Was Bill Clinton a secret cosmologist. Is “is” not really is? Is there an underlying reality? Another version of consciousness.

In earlier posts, I have suggested that consciousness is nothing more than the reaction to stimuli, and that since all things react to stimuli, all things are conscious to some degree. It was a physically rock-solid definition, lacking the usual magic and mystery of the metaphysics that provide most definitions of consciousness.

What follows is another version of consciousness, one not quite as rock-solid, one providing a bit more mystery, but based on the mysteries inherent in Relativity and quantum mechanics.

“It depends on what the meaning of the word ‘is’” is, said Bill Clinton in 1998

At the time, people mocked it as evasive — and in context, it was.

But in quantum mechanics, “is” becomes fuzzy and observer-dependent. Is Schrödinger’s cat alive? Dead? Both? The “is” becomes contingent on observation, context, and interpretation.

Thus, there is no fundamental reality. There are no bright lines between “is” and “isn’t,” between here and there, between now and later.  Einstein’s relativity and quantum mechanics both say so.

For most of human history, certain traits of the universe were taken as givens. An object had mass because it was heavy. It experienced time because we all do. It looked red because it was red. These seemed like natural, inherent properties of things.

But one by one, science has shown that many of these “inherent” qualities are actually the result of deeper, more fundamental processes.

Take mass. The discovery of the Higgs field changed our understanding of what  “heavy” really means.

According to modern physics, particles acquire mass through their interaction with this invisible, all-pervading field. A rock doesn’t simply “have” mass.  It gets mass by being “slowed down” as it moves through the Higgs field. Something we once thought was innate turned out to be conferred.

The same shift has happened with time. To our ancestors, time was a constant. It ticked the same for everyone, everywhere. But Einstein showed that time flows differently depending on your speed and gravitational environment.

Time, like mass, isn’t fixed. What we once assumed was absolute turned out to be contingent.

Color is another illusion of inheritance. What we call “red” isn’t a property embedded in an apple or a sunset. It’s the result of how our visual system interprets wavelengths of light, which themselves are stretched into different colors by speed.

Someone else—say, a species with different eyes or a person born blind—would experience the same wavelengths in completely different ways, or not at all. Color isn’t in the object; it’s in the interaction.

Even numbers, the bedrock of mathematics, reveal this ambiguity when stretched to their limits. The number “1” seems like the most definite idea imaginable, yet in calculus, 1 can be represented as an infinite series: 0.999999… repeating. In a strict sense, 1 and 0.999… are the same.

But in another sense, they show how even precision has fuzziness when viewed closely enough.

Thus, reality does not exist as a separate phenomenon. Reality is dependent on the observer. That does not only mean that we each sense reality differently,  but that reality itself actually is different for each of us.

Your time, your size measurement, and your distance are all different from mine. You live in a slightly different universe from me.

Example: Imagine two twins, Alice and Bob. Alice stays on Earth. Bob climbs aboard a spaceship that travels near the speed of light to a distant star and back.

To both of them, time feels normal. Bob eats, sleeps, and ages at what seems to him a regular pace. But when he returns to Earth, he finds that Alice has aged much more than he has.

According to Einstein’s theory of special relativity, the faster you move through space, the slower you move through time, from the perspective of someone not moving with you.

This is called time dilation. At speeds close to the speed of light, this effect becomes dramatic. For example, if Bob travels fast enough, what seems like 5 years to him on the spaceship might seem like 50 years have passed for Alice on Earth.

So even though they’re twins, and even though they were the same age when Bob left, Bob is now younger than Alice. When they come together, Bob will see Alice as looking like his grandmother. That is the famous “twin paradox” that we have found to be true, but that our intuition denies.

This is not an illusion or a function of Bob’s and Alice’s sensory systems, but rather a literal fact. There are infinite realities.

It’s not a metaphor. It’s baked into how spacetime works. What changes is not just “perspective,” but measurable physical facts — how long something takes, how far something travels, how much something ages.

