Painting by Yvonne McGillivray

Abstract

In light of recent specific liberalizations in drug laws in some countries, this article investigates the potential of entheogens (i.e. psychoactive plants used as spiritual sacraments) as tools to facilitate existential intelligence. “Plant teachers” from the Americas such as ayahuasca, psilocybin mushrooms, peyote, and the Indo-Aryan soma of Eurasia are examples of both past- and presently-used entheogens. These have all been revered as spiritual or cognitive tools to provide a richer cosmological understanding of the world for both human individuals and cultures. I use Howard Gardner’s (1999a) revised multiple intelligence theory and his postulation of an “existential” intelligence as a theoretical lens through which to account for the cognitive possibilities of entheogens and explore potential ramifications for education.

Introduction

In this article I assess and further develop the possibility of an “existential” intelligence as postulated by Howard Gardner (1999a). Moreover, I entertain the possibility that some kinds of psychoactive substances—entheogens—have the potential to facilitate this kind of intelligence. This issue arises from the recent liberalization of drug laws in several Western industrialized countries to allow for the sacramental use of ayahuasca, a psychoactive tea brewed from plants indigenous to the Amazon. I challenge readers to step outside a long-standing dominant paradigm in modern Western culture that a priori regards “hallucinogenic” drug use as necessarily maleficent and devoid of any merit. I intend for my discussion to confront assumptions about drugs that have unjustly perpetuated the disparagement and prohibition of some kinds of psychoactive substance use. More broadly, I intend for it to challenge assumptions about intelligence that constrain contemporary educational thought.

“Entheogen” is a word coined by scholars proposing to replace the term “psychedelic” (Ruck, Bigwood, Staples, Ott, & Wasson, 1979), which was felt to overly connote psychological and clinical paradigms and to be too socio-culturally loaded from its 1960s roots to appropriately designate the revered plants and substances used in traditional rituals. I use both terms in this article: “entheogen” when referring to a substance used as a spiritual or sacramental tool, and “psychedelic” when referring to one used for any number of purposes during or following the so-called psychedelic era of the 1960s (recognizing that some contemporary non-indigenous uses may be entheogenic—the categories are by no means clearly discreet). What kinds of plants or chemicals fall into the category of entheogen is a matter of debate, as a large number of inebriants—from coca and marijuana to alcohol and opium—have been venerated as gifts from the gods (or God) in different cultures at different times. For the purposes of this article, however, I focus on the class of drugs that Lewin (1924/1997) termed “phantastica,” a name deriving from the Greek word for the faculty of imagination (Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, 1973). Later these substances became known as hallucinogens or psychedelics, a class whose members include lysergic acid derivatives, psilocybin, mescaline and dimethyltryptamine. With the exception of mescaline, these all share similar chemical structures; all, including mescaline, produce similar phenomenological effects; and, more importantly for the present discussion, all have a history of ritual use as psychospiritual medicines or, as I argue, cultural tools to facilitate cognition (Schultes & Hofmann, 1992).

The issue of entheogen use in modern Western culture becomes more significant in light of several legal precedents in countries such as Brazil, Holland, Spain and soon perhaps the United States and Canada. Ayahuasca, which I discuss in more detail in the following section on “plant teachers,” was legalized for religious use by non-indigenous people in Brazil in 1987i. One Brazilian group, the Santo Daime, was using its sacrament in ceremonies in the Netherlands when, in the autumn of 1999, authorities intervened and arrested its leaders. This was the first case of religious intolerance by a Dutch government in over three hundred years. A subsequent legal challenge, based on European Union religious freedom laws, saw them acquitted of all charges, setting a precedent for the rest of Europe (Adelaars, 2001). A similar case in Spain resulted in the Spanish government granting the right to use ayahuasca in that country. A recent court decision in the United States by the 10th Circuit Court of Appeals, September 4th, 2003, ruled in favour of religious freedom to use ayahuasca (Center for Cognitive Liberty and Ethics, 2003). And in Canada, an application to Health Canada and the Department of Justice for exemption to the Controlled Drugs and Substances Act is pending, which may permit the Santo Daime Church the religious use of their sacrament, known as Daime or Santo Daimeii (J.W. Rochester, personal communication, October 8th, 2003)

One of the questions raised by this trend of liberalization in otherwise prohibitionist regulatory regimes is what benefits substances such as ayahuasca have. The discussion that follows takes up this question with respect to contemporary psychological theories about intelligence and touches on potential ramifications for education. The next section examines the metaphor of “plant teachers,” which is not uncommon among cultures that have traditionally practiced the entheogenic use of plants. Following that, I use Howard Gardner’s theory of multiple intelligences (1983) as a theoretical framework with which to account for cognitive implications of entheogen use. Finally, I take up a discussion of possible relevance of existential intelligence and entheogens to education.

Plant Teachers

Before moving on to a broader discussion of intelligence(s), I will provide some background on ayahuasca and entheogens. Ayahuasca has been a revered “plant teacher” among dozens of South American indigenous peoples for centuries, if not longer (Luna, 1984; Schultes & Hofmann, 1992). The word ayahuasca is from the Quechua language of indigenous peoples of Ecuador and Peru, and translates as “vine of the soul” (Metzner, 1999). Typically, it refers to a tea made from a jungle liana, Banisteriopsis caapi, with admixtures of other plants, but most commonly the leaves of a plant from the coffee family, Psychotria viridis (McKenna, 1999). These two plants respectively contain harmala alkaloids and dimethyltryptamine, two substances that when ingested orally create a biochemical synergy capable of producing profound alterations in consciousness (Grob, et al., 1996; McKenna, Towers & Abbot, 1984). Among the indigenous peoples of the Amazon, ayahuasca is one of the most valuable medicinal and sacramental plants in their pharmacopoeias. Although shamans in different tribes use the tea for various purposes, and have varying recipes for it, the application of ayahuasca as an effective tool to attain understanding and wisdom is one of the most prevalent (Brown, 1986; Dobkin de Rios, 1984).

Notwithstanding the explosion of popular interest in psychoactive drugs during the 1960s, ayahuasca until quite recently managed to remain relatively obscure in Western cultureiii. However, the late 20th century saw the growth of religious movements among non-indigenous people in Brazil syncretizing the use of ayahuasca with Christian symbolism, African spiritualism, and native ritual. Two of the more widespread ayahuasca churches are the Santo Daime (Santo Daime, 2004) and the União do Vegetal (União do Vegetal, 2004). These organizations have in the past few decades gained legitimacy as valid, indeed valuable, spiritual practices providing social, psychological and spiritual benefits (Grob, 1999; Riba, et al., 2001).

Ayahuasca is not the only “plant teacher” in the pantheon of entheogenic tools. Other indigenous peoples of the Americas have used psilocybin mushrooms for millennia for spiritual and healing purposes (Dobkin de Rios, 1973; Wasson, 1980). Similarly, the peyote cactus has a long history of use by Mexican indigenous groups (Fikes, 1996; Myerhoff, 1974; Stewart, 1987), and is currently widely used in the United States by the Native American Church (LaBarre, 1989; Smith & Snake, 1996). And even in the early history of Western culture, the ancient Indo-Aryan texts of the Rig Veda sing the praises of the deified Soma (Pande, 1984). Although the taxonomic identity of Soma is lost, it seems to have been a plant or mushroom and had the power to reliably induce mystical experiences—an “entheogen” par excellence (Eliade, 1978; Wasson, 1968). The variety of entheogens extends far beyond the limited examples I have offered here. However, ayahuasca, psilocybin mushrooms, peyote and Soma are exemplars of plants which have been culturally esteemed for their psychological and spiritual impacts on both individuals and communities.

In this article I argue that the importance of entheogens lies in their role as tools, as mediators between mind and environment. Defining a psychoactive drug as a tool—perhaps a novel concept for some—invokes its capacity to effect a purposeful change on the mind/body. Commenting on Vygotsky’s notions of psychological tools, John-Steiner and Souberman (1978) note that “tool use has . . . important effects upon internal and functional relationships within the human brain” (p. 133). Although they were likely not thinking of drugs as tools, the significance of this observation becomes even more literal when the tools in question are plants or chemicals ingested with the intent of affecting consciousness through the manipulation of brain chemistry. Indeed, psychoactive plants or chemicals seem to defy the traditional bifurcation between physical and psychological tools, as they affect the mind/body (understood by modern psychologists to be identical).

It is important to consider the degree to which the potential of entheogens comes not only from their immediate neuropsychological effects, but also from the social practices—rituals—into which their use has traditionally been incorporated (Dobkin de Rios, 1996; Smith, 2000). The protective value that ritual provides for entheogen use is evident from its universal application in traditional practices (Weil, 1972/1986). Medical evidence suggests that there are minimal physiological risks associated with psychedelic drugs (Callaway, et al., 1999; Grinspoon & Bakalar, 1979/1998; Julien, 1998). Albert Hofmann (1980), the chemist who first accidentally synthesized and ingested LSD, contends that the psychological risks associated with psychedelics in modern Western culture are a function of their recreational use in unsafe circumstances. A ritual context, however, offers psychospiritual safeguards that make the potential of entheogenic “plant teachers” to enhance cognition an intriguing possibility.

Existential Intelligence

Howard Gardner (1983) developed a theory of multiple intelligences that originally postulated seven types of intelligence (iv). Since then, he has added a “naturalist” intelligence and entertained the possibility of a “spiritual” intelligence (1999a; 1999b). Not wanting to delve too far into territory fraught with theological pitfalls, Gardner (1999a) settled on looking at “existential” intelligence rather than “spiritual” intelligence (p. 123). Existential intelligence, as Gardner characterizes it, involves having a heightened capacity to appreciate and attend to the cosmological enigmas that define the human condition, an exceptional awareness of the metaphysical, ontological and epistemological mysteries that have been a perennial concern for people of all cultures (1999a).

In his original formulation of the theory, Gardner challenges (narrow) mainstream definitions of intelligence with a broader one that sees intelligence as “the ability to solve problems or to fashion products that are valued in at least one culture or community” (1999a, p. 113). He lays out eight criteria, or “signs,” that he argues should be used to identify an intelligence; however, he notes that these do not constitute necessary conditions for determining an intelligence, merely desiderata that a candidate intelligence should meet (1983, p. 62). He also admits that none of his original seven intelligences fulfilled all the criteria, although they all met a majority of the eight. For existential intelligence, Gardner himself identifies six which it seems to meet; I will look at each of these and discuss their merits in relation to entheogens.

One criterion applicable to existential intelligence is the identification of a neural substrate to which the intelligence may correlate. Gardner (1999a) notes that recent neuropsychological evidence supports the hypothesis that the brain’s temporal lobe plays a key role in producing mystical states of consciousness and spiritual awareness (p. 124-5; LaPlante, 1993; Newberg, D’Aquili & Rause, 2001). He also recognizes that “certain brain centres and neural transmitters are mobilized in [altered consciousness] states, whether they are induced by the ingestion of substances or by a control of the will” (Gardner, 1999a, p.125). Another possibility, which Gardner does not explore, is that endogenous dimethyltryptamine (DMT) in humans may play a significant role in the production of spontaneous or induced altered states of consciousness (Pert, 2001). DMT is a powerful entheogenic substance that exists naturally in the mammalian brain (Barker, Monti & Christian, 1981), as well as being a common constituent of ayahuasca and the Amazonian snuff, yopo (Ott, 1994). Furthermore, DMT is a close analogue of the neurotransmitter 5-hydroxytryptamine, or serotonin. It has been known for decades that the primary neuropharmacological action of psychedelics has been on serotonin systems, and serotonin is now understood to be correlated with healthy modes of consciousness.

