Pihkal

by Alexander Shulgin

  Once it's been established that the chosen initial dose has been without effect of any kind, I increase the dosage on alternate days, in increments of about a factor of times two at low levels, and perhaps times one and a half at higher levels.

  One has to keep in mind that, if a drug is assayed too often, a tolerance to it might develop, even if there is no perceived activity, so that increasing doses may incorrectly appear to be inactive. To minimize this potential loss of sensitivity, no drug is repeated on sequential days.

  In addition, I periodically give myself a week to being completely drug free. This is especially important if a number of different drugs of similar structural properties are being screened within the same period.

  The problem of cross-tolerance - the body having become tolerant because of a recent exposure to a close relative of the drug - is thus avoided.

  Over the years, I evolved a method of assigning symbols which refer exclusively to the perceived strength or intensity of the experience, not to the content, which is evaluated separately in my research notes. It could just as well apply to other classes of psychoactive drugs, such as sedative-hypnotics or anti-depressants. I use a system of five levels of effect, symbolized by pluses and minuses. There is one additional level I will describe, but it stands by itself, and is not comparable to the others.

  (-) or Minus. There is no effect noted, of any nature, which can be ascribed to the drug in question. This condition is also called "baseline," which is my normal state. So, if the effect of the drug is minus, it means I am in exactly the same state of mind and body I was in before taking the experimental drug.

  (±) or Plus-minus. I am feeling a move off baseline, but I can't be absolutely sure it's a drug-effect. There are a lot of false positives in this category, and often my report concludes that what I interpreted as signs of activity were, in fact, products of my imagination.

  Here, I will describe briefly something called the "alert." It is some small sign which serves to remind me (in case I have become distracted by phone call or conversation) that I had, indeed, taken a drug. It comes early in the experiment, and is the prelude to further developments. Each member of our research group has his own individual form of alert; one notes a decongestion of the sinuses, another has a tingling at the back of the neck, still another gets a brief runny nose, and I, personally, become aware that my chronic tinnitus has disappeared.

  (+) or Plus-one. There is a real effect, and I can track the duration of that effect, but I can't tell anything about the nature of the experience. Depending on the drug, there might be early signs of activity, which can include nausea, even active vomiting (although these are extremely rare). There could be less disturbing effects, such as lightheadedness, compulsive yawning, restlessness, or the wish to remain motionless. These early physical signs, if they arise at all, usually dissipate within the first hour, but they must be considered real, not imaginary. There can be a mental change, but it is not definable as to character. There are seldom false positives in this category.

  (++) or Plus-two. The effect of the drug is unmistakable, and not only can its duration be perceived, so can its nature. It's at this level that the first attempts at classification are made, and my notes might read something like this: "There is considerable visual enhancement and much tactile sen sitivity, despite a light anaesthesia." (Which means that, although my fingertips might be less than usually responsive to heat or cold or pain, my sense of touch is definitely heightened.) At a plus-two, I would drive a car only in a life-or-death situation. I can still answer the phone with ease, and handle the call competently, but I would much prefer not to have to do so. My cognitive faculties are still intact, and if something unexpected should arise, I would be able to suppress the drug effects without much difficulty until the problem had been taken care of.

  It's at this stage, plus-two, that I usually bring in another experimental subject, my wife, Ann.

  The effects of the drug are distinct enough at this level for her to be able to evaluate them in her own body and mind. She has a metabolism quite unlike my own, and of course a very different mind, so her reactions and responses constitute important information.

  (+++) or Plus-three. This is the maximum intensity of drug effect. The full potential of the drug is realized. Its character can be fully appreciated (assuming that amnesia is not one of its properties) and it is possible to define the chronological pattern exactly. In other words, I can tell how soon I get an alert, when the transition stage ends, how long the plateau - or full activity - is in effect before I sense the beginning of a decline, and precisely how steep or gentle the decline to baseline is. I know what the nature of the drug's effects are on my body and mind. Answering the phone is out of the question, simply because it would require too much effort for me to maintain the required normalcy of voice and response. I would be able to handle an emergency, but suppression of the drug effects would require close concentration.

  After Ann and I have explored the plus-three range of the new drug, establishing the range of dosage levels at which we get this intensity of effect, we call the research group together and share the drug with them. More will be said about this group in a moment. It is after the members of the research group have submitted their reports on the experience that the synthesis of the new drug and its human pharmacology is ready to be written up for inclusion in a scientific publication.

  (++++) or Plus-four. This is a separate and very special category, in a class by itself. The four pluses do not imply in any way that it is more than, or comparable to, a plus-three. It is a serene and magical state which is largely independent of what drug is used - if any drug at all - and might be called a "peak experience," in the terminology of the psychiatrist, Abe Maslow.

