that reflexive thinking can focus on one’s thoughts as well as physical actions.

The drive up north ties me to a place and ties me to my family, but just as importantly, it ties me to myself. As I get into the car heading up north, I can passively allow emotions of excitement and peace to fill me. However, I can also consciously identify that this act of heading up north is causing me to feel specific emotions, and reflect on why these emotions are associated with this activity. 

Returning to initial questions on the importance of knowing objective reality to developing consciousness, my anecdote matches with the perspectives of Descartes and the Gita: inaccurate sensory perceptions don’t invalidate the fact that one is perceiving. Rather, if one can understand that they are perceiving at all, they have a sense of a self which they can manipulate in response to those perceptions. This sense of self is ultimately what consciousness is. By understanding reflexivity as an essential feature of consciousness, awareness of sensory perceptions becomes a benchmark by which we can judge our own consciousness and understand what it means to be sentient in a world where our senses can deceive us.

At the beginning of my study of Descartes and the relationship between perception and consciousness, I was introduced to the works of Dennett, Libet, and other cognitive scientists who claimed that, since consciousness lags behind corresponding brain activity, our unconscious mind must be controlling our actions and generating illusions of consciousness instead of conscious choices causing our actions. Based on my study of  Meditations,the Gita, and the works of other philosophers, I am now able to considerably doubt the assumption that consciousness must be an illusion if it comes after action.

By a reflexive definition, consciousness is the awareness of thinking, feeling, or doing something. However, the brain must work to cause an action before the mind has something to be aware of. We need the brain to act before we can achieve consciousness, or else there are no thoughts or actions to analyze. It is true that  individual actions might still be controlled by the unconscious mind. However, each time we analyze an action instead of passively carrying it out, we add information to the reservoir which the  unconscious mind can draw upon to direct our next action. In this way, Descartes’ reflexive definition points to how consciousness can shape the brain.