One psychiatric researcher has recently hypothesized that endogenous DMT stimulates the pineal gland to create such spontaneous psychedelic states as near-death experiences (Strassman, 2001). Whether this is correct or not, the role of DMT in the brain is an area of empirical research that deserves much more attention, especially insofar as it may contribute to an evidential foundation for existential intelligence.

Another criterion for an intelligence is the existence of individuals of exceptional ability within the domain of that intelligence. Unfortunately, existential precocity is not something sufficiently valued in modern Western culture to the degree that savants in this domain are commonly celebrated today. Gardner (1999a) observes that within Tibetan Buddhism, the choosing of lamas may involve the detection of a predisposition to existential intellect (if it is not identifying the reincarnation of a previous lama, as Tibetan Buddhists themselves believe) (p. 124). Gardner also cites Czikszentmilhalyi’s consideration of the “early-emerging concerns for cosmic issues of the sort reported in the childhoods of future religious leaders like Gandhi and of several future physicists” (Gardner, 1999a, p. 124; Czikszentmilhalyi, 1996). Presumably, some individuals who are enjoined to enter a monastery or nunnery at a young age may be so directed due to an appreciable manifestation of existential awareness. Likewise, individuals from indigenous cultures who take up shamanic practice—who “have abilities beyond others to dream, to imagine, to enter states of trance” (Larsen, 1976, p. 9)—often do so because of a significant interest in cosmological concerns at a young age, which could be construed as a prodigious capacity in the domain of existential intelligencev (Eliade, 1964; Greeley, 1974; Halifax, 1979).

The third criterion for determining an intelligence that Gardner suggests is an identifiable set of core operational abilities that manifest that intelligence. Gardner finds this relatively unproblematic and articulates the core operations for existential intelligence as:

the capacity to locate oneself with respect to the farthest reaches of the cosmos—the infinite no less than the infinitesimal—and the related capacity to locate oneself with respect to the most existential aspects of the human condition: the significance of life, the meaning of death, the ultimate fate of the physical and psychological worlds, such profound experiences as love of another human being or total immersion in a work of art. (1999a, p. 123)

Gardner notes that as with other more readily accepted types of intelligence, there is no specific truth that one would attain with existential intelligence—for example, as musical intelligence does not have to manifest itself in any specific genre or category of music, neither does existential intelligence privilege any one philosophical system or spiritual doctrine. As Gardner (1999a) puts it, “there exists [with existential intelligence] a species potential—or capacity—to engage in transcendental concerns that can be aroused and deployed under certain circumstances” (p. 123). Reports on uses of psychedelics by Westerners in the 1950s and early 1960s—generated prior to their prohibition and, some might say, profanation—reveal a recurrent theme of spontaneous mystical experiences that are consistent with enhanced capacity of existential intelligence (Huxley, 1954/1971; Masters & Houston, 1966; Pahnke, 1970; Smith, 1964; Watts, 1958/1969).

Another criterion for admitting an intelligence is identifying a developmental history and a set of expert “end-state” performances for it. Pertaining to existential intelligence, Gardner notes that all cultures have devised spiritual or metaphysical systems to deal with the inherent human capacity for existential issues, and further that these respective systems invariably have steps or levels of sophistication separating the novice from the adept. He uses the example of Pope John XXIII’s description of his training to advance up the ecclesiastic hierarchy as a contemporary illustration of this point (1999a, p. 124). However, the instruction of the neophyte is a manifest part of almost all spiritual training and, again, the demanding process of imparting of shamanic wisdom—often including how to effectively and appropriately use entheogens—is an excellent example of this process in indigenous cultures (Eliade, 1964).

A fifth criterion Gardner suggests for an intelligence is determining its evolutionary history and evolutionary plausibility. The self-reflexive question of when and why existential intelligence first arose in the Homo genus is one of the perennial existential questions of humankind. That it is an exclusively human trait is almost axiomatic, although a small but increasing number of researchers are willing to admit the possibility of higher forms of cognition in non-human animals (Masson & McCarthy, 1995; Vonk, 2003). Gardner (1999a) argues that only by the Upper Paleolithic period did “human beings within a culture possess a brain capable of considering the cosmological issues central to existential intelligence” (p. 124) and that the development of a capacity for existential thinking may be linked to “a conscious sense of finite space and irreversible time, two promising loci for stimulating imaginative explorations of transcendental spheres” (p. 124). He also suggests that “thoughts about existential issues may well have evolved as responses to necessarily occurring pain, perhaps as a way of reducing pain or better equipping individuals to cope with it” (Gardner, 1999a, p. 125). As with determining the evolutionary origin of language, tracing a phylogenesis of existential intelligence is conjectural at best. Its role in the development of the species is equally difficult to assess, although Winkelman (2000) argues that consciousness and shamanic practices—and presumably existential intelligence as well—stem from psychobiological adaptations integrating older and more recently evolved structures in the triune hominid brain. McKenna (1992) goes even so far as to postulate that the ingestion of psychoactive substances such as entheogenic mushrooms may have helped stimulate cognitive developments such as existential and linguistic thinking in our proto-human ancestors. Some researchers in the 1950s and 1960s found enhanced creativity and problem-solving skills among subjects given LSD and other psychedelic drugs (Harman, McKim, Mogar, Fadiman & Stolaroff, 1966; Izumi, 1970; Krippner, 1985; Stafford & Golightly, 1967), skills which certainly would have been evolutionarily advantageous to our hominid ancestors. Such avenues of investigation are beginning to be broached again by both academic scholars and amateur psychonauts (Dobkin de Rios & Janiger, 2003; Spitzer, et al., 1996; MAPS Bulletin, 2000).

The final criterion Gardner mentions as applicable to existential intelligence is susceptibility to encoding in a symbol system. Here, again, Gardner concedes that there is abundant evidence in favour of accepting existential thinking as an intelligence. In his words, “many of the most important and most enduring sets of symbol systems (e.g., those featured in the Catholic liturgy) represent crystallizations of key ideas and experiences that have evolved within [cultural] institutions” (1999a, p. 123). Another salient example that illustrates this point is the mytho-symbolism ascribed to ayahuasca visions among the Tukano, an Amazonian indigenous people. Reichel-Dolmatoff (1975) made a detailed study of these visions by asking a variety of informants to draw representations with sticks in the dirt (p. 174). He compiled twenty common motifs, observing that most of them bear a striking resemblance to phosphene patterns (i.e. visual phenomena perceived in the absence of external stimuli or by applying light pressure to the eyeball) compiled by Max Knoll (Oster, 1970). The Tukano interpret these universal human neuropsychological phenomena as symbolically significant according to their traditional ayahuasca-steeped mythology, reflecting the codification of existential ideas within their culture.

Narby (1998) also examines the codification of symbols generated during ayahuasca experiences by tracing similarities between intertwining snake motifs in the visions of Amazonian shamans and the double-helix structure of deoxyribonucleic acid. He found remarkable similarities between representations of biological knowledge by indigenous shamans and those of modern geneticists. More recently, Narby (2002) has followed up on this work by bringing molecular biologists to the Amazon to participate in ayahuasca ceremonies with experiences shamans, an endeavour he suggests may provide useful cross-fertilization in divergent realms of human knowledge.

The two other criteria of an intelligence are support from experimental psychological tasks and support from psychometric findings. Gardner suggests that existential intelligence is more debatable within these domains, citing personality inventories that attempt to measure religiosity or spirituality; he notes, “it remains unclear just what is being probed by such instruments and whether self-report is a reliable index of existential intelligence” (1999a, p. 125). It seems transcendental states of consciousness and the cognition they engender do not lend themselves to quantification or easy replication in psychology laboratories. However, Strassman, Qualls, Uhlenhuth, & Kellner (1994) developed a psychometric instrument—the Hallucinogen Rating Scale—to measure human responses to intravenous administration of DMT, and it has since been reliably used for other psychedelic experiences (Riba, Rodriguez-Fornells, Strassman, & Barbanoj, 2001).

One historical area of empirical psychological research that did ostensibly stimulate a form of what might be considered existential intelligence was clinical investigations into psychedelics. Until such research became academically unfashionable and then politically impossible in the early 1970s, psychologists and clinical researchers actively explored experimentally-induced transcendent experiences using drugs in the interests of both pure science and applied medical treatments (Abramson, 1967; Cohen, 1964; Grinspoon & Bakalar, 1979/1998; Masters & Houston, 1966). One of the more famous of these was Pahnke’s (1970) so-called “Good Friday” experiment, which attempted to induce spiritual experiences with psilocybin within a randomized double-blind control methodology. His conclusion that mystical experiences were indeed reliably produced, despite methodological problems with the study design, was borne out by a critical long-term follow-up (Doblin, 1991), which raises intriguing questions about both entheogens and existential intelligence.

Studies such as Pahnke’s (1970), despite their promise, were prematurely terminated due to public pressure from a populace alarmed by burgeoning contemporary recreational drug use. Only about a decade ago did the United States government give researchers permission to renew (on a very small scale) investigations into psychedelics (Strassman 2001; Strassman & Qualls, 1994). Cognitive psychologists are also taking an interest in entheogens such as ayahuasca (Shanon, 2002). Regardless of whether support for existential intelligence can be established psychometrically or in experimental psychological tasks, Gardner’s theory expressly stipulates that not all eight criteria must be uniformly met in order for an intelligence to qualify. Nevertheless, Gardner claims to “find the phenomenon perplexing enough, and the distance from other intelligences great enough” (1999a, p. 127) to be reluctant “at present to add existential intelligence to the list . . . . At most [he is] willing, Fellini-style, to joke about ‘8½ intelligences’” (p. 127). I contend that research into entheogens and other means of altering consciousness will further support the case for treating existential intelligence as a valid cognitive domain.

Educational Implications?

By recapitulating and augmenting Gardner’s discussion of existential intelligence, I hope to have strengthened the case for its inclusion as a valid cognitive domain. However, doing so raises questions of what ramifications an acceptance of existential intelligence would have for contemporary Western educational theory and practice. How might we foster this hitherto neglected intelligence and allow it to be used in constructive ways? There is likely a range of educational practices that could be used to stimulate cognition in this domain, many of which could be readily implemented without much controversy.vi Yet I intentionally raise the prospect of using entheogens in this capacity—not with young children, but perhaps with older teens in the passage to adulthood—to challenge theorists, policy-makers and practitioners.vii

The potential of entheogens as tools for education in contemporary Western culture was identified by Aldous Huxley. Although better known as a novelist than as a philosopher of education, Huxley spent a considerable amount of time—particularly as he neared the end of his life—addressing the topic of education. Like much of his literature, Huxley’s observations and critiques of the socio-cultural forces at work in his time were cannily prescient; they bear as much, if not more, relevance in the 21st century as when they were written. Most remarkably, and relevant to my thesis, Huxley saw entheogens as possible educational tools:

Under the current dispensation the vast majority of individuals lose, in the course of education, all the openness to inspiration, all the capacity to be aware of other things than those enumerated in the Sears-Roebuck catalogue which constitutes the conventionally “real” world . . . . Is it too much to hope that a system of education may some day be devised, which shall give results, in terms of human development, commensurate with the time, money, energy and devotion expended? In such a system of education it may be that mescalin or some other chemical substance may play a part by making it possible for young people to “taste and see” what they have learned about at second hand . . . in the writings of the religious, or the works of poets, painters and musicians. (Letter to Dr. Humphrey Osmond, April 10th, 1953—in Horowitz & Palmer, 1999, p.30)

In a more literary expression of this notion, Huxley’s final novel Island (1962) portrays an ideal culture that has achieved a balance of scientific and spiritual thinking, and which also incorporates the ritualized use of entheogens for education. The representation of drug use that Huxley portrays in Island contrasts markedly with the more widely-known soma of his earlier novel, Brave New World (1932/1946): whereas soma was a pacifier that muted curiosity and served the interests of the controlling elite, the entheogenic “moksha medicine” of Island offered liminal experiences in young adults that stimulated profound reflection, self-actualization and, I submit, existential intelligence.

