INITIAL COGNITIVE ADJUSTMENTS
What does one do with a mystical experience? Or, perhaps better expressed, what does a mystical experience do with you? Following that first encounter with mystical states of consciousness, as described in the preface, I became known in the psychiatric clinic in Göttingen as “that American student who had the interesting mystical experience.” My experiential report was atypical at the time, since relatively low dosage was being administered with little preparation or emotional support and with essentially no knowledge of how to maximize safety and potential benefit. Other volunteers had tended to experience sensory and perceptual changes, memories from early childhood, and occasionally episodes of anxiety, physical discomfort, or paranoid thought processes.
Whether I may have been a “natural mystic” on the verge of encountering this profound form of consciousness spontaneously, and thus required only a low dose of psilocybin to facilitate the experience, or whether I was experiencing sufficient stress and insecurity (having just arrived, alone in a new country, immersed in a new language) to trigger such phenomena, I will never know. I had always experienced a mild awareness of a sacred dimension, especially as manifested in the pristine beauty of the rugged and fragrant pine forests on the shores of Lake Superior where I grew up in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, but nothing of this magnitude. At the time, I was not at all sure that “I” had the experience; it seemed equally valid to say that the experience “had me.” The best way I could express it in language was to say that the memory of it remained vividly accessible in my awareness as I sat in university classrooms and walked the streets of the everyday world. In truth, it proved to be a pivotal fulcrum that provided clarity and direction as my subsequent path in life gradually unfolded before me.
The research design of the study in which I had participated entailed the administration of either of two shorter-acting derivatives of psilocybin (facilitating around four hours of alternative states instead of the usual six), designated as CEY-19 and CZ-74. For readers who understand something of the language of chemistry, psilocybin, historically designated as C-39 (4-phosphoryloxy-N,N-dimethyltryptamine), after ingestion is converted into psilocin (4-hydroxy-N,N-dimethyltryptamine) by biochemical processes in the body. Like psilocybin, CEY-19 (4-phosphoryloxy-N,N-diethyltryptamine) after ingestion is also converted in the body into CZ-74 (4-hydroxy-N,N-diethyltryptamine), which is the active compound. Administered at four weekly intervals, this investigation intended to blindly compare the effects of the two shorter-acting substances. I later learned that my initial experience was occasioned by 13 mg of CZ-74; in the next three research sessions I received injections of 13 mg of CEY-19, 16 mg of CEY-19, and 16 mg of CZ-74.
With a mixture of hope and trepidation, I anticipated a reoccurrence of mystical phenomena on each of those three subsequent occasions, but none manifested themselves. I experienced deep relaxation and minor sensory changes, accompanied by some philosophical rumination that may have been insightful, but nothing that I could consider of real revelatory or religious import. When I wrote in my journal following the fourth and final experiment in this series, I was troubled and wondered if I had been naïve and gullible, if I had exaggerated whatever occurred in that first experience. Maybe what I had called mystical consciousness really simply had been sensual pleasure of some kind. The pendulum of my theological orientation was starting to shift away from the experiential theories of the religious existentialists to the conservative styles of thinking then called neo-orthodox. At the very least, it was obvious that more was involved in facilitating mystical forms of experience than simply receiving an entheogen and experiencing a “drug effect.”
THE CONTRIBUTIONS OF WALTER PAHNKE
At that juncture, Walter Norman Pahnke arrived in Göttingen on a traveling fellowship from Harvard University, along with his wife Eva and their daughter Kristin, a young, blonde toddler. We met in Leuner’s clinic and rapidly became good friends. Now visiting centers in Europe where research with psychedelic substances was taking place, Wally (with his doctor of medicine, master of divinity, and psychiatric residency, all from Harvard, behind him) had conducted the research project known as the “Good Friday Experiment” for his PhD dissertation in the History and Philosophy of Religion on the subject of Religion and Society. To demonstrate with double-blind methods that psilocybin indeed could occasion mystical experiences that were similar, if not identical, to those recorded in the literature of mysticism, he had administered either 30 mg of psilocybin or 200 mg of niacin (Vitamin B-3, also known as nicotinic acid, which briefly causes mild dizziness and tingling sensations) in capsules identical in appearance.
