OPEN Foundation

Interviews

[Interview] Jordi Riba looks back on more than fifteen years of ayahuasca research

The research conducted by Jordi Riba, a Spanish pharmacologist working at Sant Pau hospital in Barcelona, revolves mostly around ayahuasca. He has a background in botany, chemistry, pharmacology and neuroscience. In an interview with the OPEN Foundation, he summarises the main findings of his work on the Amazonian psychedelic brew. In the second part, he refutes some of the controversy stirred up by a recent article about cannabis he co-authored. Jordi Riba will be among the speakers at our ICPR 2016 conference on psychedelics research.

How did you wind up in the psychedelic field?

I was always interested in the biochemistry of the brain, so any substances that interacted with the central nervous system had an interest for me. I did a lot of research into alkaloids, and one day while I was in college I came across Gordon Wasson’s account of his experiences with psilocybin mushrooms. I was quite impressed that there might be these alkaloids that could induce such profound effects on the psyche. I also thought it raised some interesting philosophical questions, since it was at the verge between religion and science. However, there were virtually no studies at the time, in the 1980s or early 1990s. A few years later I got to know Josep Maria Fericgla, an anthropologist who had been doing research in the Amazon on the ritual use of ayahuasca by the Shuar. He suggested that I translate Jonathan Ott’s Pharmacotheon into Spanish, so that gave me a lot of information about this field. He also introduced me to some ayahuasca-using groups in Spain, and I decided I was going to do my thesis on ayahuasca research.

Why did you choose to study ayahuasca rather than any other psychedelic?

For me it was important that it had a cultural use, that it was not merely a recreational substance. I thought the fact that there might be a religion around the use of a psychoactive plant, that cultures had evolved around the use of these plants for many centuries, gave an added interest. When I got to know people who were attending these rituals, I was very impressed by what they told me about the effects they were experiencing: insight in personal life matters, autobiographical memories, intense emotional feelings,… It was like nothing else I had heard about.

What’s the legal status of ayahuasca in Spain, and how easy was it for you to start doing the research, from a legal point of view?

Of course, there’s this international list of prohibited psychotropic substances, but authorities always leave the door open for legitimate research. I also happened to meet Manel Barbanoj, who became my thesis director. He was a pharmacologist at Sant Pau hospital in Barcelona, where I still work now. He had a very good reputation, having conducted many clinical studies in healthy volunteers and in patients. He was also very passionate about centrally acting drugs. So when I said: there’s this drug, ayahuasca, with an interesting interaction between alkaloids, it’s being taken ritually and these are the effects that people are reporting, he said: OK, I’m in, let’s start working on this. So we wrote a protocol and sent it to the internal review board. Years later, the head of this board told me that they had been shocked at first when they received this proposal, but they trusted my supervisor because he had such a good reputation, so they had decided to allow it. We then had to submit the protocol to the Spanish ministry of health, and they also approved it. So we’ve never encountered any opposition from the medical establishment or from the regulatory authorities against this kind of research.

Do you think it would have been as easy for you to start conducting research on psilocybin or LSD?

LSD, for sure, has a bad name. Maybe I could have tried studying psilocybin, but I think LSD would have been more difficult. Another difficulty we had at the time was that I wouldn’t have known where to obtain psilocybin, whereas I knew where I could get ayahuasca. That’s also a reason why I went for ayahuasca despite the fact that it’s a very complex mixture of substances.

Yes, ‘ayahuasca’ is such a vague thing. These two plants are supposed to be mixed in, but if you go to the Amazon, everyone who prepares ayahuasca has their own recipe. So how do you standardise it?

Of course, in every tradition, there are different plants that are being added, but we decided to focus on what had become popular in the urban areas of South America, and had also come to Europe and North America. This was basically the combination of Banisteriopsis caapi and Psychotria viridis, as the ayahuasca churches were using it. At the start of our research, we had a debate whether we should study synthetic compounds: just DMT, or a combination of synthetic DMT plus synthetic harmine. However, we really wanted to have a general view of the effects of ayahuasca as a whole in human physiology, because this was what people were taking in these ayahuasca rituals, at least the ones that were reaching Europe. So we decided to go for ayahuasca, and what we did was freeze-dry it. Basically, this only removes the water, but everything else is still there. It took us about three years to get this encapsulated freeze-dried ayahuasca ready before we could start our first trial. Maybe we could have progressed faster if we had used pure compounds, but then we would have gotten the criticism that what we studied was not ayahuasca.