Huxley’s writings point to an implicit recognition of the capacity of entheogens to be used as educational “tools”. The concept of tool here refers not merely the physical devices fashioned to aid material production, but, following Vygotsky (1978), more broadly to those means of symbolic and/or cultural mediation between the mind and the world (Cole, 1996; Wertsch, 1991). Of course, deriving educational benefit from a tool requires much more than simply having and wielding it; one must also have an intrinsic respect for the object qua tool, a cultural system in which the tool is valued as such, and guides or teachers who are adept at using the tool to provide helpful direction. As Larsen (1976) remarks in discussing the phenomenon of would-be “shamans” in Western culture experimenting with mind-altering chemicals: “we have no symbolic vocabulary, no grounded mythological tradition to make our experiences comprehensible to us . . . no senior shamans to help ensure that our [shamanic experience of] dismemberment be followed by a rebirth” (p. 81). Given the recent history of these substances in modern Western culture, it is hardly surprising that they have been demonized (Hofmann, 1980). However, cultural practices that have traditionally used entheogens as therapeutic agents consistently incorporate protective safeguards—set, settingviii, established dosages, and mythocultural respect (Zinberg, 1984). The fear that inevitably arises in modern Western culture when addressing the issue of entheogens stems, I submit, not from any properties intrinsic to the substances themselves, but rather from a general misunderstanding of their power and capacity as tools. Just as a sharp knife can be used for good or ill, depending on whether it is in the hands of a skilled surgeon or a reckless youth, so too can entheogens be used or misused.

The use of entheogens such as ayahuasca is exemplary of the long and ongoing tradition in many cultures to employ psychoactives as tools that stimulate foundational types of understanding (Tupper, in press). That such substances are capable of stimulating profoundly transcendent experiences is evident from both the academic literature and anecdotal reports. Accounting fully for their action, however, requires going beyond the usual explanatory schemas: applying Gardner’s (1999a) multiple intelligence theory as a heuristic framework opens new ways of understanding entheogens and their potential benefits. At the same time, entheogens bolster the case for Gardner’s proposed addition of existential intelligence. This article attempts to present these concepts in such a way that the possibility of using entheogens as tools is taken seriously by those with an interest in new and transformative ideas in education.

Bibliography

Abramson, H. A. (Ed.). (1967). The use of LSD in psychotherapy and alcoholism. New York: Bobbs-Merrill Co. Ltd.

Adelaars, A. (2001, 21 April). Court case in Holland against the use of ayahuasca by the Dutch Santo Daime Church. Retrieved January 2, 2002 from http://www.santodaime.org/community/news/2105_holland.htm

Barker, S.A., Monti, J.A. & Christian, S.T. (1981). N,N-Dimethyltryptamine: An endogenous hallucinogen. International Review of Neurobiology. 22, 83-110.

Brown, M.F. (1986). Tsewa’s gift: Magic and meaning in an Amazonian society. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press.

Burroughs, W. S., & Ginsberg, A. (1963). The yage letters. San Francisco, CA: City Lights Books.

Callaway, J.C., McKenna, D.J., Grob, C.S., Brito, G.S., Raymon, L.P., Poland, R.E., Andrade, E.N., & Mash, D.C. (1999). Pharmacokinetics of hoasca alkaloids in healthy humans. Journal of Ethnopharmacology. 65, 243-256.

Center for Cognitive Liberty and Ethics. (2003, September 5). 10th Circuit: Church likely to prevail in dispute over hallucinogenic tea. Retrieved February 7, 2004, from http://www.cognitiveliberty.org/dll/udv_10prelim.htm

Cohen, S. (1964). The beyond within: The LSD story. New York: Atheneum.

Cole, M. (1996). Culture in mind. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Cremin, L. A. (1961). The transformation of the school: Progressivism in American education, 1867-1957. New York: Vintage Books.

Czikszentmilhalyi, M. (1996). Creativity. New York: Harper Collins.

Davis, W. (2001, January 23). In Coulter, P. (Producer). The end of the wild [radio program]. Toronto: Canadian Broadcasting Corporation.

Dobkin de Rios, M. (1973). The influence of psychotropic flora and fauna on Maya religion. Current Anthropology. 15(2), 147-64.

Dobkin de Rios, M. (1984). Hallucinogens: Cross-cultural perspectives. Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico Press.

Dobkin de Rios, M. (1996). On “human pharmacology of hoasca”: A medical anthropology perspective. The Journal of Nervous and Mental Disease. 184(2), 95-98.

Dobkin de Rios, M., & Janiger, O. (2003). LSD, Spirituality, and the Creative Process. Park Street Press.

Doblin, R. (1991). Pahnke’s “Good Friday Experiment”: A long-term follow-up and methodological critique. The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology. 23(1): 1-28.

Egan, K. (2002). Getting it wrong from the beginning: Our progressivist inheritance from Herbert Spencer, John Dewey, and Jean Piaget. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.

Eliade, M. (1964). Shamanism: Archaic techniques of ecstasy. (W.R. Trask, Trans.). New York: Pantheon Books.

Eliade, M. (1978). A history of religious ideas: From the stone age to the Eleusinian mysteries (Vol. 1). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

Fikes, J. C. (1996). A brief history of the Native American Church. In H. Smith & R. Snake (Eds.), One nation under god: The triumph of the Native American church (p. 167-73). Santa Fe, NM: Clear Light Publishers.

Gardner, H. (1983). Frames of mind: The theory of multiple intelligences. New York: Basic Books.

Gardner, H. (1999a). Are there additional intelligences? In J. Kane (Ed.), Education, information, transformation: Essays on learning and thinking (p. 111-131). Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice-Hall.

Gardner, H. (1999b). Intelligence reframed: Multiple intelligences for the 21st century. New York: Basic Books.

Gotz, I.L. (1970). The psychedelic teacher: Drugs, mysticism, and schools. Philadelphia, PA: Westminster Press.

Greeley, A .M. (1974). Ecstasy: A way of knowing. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall.

Grinspoon, L., & Bakalar, J. B. (1998). Psychedelic drugs reconsidered. New York: The Lindesmith Center (Original work published 1979).

Grob, C. S., McKenna, D. J., Callaway, J. C., Brito, G. C., Neves, E. S., Oberlander, G., Saide, O. L., Labigalini, E., Tacla, C., Miranda, C. T., Strassman, R. J., & Boone, K. B. (1996). Human psychopharmacology of hoasca, a plant hallucinogen used in ritual context in Brazil. The Journal of Nervous and Mental Disease. 184(2), 86-94.

Grob, C. S. (1999). The psychology of ayahuasca. In R. Metzner (Ed.), Ayahuasca: Hallucinogens, consciousness, and the spirit of nature (p. 214-249). New York: Thunder’s Mouth Press.

Halifax, J. (1979). Shamanic voices: A survey of visionary narratives. New York: Dutton.

Harman, W. W., McKim, R. H., Mogar, R. E., Fadiman, J., and Stolaroff, M. (1966). Psychedelic agents in creative problem-solving: A pilot study. Psychological Reports. 19: 211-227.

Hofmann, A. (1980). LSD: My problem child. (J. Ott, Trans.). New York: McGraw-Hill.

Horowitz, M., & Palmer, C. (Eds.). (1999). Moksha: Aldous Huxley’s classic writings on psychedelics and the visionary experience. Rochester, VT: Park Street Press.

Huxley, A. (1946). Brave new world: A novel. New York: Harper & Row. (Original work published 1932).

Huxley, A. (1962). Island. New York: Harper & Row.

Huxley, A. (1971). The doors of perception & heaven and hell. Middlesex, England: Penguin Books. (Original work published 1954).

Izumi, K. (1970). LSD and architectural design. In B. Aaronson & H. Osmond, (Eds.), Psychedelics: The uses and implications of hallucinogenic drugs (p. 381-397). Garden City, NY: Anchor Books.

John-Steiner, V., & Souberman, E. (1978). Afterword. In L. Vygotsky, Mind in society: The development of higher psychological processes (p. 121-133). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Julien, R.M. (1998). A primer of drug action: A concise, non-technical guide to the actions, uses, and side effects of psychoactive drugs (8th ed.). Portland, OR: W.H. Freeman & Company.

Krippner, S. (1985). Psychedelic drugs and creativity. Journal of Psychoactive Drugs. 17(4): 235-245.

LaBarre, W. (1989). The peyote cult (5th ed.). Hamden, CT: Shoe String Press.

LaPlante, E. (1993). Seized: Temporal lobe epilepsy as a medical, historical, and artistic phenomenon. New York: Harper-Collins.

Larsen, S. (1976). The shaman’s doorway: Opening the mythic imagination to contemporary consciousness. New York: Harper & Row.

Lewin, L. (1997). Phantastica: A classic survey on the use and abuse of mind-altering plants. Rochester, VT: Park Street Press. (Original work published 1924).

Luna, L.E. (1984). The concept of plants as teachers among four mestizo shamans of Iquitos, northeastern Peru. Journal of Ethnopharmacology. 11(2), 135-156.

MAPS (Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies) Bulletin. (2000). Psychedelics & Creativity. 10(3). Retrieved February 15th, 2004 from: http://www.maps.org/news-letters/v10n3/

Masson, J. M., & McCarthy, S. (1995). When elephants weep: The emotional lives of animals. New York: Delta Books.

Masters, R. E. L., & Houston, J. (1966). The varieties of psychedelic experience. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston.

McKenna, D.J. (1999). Ayahuasca: An ethnopharmacologic history. In R. Metzner (Ed.), Ayahuasca: Hallucinogens, consciousness, and the spirit of nature (p. 187-213). New York: Thunder’s Mouth Press.

McKenna, D. J., Towers, G. H. N., & Abbot, F. (1984). Monoamine oxidase inhibitors in South American hallucinogenic plants: Tryptamine and -carboline constituents of ayahuasca. Journal of Ethnopharmacology. 10(2), 195-223.

McKenna, T. (1992). Food of the gods: The search for the original tree of knowledge. New York: Bantam.

Metzner, R. (1999). Introduction: Amazonian vine of visions. In R. Metzner (Ed.), Ayahuasca: Hallucinogens, consciousness, and the spirit of nature (p. 1-45). New York: Thunder’s Mouth Press.

Myerhoff, B. G. (1974). Peyote hunt: The sacred journey of the Huichol Indians. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

Narby, J. (1998). The cosmic serpent: DNA and the origins of knowledge. New York: Jeremy P. Tarcher/Putnam.

Narby, J. (2002). Shamans and scientists. In C.S. Grob (Ed.), Hallucinogens: A reader (p. 159-163). New York: Jeremy P. Tarcher/Putnam.

Newberg, A., D’Aquili, E., & Rause, V. (2001). Why god won’t go away: Brain science and the biology of belief. New York: Ballantine Books.

Oster, G. (1970). Phosphenes. Scientific American. 222(2), 83-87.

Ott, J. (1994). Ayahuasca analogues: Pangæan entheogens. Kennewick, WA: Natural Products Co.

Pahnke, W. (1970). Drugs and Mysticism. In B. Aaronson & H. Osmond, (Eds.), Psychedelics: The uses and implications of hallucinogenic drugs (p. 145-165). Cambridge, MA: Schenkman.

Pande, C. G. (1984). Foundations of Indian culture: Spiritual vision and symbolic forms in ancient India. New Delhi: Books & Books.

Pert, C. (2001, May 26). The matter of emotions. Paper presented at the Remaining Human Forum, University of British Columbia, Vancouver.

