First, knowledge of the self, as a thinking thing, affords a distinction between consciousness, on one hand, and consciousness of external things, on the other.
I had no consciousness of such things then.
Some believe that the consciousness of living things is the ultimate cause of this transition.
Virginia Woolf, in her novel "To The Lighthouse," eloquently describes this form of thinking as it unfolds inside the mind of a character named Lily: Certainly she was losing consciousness of outer things.
And as she lost consciousness of outer things … her mind kept throwing up from its depths, scenes, and names, and sayings, and memories and ideas, like a fountain spurting.1 A daydream is that fountain spurting, spilling strange new thoughts into the stream of consciousness.
And as she lost consciousness of outer things … her mind kept throwing up from its depths, scenes, and names, and sayings, and memories and ideas, like a fountain spurting.^1^ A daydream is that fountain spurting, spilling strange new thoughts into the stream of consciousness.
We don't really put a whole lot of thought into what we're trying to sound like, I think it's more of a stream of consciousness kind of thing.
There was this dual existence, which is reminiscent of Du Bois' double-consciousness kind of thing.
The possible intellect which, as defined by Aristotle, can become all things (cf. De anima III 5, 430a14 15)—is able to know either as ordinary consciousness (in images, species of things) or as self-consciousness through self-knowledge (without images, free from images).
