When we speak of consciousness what do we mean? There seems to be many different aspects to look at and examine. On one level there is what is called the conscious self.  The “I think, therefore I am” shout out to the universe that the French philosopher Rene Descartes made famous.  This is the level where I look in the mirror and recognize myself.   I know that I exist.  At the most most basic level of consciousness we are aware of ourselves as conscious beings.

Does this knowledge make us a better person?  Not necessarily.  As my college ethics teacher once pointed out to me in my younger, more care free days, just because we understand right from wrong doesn't mean we will act in an ethical way. In the same way, just because we are conscious beings doesn't mean we will act in a conscious way. Consciousness at a more meaningful level requires acting on our knowledge.  I think most people understand this.  We understand that “hey, if I'm a conscious being that feels pain and happiness, that guy next door washing his car probably is a conscious being that feels pain and happiness too.” Therefore, I should treat that person as I would want to be treated.  I will interact with that person in a good way.  I won't steal his car.  I won't make fun of him.  If I see someone breaking into his house I will call the police.  We are conscious of others as conscious beings and act accordingly.   When someone is intentionally doing what they think is the right thing they are said be acting in accordance with their "conscience." Some equate their conscience with an "inner voice of reason," while others call this their soul.  A person can be conscious, but lack a conscience.

At an even more meaningful level we begin to recognize things other than just people as having  a consciousness.  At some point growing up many of us begin to imagine that animals are capable of  awareness and feeling pain.  I come from a family where hunting was a natural part of life.  I remember deer and bird hunting with my father and uncles on cold fall mornings in Northern Michigan.  I don't really remember killing animals.  I do remember it as a time when I was at my closest with my father.  It was a time of learning and understanding, and bonding.  We hunted for food more than sport.  We hunted because my father's father had hunted and his father before him.  Hunting was a matter of survival and of tradition. 

I learned early on that a certain level of consciousness was involved when hunting.  Walking through the woods one day with my Uncle John, gun in hand, we came upon a mother raccoon in a tree with a clutch of smaller raccoons around her.  I wanted to shoot her, but my uncle stopped me.  I can't quite remember what he said, but it was to the effect of "Don't kill an animal with babies."  Was he showing empathy for the animals? Or was he passing on the knowledge that if you kill a mother animal, her babies will perish without her protection and thus there would be less game to hunt? Knowing my uncle it was probably a little of both.

As I grew older and became more of a city person I stopped hunting.  There was no need for it.  I still had a deep need for being out in nature, but going for hikes and camping sufficed. 

When I was a teenager it came as a surprise one day when my uncle John confessed to me that he no longer enjoyed hunting like he once had and rarely hunted anymore.  He explained that he had gone geese hunting one day and had shot  and killed a goose that had been flying in the air with another goose.  When he went over to collect his kill the other goose came down to protect the fallen goose on the ground.  It was honking, beating it's wings, and tried to chase off my uncle. It made strange, high pitched honks that he had never before heard.   In my uncle's mind he thought he heard that goose crying over its lost mate.  Curious, he did some research and discovered that geese mated for life. 

My uncle John still goes hunting, but he rarely shoots. He came to the conclusion that animals are conscious beings too and as such deserve respect.   He could not, in good conscience, make himself pull the trigger anymore.