In short, there is not one underlying reality. There are infinite realities, though most of them differ by so small amounts that they are indistinguishable.

There is no absolute, shared “now,” and no single timeline or duration that everyone agrees on. Instead, there are infinite, coexisting realities — distinct but overlapping, like infinitely many slices through a 4D loaf of spacetime.

Most of these realities are so similar, especially locally, that they seem “normal.” Trees don’t look blurry, and we all agree on who won the Super Bowl.

But, consider the ‘fuzziness” of quantum particles. They don’t have definite properties until observed. Instead, they exist in superpositions — clouds of probabilities.

Quantum particles don’t “choose” a single state because they exist across a wide ensemble of universes in which they take on slightly different properties.

These “many realities” are inherent in the relativistic structure of the universe.

Perhaps the “fuzziness” we see isn’t due to particles jumping between states, but due to us sampling only a few slices of a much richer fabric. Most realities are “so similar as to be indistinguishable — except at the microscopic level.

Macroscopic systems (like tables, planets, and cats) are made of trillions of particles. Across most reference frames or branches, universes, their behaviors converge, like statistical averages.

But microscopic systems (like electrons, photons) are sensitive to even tiny variations between frames. So when we observe a single particle, we’re seeing an object whose reality is smeared across many frames, many slightly different universes. That smearing manifests as the probability wave in quantum mechanics.

Science, at its best, reveals that certainty is often the first casualty of deeper understanding. Each time we peel back a layer, we discover that what once seemed self-evident is actually emergent—produced by interactions, context, and relationships we hadn’t noticed before. This insight opens the door to a new possibility: Perhaps consciousness, too, is not something that living things simply “have.” Consider the possibility that consciousness, like mass or time or color, is conferred, i.e., bestowed by an underlying field or interaction. Something deeper. Something we haven’t yet named. There has been much debate about consciousness, not the least of which are the questions, “What is it?” and “What has it?”

We have discussed consciousness before, here, here, here, and elsewhere.  We have suggested that consciousness is the reaction to stimuli — the greater the reaction, the greater is consciousness.

That definition answers the often debated questions like, “Is a chimpanzee conscious?” A mouse? A bee? A tree? A bacterium? A virus? The Earth? The universe?

The answer to every question is, “Yes, to varying degrees, depending on their reaction to stimuli.”

Now that we can say what consciousness is and what has it, we are left with the question, “How did we get it?”

And to answer that question, I propose a completely different possibility from “reaction to stimuli.

Consider the possibility that consciousness is a fundamental feature of the universe, like gravity or electromagnetism.  Just as the Higgs field confers mass and the electromagnetic field governs charge, we might imagine a Consciousness Field that permeates all of space, quietly shaping the responsiveness of matter to its environment.

This isn’t how science currently defines consciousness. Most mainstream theories tie consciousness to neural complexity, emergent computation, or biological feedback loops. These views treat consciousness as something that emerges when a system becomes sufficiently complex, especially a brain.

But this creates a problem of definition. Where is the bright line between complex reactivity and consciousness? Does a bacterium have consciousness? Does a thermostat? What about a tree? A flame? A cow?

The “reaction to stimuli” definition answers those questions, but it is merely a definition, not a thing unto itself.

Now, here is consciousness as a thing: A consciousness field.

The Consciousness Field model posits that it is a field effect, and its intensity varies across entities, depending on their structure, state, and context.

Consider how mass works. Every particle interacts with the Higgs field, but not equally. Some, like the top quark, interact strongly and gain large mass; others, like photons, don’t interact at all and remain massless.

In the same way, perhaps every particle or system interacts with the Consciousness Field, but some—such as neurons in a human brain—interact intensely, while others—say, a rock or an electron—interact minimally.

Under this model, consciousness is not a mystery trapped inside the skull. It is a field-expressed phenomenon, like magnetism. And just as magnetism isn’t a property of magnets but of fields and charges, consciousness isn’t an essence confined to minds. It is a relational phenomenon that spans systems.