  It cannot be repeated at will with a repetition of the experiment. Plus-four is that one-of-a-kind, mystical or even religious experience which will never be forgotten. It tends to bring about a deep change of perspective or life-direction in the person who is graced with it.

  Some 30 years ago, I shared my new discoveries with an informal group of about seven friends; we didn't meet together as a single group, but usually in clusters of three to five, on occasional weekends, when they could spare the time. Most of my exploration was done, at that time, by myself on myself. These original seven have gone on to other things; a few of them have left the Bay Area and dropped out of touch, others have remained good friends whom I see occasionally, but now for dinners and reminiscences, not for drug explorations.

  The present research group is a team which numbers eleven when everyone is present, but since two of them live quite far from the Bay Area and cannot always join us, we are usually nine. They are volunteers, some of them scientists, some psychologists, all of them experienced in the effects of a wide number of psychotropic drugs. They know the territory, and these particular people have been working with me for about 15 years. They are a close-knit family whose experience in this area allows them to make direct comparisons to other, familiar altered states, and to equate or critically compare some particular property of a drug's effect. I owe them all immense gratitude for having given me many years of trust in their willingness to explore unknown territory.

  The question of informed consent is completely different in the context of this kind of research group, doing this type of exploration. All of our members are aware of the risks, as well as the potential benefits, to be expected in each experiment. The idea of malpractice or legal redress is without meaning within this volunteer group. Every one of us understands that any form of damage, either physical or psychological, suffered by any member as a result of experimentation with a new drug, would be responded to by all other members of the group in any way required, and for as long as it would take for the injured person to regain health. All of us would give financial aid, emotional support, and any other kind of assistance needed, without reservations. But let me addthat exactly the same kind of support and care would be given to any member of
the group in need, if the circumstances had no relation whatsoever to drug experimentation. In other words, we are close friends.

  It should be noted here that, over the course of these 15 years, no physical or mental damage has occurred to any member of the group as a result of drug experimentation. There have been a few times of mental and emotional distress, but the person has always recovered by the time the drug's effects had dissipated.

  How does a researcher rank the intensity of a drug's effects, as he perceives them to be?

  Ideally, such measurements should be objective, free of any opinion or bias on the part of the observer. And the experimental subject should be ignorant of the identity and the expected nature of action. But in the case of drugs like these - psychoactive drugs - the effects can be seen only within the subject's sensorium. Only he can observe and report the degree and nature of the drug's action. Hence, the subject is the observer, and objectivity in the classic sense is impossible. There can be no blind studies.

  The question of blind studies, especially double-blind studies, is pointless and, in my opinion, verges upon the unethical, in this area of research. The reason for "blindness," in an experiment is to protect against possible subjective bias on the part of the subject, and objectivity - as I explained earlier - is not possible in this kind of exploration. The subject may well be promoted into an altered state of consciousness, and I consider the idea of failing to advise him of this possibility to be completely improper.

  Since the subject in such an experiment has been advised as to the identity of the drug, and the general kind of action which can be expected at the dosage levels which Ann and I have found to be active, and since he knows the time and place of the experiment, and his own dosage, I use the term "double-conscious," instead of "double-blind." This term was originated by Dr. Gordon Alles, a scientist who also explored the realms of altered states with new drugs.

  Certain rules are strictly observed. There must be at least three days free of any drug use before the experiment; if one of us is suffering from any kind of illness, no matter how mild, and especially if he is taking medication for it, it is understood that he will not participate in the taking of the experimental drug, even though he might choose to be present during the session.

  We meet at the home of one or another of the group, and each of us brings food or drink of some kind. In most cases, the host is prepared for everyone to stay overnight, and we bring sleeping bags or mats. There must be sufficient room to allow for any one of us to separate from the rest of the group if he or she wishes to be alone for a while. The homes we use have garden space where any of us may go to spend time among plants in the fresh air. There are music tapes and art books for whoever might wish to make use of them during the experience.

  There are only two procedural demands enforced. It is understood that the words, "Hand in the air," (always accompanied by an actual raising of the speaker's hand) preceding a statement means that whatever is stated is a reality-based concern or problem. If I call out, "Hand in the air," and then go on to state that I smell smoke, it means I am genuinely worried about a real smell of smoke, and not playing some sort of word-game or pursuing a fantasy of some kind.

  This rule is restated at the beginning of each session and is strictly observed.

  The second is the concept of veto. If anyone in the group feels discomfort or anxiety about a particular proposal concerning the way the session might go, the power of the veto is complete and is respected by all. For instance, if one person suggests the playing of music at a certain time in the experiment, and is joined by others who like the idea, it is understood that the vote must be unanimous; one person feeling uncomfortable about hearing music assures that it won't be played for the group. This rule doesn't give rise to the problems one might expect, because in most houses which are large enough to accommodate a group of eleven people for such an experiment, there is usually an extra room in which music can be played without disturbing the quiet of other rooms.

