The conundrum of consciousness lies at the heart of human inquiry, a subject that has fascinated philosophers, scientists, and theologians alike. This enigmatic feature of our existence, the essence of what it means to be aware, to feel, and to experience, is so intimate yet so unfathomable. The “Hard Problem of Consciousness,” a term coined by the philosopher David Chalmers, encapsulates the central question: Why should physical processing in the brain give rise to a rich inner life at all?
The “Hard Problem” contrasts with what Chalmers calls the “easy problems” of consciousness—those that concern the workings and functions of the mind, such as discrimination, integration, attention, and reportability. These are considered “easy” not because they are trivial, but because they fall within the grasp of standard empirical scientific methods. We can observe, test, and measure how the brain processes stimuli and produces behavior, but when it comes to explaining why and how we have subjective experiences, science hits a stumbling block.
This stumbling block is not merely a temporary hurdle in scientific understanding; it suggests a fundamental mystery at the core of our nature. How can we reconcile the objective world of neurons and synapses with the subjective world of joy and sorrow, the taste of chocolate, or the redness of a rose? How do these experiences arise from electrochemical activity in the brain? This is the “hard” part of the Hard Problem—it’s a question of category, a deep epistemological gap between what can be measured and what can be felt.
The “problem of other minds” parallels this conundrum, highlighting our inability to truly know if others experience the world as we do. We assume they do because they behave as we do, they report experiences as we do, and pragmatically, this assumption allows society to function. Yet, we can never directly access the conscious experiences of another. Our individual experiences of the world, our qualia, are ours alone, known only to us. It’s a profound solitude that each of us carries.
This leads to an existential pondering, akin to the reflections of the philosopher Martin Heidegger, who interrogated the nature of being (Dasein). Heidegger’s ontology urges us to confront the “I am” before the “I am a human.” This pre-reflective state is the naked awareness of existence. It’s a realization that is felt deeply and personally, yet it’s an understanding that we all share. We are each thrown into the world, experiencing it in our own unique ways, yet bound by the commonality of being human.
Here, the personal and the universal intertwine. We all know that we will die, and in this knowledge, there is a universality. Yet, how we come to terms with this fact is deeply personal. My death is uniquely mine, as is my life. No one else can live my life or die my death. It’s a sentiment that resonates with the Hard Problem of Consciousness. If our subjective experiences are unique to each of us, so too is the manner in which we confront our mortality.
The Hard Problem of Consciousness thus becomes not only a scientific or philosophical issue but also an existential one. It’s about more than the mechanics of brain function; it’s about the essence of what it means to live, to be, to experience. Our consciousness is the lens through which we perceive the world, interpret it, and ultimately find our place within it. It’s the medium of our individuality and the canvas of our shared human condition.
But where does this leave us? If consciousness is such a deeply personal affair, yet we cannot escape the fact that we are all human, how do we reconcile the two? The answer may lie in the concept of intersubjectivity—the shared understanding among individuals. Through language, culture, and shared experiences, we bridge the gap between our isolated subjective worlds. We build a consensus on what it means to be human, what it means to live and to die, even if the full depth of these experiences remains locked within each person.
The existential realization of “I am that I am” reflects an immediate awareness of our own being, distinct from any further categorization. Yet, in recognizing our shared humanity, we find a balance between the individual and the universal. We find a common ground in our shared quest for understanding, for meaning, for grappling with the nature of our existence.
Thus, life is both unique and universal—unique in the way each person experiences their being, their consciousness, and universal in the way we all confront the inevitability of death and the mystery of existence. The Hard Problem of Consciousness sits at this intersection, challenging us to seek understanding where perhaps no final answers can be found.
In the end, the Hard Problem may indeed belong to the realm of metaphysics, as it deals with aspects of our existence that defy empirical scrutiny. Like the existence of God in religious faith, the reality of consciousness is experienced personally and profoundly. It’s a leap into a domain where scientific methods give way to individual experiences and existential truths.
Just as the reality of water is more than H2O to the one who is thirsty, so too is the reality of consciousness more than the sum of neural activities to the one who ponders existence. It is in this deeply personal, subjective space that we encounter the richness of life, the poignancy of death, and the profound enigma of what it means to be. The dialogue on consciousness, therefore, is not just an academic debate—it is a reflection of our most intimate encounter with existence, with being, and with the enduring mystery that is the human condition.
Image by Marjon Besteman
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