WHERE IS CONSCIOUSNESS?
Why we haven’t found it in the brain
after so many years of searching
February 21, 2026
Preface
Why Do We Believe What We Believe?
Will Rogers once said something like, “It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”
That could be the theme of this paper.
I was born in 1935. Since then, I’ve seen many things change — most notably my mind.
We lived in Chicago, near beautiful Lake Michigan, but we didn’t swim much because we believed polio had something to do with water. When the polio vaccine arrived, it was a miracle. Children no longer died or lived inside iron lungs. We lined up and rolled up our sleeves.
Today, polio has nearly vanished in America — and some people believe the vaccines that saved millions now cause autism.
Polio still exists in parts of the world. Belief still matters.
As a child, I suffered from allergies. I visited the doctor every month for allergy shots that did nothing. I kept going because I believed the doctor. He told me I had “rose fever,” which was supposedly different from hay fever. I believed him.
When we exercised, we didn’t drink water. We believed drinking during exercise caused cramps.
The “best” gasoline was called “ethyl.” It contained lead and poisoned millions of people as the lead poured from tailpipes. We wanted it. We trusted it. We believed it was superior.
Why do we believe?
Our senses tell us. Authorities tell us. We read it. We hear it. Or it simply feels logical. But Einstein showed that time passes differently depending on speed and gravity. Quantum mechanics tells us that particles can behave in ways that defy ordinary
logic.
Our senses can fail us. Our intuition can fail us. Even our certainty can fail us.
You and I are about to go on a ride of discovery. We are going to examine something we long have treated as invisible and immaterial — something we assume is private and mysterious — and ask whether it is physical after all.
Conversely, we will examine things we treat as solid and unquestionable — and ask whether they are illusions. Learning, in the end, is nothing more than changing one’s mind.
This paper may challenge things you feel certain about. I struggled with many of them myself.
But if you are willing to look carefully — not skeptically, not defensively, just carefully — I suspect you may find what I found.
And even if you don’t, the journey itself will be worth it.
Chapter 1 — Dismantling the Inner
If you can explain it with physics, don’t resort to magic.
You may not have thought about this, but you have a very creative brain — more creative than you may have imagined.
For centuries, consciousness has been treated as something mysterious and interior — a glowing private theater in which a self watches experience unfold. We speak of “qualia,” of an “inner world,” of a little observer behind the eyes. We speak of awareness as though it were a substance. We speak of being unconscious and conscious.
But none of these are necessary. What actually happens is simpler. Stimulus → response.
Imagine it’s a warm afternoon. Light strikes your retina. Your neurons fire. Your body shifts. Your memory activates. Your hormones adjust. Your predictions update.
There is no extra ingredient. No hidden witness appears. There is only structured change in response to stimulation.
If something changes state in response to a stimulus, it participates in what we call “consciousness” — not as a mystical property, but as a process.
Consciousness is not a thing you have. It’s not an inner glow. It’s not a private object. It’s the ongoing process of your stimulus–response updating.
This doesn’t trivialize consciousness. It universalizes it. Everything responds. A rock bears scars from impacts. A plant turns toward light. A bacterium adjusts to chemical gradients. An animal flees pain. A human writes philosophy.
The difference isn’t whether there is consciousness. There is. The difference is degree and integration.
What we call “higher” consciousness isn’t a different substance. It’s broader coordination. To describe that coordination, we introduce a term:
Global Pattern Recruitment (GPR).
When a stimulus activates only a narrow local circuit, the response is limited. But when activation spreads widely — recruiting memory, prediction, sensation, language, motor preparation, emotional weighting — the pattern becomes globally integrated.
Nothing magical has appeared. A pattern has simply become dominant across the system.
What we call “the self” is not an entity directing the process. It’s the experience that occurs when neural activity becomes globally recruited. Your “I” is the feeling generated when a dominant pattern integrates broadly enough to coordinate the organism.
No inner theater is necessary. A pattern becomes dominant. Your system labels it “I.” That is all.
When integration narrows — as in deep sleep, anesthesia, or certain forms of dementia — consciousness does not vanish into mystery. The stimulus–response process continues, but recruitment is reduced.
When recruitment becomes patchwork, identity appears “checkered.” As recruitment wanes, integration collapses, consciousness ebbs, and the organism begins to die.
Some researchers argue that consciousness cannot be reduced to integration alone. Others suggest that subjective experience — what philosophers call “qualia” — cannot be captured by structural accounts. Still others maintain that free will requires genuine indeterminacy or agency beyond physical law.
These positions have received serious consideration. But until a physical mechanism is demonstrated by which experience can exist outside structured responsiveness, the simpler account remains sufficient.
