tijaco

some musings on the pair

Having gone down a rabbit hole of researching psychedelics, I have found myself trying to formulate a coherent theory of how the mind works. Here are my musings so far.

First, a disclaimer. On writing this piece, I have never consumed psychedelics before. After having looked into it, I now have plans to do so. But I did want to write this piece before I engaged in a psychedelic experience – a naïve perspective is valuable.

Psychedelics, in the research I have done of them, seem to put the mind in a state of plasticity. This simply means that our minds have more ability to change. On a side note, ‘the ability to change’ is Einstein’s measure of intelligence – it seems that we’re on a good path, then.

This state of plasticity, or the ability to change, seems to be a similar state to that of children. In a child’s brain, there seems to be certain structures in place without the content filled in. As they haven’t gathered the experiences and built up models of the world themselves, their mind is like that of a colouring book. The outlines are there, but the colour is not yet filled in. Psychedelics, as I’ve heard from both experts who study it and from people* who’ve experienced it, seem to return the mind to the state of a child. This sense of wonder with the world returns temporarily.

So, why do we have this ‘ability to change’ under psychedelics? How is it that we return to this childlike state where we feel as though the world is novel and wonderous?

There is one analogy that I’ve heard is one of a ski mountain. I first heard it on a Tim Ferriss podcast with Michael Pollan, but it comes from researcher Robin Carhart-Harris and is well reported in Vox here:

The best metaphor I’ve heard to describe what psychedelics does to the human mind comes from Robin Carhart-Harris, a psychedelic researcher at Imperial College in London. He said we should think of the mind as a ski slope. Every ski slope develops grooves as more and more people make their way down the hill. As those grooves deepen over time, it becomes harder to ski around them.

Like a ski slope, Carhart-Harris argues, our minds develop patterns as we navigate the world. These patterns harden as you get older. After a while, you stop realizing how conditioned you’ve become — you’re just responding to stimuli in predictable ways. Eventually, your brain becomes what Michael Pollan has aptly called an “uncertainty-reducing machine,” obsessed with securing the ego and locked in uncontrollable loops that reinforce self-destructive habits.

That is one powerful way to think about how psychedelics take us back to the time before our ways were so set. And as I was learning about this, a few other books and models sprung to mind.

First is that of James Clear and his book Atomic Habits. I haven’t yet read this book, but I’ve been told of its general message several times. The idea is that our lives are dictated by these smallest known (atomic) parts of our behaviour (habits). This can be extended to talk about larger aspects of our lives. Our physical health is a product of our exercise and dietary habits, while the tidiness of our houses over time is a product of our cleaning habits. This is consistent with this ski mountain analogy in that these habits are difficult to change. We often get caught in those ski slopes, in those habits, and it takes a lot of discipline to shift them to something more constructive.

Another relates to mental health and comes from the book Lost Connections and to a lesser extent Chasing the Scream, which are both written by the same author Johann Hari. The general outlook from Hari is that humans want to bond with things and make connections. If we are not making connections with constructive things like healthy relationships with our family, friends, community and work, we will suffer. These connections can be replaced with drugs which is more deeply covered in Chasing the Scream, or they can be replaced with a feeling of anxiety and/or depression.

There is much talked about in treating anxiety and depression with psychedelics, and the thinking around the relationship between the two provides a good basis for understanding why it can work. Depression and anxiety are less understood than is commonly thought. As happens quite often, categories and labels need to be created for illnesses in order to communicate between medical professions, the patients and the wider public. This goes to a deeper point about language as symbolism which I won’t explore here. The point is that depression and anxiety aren’t necessarily very different from each other. One way which researchers have more accurately differentiated them is that depression is a regret or intense focus on the past, while anxiety is a regret or intense focus on the future.

The way I am formulating it, psychedelics’ function in the treatment of this mental illness is twofold.

One part of it is that it can provide a path for the user to see the world as being important only in the present. This is very much a Buddhist way of looking at things, and it is known that a highly experienced meditator in the process of meditation shares the reaction in the brain with that of someone experiencing a psychedelic trip. The part of the brain that is quieted in these two experiences is called the ‘Default Mode Network’ (DMN). This is seen as the capital city of the brain and while it is quieted, different parts of the brain that wouldn’t otherwise communicate are allowed to do so. The way I see it, this DMN is essentially the recording of the past and hence our conception of the future. In that way, it is the essence of our ego or our ‘self’. Temporarily quieting this part of the brain allows us to see a different way, perhaps bypassing the years of meditation that might otherwise be our only path to reaching this state of presence.

The second part is more connected to Johann Hari’s concept of depression being a lack of connection. If we are to provide the user with a fresh coat of snow upon which to create new habits, this also provides the opportunity to build better connections more easily. Of course, if the use of psychedelics is then combined with the building of still bad habits and negative connections, there will be no change. But if the psychedelic is used in a constructive way, it can provide an opportunity to build a completely different life to that which preceded the trip.

The ski mountain analogy, the concept of plasticity and the quietening of the DRM are really all different ways to explain the same idea. This goes to the suggestibility of people when taking psychedelics, and this is also the core of the risks associated with the drugs. Physically, in the case of psilocybin, there is no known lethal dose. The risks only come from the potential of a bad trip and from the stupid things that people might do while tripping. These risks can be mitigated very easily if done in the right way.

So, what have I come away with after researching psychedelics and how the mind works when we are taking them?

Children’s brains have not yet formed the long-term defined pathways that adults have. Therefore, they haven’t yet absorbed many of the imagined stories that adults have. They don’t have the same pathways so clearly defined in their minds. They are wholly in the moment because with no real past to consider, there is no real future to be projected. They have no choice but to be present. Meditation allows a long-term path for adults to maintain this presence. Psychedelics, when consumed correctly, can offer a shortcut to a path of maintaining this presence. That is, without giving up the control that the child never had.

Regardless, this area is one which is fascinating to me and I am certainly going to continue to research it.