Reichel-Dolmatoff, G. (1975). The shaman and the jaguar: A study of narcotic drugs among the Indians of Colombia. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press.

Riba, J., Rodriguez-Fornells, A., Urbano, G., Morte, A., Antonijoan, R., Montero, M., Callaway, J.C., & Barbanoj, M.J. (2001). Subjective effects and tolerability of the South American psychoactive beverage Ayahuasca in healthy volunteers. Psychopharmacology. 154, 85-95.

Riba, J., Rodriguez-Fornells, A., Strassman, R.J., & Barbanoj, M.J. (2001). Psychometric assessment of the Hallucinogen Rating Scale in two different populations of hallucinogen users. Drug and Alcohol Dependence. 62(3): 215-223.

Ruck, C., Bigwood, J., Staples, B., Ott, J., & Wasson, R. G. (1979). Entheogens. The Journal of Psychedelic Drugs. 11(1-2), 145-146.

Santo Daime. (2004). Santo Daime: The rainforest’s doctrine. Retrieved February 7th, 2004 from http://www.santodaime.org/indexy.htm

Schultes, R. E., & Hofmann, A. (1992). Plants of the gods: Their sacred, healing, and hallucinogenic powers. Rochester, VT: Healing Arts Press.

Shorter Oxford English Dictionary (3rd ed.). (1973). Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Shanon, B. (2002). The antipodes of the mind: Charting the phenomenology of the ayahuasca experience. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Smith, H. (1964). Do drugs have religious import? In D. Solomon (Ed.), LSD: The consciousness expanding drug (p. 155-169). New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons.

Smith, H. (2000). Cleansing the doors of perception: The religious significance of entheogenic plants and chemicals. New York: Tarcher-Putnam.

Smith, H., & Snake, R. (Eds.). (1996). One nation under god: The triumph of the Native American church. Santa Fe, NM: Clear Light Publishers.

Spitzer, M., Thimm, M., Hermle, L., Holzmann, P., Kovar, K.A., Heimann, H., et al. (1996). Increased activation of indirect semantic associations under psilocybin. Biological Psychiatry. 39(12): 1055-1057.

Stafford, P. & Golightly, B. (1967). LSD: The problem-solving psychedelic. New York: Award Books.

Stewart, O. C. (1987). Peyote religion: A history. Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press.

Strassman, R. J. (2001). DMT: The spirit molecule. Rochester, VT: Park Street Press.

Strassman, R. J., & Qualls, C. R. (1994). Dose-response study of N,N-dimethyltryptamine in humans. I. Neuroendocrine, autonomic and cardiovascular effects. Archives of General Psychiatry. 51(2), 85-97.

Strassman, R.J., Qualls, C.R., Uhlenhuth, E.H., & Kellner, R. (1994). Dose-response study of N,N-dimethyltryptamine in humans. II. Subjective effects and preliminary results of a new rating scale. Archives of General Psychiatry. 51(2): 98-108.

Tupper, K.W. (in press). Entheogens and education: Exploring the potential of psychoactives as educational tools. Journal of Drug Education and Awareness.

União do Vegetal. (2004). União do Vegetal: Centro espírita beneficente. Retrieved February 7th, 2004 from http://www.udv.org.br/english/index.html

United Nations. (1977). Convention on psychotropic substances, 1971. New York: United Nations.

Vonk, J. (2003). Gorilla and orangutan understanding of first- and second-order relations. Animal Cognition. 6(2), 77-86.

Vygotsky, L., (1978). Mind in society: The development of higher psychological processes (M. Cole, V. John-Steiner, S. Scribner, & E. Souberman, Eds.). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Wasson, R. G. (1968). Soma: The divine mushroom of immortality. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich.

Wasson, R.G. (1980). The wondrous mushroom: Mycolatry in Mesoamerica. New York: McGraw-Hill.

Watts, A. (1969). This is it. Toronto, Ont.: Collier-Macmillan Canada Ltd. (Original work published 1958).

Weil, A. (1986). The natural mind: A new way of looking at drugs and the higher consciousness. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. (Original work published 1972).

Wertsch, J. V. (1991). Voices of the mind: A sociocultural approach to mediated action. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Winkelman, M. (2000). Shamanism: The neural ecology of consciousness and healing. Westport, CT: Bergin & Garvey.

Zinberg, N. E. (1984). Drug, set, and setting: The basis for controlled intoxicant use. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.

i The 1971 United Nations Convention on Psychotropic Substances allows for indigenous peoples to use traditional medicines and sacraments even if those substances are prohibited under international drug control treaties (United Nations, 1977, Article 32).

ii Santo Daime is the name of the sacrament as well as the religion.

iii Writers and drug aficionados William S. Burroughs and Allan Ginsberg (1963) published an account of their experiences seeking out and drinking ayahuasca in South America in the early 1960s, but their report was mostly negative and did not inspire many others to follow in their footsteps. As ethnobotanist Wade Davis remarks, “ayahuasca is many things, but pleasurable is not one of them” (2001).

iv The original seven types of intelligence Gardner (1983) proposed were: linguistic, logical-mathematical, spatial, musical, kinesthetic, interpersonal, and intrapersonal.

v Eliade (1964) identifies two primary ways of becoming a shaman: 1) hereditary transmission, or falling heir to the vocation in a family legacy passed down from generation to generation; and 2) spontaneous vocation, or being called to shamanism by the spirits. Prodigious existential intelligence may be manifest in either case.

vi Here I conceptually separate education and schooling; unfortunately, I don’t see the latter institution—the legacy of 19th-century homogenizing and democratizing socio-political programs (Cremin, 1961; Egan, 2002)—as inspiring much optimism for an embracing of existential intelligence.

vii Gotz (1970) argues that the practices of teachers might benefit from the mind-expanding potential of psychedelics.

viii “Set is a person’s expectations of what a drug will do to him [sic], considered in the context of his whole personality. Setting is the environment, both physical and social, in which a drug is taken” (Weil, 1972/1986). These factors influence all psychoactive drug experiences, but psychedelics or entheogens especially so.

From Neurons to Nirvana is about the science of psychedelics — the quest to discover how psychoactive substances affect the neurological system and how those effects are related directly to how we understand the world around us; how they affect consciousness and what that means for our understanding of ourselves, our relationship with others, and our understanding of the world.

Hockenhull is working in partnership with executive producer Mark Achbar (The Corporation) and Betsy Carson, and with European co-producer Oval Filmemacher, Berlin. He has been developing and shooting this film over the last two years, filming extensively in Canada, the USA, and Europe.

You can help to make this film a reality. See how you can contribute here — and how you can get signed DVDs, exclusive downloads during production, music tracks, special imagistic loops for continuous ecstatic play on your monitor, an exclusive audio clip of Aldous Huxley recorded in the 1930s, and even co-production credit. Check it out.

Steve Beyer is the author of Singing to the Plants: A Guide to Mestizo Shamanism in the Upper Amazon. His website and blog is at www.singingtotheplants.com.

Ayahuasca is made from the stem of the ayahuasca vine (Banisteriopsis caapi), almost always combined with the leaves of one or more of three compañeros, companion plants — the shrub chacruna (Psychotria viridis), the closely related shrub sameruca (Psychotria carthaginensis), or a vine variously called ocoyagé, chalipanga, chagraponga, and huambisa (Diplopterys cabrerana). It is in fact the companion plant that contains the potent hallucinogen dimethyltryptamine (DMT); but, while DMT is effective when administered parenterally, it is, when taken orally, inactivated by peripheral monoamine oxidase-A (MAO-A), an enzyme found in the lining of the stomach, whose function is precisely to oxidize molecules containing an NH2 amine group, like DMT.

The ayahuasca vine contains three primary harmala alkaloids — the β-carboline derivatives harmine, tetrahydroharmine (THH), and harmaline. Harmine is the primary constituent, followed first by THH and then by harmaline. These three harmala alkaloids are potent reversible inhibitors of MAO-A. Thus, combining the ingredients of the ayahuasca drink allows the DMT to produce its hallucinogenic effect when orally ingested — a unique solution which apparently developed only in the Upper Amazon. Indeed, the MAO-inhibiting β-carbolines in the ayahuasca vine may also potentiate the actions of psychoactive alkaloids other than DMT — for example, nicotine from mapacho (Nicotiana rustica), or the primary tropane alkaloids from toé (Brugmansia spp.).

The question is: Apart from inhibiting MAO, do these β-carbolines contribute to the nature or quality of the ayahuasca visionary experience?

The accepted wisdom answers no. A study of the ayahuasca drink used by the syncretic religious movement União de Vegetal in Brazil, for example, concluded that the harmala alkaloids “are essentially devoid of psychedelic activity” at doses found in the drink.

A number of experiments with harmine — the primary β-carboline in the ayahuasca vine — would seem to bear out this assessment. The chemist Alexander Shulgin has reviewed the self-experimentation literature and concluded that harmine has inconsistent effects, which have in common that not much either pleasant or interesting happens — pleasant relaxation and withdrawal in one case; dizziness, nausea, and ataxia in another. Researchers who have self-administered harmine have reported an increase in belligerence, fleeting sensations of lightness, transient subjective effects, mild sedation at low doses and unpleasant neurological effects at higher doses, and, indeed, no “notable psychoactive or somatic effect.” Some researchers have expressed doubts that harmine is psychoactive at all.

Jonathan Ott gives several accounts of his own experiences with ingesting infusions of the ayahuasca vine or other β-carboline-rich plants without DMT additive plants. During one shamanic ceremony, he drank an infusion of the ayahuasca vine mixed only with a small number of guayusa (Ilex guayusa) leaves, which contain caffeine but no tryptamines, which he intended to counteract the soporific effects of the drink. According to Ott, the caffeine content was insufficient for that purpose; he had to fight off sleep. He could see, he writes, why β-carboline-enriched infusions had been used traditionally as sedatives.

However, there are two reasons to question the common wisdom. The first is the work of Claudio Naranjo, who administered harmaline — not harmine — to 35 volunteers, by mouth and intravenously, under laboratory conditions. Harmaline, he reports, was “more of a pure hallucinogen” than other psychoactive substances, such as mescaline, because of the number of images reported and their realistic quality — what Naranjo calls their “remarkable vividness.” “In fact,” he writes, “some subjects felt that certain scenes they saw had really happened, and that they had been disembodied witnesses of them in a different time and place.” The volunteers often described landscapes and cities, masks, eyes, and what are elsewhere called elves — vividly realized animal and human figures, angels, demons, giants, dwarfs. If this study is credible, there are grounds to believe that, among the β-carbolines, at least harmaline, at sufficient doses, has independent hallucinogenic properties, phenomenologically not dissimilar to those of DMT.

Shulgin’s review of the self-experimental literature with regard to harmaline provides some confirmation of the reports of Naranjo’s volunteers. A 500-mg oral dose produced nausea and a complete collapse of motor coordination — “I could barely stagger to the bathroom,” one person reports — along with eyes-closed eidetic imagery, and “tracers and weird visual ripplings” with open eyes. It is even more interesting to look at the effects of Syrian rue (Peganum harmala), which contains pretty much equal quantities of harmine and harmaline, as opposed to the proportionally much smaller amount of harmaline in the ayahuasca vine. Oral ingestion of ground Syrian rue seeds caused intense eyes-closed hallucinations of “a wide variety of geometrical patterns in dark colors,” which evolved into more concrete images — “people’s faces, movies of all sorts playing at high speeds, and animal presences such as snakes.” Oral ingestion of a fivefold greater dose, as extract, caused “zebra-like stripes of light and dark” — visual effects which had “a physicality unlike those of any other entheogen I’d experienced.” In a second trial at the same dose, the participant saw “strange winged creatures” and traveled to “jungle-like places, full of imagery of vines, fountains, and animals.”