Moreover, the encapsulated form solved the problem of placebo administration, because you can give placebo capsules, whereas it would be difficult to make a brew that resembles ayahuasca but is an inactive placebo.

riba capsule croppedSome researchers have tried to make a fake brew, with varying degrees of success. I think Rafael Guimarães dos Santos, a former PhD student of mine who is now working in Brazil, had prepared a placebo brew which he used in one of his studies. But of course, we wanted our results to be acceptable for mainstream pharmacological journals, and we knew that we would be required to compare ayahuasca with an inactive placebo, and also to control for subjects’ and investigators’ expectations. This is why I took all the trouble to do that. Later, some people have said that after a while, if you take ayahuasca, you will immediately notice that there’s something going on and there’s no more placebo effect…

That’s the classic placebo problem with psychedelics.

Yes, and it’s a legitimate criticism, but this problem is perhaps more obvious if you’re comparing a high ayahuasca dose versus a pure placebo. In several of our studies, we administered ayahuasca doses of different potencies, and some volunteers claimed to have had visions on placebo, while other people had no effect after a low ayahuasca dose.

Another aspect that we wanted to address was that it’s very common among ayahuasca users to say that sometimes they took a small amount and the effects were huge, and other times they took larger amounts and nothing happened. Once we standardised the ayahuasca in this freeze-dried form, we found that you get very nice dose-response effects in terms of intensity when you analyse the results as a whole, among groups. So there’s nothing ‘abnormal’ there, nothing that I wouldn’t expect.

This is a mean measure, derived from groups of subjects. But are there any individual differences? Ayahuasca seems much less linear than, say, psilocybin or LSD: the come-up time, the dose-effect ratio, duration of effects,… This is something your findings don’t seem to confirm.

Liquid ayahuasca has so much variability. From one batch to the next, the amounts of alkaloids can vary enormously. Maybe you think you’ve taken the same kind of ayahuasca, but the concentrations were totally different.

Sometimes two people drink from the same bottle, and one doesn’t feel anything, while the other one is floored.

Of course, there may be differences between subjects. But if you take the same person, and you give them carefully controlled doses, you’ll see an increase in the effect if you raise the dosage. In general terms, we saw the normal behaviour of effects induced by pharmacological substances, there was nothing magical about it. The magic was in the content of the visions, in the access to autobiographical memories, the insights and revelations; all of that was really magical.

There’s also the problem of purging. Do you have buckets in the lab, or how does this work?

I know that the shamanic tradition emphasises cleansing, but in most of our studies, we needed the people not to vomit. We didn’t want them to throw up part of the active compounds they had ingested, because we intended to measure blood and plasma levels of alkaloids. I think in this respect the formulation we used helped us a lot, because people were not nauseated right from the start, they didn’t feel the taste or the smell. Nausea was common at some point, but very few people have vomited in the lab using this formulation.

Doesn’t this introduce some differences between lab and field conditions?

Yes, of course. Whenever you want to obtain measures, you have to standardise. So it’s always going to be different if you take it in the lab or at home alone, or with friends, or in the Amazon with someone you trust or someone you distrust. What we do in the lab is to always try to reproduce the same conditions, but we try to make it as comfortable as possible for the subject. Usually, the experience is so introspective they completely forget about their surroundings. Sometimes it’s harder for participants to stand all the procedures when they get the placebo than when they get the active ayahuasca dose, because on ayahuasca they focus their attention on their inner experience, and they can completely forget about their surroundings.

riba session croppedWhat do you ascribe the near absence of purging to? I remember reading that the purging came from some kind of serotonergic process in the digestive system, not just from the vile taste or the amount of liquid. So how would you explain this absence of purging from a pharmacological point of view?