His volunteer subjects were twenty theological students from the nearby Andover-Newton Theological School and ten professors or graduate students from nearby universities who served as guides. Two guides were assigned to each of five subgroups of four theological students, and one guide in each pair was randomly designated to receive psilocybin and the other niacin. All expected an inactive placebo to be used in the study, so suggestion was maximized for those who received the niacin. The experiment was conducted in a small worship space in the undercroft of Boston University’s Marsh Chapel. Concurrently, the annual Good Friday Service, presided over by the eminent African American preacher Howard Thurman (himself, a man with mystical sensitivities), was taking place in the main sanctuary upstairs and was transmitted through loudspeakers into the basement chapel. This occurred on April 20, 1962, and became known through press coverage as “the Miracle in Marsh Chapel.” Wally’s hypothesis was well supported by the data, which had consisted of questionnaires and interviews.
Now, in February 1964, Wally, in spite of his intense interest and curiosity, had still never taken a psychedelic substance himself and, not without uncertainty and anxiety, patiently was awaiting confirmation of the award of his PhD degree. Controversy was surrounding psychedelic drugs at Harvard, and two of his academic supporters, Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert (subsequently known as Ram Dass), had been dismissed by the university in the spring of 1963—Leary first for leaving town and his teaching responsibilities without proper notice, and then Alpert for giving psilocybin to an undergraduate student after agreeing to limit his research volunteers to graduate students only.
Hearing the story of my history as a research participant and my current perplexity about the significance of it all, Wally rather impishly proposed a fifth drug administration to Dr. Leuner. What might happen if Bill Richards were given a slightly larger dose of psilocybin? He also suggested that the experimental session be conducted in a room of the clinic on the second floor with more light, plus some plants and music, and that he stay with me to offer emotional support if needed. I was open to the idea and Dr. Leuner was happy to approve the plan. So Wally and I went shopping for music, which included a 33-rpm recording of the Brahms’s German Requiem and a 45-rpm issue of J. S. Bach’s Fantasia and Fugue in G Minor for pipe organ. So it was that, on Valentine’s Day in 1964, I received an intramuscular injection of 28 mg of CEY-19.
SESSION NUMBER FIVE AND ITS AFTEREFFECTS
Relatively soon after psilocybin administration, the mystical forms of consciousness recurred in all their splendor, repeatedly drawing my being through several cycles of psychological death and rebirth, the noetic intensity of spiritual knowledge feeling etched into my brain. In the research report I subsequently wrote, there were terms such as “cosmic tenderness,” “infinite love,” “penetrating peace,” “eternal blessing,” and “unconditional acceptance,” coupled with “unspeakable awe,” “overflowing joy,” “primeval humility,” “inexpressible gratitude,” and “boundless devotion,” all followed by the sentence, “Yet all of these words are hopelessly inadequate and can do little more than meekly point toward the genuine, inexpressible feelings actually experienced.” I had not exaggerated what had occurred in that first experience; I felt as though I had forgotten 80 percent of it. Never since that time have I personally doubted the reality and validity of this state of awareness, and now over fifty years have passed. On rare occasions, with the help of meditative disciplines, while immersed in the natural world, in the midst of personal musical performance, or with the assistance of psychedelic substances, this clarity of awareness has been refreshed and nurtured.
In lectures and professional publications over the years, I have discussed different ways of interpreting such profound human experiences. One could choose to employ labels like “cognitive impairment,” “wishful thinking,” “hypomanic episode,” or “regression to infantile functioning,” or posit that mystical consciousness might merely be a convincing delusion and defense mechanism in the face of death. There are rational arguments to defuse each suggestion that might question or devalue the import of such revelatory states of mind, above all calling attention to the repetition of very similar descriptions throughout history in different cultures and the ethical imperatives, creative insights, and courageous leadership that have often been manifested in their wake. Ultimately, however, I have come to view it as a matter of personal choice to affirm experiential, intuitive knowledge. In that respect, believing in the validity of mystical consciousness is similar to believing that one truly loves one’s spouse or children. One lives out of such convictions. The memory of mystical consciousness, for better or worse, structures my Weltanschauung, or view of the world. As succinctly expressed by the anthropologist Jeremy Narby in the documentary film Neurons to Nirvana, in reference to his own personal experience during the effects of ayahuasca, “Once you drink you see, and once you see you can’t unsee.”