Science advances by explaining more with fewer assumptions. If stimulus → response integration accounts for what we observe, metaphysical entities are unnecessary.
The mechanism is clear and sufficient. We don’t need to invent “qualia.” We don’t need to devise a metaphysical self. We don’t need to find an inner spectator. We need only stimulus and structured response, integrated across time.
Chapter 2 — The Illusion of Control
Response is Not Optional
If consciousness is continuous stimulus→response updating, then control must also be reexamined.
We believe we choose. We feel we author our actions. But what actually occurs?
An external or internal stimulus reaches the brain or body, and the system responds. Memory activates. Competing response pathways recruit. Emotional weightings adjust. Predictions simulate possible outcomes. One integrated pattern becomes dominant. Action follows.
Afterward, the system labels the dominant pattern: “I chose.” But nothing stepped outside the chain. No uncaused origin appeared.
The feeling of control arises because human integration is deep and recursive. We simulate alternatives. We visualize counterfactuals. We imagine different futures. Those simulations create the impression that multiple paths are open in a metaphysical sense.
They aren’t. They are weighted possibilities within a structured system.
Free will, understood as action independent of prior causes, has no physical mechanism. Randomness doesn’t create freedom. Determinism doesn’t abolish complexity. Both remain within causal structure.
Motivation itself is stimulus-driven. Hunger, curiosity, ambition, and affection — all arise from prior states interacting with present conditions. Even the belief in determinism is part of the causal chain.
This doesn’t make us puppets. A puppet implies an external controller. There is no puppeteer. There’s only one constraint: geometry — structure responding to stimuli under physical law.
Responsibility, blame, morality — these too are responses. They are regulatory mechanisms evolved to stabilize groups. Punishment isn’t metaphysical retribution. It’s a stimulus inserted into the chain to modify future responses.
Truth-seeking is also survival-weighted. Accurate models improve prediction. Improved prediction enhances stability. But evolution selects for persistence under constraint, not for truth in a metaphysical sense. Truth survives when it enhances viability.
At every scale, the same pattern holds: Stimulus → response → structural update → new stimulus.
No step escapes causality. No self stands outside the process. Consciousness does not grant exemption from law. It’s the law operating in integrated form. Your decisions arise from the chain.
Chapter 3 — The Author You Think You Are
Your Decisions Feel Authored — But Arise from the Chain
Your decisions feel authored. You experience them as yours. You weigh alternatives. You hesitate. You commit.
It seems as though something stands apart from the machinery of your body and gives final approval.
Examine the sequence carefully. An external or internal stimulus reaches your brain or body, and your system responds. The stimulus may be a sound, a memory triggered by a smell, hunger, fatigue, irritation, or curiosity.
It alters neural activity. Signals propagate. Patterns activate. Competing networks recruit support.
Your memory contributes prior outcomes. Emotional systems supply weighting. Prediction simulates possible futures. You experience this integrated activity as thinking.
What occurs, however, is stimulus → response updating. A pattern strengthens. Another weakens. Eventually, one configuration becomes dominant.
When that dominant configuration spreads widely enough — recruiting sensation, memory, motor preparation, language, and emotional tone — it becomes globally integrated.
Earlier, we called this Global Pattern Recruitment (GPR). When a pattern reaches GPR, it coordinates the organism.
Your system then labels that dominant pattern: “I.” Not because a separate entity appeared. Not because something stepped outside causality. But because global integration produces unity.
Unity produces the impression of ownership. Ownership produces the impression of authorship. The system concludes: “I decided.”
Your decision arose from stimulus → response updating, shaped by structure, history, chemistry, and circumstance.
You may object: “But I consider alternatives. I could have done otherwise.”
Simulation of alternatives is real. It is part of the process. Based on prior structure and present input, your brain constructs multiple possible futures and compares them. That comparison produces the impression of open possibility.
But each simulated future is generated by a prior structure interacting with present conditions. The weighting of those simulations is not chosen by a separate observer. It emerges from integrated networks.
The most strongly weighted configuration becomes dominant. Your memory stores the outcome. The system narrates it. The narrative says, “I chose.”
Authorship is not an independent force. It is your system’s label for the dominant integrated pattern.
There is no hidden controller. There is only structure responding under physical law.
The feeling of authorship arises from the deep, recursive nature of human integration. The system can model itself modeling. That recursion produces the powerful sense of an inner commander.
Yet careful examination reveals only processes, signals, weighting, and integration. The “I” is your system’s designation for a globally recruited pattern.
Nothing more mysterious — and nothing less extraordinary.
This leads to the next question. If authorship is integration, and if consciousness is stimulus → response updating, can degrees of integration be measured?
If it can’t be measured, is it science?
Why Do We Believe What We Believe?