This may sound metaphysical, but it aligns with how science increasingly views the universe: not as a collection of isolated things, but as a web of interacting fields.

If the Consciousness Field exists, then consciousness might be not only distributed but coherent across time and space—perhaps even immune to time. That idea leads us to something strange and tantalizing: a link between consciousness and quantum entanglement.

Quantum entanglement is one of the most baffling phenomena in physics. Two particles—once entangled—can affect each other instantaneously, no matter how far apart they are. This isn’t just a limitation of our understanding; it’s been tested and confirmed in laboratory after laboratory. Somehow, information passes between entangled particles faster than the speed of light, or without even traveling through space at all. Einstein famously called it “spooky action at a distance.”

But what if it’s not spooky? What if entanglement isn’t a violation of space-time, but a glimpse into something more fundamental, something outside of space-time altogether?

If we imagine consciousness as arising from a field that is immune to time, then entanglement begins to look less strange. Perhaps the Consciousness Field doesn’t just pervade the universe; it connects it. Not by transmitting signals, but by sharing identity across distance.

Two entangled particles may not be communicating across space; they may be part of one same unified state, stitched together by a time-independent field.

This reframes entanglement: not as a mysterious connection, but as a consequence of nonlocal coherence. It would be a coherence mediated by the Consciousness Field.

If the Consciousness Field is not constrained by light-speed or the flow of time, then it could maintain correlations between particles without needing to “send” anything. Entanglement wouldn’t be transmission; it would be co-experience. Two parts of the same field, resonating in synchrony, no matter how far apart they are.

Such an idea could also help us visualize why quantum mechanics defies classical intuition. Our brains evolved in a world of slow things—rocks, apples, footsteps. We never evolved to visualize nonlocal, atemporal phenomena.

But intellectually, we know the “twin paradox” is real to each of us. The “entanglement paradox” is also real, but it still strains our intuitive understanding.

A creature that procreates by entanglement might find entanglement as intuitive as we find falling. Its “sense organs” might perceive correlations directly, just as we perceive light and shadow. To that creature, classical cause and effect might seem bizarrely indirect, like watching a Rube Goldberg machine in slow motion.

This doesn’t mean consciousness causes entanglement. It suggests something more radical: Consciousness and entanglement may both be manifestations of the same deep field. They may be different aspects of a reality that is not constrained by time, distance, or speed, and that only appears fragmented when filtered through our time-bound senses.

In this view, entanglement isn’t an odd corner of physics. It’s a window. And consciousness is the eye looking through it.

If consciousness is a field—timeless, nonlocal, and real—then physics may need to broaden its scope. Currently, science proceeds by measuring things: distance, time, mass, and charge. But if consciousness is not reducible to these categories, then our scientific tools may be tuned to the wrong frequency, like trying to weigh music with a ruler.

If consciousness is a field, then every conscious experience is a local excitation, a ripple in that field. Just as an electron is a ripple in the electromagnetic field, a moment of awareness (pain, joy, intention) may be a ripple in the Consciousness Field. These ripples would not be made of particles. They would be patterns of relation, coherent with other such patterns, across brains, species, or galaxies.

This leads to startling philosophical consequences. Identity, for instance, could be reimagined not as a separate “self” housed in a skull, but as a localization of the universal field. You are not a brain that happens to be conscious. You are consciousness that is currently being a brain.

The implications reach even further. If consciousness is nonlocal and timeless, then the distinction between life and non-life becomes blurred. Consciousness would not be something that emerges from matter at a certain level of complexity. It would be something that participates in matter from the start.

Just as the Higgs field endows particles with mass, the Consciousness Field might endow systems with the capacity to respond, to relate, to experience. Even in tiny degrees.

This would offer a new way to understand the continuum of awareness in nature, from the phototaxis of bacteria to the introspection of humans. There would be no bright line. There would be gradients of coherence within the Consciousness Field. Even rocks, though minimally reactive, would not be outside the field. They would simply be quieter.

