Author Michael Pollan, renowned for exploring themes of plants, food, and psychedelics in bestseller works like Omnivore’s Dilemma and How to Change Your Mind, now shifts his focus to the complex topic of consciousness in his latest book, The World Appears: A Journey into Consciousness. Pollan delves into scientific and philosophical insights, weaving literary perspectives throughout. In a recent interview with New Scientist, he reflects on the exploration of writing a book that often leaves him with more questions than answers.

Olivia Goldhill: Let’s begin with a challenging question: How do you define consciousness?

Michael Pollan: Consciousness can be easily defined as a subjective experience, which distinguishes beings with awareness from inanimate objects. Embracing an experience means being aware of it, which leads us to consider the implications of “subjectivity.”

Another intriguing definition arises from philosopher Thomas Nagel, who posed the question, “What’s it like to be a bat?” Although bats differ vastly from us, we can still conceptualize their experiences. If an organism can perceive its existence, it possesses consciousness.

Traditionally, consciousness was thought to reside in the cortex, the brain’s latest evolutionary development. However, I’ve come to understand that consciousness often begins with emotional experiences—not merely cognitive thought. Researchers like Antonio Damasio, Mark Solms, and Anil Seth highlight that consciousness starts with basic emotions such as hunger or itchiness, emerging from the brainstem. This realization underscores that consciousness is an embodied phenomenon; we need vulnerable bodies and profound emotions to truly experience it.

You discuss the limited understanding of consciousness and the scientific challenges involved. Do we require a new scientific approach?

Current physical sciences maintain an objectivity that excludes the qualitative, first-person experience of consciousness. This bifurcation, dating back to Galileo, has confined subjective qualitative matters to theology. While subjective experiences are indeed vital, the adequacy of existing scientific tools to address them is debatable.

We must also analyze consciousness from within. Blind Spot, a book that profoundly influenced my understanding, reveals that science itself results from human consciousness. Our chosen issues and measurement methods stem from our own awareness.

Thus, a novel scientific paradigm may be essential, one that incorporates first-person perspectives. One effort endeavors to connect this through integrated information theory, which posits a subjective experience defined by five axioms, seeking structures that support such experiences. The attempts, while intriguing, have yet to be convincing.

You propose that plants possess memory and intelligence, even hinting at plant consciousness.

I differentiate between sensation and consciousness. Sensation entails awareness of the environment and the ability to assess whether changes are beneficial or detrimental, resulting in a basic form of awareness without self-awareness. I believe plants exhibit this capability.

My exploration into what some refer to as “plant neurobiology” yielded fascinating discoveries. Plants possess around 20 senses compared to our six; they navigate mazes, and when they detect the sound of caterpillars munching, they respond by injecting toxins into their leaves. They send signals to nearby plants alerting them to predators and selectively share resources with kin.

Interestingly, plants respond to the same anesthetics as humans. For instance, when Venus flytraps are exposed to anesthetics, they fail to react to nearby flies. This raises intriguing questions: what do plants lose in consciousness under anesthesia? This provokes thought regarding their cognitive capacities.

It may comfort some to hear your perspective that artificial intelligence lacks consciousness.

Specifically, I am discussing the imminent development of artificial intelligence models. While computers can mimic thoughts, they can’t replicate real emotions, which possess inherent qualitative aspects tied to our physical being.

In my book, I introduce Kingson Mann, who endeavors to create an AI with a “vulnerable body” designed to feel. When I inquired about the authenticity of such feelings, he expressed uncertainty.

How have your past investigations into plants and psychedelics informed your current research on consciousness?

My fascination with plants has roots in my earlier works, and they matter deeply to me. My psychedelic experiences also shaped this exploration. One profound moment occurred in my Connecticut garden, where I sensed a consciousness among the poppies, which seemed to gaze back at me with kindness.

My challenge remains: how to interpret these psychedelic insights. William James suggested we treat such experiences as hypotheses and seek further validation or contradiction. This perspective guided my journey.

Christof Koch recounts his radical psychedelic experience in my book, leading him to rethink established notions of consciousness tied strictly to the brain, illuminating the extraordinary potential of psychedelics in understanding consciousness.

Psychedelics influence how we perceive the world and can “stain the windshield of experience,” which makes it impossible to disregard consciousness. Once you grasp that concept, it can become an obsession.

I appreciate your thoughts on psychologist Russell Hurlbert’s experiment tracking thoughts, though you seem to dispute his claim of limited thoughts.

While I may struggle to articulate my thoughts, I believe they exist and merit expression. James described this as a “hunch”—a threshold of understanding that may take time to articulate.

However, Hurlburt inferred that my inability to instantly contextualize thoughts indicated a cognitive void I was filling with situational elements. While I found our discussions intriguing, I also found them illuminating.

For over fifty years, Hurlburt has observed real variations in thought processes among individuals. We often assume the term “thinking” is universal, yet distinct forms exist—some think in words, others in images, and some experience what he terms “unsymbolized thinking.” Notably, verbal thinkers are fewer than often presumed.

Does contemplating consciousness enhance or diminish our consciousness?

Alison Gopnik articulates “spotlight consciousness” (focused attention) and “anti-lantern awareness” (exploratory awareness). I initially sought immediate answers to the consciousness dilemma. Yet, through discussions with my artist wife and Zen teacher Joan Halifax, I learned the value of embracing uncertainty. Understanding consciousness is complex yet essential, and protecting our unconsciousness is paramount.

If comprehending consciousness proves potentially impossible, what motivates this pursuit?

Ultimately, the journey of discovery matters more than definitive answers. James’s insights into the intricacies of our minds captivated me, leading to greater appreciation for previously overlooked aspects of consciousness. My hope is that this work enhances your awareness of consciousness more than before you read it.