In Walter Pahnke’s definition of the term “mystical consciousness,” he included a category titled “Persisting Positive Changes in Attitudes and Behavior.” Although not intrinsic to the immediate, experiential content of this alternate state of consciousness, this category is often considered when debating the alleged validity of mystical experiences reported throughout history, however they may have been engendered. Huston Smith, an eminent scholar of comparative religions, articulated this well in his distinction between “religious experiences” and “religious lives” and also between “states of consciousness” and “traits of behavior.” A mark of true spirituality in Buddhism is the humble return of the awakening adept from the summit of enlightenment to a life of service in the marketplace where the need for compassion is greatest. In the Jewish-Christian heritage, the model of Deutero-Isaiah is germane, focusing on the “Suffering Servant” as the true emissary of Yahweh. Perhaps this is where Timothy Leary, or at least the popular interpretation of his words, went awry: instead of “turn on, tune in, and drop out,” the message should have been “turn on, tune in, and jump in.” The emphasis could have been placed on expressing caring for others and the world by respectfully engaging those who may tend to have different perspectives or values while working diligently to implement one’s visionary insights in and through existing social structures.
Over the years, as I have observed the changes in attitudes and behavior manifested by research volunteers in the wake of mystical consciousness, this factor has proved to be of fundamental significance. In the classical literature of mysticism, the first visionary or mystical experience is often understood to signal the Awakening or beginning of spiritual development, to be followed by Purgation, often including what St. John of the Cross back in the sixteenth century called “The Dark Night of the Soul.” Then gradual Illumination unfolds with eventual glimpses of a return to unitive consciousness, coupled with becoming an increasingly compassionate presence in the everyday world.
Clearly the first epiphany is no confirmation of sainthood. It might be viewed as a helicopter ride to the glorious peak of the spiritual mountain, but when one returns to camp at the base with the challenging path winding upward through difficult terrain, the climbing still needs to be done. Yet many appear to then become motivated to climb as never before. Now, there is no question that there really is a summit to the mountain, that the perspective from that pinnacle is worth all the effort and anguish of the spiritual journey, and that the journey itself has meaning. Many who are now committed to disciplined meditative practices and compassionate action, some of whom might well decline an opportunity to receive an entheogen even if it were legally accessible, will also acknowledge that their interest in spiritual development was originally awakened or significantly nurtured by an experience occasioned by a psychedelic substance.
In my own personal journaling at age twenty-three, I found in the aftermath of mystical consciousness what I considered a healthy independence from social pressures and increased freedom to authentically “be myself.” In accordance with existential theory, I felt less like a puppet controlled by the social expectations that impinged on my life. With this shift there came a sense of inner peace, increased self-confidence, and a notable decrease in anxiety. I think I also became less inhibited, more spontaneous, perhaps more playful, and more capable of allowing relationships characterized by genuineness and intimacy to develop. I felt attuned to “what really mattered,” at least for me at that stage of my life. Paul Tillich’s term for this was “the courage to be,” including “the courage to accept acceptance.” Coupled with the intuitive insights discussed in the following chapter, I think those who know me well would say that, since that time, I have tended to maintain a sense of centeredness and deep optimism, even amid major stressors and life changes, including the death of my wife and, not insignificantly, the transition in employment and professional identity in 1977 when the psychedelic research to which I had so deeply dedicated myself was rendered dormant in the United States. At that point, I attempted to personally apply the mantram we often gave our research volunteers to help guide them through difficult transitions in consciousness: Trust, Let go, and Be open.
Thus, I have chosen to trust the validity of the memories of visionary and mystical forms of consciousness that are still accessible in my field of mental awareness in everyday life. Each reader who has encountered similar experiences, with or without the use of entheogens, must similarly weigh possible revelation and doubt and make his or her own inner judgments. Undeniably, there are mild experiences that some recall that may well have been induced by suggestion and imagination. Further, there is a middle ground where experiences of aesthetic enhancement and abstract imagery begin to merge into terrain of more potent spiritual knowledge. Imagination, after all, is the mind creatively producing images, and some of those images may be rich in meaning and personal truth, relevant to everyday living or to spiritual knowledge. My own resolution of this issue is to honor and respect most any experience that another person treasures as sacred. The one exception to this guideline would be if and when someone felt compelled to act in the world in a manner I considered blatantly irrational or destructive, citing an alleged revelatory state of consciousness as the justification for such behavior. Here reason and the combined revelatory experiences of others would be summoned in the process of making the wisest possible judgment. In my experience, the spiritual insights treasured by most people who have known mystical forms of experience are remarkably similar.