Chapter 4 — Degrees and Measurement
If It Can’t Ever be Measured, Is It Science?
If consciousness is integrated stimulus → response updating, then it cannot remain a poetic abstraction. It must be measurable in principle.
Measurement does not require perfection. Temperature was measurable long before molecules were understood. Gravity was measurable long before spacetime curvature was described. Science begins with approximations and improves its instruments over time.
The question is not whether we can measure consciousness with complete precision. The question is whether identifiable features of integration correspond to degrees of consciousness.
If everything responds to stimuli, then everything participates in consciousness to some degree. The difference between a bacterium and a human is not the presence or absence of consciousness, but the breadth, depth, and persistence of integration.
Several measurable dimensions follow from this framework.
Breadth of recruitment.
How widely does a stimulus propagate through a system? Does activation remain local, or does it recruit distributed networks? When recruitment becomes global, behavior becomes coordinated and flexible.
Quantity and differentiation.
How many distinct stimuli can the system discriminate, and how many distinct responses can it generate? A system that responds only to light and dark differs fundamentally from one that distinguishes faces, language, abstract symbols, and subtle emotional cues. Greater differentiation expands the range over which integration can occur.
Temporal depth.
How long does a response persist? Does the system merely react and reset, or does it modify future responsiveness? Memory is measurable. Persistence of state change is measurable. History dependence is measurable.
Flexibility of response.
How many distinct responses are available under similar conditions? A reflex arc produces limited variation. A system capable of simulation and abstraction can generate alternatives and compare them.
Stability under perturbation.
How does the system respond to disruption? Sleep, anesthesia, injury, and dementia reduce integration. Recovery restores it. These changes can be observed and quantified.
None of these measures captures an inner glow. They capture integration dynamics.
We should not expect a single scalar number labeled “consciousness.” Integration is multidimensional. So are its measurements.
Current neuroscience already measures connectivity, signal complexity, metabolic activity, and behavioral variability. These are imperfect proxies, but they attempt to quantify integration rather than mystery.
If consciousness cannot, even in principle, be related to measurable integration and response patterns, then it is not a scientific concept. It becomes a metaphor.
But if integrated responsiveness can be observed, compared, and quantified — even crudely — then consciousness re-enters science without magic.
We do not need perfect measurement. We need operational clarity.
When physicians assess consciousness, they do not search for a soul. They test responsiveness.
They observe whether a patient is responsive, minimally conscious, unresponsive, vegetative, or locked-in. These distinctions are not metaphysical. They are operational. They reflect degrees of integrated responsiveness to stimulation.
The medical vocabulary already assumes what the framework here makes explicit: consciousness varies with the system’s capacity to integrate and respond.
The same structure operates at every level.
Chapter 5 — Scaling the Pattern
The same structure operates at every level.
If consciousness is integrated stimulus → response updating, then the distinction between “living” and “non-living,” or between “individual” and “collective,” becomes less mysterious.
The mechanism does not change. Only the scale changes.
A bacterium responds to chemical gradients. A plant responds to light and moisture. An animal responds to threats and opportunities. A human responds to language, memory, abstraction, and prediction.
In each case, a stimulus produces a structured response. The difference lies in the breadth, differentiation, temporal depth, flexibility, and stability of integration.
Nothing in this description requires a sharp boundary where consciousness suddenly appears. What changes is degree and organization.
The same logic applies beyond the individual organism.
A group responds to economic pressure. A market responds to information. A legal system responds to disruption. A culture responds to threat, innovation, and internal conflict.
In each case, stimuli propagate through networks. Responses emerge from interaction. Patterns stabilize or dissolve. Structures update.
This is not a metaphor. It is a process.
A society does not possess a hidden mind. But it exhibits integrated responsiveness across distributed components. Information spreads. Feedback loops amplify or dampen signals. Decisions emerge from the interaction among agents, shaped by prior structures.
The scale increases. The mechanism does not. Integration at higher scales is slower, more diffuse, and more fragile. But it remains stimulus → response updating across time.
This scaling reframes long-standing debates.
Instead of asking whether a group “has consciousness,” we ask: How integrated is its responsiveness? How quickly does information propagate? How stable are its feedback mechanisms? How flexible are its responses under constraint?
The same dimensions used to assess individual integration apply to systems: The amount and breadth of recruitment across networks. Differentiation of informational channels.Temporal persistence of structural change. Flexibility under new conditions. Stability under disruption.
When integration collapses, systems fragment. When feedback becomes distorted, responses misalign with conditions. When adaptation fails, structures dissolve.
There is no separate law for individuals and collectives. There is only structured responsiveness at different scales.
Chapter 6 –The Pattern Holds.