Purging is a very complex mechanism. You get information that goes from many different sources to the centre in the brain that controls vomiting. Vision can be a source: you can watch something unpleasant and have an inclination to vomit. Smell and taste also play a role. So can irritation of the stomach and the gastro-intestinal tract, as well as the activation of the vagus nerve, which occurs when you stimulate serotonergic neurotransmission. But there are many other neurochemical mechanisms that play a role there. The nausea is not as intense as when you take the liquid ayahuasca, perhaps because instead of getting stimulation from five different channels, you’re only getting stimulation from one channel, and this is usually not enough to trigger the purging response. This is my educated guess of what’s going on there.

Could you summarise the main findings of all these years of research?

Our initial goal was to see whether we could administer ayahuasca safely, and we were able to demonstrate this. This is important, because every now and then we get a news report in the media about people becoming aggressive or even dying during ayahuasca sessions in the Amazon. We don’t know why that is, but what we do know is that if you’re careful when selecting people, and with the dosages you administer, and you provide a safe and controlled environment, it can be done in the lab and people have good experiences.

You never observed any serious adverse effects?

In our first pilot study, we had a person who experienced a transient disorientation state, which caused him anxiety. It was quite unpleasant for him, he didn’t know who he was for a while. But it only lasted about 20 minutes, and then it was over. This person subsequently decided to withdraw from the study. That was perhaps the most serious adverse consequence I’ve ever observed in these controlled settings.

All the studies we have conducted have allowed us to gather a lot of data: we have learned what happens to the ayahuasca alkaloids when they are ingested. For instance, there were worries that harmine, a monoamine oxydase inhibitor (MAOI) that’s present in the tea, might interact with certain foodstuffs or other drugs, resulting in hypertensive reactions. We found that harmine is very rapidly eliminated from the organism, though. So ayahuasca is quite safe also from this point of view, the physiological effects can easily be tolerated by a healthy person. We don’t get very intense increases in blood pressure or in heart rate.

Regarding harmine, doesn’t it turn out to be safer than people very often suppose it to be? People tend to start dieting several days in advance before an ayahuasca session, abstaining from foods high in tyramine in order to avoid hypertensive crisis. Your studies don’t seem to confirm this risk.

We were surprised to find that in many subjects, we couldn’t even find any harmine, so it didn’t even cross the barrier between the gastro-intestinal tract and systemic circulation, due to both gut and liver enzymes. There might also be individual differences there. Some people might be more effective at eliminating harmine than others, so people should be careful anyway and not try to combine harmine with certain medications. But I also have to say that I witnessed many ayahuasca rituals in which people, after having taken two or three doses of ayahuasca, later dined on cheese and ham and other foodstuffs that, in principle, one wouldn’t recommend people to take. It seems difficult to get a serious toxicity effect from a single ayahuasca dose if your health is OK and you’re not taking other medications.

riba electrodes croppedBeside of that, what I was really interested in was the brain mechanisms by which ayahuasca elicits its effects. We’ve used different techniques to assess this. Initially, we studied spontaneous brain electrical activity before and after ayahuasca administration. This was interesting, because what we see here is that ayahuasca decreases the alpha rhythm, which is a very prominent EEG rhythm that you get in posterior brain areas, and this rhythm is inhibitory. So when ayahuasca suppresses this rhythm, it enhances the spontaneous activity of posterior, visual regions. This might explain all these dreamlike visions people are having. And with functional connectivity analysis between EEG signals recorded at different sites, we’ve also found that ayahuasca decreases ‘top-down control’ of information processing. Usually, incoming information – be it internal information from your memory storage or external, sensory information – is interpreted based on your prior experience with this information. Ayahuasca reduces the expectations you have, and you are re-experiencing stored memories, for instance, in a very different way. So it helps you to take some distance or have a new outlook on things that, in principle, you already know, you’ve already experienced. I think this is quite valuable, and this is what might give ayahuasca its therapeutic potential.

We’ve also done neuroimaging studies. We did a SPECT study, in which we showed that ayahuasca increases the activation of areas that process memory and emotion. It also increases activity in areas that are at the frontier between cognition and emotion. This also supports the claims of ayahuasca users who say that the experience is not recreational at all, that painful memories may come to the mind, and that they are able to re-experience very intense affective processes.

