A neuron senses neurochemicals released by another neuron. This is not mystical. It is chemical exchange — neurotransmitters crossing synaptic gaps, binding to receptors, altering electrical potentials.

But consider this carefully: what is the neuron responding to?

It responds to the “quality” of the chemical — its shape, its polarity, its charge, its timing. In other words, the neuron perceives the qualia of that molecule. It does not “think” about it, but it discriminates. It reacts differently to dopamine than to serotonin, differently to glutamate than to GABA. At this level, everything is reaction.

It is still consciousness, though it may not extend beyond the landmarks and pathways of that particular being’s landscape. A frog may know it is sick and even that its pond has changed, but it knows nothing of the world beyond or human pollution. The roots of a tree probably know nothing of branches, leaves, and photo synthesis, other than the sugar which flows their way from above. Certainly, they suspect they are part of a greater system when the flow begins to stop. A frozen water molecule is not likely to know that it is part of a snowflake, but when it melts and has to “let go” it may have some consciousness of belonging.

In this sense, all consciousness is local. Consciousness can expand when the landscape changes and the familiar landmarks and pathways open up to reveal new qualia beyond. An example would be a forest fire, when the usual landmarks of a deer no longer lead it to what it need to survive and it wanders into a human neighborhood.

Human consciousness has expanded around the world – we know about peoples and cultures that we never experienced personally; we even have ideas about the universe which make even distant galaxies (even universes?) local to us.

What does that mean?

It means that what little we know about the landscapes beyond our own have turned into landmarks that guide our behavior. We are curious, or anxious, about the intentions and habits of distant nations because they might or might not cooperate with us. We even react to aliens that visit us in UFOs!

Local consciousness, like the universe, expands outward? What about that? To quote Susanne K. Langer in her wonderful book “Philosophy in a New Key,” here’s what:

“If you say ‘James’ to a dog whose master bears that name, the dog will interpret the sound as a sign, and look for James. Say it to a person who knows someone called thus, and he will ask: ‘What about James?’ That simple question is forever beyond the dog; signification is the only meaning a name can have for him—a meaning which the master’s name shares with the master’s smell, with his footfall, and his characteristic ring of the door-bell. In a human being, however, the name evokes the conception of a certain man so called, and prepares the mind for further conceptions in which the notion of that man figures; therefore the human being naturally asks: ‘What about James?’”

Here’s my theory about how we began thinking about things. First of all, neurons have local consciousness. They have some awareness of other neurons near them, of the neurochemicals and hormones which wash over them, which they send out and receive. So, as noted above, A neuron responds to the qualia of the chemical — its shape, its polarity, its charge, its timing. Just as animals react instinctively to the qualia that its senses receive, so does the neuron.

Neurons evolved in specific landscapes, just as did animals and plants, over long periods of time. Their relationships with the other neurons and neurochemicals stabilized and became predictable. But in the human brain, with tool-making, language, agriculture, cities, etc., something happened. The neurons became overloaded with too many neurochemicals flooding in at once. We had to evolve to keep up. We still haven’t made it.

We made lots of mistakes and we began to learn from them. That is, our neurons made mistakes, and as with all evolving creatures, the humans with the brains that made the mistakes were washed out of the experiment. The brains that didn’t make the mistakes allowed those individual to procreate and make more mistake free neurons.

What was it about those intelligent neurons? I suppose they came from the stupid people. No joke. Smart neurons know the landscape well and they react quickly to the qualia their senses send them. The dull-witted neuron could not react quickly enough and something special occurred. Qualia began to back up in the brain. Sort of like people crowding into cities, they had to learn to cooperate to survive.

I am a fan of John Locke, the famous thinker from the seventeenth century. John Locke proposed that simple ideas combine into complex ideas, much like atoms combine into molecules. I think this is what qualia does. After all, ideas are qualia – they are just complex clusters of qualia that have evolved in our inner landscape (the mind).

We can observe atoms forming molecules. We can observe neurons forming networks. Why should we assume ideas do not cluster, stabilize, and endure through analogous processes? Our senses send signs into the brain that have time to cluster into symbols, allowing us to form conceptions of what is going on in the landscape outside of us.

During my walks — my favorite conscious ritual — I hold two disparate ideas in mind. I let them float there, colliding gently as I walk. At first there is noise, just chatter left over from the Big Dopamine human landscape I am trying to escape.

But then — boom.

A connecting idea appears. It feels like a gift from ecosystems. A molecule forms. The two ideas share qualia — resonance, compatibility — and a third idea crystallizes. It stabilizes. It endures.

Just as neurotransmitters bind receptors because of shape and polarity, ideas bind other ideas because of shared experiential tone. We cannot see an idea. We infer it from its effects — just as we infer wind from moving leaves. Ideas attract one another by sharing qualia.

So, we owe it all to stupid people. Ain’t it the truth. All progress arises out of someone’s mistakes. Ain’t it the truth, brother!