Now, the amount of harmaline in any sample of ayahuasca vine or drink is extremely variable; it is a matter of controversy whether any infusion of the ayahuasca vine contains enough harmaline to cause the effects reported above. Jonathon Ott, whose views deserve respectful attention, says that the amount of harmaline in a single 200-ml drink of ayahuasca would be insufficient to produce the effects reported by Naranjo.

Yet the accepted wisdom is challenged by ethnography as well. Among mestizo shamans, an ayahuasca drink made solely from the vine is sometimes ingested orally for hallucinogenic effects of a particular “dark” nature. In addition, ayahuasqueros, virtually universally, say that it is the ayahuasca vine that provides the fuerza, the power, and DMT-rich plants such as chacruna that provide the luz, the light, in the ayahuasca experience. In Colombia, the shamans say that the companion plant brilla la pinta, makes the visions brighter; among the Shuar, the companion plant is not considered to have any hallucinogenic effects, but rather is believed to make the visions clearer, and is in fact occasionally omitted. The great ethnobotanist Richard Evans Schultes reports that certain Colombian Indians smoke leaves of the ayahuasca vine; under certain circumstances, my teacher don Roberto Acho recommends the smoking of the bark.

Schultes himself, at Puerto Limón, drank an infusion derived solely from ayahuasca bark: the visions he experienced were blue and purple, he reports — slow undulating waves of color. Then a few days later he tried the mixture with chagraponga. The effect was electric — “reds and golds dazzling in diamonds that turned like dancers on the tips of distant highways.” As my teacher don Rómulo Magin told me, visions with the ayahuasca vine alone are dark and dim; the chacruna makes the vision come on like this: whoosh! he said, moving his closed hand rapidly towards my face, the fingers opening up as it approached. Luis Eduardo Luna, one of the leading investigators of Amazonian mestizo shamanism, reports that often a larger amount of the ayahuasca vine is added to the ayahuasca drink than is needed for MAO inhibition, precisely because of its ability to produce strong visual hallucinations.

There is also some reason to believe that THH may have some role in the hallucinogenic effects of the ayahuasca vine, either by itself or acting synergistically with other β-carboline compounds. Indeed, in 1957 Hochstein and Paradies had already conjectured — “astutely,” in the words of Jonathon Ott — that harmaline and THH might have “substantial psychotomimetic activity in their own right.” Strikingly, among members of the ayahuasca-using União de Vegetal church in Brazil, experienced users seem to prefer ayahuasca drinks where THH concentrations are high relative to harmine and harmaline. They explain that such drinks deliver more “force” to the experience. It is therefore surprising that so little research has been done on THH. Alexander Shulgin, in his search of the self-experimentation literature, found only a single and entirely unhelpful report. “More studies on tetrahydroharmine,” he says, “are absolutely imperative.”

Similarly, additive and — especially — synergistic studies of harmala alkaloids have not been performed. The ethnographic evidence strongly suggests that interactive effects are important and are yet to be investigated.

Steve Beyer is the author of Singing to the Plants: A Guide to Mestizo Shamanism in the Upper Amazon. His website and blog is at www.singingtotheplants.com.

Principle investigator: Leanna Standish, ND, PhD at Bastyr University in Seattle (see a text of her here).

Summary presented in an National Institue of Health (NIH) grant proposal

Background: Ayahuasca is an ancient Amazonian psychoactive botanical extract used as a tea for religious and medical purposes in S. America, N. America and Europe, with increasing use by the U.S. public. Little is understood about its potential dangers or its potential therapeutic activity in psychiatric and neurological disorders as a novel monoamine neuromodulatory botanical drug. Our goal is to evaluate the safety of this potential drug of abuse and potential therapeutic applications of ayahuasca by studying its physiological and psychological effects, as well as its peripheral and central neurochemical effects at dosages that are typical for the religious use of this substance.

Methods: 66 healthy adults who are naïve to ayahuasca in Phase I and naive to all hallucinogenic drugs in Phase II, will be screened, consented and enrolled. Phase I (n=30) is a single-blind, placebo-controlled, dose-finding, dose-escalation pharmacokinetic and safety study. Both psychological and physiological safety will be evaluated. Phase II (n=36) is a double-blind, placebo controlled randomized study that will use a dose determined in Phase I to measure the psychological effects, peripheral serotonergic effects and the central effects on gamma-amino butyric acid (GABA), glutamate, N-acetyl aspartate and choline. We will 1) determine the minimally effective dose of ayahuasca and correlate with plasma levels of the known active constituents (dimethyltryptamine, harmine, harmaline, tetrahydroharmine), 2) describe quantitatively the dose-response pharmacokinetics of ayahuasca’s active constituents following oral administration, 3) quantitate monoamine oxidase (MAO) A and B inhibition in plasma from human subjects and to describe the dose-response pharmacokinetics of MAO inhibitor activity following oral administration of ayahuasca, and 4) conduct a Phase II study of the neurochemical effects of repeated exposure to ayahuasca. We will measure 1) psychological changes using a battery of standardized psychological tests, 2) serotonergic changes in platelet 5-HT transporter binding using the 3H-citalopram binding assay, and 3) changes in brain N-acetyl aspartate, GABA, glutamate and choline levels using proton magnetic resonance spectroscopic imaging with spectral editing.

Significance: Ayahuasca is used by thousands of people throughout the U.S. yet its safety across doses has not been studied. The alkaloids contained in ayahuasca represent a novel potent long-acting serotonin agonist with potential in the treatment of drug and alcohol abuse, depression, anxiety and obsessive compulsive disorder. Phase I and II studies are needed to develop a standardized and safe botanical drug that has applications highly relevant to NIH’s mission, especially the mission of NIDA to develop new and more effective therapies to treat drug dependency, NIAAA’s mission to treat alcoholism, the mission of NIMH to develop new therapies for mood disorders and the mission of NCCAM to evaluate promising ethnomedicines.

More and more people are using or consider using ayahuasca tea as an alternative medicine for different therapeutic purposes: depression, Parkinson’s disease, ageing-related cognitive decline, etc.

Yet most of these actual or planned uses are relying on the rich pharmacodynamics of the caapi vine and don’t necessitate the preparation and use of a standard mix. Rather what is needed is a caapi tea specifically designed for these purposes.

During a fieldwork in Peruvian Upper Amazon, Partner and I have had the opportunity to learn the preparation and effects of a caapi-alone brew that appeared a well suited prototype for such a therapeutic tea.

I managed to reproduce it with ressources commonly available in a First World country (including the Preparation forum of this board). The following method gives a tea both of us found equivalent under all aspects to the original.

Material: 300 g of roughly pounded dried stems of Banisteriopsis caapi var. cielo purchased from Maya Ethnobotanicals were put in a 10 l chemicals-proof plastic bucket containing 6 l distilled/demineralized water to which 60 ml of organic apple cider vinegar were added. Proportions are thus 1:20 for dried plant material:water, 1:100 for vinegar:water.

Method: after having left soaking overnight, the whole stuff was poured out for cooking in two 3.5 l ceramic pots. After slow boiling during 4 h and infrequent stirring with a wooden spoon, preparation was poured back in the (rinsed) bucket, and the pots rinsed. Then, using a large cooking-glass jar (handled with heat-resistant gloves) and a permanent coffee filter put in a funnel, the liquid was separated from the plant material, filtered, and poured again in the ceramic pots.

Duration of the very slow boiling reduction step depends on the desired final volume/concentration. Here, to obtain the equivalent of the original tea, the final volume was set to 1.5 l, i.e. 1/4 of the initial volume of water. It took about 3 h, under constant supervision.

Once cooled, the liquid was filtered twice, in adding a paper coffee filter (bamboo paper for rapid filtering) to the permanent one: a first filtration in the glass jar (previously rinsed) and a second during final transfer into three 0.5 l plastic bottles (previously rinsed). Extra attention was devoted to fill up the bottles so that no air remained under the hermetic top. The rinsing (triple = lab standard) of all ustensils and containers (all reserved for this use) was effectuated with distilled water. Sanitized (bleach) rubber gloves were used for all manipulations implying immediate or delayed contact with the brew (especially during the final filtering and transfer step).

With these precautions, conservation at ambient temperature in the dark proved to be effective up to 6 months.

Depending on individual metabolism and purpose, such a caapi tea may be pharmacologically active with doses as low as 20 ml. It allows a convenient precise adjustment of the therapeutic dose and is a useful basis/prototype to evaluate the optimal concentration (reduction step duration) one wishes to obtain according to the preferred volume of intake (it smells and tastes better than concentrated standard mix).

N.B. Ideally this post should be in the Preparation forum. I just found more convenient to post it in the Science forum because I can pin it there, allowing thus easier access and reference to it.

The argument raises a number of interesting questions, and is worth following.

Michael Winkelman

Winkelman’s position consists of two intertwined elements, one descriptive and one historical. The descriptive part begins from the concept that the human brain is modular — that it is a large collection of small modules that have evolved to perform specific functions. These modules can be quite specialized. Modules have been proposed for such functions as distinguishing living from nonliving things, identifying faces, understanding motives, throwing accurately, attaching emotions to faces, and recognizing causal relationships. Tools such as Functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging may even be able to locate these modules in particular areas in the brain.

Winkelman maintains that shamanic techniques for inducing transpersonal consciousness override this modularity through what he calls integrative brain processes. In this integrative mode of consciousness, he says, ordinarily separate modules can interact, so that the brain processes information through several modules at once, in a way that is different from other states of consciousness. Synesthesia — seeing sounds or smelling colors, for example — is such a cross-modular experience, as is the uniquely human capacity for metaphor, mimesis, and symbolism. Winkelman sees such capacities as central to the role of the shaman.

There is much to be said for this last observation. Jerome Rothenberg, poet and pioneer of ethnopoetics, calls the shaman the protopoet. Poet Gary Snyder says that the shaman gives song to dreams, “speaks for wild animals, the spirits of plants, the spirits of mountains, of watersheds. He or she sings for them. They sing through him.” For these poets, the shaman is the healer who sings — the creator of metaphor, the shaper of symbols.

Winkelman’s view has started a trend toward speaking of the sacred plants — such as the ayahuasca drink, the peyote cactus, the teonanácatl mushroom — as psychointegrator plants. Such plants “enhance integration of information by eliciting cognitive capacities based in presentational symbolism, metaphor, analogy, and mimesis … representing preconscious and prelinguistic structures of the brain.” The shaman’s individual psychodynamics, Winkelman says, expressed symbolically in the language of myths and spirits, are restructured “at levels below conceptual and operational thought.”

This is also where the historical element comes in. Premodern humans, Winkelman says, had highly modular brains. It was shamanism that was the foundation for the development of “synthetic symbolic awareness” in early humans. “The integrative potentials of shamanism,” he writes, “help explain the rapid rise of culture in modern Homo sapiens sapiens and the origin of shamanistic and religious features … from the cross-modal analogic and psychophysiological integration processes from different innate modules.”

Homayun Sidky

Sidky doesn’t buy it. His critique has two prongs, both directed against Winkelman’s historical thesis. First, Sidky questions the assumption that shamanism — at least in any form recognizably similar to contemporary indigenous practice — was in fact a paleolithic phenomenon. This point has merit. As I have written before, historical materials on shamanism date back only as far as the sixteenth century. By the time the first European travelers brought home descriptions of Siberian shamanism, it had already been influenced by centuries of contact with Buddhism, Islam, and Russian Orthodox Christianity. We have no direct evidence of what any sort of indigenous spiritual practice might have been like before that time.

