In 1927, Walter Heisenberg promulgated his famous principle of uncertainty which states that two conditions--in his case, the position of a particle and its momentum--cannot be known with precision at the same time.
Over the years, this Uncertainty Principle has been conflated with "the observer effect" which states that the very act of trying to observe reality changes reality by the introduction of the forces brought to bear by the act of observing itself. Again, through the conflation of this effect with consciousness itself as the observing force, this idea has been reduced to the bromide that our consciousness somehow makes reality by looking at it. This fit in nicely with ideas of spirituality that hoped for a new shot at making order out of the chaos of human life: at the very least, we could change our consciousness and thereby, change reality and all the things we did not like about it. This idea has been one of the foundations of endless misconceptions about the spiritual life, not because it doesn't have some truth in it, but because it does not go far enough in some places and too far in others.
What we pay attention to is what we see and what we see is what we believe. In human society, most of this happens without our even knowing it. Since we are taught what to pay attention to by parents, school, culture, religion, media and cohorts, even if we add our own critical thinking to these presentations of reality, we are already in the frame of reference those "teachings" have decided was the shape and form of the field, so to speak. In other words, we were told where to roam.
Reality, if it is anything, is endlessly cooperative: it brings forth features we are looking for. So in this way, consciousness does create reality--but not because it actually makes something. Instead, because of the power of attention--which limits and chooses what is important to it in the moment--we see this and not that.
Each time we are "advertized to," we are asked to devote the power of this attention to something someone else has deemed important. Seen in this way, our entire culture can be seen as a competition to grasp our attention for someone's else's reasons. Our attention is our most precious resource yet, most of us give it away for free, or for a little momentary thrill.
The spiritual life suggests something different however. And by "spiritual life" I am talking about a life where, with as little guidance as possible--a little nudge here, a suggestion there and so on--we are encouraged to turn our attention inward, for a time excluding whatever is around us until the primal shape of our own consciousness, our own mind and how it operates, becomes clearer to us.
There are many pitfalls along the way and many of them we do not have to discuss here. But if we pay attention to one simple thought--I saw this first in a Buddhist Sutra called "The Flower Ornament Scripture"--then we have a good chance of finding this self that owns its own attention and might, eventually, see that this attention is a participant in reality, neither its master nor its slave, and that this understanding might lead to a more kind and compassionate life.
The statement is this: Buddhas are those who are greatly enlightened about their delusions.
This statement turns the spiritual quest on its head. Instead of becoming "free" of all your delusions, neuroses, limitations and so on, this statement says in essence, as you know your own delusions, you will become free. It turns the concept of "freedom" on its head as well, saying in effect, that the real liberation is to become a person, a person whose attention is wide and compassionate enough, and bold enough, to see that in the same way the true nature of a tree is that it does not walk, the true nature of a person is the inclusion of all the perfections and imperfections a human being has. It understands that this inclusion, rather than weighing down the person, frees them from their influence to a large extent so that our true participatory relationship with all of reality becomes apparent to our precious consciousness, our attention, that same ability we once gave away to the highest bidder without a second thought.
Let's risk one final example: Donald Trump understands all of this very well. He is a master of attention and believes--with some degree of success--that attention is all: if all eyes are fixed on him, he is winning. The tragedy is that his fixation on being seen--which requires the food of other people's souls, their attention, if you will, has in a sense raped the consciousness of so many other people to feed his need. Their attention only pulls one type of injustice out of the whole, only sees conflict and fear and enemies often where the only enemy is the one sucking the resource of their attention from them. Of course, he is not the only devourer of attention: our society is built on this (and I am indebted to Jacob Weisberg's article on Tim Wu's book "The Merchants of Attention" in the New York Review of Books for putting me on the path to some of these ideas).
At a certain stage of our lives, taking back our own attention is a radical idea. Giving our attention only when we want to, when we are conscious of it, is a radical idea. The spiritual life is that sort of radicalism. It only asks us to return to ourselves in order to find out that we are pretty good company when left to our own devices, wandering through the countryside of life.