Survival and Time
What persists is what has worked — so far.
At every scale, systems respond to stimuli. Some responses stabilize structure. Others destabilize it. Over time, the difference matters.
Structures that fail to adapt dissolve. Structures that maintain coherence persist — for a while. There is no cosmic referee. No final safeguard. No guarantee that larger systems are wiser than smaller ones.
The same mechanism that produces integration also produces collapse.
Dinosaurs responded successfully for millions of years. Then the constraints changed. Civilizations respond to pressure. Sometimes they adjust. Sometimes they amplify their own instability.
Truth does not survive because it is morally superior. It survives when it enhances predictive accuracy and structural stability. Morality does not persist because it is sacred. It persists when it regulates behavior in ways that stabilize groups.
Survival is not a moral achievement. It is a structural outcome. And it is always temporary.
Survival operates at multiple levels simultaneously. An individual may thrive while a group destabilizes. A group may consolidate power while undermining the larger system on which it depends. What persists at one scale may weaken at another.
There is no privileged level built into nature. Selection occurs wherever structure interacts with constraint.
Generosity may appear costly at the individual level but stabilizing at the group level. Aggression may strengthen short-term dominance while eroding long-term cohesion. The effects are not moral; they are structural.
What works depends on context.
A response that preserves structure under one set of conditions may fail under another. Dinosaurs did not disappear because they were inferior. They disappeared because conditions changed.
The same holds for human systems. Integration can produce resilience, but it can also amplify error. When feedback becomes distorted, responses may reinforce instability rather than correct it.
Survival does not imply truth, virtue, or wisdom. It implies only that the system has not yet dissolved.
Time is the final constraint. Some structures persist for minutes. Others endure for centuries. A few survive for millions of years. None are exempt from change.
What persists is what has worked — so far.
Chapter 7 — Living Inside the Chain
Understanding does not diminish experience.
We do not step outside the chain. We are the chain in motion. Understanding this does not reduce us. It clarifies us.
For centuries, we searched for something behind the machinery — a soul, a self, a hidden author who stood apart from the body and gave final approval. We assumed that meaning required exemption from physical law.
It does not.
Experience doesn’t disappear when its structure is understood. Love doesn’t weaken when we recognize its integration. Awe doesn’t fade when we see the networks that produce it. Humor, grief, desire, curiosity — none of these depend on a ghost.
Mechanism doesn’t diminish experience. It explains it.
When you feel affection, it isn’t less real because it arises from neural activity. When you feel responsibility, it isn’t less consequential because it emerges from prior causes. Causation doesn’t trivialize experience. It makes experience possible.
The illusion was not that we feel. The illusion was that feeling required exemption from structure.
We do not author ourselves from outside the system. We don’t float above constraints. We are shaped by history, biology, culture, memory, and circumstance. And within those constraints, integration unfolds.
This does not make us puppets. A puppet implies a puppeteer. There is no hidden hand. There is only structure interacting with structure across time.
Language sometimes obscures this. We speak of someone as “unconscious,” as though consciousness were a substance that could vanish.
In practice, we mean reduced responsiveness. Sleep narrows integration. Anesthesia dampens coordination. Injury fragments recruitment. There’s no sharp metaphysical boundary where consciousness switches off. There are only degrees of integration.
Unless responsiveness falls to zero — which is indistinguishable from nonexistence — consciousness is never simply absent. It’s diminished, constrained, or reorganized.
The same holds for agency. We speak of control as though it were absolute. In reality, it’s a structured influence within constraints.
We can’t choose our past. We can’t step outside causality. But we remain complex nodes within it. Integration allows modeling, simulation, adjustment, and adaptation. These capacities don’t free us from law; they express it.
At larger scales, the pattern continues. Systems respond. Structures stabilize or dissolve. Survival filters outcomes. Nothing is guaranteed. Nothing is protected by cosmic design.
Yet none of this is cause for despair. Clarity isn’t coldness. It is discovery.
We no longer need to search for a hidden observer. We no longer need to defend a metaphysical freedom. We no longer need to invent mysteries where structure suffices.
The mystery was never that we are mechanisms. The mystery is that a sufficiently complex mechanism can produce memory, imagination, attachment, creativity, and coherence across time.
We are not less because we are structured. We are intelligible. We are structured responses shaped by history and constraint — and that is our path to understanding.
The title question was, “Where is Consciousness?” That answer: It’s in your brain and body. It’s in the complex stimuli that affect every living and non-living thing. Like gravity, consciousness is everywhere, and also like gravity, it can be measured. It is something you feel, not just in your imagination but in every inch of you that responds to stimuli.
Consciousness is stimulus→response. No magic there.
-End-
#Monetary Sovereignty - Mitchell 