Second, the question of what caused the sudden emergence of behaviorally modern humans about 40,000 years ago is a highly contentious one, and a wide variety of mechanisms have been proposed, including the introgression of Neanderthal alleles into the human genome. Sidky questions whether the hypothesized integrative mode of consciousness would have been advantageous in the sense Winkelman intends. Winkelman says that “altering consciousness provides a variety of adaptive advantages through development of a more objective perception of the external world.” Sidky quotes Charles Tart as saying that altered states of consciousness are, just like ordinary consciousness, “mixtures of pluses and minuses, insights and delusions, genuine creativity and misleading imagination.” What would be the benefit of such a state of consciousness to a paleolithic human?

More interesting to me than where these two thinkers differ is where they seem to agree. Both agree that there is something we can call a shamanic state of consciousness, although they disagree about what it is. Winkelman claims it is a state in which normally discrete brain modules interact. Sidky maintains that there is no empirical justification for hypothesizing the existence of such a state. Rather, he says, the state is clearly one of dissociation — a state in which “the ordinary meta-awareness that gives us our sense of personal identity and agency, and which operates atop the brain’s cognitive hierarchey, is temporarily overtaken.” Such a state is in fact a state of increased modularity, “when parallel brain modules disengage from each other or from ordinary meta-awareness and operate independently.”

My first reaction to all this is that we seem to be theorizing far ahead of a sufficient factual basis. If cognition does work in a modular fashion, there is still little agreement about what those modules are, how many there may be, and how they might interact. There are numerous modular models of the mind, but their modules often do not correspond; one review of the literature came up with a total of fifty different modules that had been proposed in different studies. If there is little agreement about the modularity of the contemporary human brain, it is hard to see how we can reasonably discuss the modularity of paleolithic humans.

And there are continuing conceptual difficulties. If there is a speech processing module, are there submodules for semantic coding, phonemic processing, pitch recognition? Is the semantic coding module for speech reception the same as one for speech production? How do all these modules and submodules interact? For these and other reasons, modular models are currently being challenged by alternative models that are increasingly holistic and nonlocalized.

But my concern is deeper. Shamans are not states of consciousness. Shamans are people who have messy personal lives, an ambiguous social role, and the risky job of making sick people better. In fact, as I wrote here and here, I am not at all sure that there is such a thing as a discrete, unitary, contextless, disembodied shamanic state of consciousness at all. Perhaps what we should be talking about instead are the experiences of shamans in their global, postcolonial, historical, and ineluctably idiosyncratic cultural settings.

In the same way, we cannot simply assume that sacred plants all function in the same way, or produce the same experience, especially under their ceremonial conditions of use. Indeed, I think it is pretty clear that the effects of the ayahuasca drink, the peyote cactus, and the teonanácatl mushroom are phenomenologically distinct. What happens to the shamanic state of consciousness then?

Abstract

Ancestral medical practices are based on a highly sophisticated practical
knowledge and view the controlled induction of non-ordinary states of
consciousness as potentially beneficial, even in the treatment of the
modern phenomena of drug addiction. These ancestral practices stand in
contrast to the clumsiness with which Western peoples induce altered
states of consciousness. Drawing from his clinical experience in the High
Peruvian Amazonian forest, the author describes the therapeutic benefits
of the wise use of medicinal plants, including non-addictive psychoactive
preparations, such as the well-known Ayahuasca tea. Within an
institutional structure, a therapeutic system combining indigenous
practices with contemporary psychotherapy yields highly encouraging
results (positive in 2/3 of the patients). This invites us to reconsider
conventional approaches to drug addiction and the role of the individual’s
spiritual journey in recovery.

The Backwards Approach

Moving beyond the strict position that the final objective of drug
addiction therapy is complete abstinence, the Western world has responded
to its failures and limitations by considering the possibility of merely
reducing risks. The notion of substitution, as in methadone therapy for
heroin addiction, indicates a certain tolerance towards altered states of
consciousness. In this model, which treats these states as “inevitable” in
some sense, one would now be satisfied with limiting their negative
secondary effects. In the face of a Puritanism resigned to an almost
constant failure, this attitude opens new possibilities in treating drug
addiction. It now seems thinkable that drug addiction is an attempt,
certainly clumsy and sometimes extremely dangerous, of self-medication.
Users may be responding to a real need to escape the constricting mud of a
dry and devitalized lifestyle, one lacking exciting perspectives or room
to blossom.

Some take this new tolerance of drug use further, for example by proposing
to ravers that they learn about the drugs they consume, the risks that
they run, and the best way to avoid the negative consequences of their
conduct3. In this model, the drug user is considered a thinking and
consenting subject, who is invited to take responsibility for his actions.
The “repressive machine” that tends to substitute itself for the subject,
making his decisions, revoking his responsibility, and, in the end,
reinforcing an internal pattern of dependence, gives way to an approach
which appeals to the user’s intelligence. This model accepts the
authenticity of the user’s quest, even if it is often unconscious, for a
true liberty that can be confused with caprice.

While this attempt at finding meaning by exploring new realms of
consciousness can be chaotic and confused outside of a controlled setting,
it is reminiscent of more purposeful undertakings among traditional
peoples. In fact, one finds the induction of altered states of
consciousness for the purposes of initiation and therapy in all
traditions. Such experiences, always guided by a ritual frame, often
depend upon a fine understanding of the animal and vegetable substances
that serve as their catalysts. One may also affirm that, sometimes, the
same substances that serve as the “remedy” in indigenous cultures are the
“poison” in Western society. Hence the coca leaf, which is well integrated
into daily life in the Andean world, becomes a highly addictive
cocaine-based paste when taken out of context. Similarly, cannabis, poppy,
and tobacco may generate either remedy or poison according to the mode of
consumption and the context of ingestion.

It is noteworthy that biologists observe that all animal species consume
natural psychoactive substances with great eagerness when possible
(Siegel, Ronald, 1990). In fact, Siegel considers this conduct a fourth
instinctual instance of animal biology, as if life tends spontaneously
towards a broadening of perceptions and a concomitant amplification of
consciousness. It becomes difficult, then, to extract man from this vast
biological movement that embraces all animal life.

Indigenous Knowledge

Our observations in the Peruvian Amazon yield a supplementary fact: not
only do the natural psychoactive substances used by indigenous peoples not
generate dependence, they are utilized to treat the modern phenomenon of
drug addiction. This changes the way we understand toxicity; the Western
obsession with “substances” (drugs) is replaced, or at least accompanied
by, the concepts of the set (the subject, including genetic
predispositions, life history, and preparation) and setting (ritualized or
not). Indeed, psychoactive substances may be a treatment for “drug
addicts,” a fact that still seems paradoxical or impossible even to the
specialists in question. And yet, the facts speak for themselves.

This phenomenon also works for ethnic groups strongly affected by
substances such as alcohol, which represents for them, inversely, an
imported product removed from its context. Hence, the healers of the
Peruvian coast treat their alcoholics through the ritual use of the
mescaline cactus with a high rate of success (around 60 per cent, after
five years) (Chiappe, Mario, 1976). The Native North Americans reduce the
incidence of alcoholism on their reservations considerably and quite
rapidly by reviving their ancestral practices, including the ritual use of
peyote and tobacco (Hodgson, Maggi, 1997).

The ritualization of induced modifications of consciousness, with or
without substances, establishes a universal symbolic frame within which
these experiences acquire significance by allowing the individual to
inscribe himself within a model of cultural integration. In indigenous
groups, then, such experiences frequently accompany rites of passage,
particularly at adolescence, permitting the youth’s appropriation of the
discourse, images, and myths generated by the community. It is evident
that the fundamental lack of cultural consensus in our fragmented
post-modern society, along with the desacralization of the lived interior
and exterior, and the disappearance of all authentic rites of passage,
leaves us without the means to integrate experiences of altered states of
consciousness into our daily lives. In other words, the drug user sets off
randomly with neither compass nor map, often finishing badly.

These considerations lead to the following conclusion: not only must we no
longer take a position of passive tolerance toward an inevitable
consumption of psychoactive substances, but, on the contrary, we must
actively explore the coherent therapeutic use of psychoactive substances
without the outcome of dependence. Even more broadly, we must be open to
every induction of altered states of consciousness through diverse methods
(such as music, dance, fasting, isolation, breathwork, physical exercise,
pain, etc.) This calls for the application of therapeutic techniques that
create both a space of temporary containment and an authentic symbolic
frame which, as in the indigenous ritual space, integrates therapists and
users. Traditional peoples also teach us that substances consumed in their
natural form, used with respect to the body’s digestive natural barriers
(that is, orally), do not induce dependence, in spite of their powerful
psychoactive effects. The risk of toxicity is also lower because their
active principles are similar, if not identical, to the neuromediators
naturally secreted by our bodies. In case of overdose (which is generally
difficult to produce given the extremely disagreeable flavor of the
beverages), these substances are eliminated naturally by vomiting. This
self-regulating phenomenon provides for safe prescription and is an
integral part of the expected effects of ingestion, as well as those of
purgation-detoxification (hence their special role in the domain of drug
addictions). The context of ingestion requires rigorous dietary, postural,
and sexual regulations. In the course of successive ingestions,
sensitivity increases instead of creating a habit. As a result, the doses
gradually decrease: their use in addiction therapy is not, then, a simple
substitution.

It is remarkable that no visionary natural substance is addictive. Visions
seem to be the proof of sufficient cortical integration, of a
metabolization of the symbolic charge revealed during the experience of
altered consciousness. Entheogenic substances (also misnamed
hallucinogens) are hence among the best of those that may be used in a
therapeutic setting. This has already been attempted in psychotherapy
(LSD, MDMA, Harmaline, DMT, etc.), but generally without an integrating
symbolic framework (or ritual space), without engaging the therapist in
the method, with synthetic or semi-synthetic substances or extracts, and
through processes of assimilation that violate physiological barriers
(i.e., injections).

Ayahuasca

This highly psychoactive ancestral beverage is situated at the heart of
both the empirical medicinal practices of Amazonian cultures and,
recently, of explorations into the therapeutic potential of medicinal
plants, in particular in the domain of psychopathology, including drug
addiction therapy. The pharmacological sophistication of this preparation
reflects the high degree of understanding of the Amazonian peoples, who
are proven to have discovered Monoamine Oxidase Inhibitors (MAOIs) at
least three thousand years before Westerners. Tryptamines and
beta-Carbolines, the major active principles of Ayahuasca, are present in
many natural secretions as well as in the central nervous system (pineal
gland) (Mabit, Campos, Arce, 1993).

The entheogenic or visionary effects of this beverage have been hastily
called “hallucinogenic,” stigmatizing a compound which could be a
significant topic of research. Its potential as such risks being dismissed
by the academic community due to a stance less indebted to scientific
rationality than to society’s collective fears. We have argued that the
images stimulated by the use of Ayahuasca in a therapeutic context
symbolically manifest the content of the unconscious. Moreover, these
images are not without an object, whether it be psychological or
otherwise, which differentiates them completely from the “illusions
without object” that are by definition “hallucinations” (Mabit, 1988). The
exploration of the unconscious through Ayahuasca permits the rapid
extraction of extremely rich and highly coherent psychological material,
which can then be worked through with various psychotherapeutic methods.
Visions, like dreams, indicate the beginning of an integration at the
superior cortical level. The effects of Ayahuasca are not merely visual,
but embrace the entire perceptual spectrum, as well as the non-rational
functions tied to the right brain and to the paleoencephal or so-called
reptilian brain. The patient’s clinical experience fosters the development
of not only the projective but also the integrative functions of
symbolization, enabling the progressive readjustment of personality
structures. These explorations touch cross-cultural psychological depths
and, hence, may be applied in extremely broad and varied contexts of human
life.