  There should be something said here about sexual behavior. In our group, it was clearly stated many years ago, and has been understood and observed ever since, that there will be no acting out of sexual impulses or feelings which may arise during an experiment, between people who are not married or in an ongoing relationship with each other. It is the same rule that applies in psychotherapy; sexual feelings can be discussed, if there is a desire to do so, but there will be no physical acting out of such feelings with another member of the group who is not the appropriate object. Of course, if an established couple wishes to retire to a private room to make love, they are free to do so with the blessings (and probably the envy) of the rest of us.

  There is the same understanding in regard to feelings of anger or impulses of violence, should they arise. This allows for an openness of expression, and a complete trust that, no matter what kind of unexpected feeling or emotion comes onto the scene, no one will act in such a way as to cause regret or embarrassment, at that time or in the future, to any or all of us.

  The researchers are used to treating disagreements or negative feelings the same way they would deal with them in group therapy - by exploring the reasons for the discomfort or anger or irritation. It has long been understood by all of them that exploration of the psychological and emotional effects of a psychoactive drug are, inevitably, synonymous with exploration of their individual psychological and emotional dynamics.

  If everyone is healthy, there is no one in the group who does not participate. An exception was made in the case of a long-time participant, a psychologist in his 70's who made a decision during one experimental session to stop taking experimental drugs. He wished, however, to continue participating in the sessions with the rest of us, and we welcomed his presence with enthusiasm. He had a fine time with what is known as a "contact high," until his death a few years later, following heart surgery. We loved him and miss him still.

  It's an admittedly unusual structure, but it has worked well in the evaluation of over one hundred psychoactive drugs, many of which have found their way into psychotherapeutic practice of a new and different kind.

  Alexander Shulgin, Ph.D

  BOOK I: THE LOVE STORY

  Part One: Shura's Voice

  CHAPTER 1. THUMB

  I was born on June 17,1925, in the progressive city of Berkeley, California.

  My father was Theodore Stevens Borodin, born in the early 1890's. He was the first son of Stevens Alexander Borodin, who was, with the strange logic of the naming hierarchy of the Russian culture, the first son of Alexander Theodore Borodin. As I was a first son, I received my greatgrandfather's name, and also became Alexander Theodore. And, in keeping with the Russian custom of giving feminine diminutives to all children (as well as to pets and other loved ones regardless of their sex) I answered to the name of Shura Borodin.

  My father was the stern parent who was assigned the role of disciplinarian, although I can't remember his ever having used the oft-threatened belt on me. He had authority, however, and he kept it honed as a teacher of history and literature in Oakland, where the students were mostly Portuguese, and he also taught gardening to the rowdy, school-hating kids. He must have impressed them somehow, because the school garden produced magnificent flowers and you took your life in your hands if you stepped on one of the plants that his students had cultivated and tended.

  My father's friends were mostly Russian emigres who had come to this country at the same time he had, in the early twenties. Most of them had escaped Bolshevism by moving eastwards through Manchuria, then south to Japan. And with the opening of the immigration doors by President Harding, many came to San Francisco to start a new life. In this circle there were also the families of his friends, the wives and children. My parents moved in these spheres, which had a Russian flavor, and so did I. I cannot remember any personal friends of my mother, apart from these allies of my father.

  I truly believe my father was proud of me, but I'm not sure just why I'm
left with that impression. He liked to refer to me as his "son and hair," but he never told me anything about his childhood or his private thoughts. All I knew about his family was that he had five brothers and six sisters, all of whom had been raised in Chelyabinsk, and all of whom were still in Russia. He read avidly, most easily in Russian, and always from pulp-paper books with imprints on the inside cover that said Riga or Moscow. The house was scattered with these plain brownish paperbacks with stark titles, published in some unknown country.

  My mother, Henrietta D.D. (for Dorothy Dot), was also born in the early 1890's, in a small town in Illinois. Her studies were in literature, at the state college in Pullman, Washington. She had traveled widely, and chose to express herself with the writing of poetry. Her writing was done on a giant typewriter with a fast unevenness which she always claimed was sufficiently distinct that it would serve her as well as any signature. She had one brother and two sisters, all living in California. In fact, one sister (and her husband and two children) lived near us in Berkeley, on Milvia Street, but we hardly ever saw them. One Christmas, when we were over at their house, I discovered the basement, and there I found the greatest of all possible subterranean treasures - a complete pipe organ in ten million pieces. I dreamed of putting it together some day without telling anyone, finding and connecting an air compressor, and then hitting and holding a full stop B-flat minor chord in the middle of the night, just to see how long it would taka to empty the house. I asked Uncle David where the organ came from, and he said he had no idea; it had been there when he bought the house. When he died, the house was torn down for an apartment building, and the beautiful pipe organ pieces were lost and gone forever.

  Most of my impressions of my father came from stories told and retold to me by my mother.