Finally, if consciousness is immune to time, then perhaps memory is not just stored in the brain, but accessed through time—like tuning into a moment.

In sum, the hypothesis that consciousness is a timeless field would transform not only physics and philosophy, but our understanding of what it means to exist. You are not in the universe. You are the universe, looking back at itself, consciously.

If we did not already know of quantum entanglement, its discovery would be among the strongest arguments in favor of the Consciousness Field hypothesis. Two particles, separated by light-years, yet behaving as one—instantaneously—suggests a reality immune to the ordinary constraints of time and space.

In a sense, entanglement is not just a puzzle; it is a testable manifestation of timeless connectivity. If consciousness, like gravity, is nonlocal and omnipresent, then its presence may be detected not by what it emits, but by what it permits, the structure it allows, the coherence it preserves across distance.

Science does not always begin with observation. Sometimes, it begins with mystery. The Higgs boson was theorized before it was found. Disease was “known” before bacteria were visible. Similarly, if consciousness is a fundamental field, then its proof may come before its direct observation, in the form of effects that cannot otherwise be explained.

Entanglement may be one. So might the extreme fine-tuning of the universe, i.e., the precise balance of physical constants required for existence. The strength of gravity, the charge of the electron, the cosmological constant: all seem set with uncanny precision.

Change them ever so slightly, and stars don’t form, atoms don’t bind, or expansion tears everything apart. One interpretation is coincidence. Another is a multiverse. But a third possibility is intention,not in a religious sense, but as an expression of underlying coherence, a responsiveness akin to consciousness itself.

Consider complexity. The second law of thermodynamics tells us that entropy—the measure of disorder—should always increase. And yet, here we are, billions of years in, witnessing galaxies, neurons, language, and symphonies.

Something resists the drift toward disorder. Not permanently, not magically, but locally, again and again. Life builds islands of increasing complexity. Could that, too, be an effect of consciousness interacting with matter?

To explore this, we must ask what features of a Consciousness Field might be observable. What would such a field do? Perhaps it connects. Perhaps it preserves relationships across time and space, exactly as entanglement does.

And perhaps it is the effect of observation itself. Without reaction, there are no measurements, no perceptions, no change. A universe without consciousness might be indistinguishable from no universe at all.

That raises unsettling questions. Why is proximity relevant for every force, except for entanglement?

Why is mass required for gravity, yet gravity acts across billions of miles, never completely ending? How can the Earth’s surface bend the fabric of space where it doesn’t even touch?

These are questions not just of physics, but of interpretation. Perhaps proximity, space, time, and even causality are constructs, not illusions in the shallow sense, but frameworks shaped by the conscious field itself.

In this view, consciousness is not in time, but gives time its flow. It is not in space. It is what allows distance to be perceived.

Consciousness might be the glue of the cosmos, not added to it, but constitutive of it. Gravity, entanglement, time, and thought could all be expressions of one unified thing.

IN SUMMARY

What is consciousness? We offer two options for consideration. One: consciousness is the reaction to stimuli, and since all things react, all things have some measure of consciousness.

It’s a solid measure, relying not on metaphysics but on simple measurement. It answers the often unanswered questions, “Is this conscious?” and “How conscious is this?”

But it does not address the mysteries of Relativity and quantum mechanics, nor unite the two.

The other option: consciousness is a universally pervasive field, immune to time and distance, that inhabits everything at different measures, akin to a Higgs-like field.

This option solves the mysteries of Relativity and quantum mechanics, and unites the two, but doesn’t answer “Is this conscious?” and “How conscious is this?”, especially relative to living creatures.

Perhaps that will come.

Rodger Malcolm Mitchell Monetary Sovereignty Twitter: @rodgermitchell Search #monetarysovereignty Facebook: Rodger Malcolm Mitchell; MUCK RACK: https://muckrack.com/rodger-malcolm-mitchell; https://www.academia.edu/

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