After the observation for fifteen years of more than eight thousand
instances of Ayahuasca ingestion under specific conditions of preparation,
prescription, and therapeutic follow-up, we can affirm that the ingestion
of these preparations has a wide range of indications, with a total
absence of dependence. The expansion of the perceptual spectrum, which
simultaneously engages body, sensations, and thoughts, permits the
de-focalization of the ordinary perception of reality, thus allowing the
subject to confront his habitual problems on his own and from a new angle.
The intense acceleration of cognitive processes which accompanies this
process may permit the subject to conceive of original solutions that fit
his unique personality and situation.

The Center: A Pilot Project

Our ignorance in regard to the controlled induction of altered states of
consciousness could greatly benefit from ancestral medical knowledge. The
master healers of various traditions are ready to transmit their heritage
to those willing to learn and to embark upon a path of initiation. Six
years of teaching beside Amazonian healers has led us to develop a
therapeutic method using the controlled modification of states of
consciousness. Our system is based on ancestral techniques involving
medicinal plants and natural methods of detoxification, sensory
stimulation, and sensory deprivation. This pilot project attempts to
combine ancestral knowledge with contemporary psychotherapeutic practices,
working under the guidelines of ethical considerations and the
requirements of the Western mentality.

The program, in which no method of coercion is exercised, accepts groups
of no more than fifteen voluntary patients. The location is a five acre
park bordered by a river, just outside the city of Tarapoto, in the
Peruvian High Amazon, in the piedmont of the Andes (Mabit, Giove, Vega,
1996).

The therapy is based on a three-part method which includes the use of the
plants, psychotherapy, and community life. The guided experiences of
altered consciousness generate psychological material which is
subsequently discussed and evaluated in the psychotherapy workshops and
then directed towards expression in community life. In reverse, everyday
activities supplement the therapeutic sessions (with or without plants).

The initial use of purifying, sedative, and purgative plants reduces
withdrawal syndromes, rendering any return to prescription medication
during the stay unnecessary. Then, the psychoactive plants intervene,
powerfully facilitating the psychotherapy. From the brief sessions to the
eight day isolation in the forest with rigorous rules pertaining to food,
sex, external contacts and daily activities, each ingestion of
psychoactive plants is governed by specific conditions. Each session is
also facilitated by a trained therapist, and clearly inscribed into a
precise and rigorous symbolic frame, which improves the chance of success
for the session and its subsequent integration into the subject’s life.

These techniques permit the exploration of buried memories and the
re-emergence of censured situations or events. These “revelations” both
relieve the addict’s conscience and motivate him to face his sickness. A
temporary reduction of critical functions and discriminations facilitates
the cathartic expression of emotions. These experiences, with the help of
psychotherapeutic work, may then correct the defective formation of the
subject’s emotional expressions and ideals. By plunging under the veils of
ordinary consciousness and unblocking the paths of access to the deep Ego,
this exploration of the subject’s interior universe brings out rich
material, in contrast to these patients’ often insufficient symbolization.
During the subsequent sessions, the subject will learn to translate and to
interpret this material in order to explore subsequent dreams on his own.
Dream life is stimulated by these practices, also benefiting the patient.
One also observes an acceleration of cognitive processes and an
amplification of the attention-span and of the depth of mental
concentration. The clearly defined context, supplemented by a carefully
regulated lifestyle, invites the resident to implement the knowledge
obtained by this work. Hence, the space constitutes a laboratory in which
the residents are at once the observers and the subjects of their
observation. The medicinal plants play the central psychotherapeutic role,
while caretakers offer guidance and security. The users are guided into
liminal, or symbolically transitional, experiences in which they visit
their interior gods and demons. These experiences simultaneously involve
the subject’s psychological state, the whole range of emotional
sensations, and the spectrum of his psychological perceptions. In these
experiences, existential questions may come to light and demand an engaged
response. The guided and cathartic process can help the individual to
transcend his or her ordinary mindset and access somatic memories. In the
best cases, the individual is able to transcend the Ego, which can allow a
healthy deflation of the Ego, a reconciliation with human nature, and an
acceptance of our modest inscription in time and in matter, which is
nevertheless exciting because of its perceived meaning. In other words,
this is a process of initiation; it is a semantic experience which carries
meaning that can respond to the chaotic and disorderly quest of the drug
addict, which may be seen as a path of counter-initiation or as a savage
initiation (Mabit, 1993). This therapeutic method does not, then, simply
focus on abstinence, but also offers an adequate alternative. This
alternative method, which respects altered states of consciousness, is
able to respond to the drug addict’s quest by furnishing it with clear
ends and with non-dangerous means to reach them. This process supposes an
internal structural change which goes beyond the palliative of a simple
external behavioral change, which is never totally satisfying and most
often ineffective.

The duration of the stay is, in general, nine months, and the follow-up is
ideally two years. The centre has received patients of all social and
cultural origins. The techniques, which mainly demand self-exploration
through the senses, do not require any analytic verbalization or
integration, which represents an enormous therapeutic advantage. One may
even say that these experiences of altered consciousness give access to
ineffable, inexpressible trans-verbal spaces, which are as much
pre-logical or infra-verbal as they are ecstatic or supra-verbal. Here,
the local alcoholic peasant meets the European college student dependent
on pot, the urban bourgeois who functions on cocaine, the dealer addicted
to a cocaine-based paste, or the delinquent pathological liar who smokes
crack. To the contrary of what certain theorists say, the exploration of
the interior universe by these methods does not require that either the
therapist or the subject belong to the native culture of these practices.
Rather, these practices give access to personal intra-psychical symbols
which remain coherent to the subject and which touch depths that could be
called transcultural by virtue of reaching universal psychological
complexes (love, hate, rejection, abandon, fear, peace, etc.). At the same
time, the accompanying psychotherapy allows the patient to better
understand the experience of the session, to integrate it, generate new
questions, and enrich the following session. We have now mastered these
techniques ourselves, and we make use of them with patients from cultures
other than our own. They are accessible to any Western therapist willing
to fulfill the requirements of their long apprenticeship.

Results

Since its founding in 1992, the center has received more than 380
patients. One study has just been made (Glove, not yet published) of the
first seven years of activity (1992-1998), examining drug addicts or
alcoholics having completed at least one month of treatment and with at
least two years of time out of the clinic – a sample of 211 courses of
treatment (175 first-time patients and 36 returning patients). Note that
the results of this study do not include data on the 32% of patients who
leave during the first month before the first ayahuasca session, when the
treatment is not yet considered to have started. 28% reached the sixth
month of treatment, and 23.4% finished the entire treatment.

Two-thirds of the patients consumed mainly a highly addictive and
debilitating cocaine-based paste. 80% consumed alcohol alone or in
addition to other drugs. More than half of the patients (53.5%) had
already tried treatment, one-third of which had tried psychiatric
services. For 49%, the gateway drug was alcohol, and for 42%, cannabis.
The average age was thirty years and the average duration of consumption
of psychoactive substances at the time of entrance was 12.5 years. At
31.3%, with a tendency to augmentation, the index of retention (percentage
of prescribed exits out of total exits) gives proof of the relative
acceptance of this therapeutic method. The voluntary exits make up the
majority (52%) compared to prescribed exits (23%), runaways (23%), and the
rare expulsions (3%).

The evaluation of the results integrates qualitative givens, as well as
the incidence of abstinence or relapse due to poor prognostic criteria.
One should note that the patients leave free of any post-residential
medication. In addition to evaluating the relation to addictive
substances, especially those that the subject consumed before, we consider
personal evolution (internal structural change), the indications of social
and professional reintegration, and the capacity for familial
restructuring. According to these criteria, we may distinguish three
categories:

* “good”: favorable development, problems apparently resolved thanks
to a true structural change manifested upon several life levels.

* “better”: favorable development with evident structural changes, but
vestiges of the original problem still present.

* “same or bad”: relapse of consumption of substances, although often
more discrete, no convincing structural change, frequent abandonment
of substances for alcohol.

Out of the total, then, 31% were “good” and 23% “better,” while 23% were
the “same or bad” and 23% unknown. With hindsight, we can affirm that
about 35% of those who have lost contact with the Center are, in the end,
“good” or “better” (that’s 8% of the total), which means that about 62% of
the patients have, in the end, positively benefited from the follow-up of
the model proposed at the center. When one only takes into account the
sample of the patients with “prescribed exit,” (those who have completed
the entire program) the positive results are raised to 67%.

When the patients relapse or simply re-offend, 55.5% return to the center
and 26% find other local practitioners of traditional medicine, which
demonstrates their high opinion of this approach. When this occurs,
purgative plants are more solicited than psychoactive plants. This choice
demonstrates the absence of dependence on the psychoactive substances.

This method, officially recognized by the Peruvian authorities, has
expanded into a number of programs including educational programs (for
students), psychiatric and anthropological research, and outreach (written
and audio-visual media, and seminars for personal development).

Conclusion

The mere repression of drug consumption represents a simplistic approach
to the problem, with demonstrated ineffectiveness as a therapy. We may
well call it illogical and even immoral since it omits the substances that
are currently the most deadly (alcohol and tobacco). In addition, the
accelerated development of new substances on the market outstrips any
repressive attempt at control and relegates the game of penal
interdictions to failure. We are hence condemned to approach the problem
under another angle, whether we want to or not. Similarly, if harm
reduction and substitution only indicate proof of failure and a last-ditch
effort of pure social convenience, they are also, in our view,
reprehensible and morally dubitable. This is because they consecrate a
tacit rejection of healing, and the officialization, in a manner of
speaking, of a population of second class citizens tolerated for lack of a
therapeutic alternative.

The high degree of diffusion of the drug phenomenon in the 50’s and 60’s
was born of the contact between a few intellectuals with traditional
peoples, and, in particular, of North Americans with Amazonian Indians
(Ginsberg, Leary, Alpert, etc., — see Leary, Metzner, Alpert, 1964).
These intellectuals believed that they could appropriate ancestral
knowledge while only retaining the physical substance, reducing “the
approach of the gods” to the consumption of an active principle, playing
neurochemists like apprentice sorcerers (see Leary’s delirious work,
1979). This oversimplified view of substances and their potential has
generated a terrible drama. The phenomenon of substance addiction is
characteristic of Westernized societies and continues to be practically
unknown in indigenous populations or among peoples free from prolonged
Western influence.

By approaching this ancient knowledge with respect and careful study, it
seems possible to reinstate an authentic relation with the Mystery of Life
by returning to true paths of initiation. By validating the legitimate
quest of the drug user and redirecting it into a structured, meaningful
experience, perhaps we may avoid the lax defeatism of the “anything goes”
attitude as well as the rigid and useless bellicosity of “everything is
forbidden.”

Bibliography

Chappe, Mario. 1976. The use of hallucinogens in psychiatric folklore.
Boletin de la Oficina Sanitaria Panamericana (Bulletin of the Panamerica
Sanitary Office), 81 (2): 176-186.

Giove, Rosa. 2002 (to be published). The liana of the dead to the rescue
of the life. Contradrogas (Anti-drug) ed., Lima 200.

Hodgson, Maggi. 1997. From Alcoholism to a new life: the eagle has landed.
In: Indian communities develop futuristic addictions treatment and health
approach, Institute of Health Promotion, Research and Formation, Alberta,
Canada, 139, 11-14.

Leary, T. 1979. Graine d’Astre, Cosmos Ed., Canada, 204.

Leary, T., R. Metzner, R. Alpert. 1964. The Psychedelic Experience, First
Carol Publishing Group Ed.

Mabit J. 1993. Amazon shamanism and drug addiction: initiation and
counter-initiation. In: Revue AGORA, Éthique, Médecine et Société (AGORA
Review, Ethics, Medicine, and Society), Paris, 27-28, 139-145.

Mabit J., J. Campos, J. Arce. 1993. Considerations surrounding the
ayahuasca concoction and therapeutic perspectives. Revista Peruana de
Neuropsiquiatría, Lima, LV (2), 118-131.

