Finding sobriety more meaningful than psychedelics

Writing for Psyche magazine, in an article titled A life-saving boredom Rafael Frumkin describes the experience of a chemical addict who eventually finds meaning in sobriety:

I have a new obsession now. Well, I suppose ‘obsession’ is a strong word. A new interest, let’s call it. Instead of living out the bizarre daily drama of addiction, I want to add my voice to those who’ve rendered legible the illegible, to write my way into an understanding of what derailed my life for so many years. And, rest assured, this interest doesn’t necessitate transcending who and how I am – in fact, I don’t want to transcend anything at all. Where I once sought to escape my own mind, I’m now fascinated by its machinery.

Rafael’s essay is an encouraging story of personal development, showing the potential we have to find meaning in quotidian affairs instead of seeking increasingly self-destructive adventures. This is the kind of transformation that inspires us to not lose sight of the bigger picture whenever we find ourselves facing a dead-end.

Yet it also is a reminder of the dangerous naivety with which our world expresses its fascination with psychedelics at-large. Medical experts, philosophers, new age spiritual leaders, and entrepreneurs are all promising to elevate our experience to heights that are normally inaccessible to us. Their value proposition is that we can rewire our brains, thus emancipating ourselves from whatever mental block or inherent limitations, while attaining enlightenment.

What is missing from such fabulous promises is the actuality of real people in everyday life where addiction to substances, devices, and activities is commonplace. Sure, assiduous use can, given the right guidance and appropriate conditions, contribute to something benign and enriching. This is worth exploring with caution, just how the ancient Greeks most probably were doing at the Eleusinian mysteries under the strict tutelage of their hierarchs in what was a once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage. Though when the chemicals are readily available in the open market, be it through legal or illegal means, we have to expect their misuse to become a regular event. As Rafael essentially admits, an addict has difficulty regulating their consumption, hence the abuse. And addiction is something that comes about naturally when the product is consumed casually, such as while meeting with friends in your backyard, for it turns into the precondition for whatever fun there is to be had in the given event.

To me, the reality of unrecoverable abuse is no mere theoretical downside. I have seen it unfold live many times, with the binging of so-called “magic mushrooms” and cacti extracts, as well as LSD, which destroyed those involved. It was no different than with heroin and other opioids. While we can argue from the safety of our armchair that, technically, psychedelics and the likes of heroin are not in the same category, the sort of person who abuses the latter will do the same with the former. Lots of people I cared about who came to this predicament either died too young or lived long enough to go mad. Technicalities are there to remind us how irrelevant the details are when the guardrails are off: the end result is the same—and it is ugly.

Unlike hard drugs which come with the widespread recognition that there is nothing profound about them, psychedelics are wrapped in a language of mystique, with references to exotic shamans and ancient sages. Those are the tutelary figures, the peerless authorities of wisdom whom we supposedly cannot comprehend with our normal brains. To argue against the abuse of such substances is to put yourself in the danger of being dismissed as a curmudgeon who does not understand the profundity of “tripping” and who remains stuck in some old-school, atavistic worldview. Whatever concerns one may express are dismissed as narrow-mindedness, as not understanding what the enlightened folk have realised through the revelation of hallucination.

This is what ultimately makes the discourse in favour of psychedelics pernicious. It starts with the presumption that it holds the high ground. Its truth is impervious to our common means of understanding. Any argument against it is thus inapplicable. Such is another expression of self-righteousness and elitism, of an in-group of esotericists who claim to have undergone the awakening which grants access to a domain of reality superior to that of its out-group.

But there is nothing genuinely profound in the hype surrounding psychedelics. Just look beyond the mumbo jumbo and you will quickly find the familiar trappings of marketing. When the promise is one of spiritual enlightenment, it is couched in terms of a life hack: what some Indian guru attains through four decades of continuous practice in the mountains, you, the smartass of the modern metropolis, shall get with this one miraculous solution. When the discussion is about dealing with depression, there is the equivalent claim of consuming some product a couple of times and effectively resetting oneself to whatever baseline of health was the status quo ex ante, as if there is no environmental factor at play and no side effects whatsoever. In short, the methods are commensurate with the average get rich quick scheme, the promise to lose all fat in a month, and the wonderful appeal of that gym instrument which allows you to develop a chiselled six-pack while remaining a couch potato.

The excursions to the Amazon rainforest are, in this regard, but another form of theme park tourism for those with enough disposable income. The average consumer is not keen on living the life of a tribesperson in South America. No! They are content with a simulacrum and wish to have it both ways: to acquire the wisdom of the shaman and continue with the urban lifestyle. They will thus go back to the capitalist system they are familiar with, which has now found a new lucrative industry to exploit. The poorer people who also want to jump on the bandwagon will settle for the next best thing they can get their hands on, hence the market emerges, which is a gateway to calamity. Everyone is free to live their life, of course. Though others will have to deal with the consequences of, say, a now-“awakened” fellow shouting all night in response to what they heard and saw.

In Greek we have a word for someone who shies away from long-term commitment to the rigours of whatever task: φυγόπονος (fygoponos), which is a compound of the words for flight (as in “to flee” or to be a fugitive) and pain. All the marketing gimmicks effectively seek to exploit a person’s propensity for fygoponia (or fygopony, if you prefer that rendition): they give you all the gains with none of the pain. How nice of them!

Rafael’s publication is an invitation to appreciate “boredom”, which I would describe differently as “the absence of excesses.” Rather than continuously distract ourselves, we accept the world as-is through moderation. We have to let go of the belief that we can experience increasingly thrilling moments. Excitement is short-lived, no matter the specifics. This is how it is in romantic affairs, for example, where the initial lustful phase gives way to everyday conviviality, else results in heartbreak. Or in sport, where the rush of adrenaline has to be followed by a period of downtime, otherwise it leads to injury. If we expect intensity to be the new normal we operate at, then we are setting ourselves up for disappointment or worse.

It is why I often write about “the little things” in life. Not because they are actually insignificant, but due to how they are easy to miss owning to their banality. How calm are those trees! They are always there, no matter the weather conditions. Everybody has seen such a scene hundreds of times. Yet we can only appreciate it when our expectations are aligned with the natural rhythms; when we internalise the idea that the world is in flux and manifests through the admixture of analytical extremes that balance each other out in the spectra they form, impressing in the mind what appears as common. It is futile to seek ever-enthralling experiences in achievements and possessions. We can never cling on to the experiential peak they produce. The excitement comes and goes, subject to diminishing returns. What remains is the basis of what we perceive. It then is a matter of accepting who we are as a form in the cosmic continuum of life, as yet another being that cannot escape from—or exert control over—the magnitudes which condition it.

Psychedelics are neither good nor bad, both good and bad. It is a matter of degree in how we use them. And in a world whose midpoint is unbridled consumption, we shall abuse them like there is no tomorrow.