Mabit J., R. Giove, J. Vega. 1996. Takiwasi : The Use of Amazonian
Shamanism to Rehabilitate Drug Addicts. In: Yearbook of cross-cultural
medicine and psychotherapy, Zeitschrift für Ethnomedizin (Journal of
Ethnomedicine), Publishing House for Science and Education, VWB, Berlin,
257-285.

Mabit J-M. unpublished. Ayahuasca hallucinations of the warriors of the
Peruvian Amazon, Working Paper 1/1998, French Institute of Andean Studies,
Lima, 15 p.

Siegel, Ronald. 1990. Intoxication, Pocket Books, New York, 1990, 390 p.

Sueur C., A. Benezech, D. Deniau, B. Lebeau, C. Zizkind. 1999.
Hallucinogenic substances and their theraputic usages – Literature Review,
Revue Documentaire Toxibase (Review of Drug Abuse Literature), 66 p.

The twenty-question Self Report Questionnaire, or SRQ-20, is a screening tool for common mental disorders that investigates nonpsychotic symptoms — depression, anxiety, somatiform disorders — in the month prior to the interview. The questionnaire consists of four questions about physical symptoms and sixteen questions about emotional symptoms, all with yes-no answers — questions about such things as crying, tiredness, and inability to enjoy life. The test was validated in a Brazilian population, and thus is commonly used in South America to identify psychiatric symptoms in a primary care setting.

The higher the number of positive yes responses, the greater the likelihood of psychopathology. The validity study in Brazil reported that a score of more than eight positive responses is an adequate cut-off point to detect nonpsychotic mental disorders. The test was reported to have a sensitivity of 83 percent, a specificity of 80 percent, and both positive and negative predictive values of 82 pecent, which makes the SRQ-20 a pretty good little test.

Josep María Fericgla

Josep María Fericgla, director of the Institut de Prospectiva Antropológica in Barcelona, is an ethnopsychologist and cognitive anthropologist who has done fieldwork with Shuar shamans in Ecuador, and has written widely on shamanism and sacred plants, including a classic Shuar ethnography, Los jíbaros, cazadores de sueños. In his book Al trasluz de la ayahuasca: Antropología cognitiva, oniromancia y consciencias alternativas, he reports on his administration of the SRQ-20 to 113 Shuar, and analyzes the results according to the number of times each participant had drunk ayahuasca in the past.

The chart below should make the results clear. The stacked columns run from zero positive responses on the left to greater than sixteen positive responses on the right — that is, from left to right in order of increasing psychopathology.

The chart clearly shows that Shuar who drank less ayahuasca had higher psychopathology scores on the SRQ-20, and those who drank more ayahuasca had lower psychopathology scores. Put another way, the chart shows Shuar who drink more ayahuasca stacked at the left-hand low-pathology end of the chart, and those who drink less ayahuasca stacked at the right-hand high-pathology end. Of those participants who gave zero positive responses, 72 percent had drunk ayahuasca more than 21 times.

The study also revealed that there appears to be a generally high rate of psychopathology among the Shuar: more than 60 percent of the participants gave eight or more positive responses on the SRQ-20. Fericgla attributes this unusual level to the accelerated process of deculturation that the Shuar were undergoing — the destruction of their traditional way of life, the plundering of their environment by multinational petroleum and lumber companies, territorial conflicts with colonists, the loss of their spiritual values. Even so, the distribution of the high scores is interesting. Of those who gave eight or more positive responses, 72 percent were women, and 35 percent were men. Part of the explanation may be that Shuar women bear the brunt of deculturation more than the men. Another part may be that Shuar men drink ayahuasca at twice the rate of women.

Now, again, what we have here is simply an apparent association between increasing ayahuasca consumption and lower scores on the SRQ-20. The study cannot tell us if there is a causal connection, or, if there is, in which direction it runs. It may be, for example, not that drinking ayahuasca causes better mental health, but rather that people with greater mental health — for any of a variety of reasons — drink more ayahuasca; or even that some third factor — family or social status, for example — is causally related to both.

But the bottom line of this study remains that — consistent with the results of the União do Vegetal study and, indeed, of the long-term study of peyote use we discussed here — there is little evidence that the long-term use of either sacred plant in its ceremonial setting causes any psychological harm, and appears to be associated with mental health benefits.

The progress of science, and indeed, of human knowledge, requires a dynamic tension between the mere accumulation of observations and “dusty facts” and a synthetic process in which the accumulated results of scientific observation and inquiry are woven together into frameworks that, in the ideal case, create revolutionary paradigms that enhance human understanding of apparently discrete and unrelated aspects of nature.

The history of science and intellectual inquiry teach us that, as is so often the case with truly novel syntheses, established scientific and intellectual institutions are too ossified, and too invested in the conventionally accepted worldview, to allow the introduction of a new paradigm without putting up considerable resistance. One is reminded of the famous observation of philosopher Arthur Schopanhauer: All truth, he said, passes through three stages. First, it is ridiculed; second, it is violently opposed; third, it is accepted as being self-evident. We should be wary of rejecting out of hand the premises of a hypothesis that may one day seem self-evident.

Evolutionary biologists have long been puzzled by what is perhaps the chief mystery of human origins: the explosive and rapid expansion of the human brain in size and complexity over a vanishingly small span of evolutionary time. There is also the mystery of hemispheric lateralization and the apparent de-integration of the right- and left-hemispheric functions that we humans suffer. In the book ‘Left In the Dark’, a culmination of over fifteen years of independent research into human evolution, the authors postulate that it was not always so; the universal myth of a pre-historic Golden Age, they maintain, is a racial memory that reflects our primate evolution in an arboreal, rainforest environment in which humans possessed mental and psychic abilities that have since become lost or atrophied in the profane ages that followed.

Changes in the dietary patterns that were forced on the population by this migration put an end to the rapid evolution of the human brain and triggered its devolution, ultimately resulting in the damaged human neural architecture that we suffer from today

That rainforest environment favored a frugivorous diet rich in flavonoids, MAO inhibitors, and neurotransmitter precursors, and relatively low in steroid containing or inducing elements. This dietary regime both mimicked and fostered a state, reinforced by positive feedback loops, in which pineal functions, including neocortical expansion and hemispheric integration, were potentiated; moreover, these neurochemical feedback loops were amplified in succeeding generations via the regulation of gene expression in the developing foetus, independent of conventional evolutionary mechanisms of mutation and natural selection.

Climate changes or other environmental catastrophes forced several lineages of hominids as well as archaic/early humans out of their forest-dwelling ancestral home into much harsher savannah or grassland environments. As a consequence dietary regimens shifted toward roots, tubers, grass seed and a greater proportion of animal protein, triggering a reversal of the positive feedback loops that had sustained pineal potentiation and hemispheric integration in the paradisiacal, forest-dwelling Golden Age. Pineal dominance was disrupted by steroid-mediated, testosterone-driven functions primarily due to the reduced consumption of flavonoids and other steroid-inhibitory dietary factors.

Changes in the dietary patterns that were forced on the population by this migration put an end to the rapid evolution of the human brain and triggered its devolution, ultimately resulting in the damaged human neural architecture that we suffer from today, and the myriad mental and physical deficits that are the legacy of our biological ‘fall from grace’.

What is alluded to here is only the barest outline of an elegant hypothesis that plausibly elucidates many baffling aspects of human evolution, brain science, and physiology into a coherent explanatory framework. Ecologists have realized for several decades that the complex interrelations of plants and insects are largely mediated through plant chemistry, and that the interactive dynamics we can observe in these processes is a reflection of millions of years of plant-insect co-evolution. Evolutionary biologists have long suspected that similar co-evolutionary processes, mediated by interactions with plant secondary products, have influenced the evolution of vertebrates, including primates. The hypotheses presented in this book are incomplete, and are even now being refined and developed; however, even in their present form they present a credible foundation on which to build a better understanding of who we are, and how our puzzling human species got to be the way it is.

© 2007 Dennis J. McKenna, Ph.D.

http://leftinthedark.org.uk/

Recent scientific research suggests that neurogenesis – the growth of new brain cells – is a key to curing depression.

People suffering depression have an enlarged amygdala, a structure deep in the brain, which produces amongst other things stress hormones. An enlarged, overactive amygdala may produce too much cortizol, a fight-or-flight stress hormone. Too much cortizol can whittle away neural structures – especially in the hippocampus which is the cortizol shut off valve. In depressed people, this structure can be 15% smaller than the statistical average.

With the hippocampus function reduced and the amygdala enlarged and in overdrive, a damaging positive feedback loop gets established and eventually other neural structures such as the prefrontal cortex get damaged – the dentrites (the connections) get sheared away, leading to a tragic reduction of the full potential of a person.

Thus, depression is both a somatic and psychologically self-reinforcing cycle that requires intervention on several levels. The commonly persued course of action is via anti-depressants such as SSRI’s which increase serotonin.

The old theory for administering selective serotonin reuptake Inhibitors is that the brain is suffering from a lack of available serotonin, and that Prozac and other drugs in its class help by increasing the amount of serotonin circulating in the brain by reducing their uptake. However, it is well known such drugs take weeks to take effect, despite the fact that serotonin levels are boosted straight away.

Scientists are discovering that the mechanism is a lot more complicated than a simple lack of serotonin, but is rather enmeshed in the damage rendered by cortizol and related stress hormones, and impeded function of the hippocampus.

Serotonin can promote neurogenesis, the birth of new brain cells, and Prozac seems to work by promoting neurogenesis in the hippocampus. And not only SSRIs, but other antidepression treatments affect a type of protein that is involved in neurogenesis. It is established that SSRI’s help to increase levels of brain-derived neurotrophic factor (BDNF) in the hippocampus. A neurotrophic factor is a protein, such as nerve growth factor, that promotes nerve cell growth and survival.

BDNF is a growth, sustainer and protector factor in the brain ; a neurogenesis hormone. Antidepressants apparently help keep hippocampal cells alive by boosting BDNF levels, inducing neurogenesis. Raising serotonin ups a protein known as CREB inside nerve cells, which also give rise to neurogenesis. This means that SSRI’s help to regenerate the hippocampus thus keeping the amygdala in balance.

This path of action restores the neurological balance which contributes (or else, determines) a healthy emotional life.

Banisteriopsis caapi, the Ayahuaca vine, is regarded by many that use it as an antidepressant. The mono-amine oxidase inhibiting beta-carbolines in the vine reduce the clearing of serotonin from the synaptic cleft : i.e MAOI is another angle from which serotonin can be boosted, which qualifies the use of MAOI in the treatment of depression back in the mid twentieth century.

It has been indicated that one of the constituents of the vine, THH, actually causes an increase in the density of platelet serotonin uptake sites in long-term users. It is likely that the increase of density of serotonin uptake sites in longterm users be an adaption to more monoamines in the system. . Increases in serotonin transporters could well be an adaptation to increased serotonin levels caused by MAO inhibition.

The additional power of Ayahuasca over commonly prescribed SSRI’s is that it allows people to experientially approach the early causal factors to their depression and work to symbolically resolve them, and cathart the primal pain and energies bound up in those repressed early experiences. After all, whilst we can address the run-away neurological consequences of deep trauma or chronic stress, the experiential gestalts themselves must be catharted and integrated. Ayahuasca allows conscious realization of how those experiences effect ones constitution and patterns of behaviour, giving beneficial insights into how the effects of the damaging influences on ones life can be greatly negated by changes of attitude and lifestyle.

Recommended Reading :

How Prozac Affects the Brain

http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn9171-how-prozac-affects-the-brain.html

Repairing the Mind

http://www.newscientist.com/article.ns?id=mg17924082.500

The Anatomy of Dispair

http://www.newscientist.com/article.ns?id=mg18224455.700