In line with this possibility of being able to detach yourself from your own thoughts and to observe your feelings, emotions and memories, we’ve done recent studies in which we have assessed ‘mindfulness facets’ and creativity following ayahuasca intake. There are some psychotherapeutic schools that try to teach people to be present-centred, non-reactive, accepting and non-judgemental of their own thoughts, and not to identify themselves with them. We’ve seen in a recent study that in the hours following an ayahuasca session, these mindfulness abilities are increased. Enhancing these skills is the goal of mindfulness therapies and may take a long time to achieve using more classical approaches, such as meditation. In our study, participants’ scores after a single ayahuasca dose were similar to those of experienced meditators with many years of training. We have also assessed creativity during ayahuasca sessions [paper under review for publication in Psychopharmacology – Ed.], and we’ve seen that ayahuasca decreases conventional thinking and promotes creative ‘divergent thinking’, finding new ways of looking at things.

All these effects that we’ve been able to measure doing these experiments might explain why ayahuasca is showing promise to treat some medical conditions. I’ve also been able to get psychiatrists in my own institution interested in ayahuasca now, and some initial therapeutic studies have been conducted. I’ve collaborated with studies in Brazil, in which we’ve shown that ayahuasca can exert very rapid antidepressant effects, which are seen after a single dose and can be maintained for three weeks. Classic antidepressants take weeks before they induce any observable and beneficial effects on the patients. I’m really satisfied to see that ayahuasca can be put to good use.

Now, with my colleagues from the psychiatry department, we’re exploring the possibility of investigating whether ayahuasca could be useful to treat other conditions. Some well-designed studies on people with drug dependence, people with post-traumatic stress disorder,… This is what I’m looking forward to now, to start getting data on new potential applications. But I think it was essential to get these safety data first, and to determine a biological basis for the benefits people are reporting. If you only report these flowery stories that people might give you, perhaps my colleagues would not be so easily convinced.

You’ve monitored the acute effects of ayahuasca using brain imagery techniques. The same has been done at Imperial College in London with psilocybin. Have you found any correlation between the effects of both substances? For instance, they determined that psilocybin inhibits the functioning of the default mode network (DMN). Are these conclusions you’ve been able to verify or confirm?

The study Robin Carhart-Harris conducted was done with magnetic resonance imaging, and the study I did with ayahuasca used a nuclear medicine technique called SPECT. Depending on the technique you’re using, you’re getting access to part of the whole picture, but not of everything that’s going on there. So I think it’s good that research has been done with other techniques, and it also helps us if we combine all this information to get a picture of what’s going on there.

Since you mention the default mode network, we did a study of changes in brain structure in long-term ayahuasca users, and what we saw was a decrease in cortical thickness in the posterior cingulate cortex, in this key hub of the DMN. So that would fit with the results I had obtained with EEG, with results by Draulio de Araujo in Brazil, and with the results Robin has obtained with MRI and also with magnetoencephalography.

Have you been able to correlate these durable changes in brain structure with personality changes?

Yes, we administered a series of personality questionnaires, and the long-term ayahuasca users scored higher than the controls on a personality trait called self-transcendence, which has to do with spirituality, less materialistic life attitudes. There was also an interesting correlation there: the greater these cortical thickness decreases were, the higher they scored on this personality trait. In some psychiatric disorders, you see that there’s an inability to inhibit the DMN, and you get all these ruminations and depression. And then you see these long-term ayahuasca users that have a reduction in the brain structure around this area, and they seem to have a healthier approach to life. Even though we could not establish causation here, there was an obvious correlation that might contribute to explain the therapeutic potential ayahuasca may have.

Sant Pau hospital in Barcelona
Sant Pau hospital in Barcelona

Another interesting conclusion is that experienced ayahuasca users seem to perform better on some basic tasks in a number of ways. They perform better than naïve subjects, both sober and under the effects, but they also perform better under the effects than they do sober.

We did several studies in Brazil and here in Spain, assessing members of the ayahuasca churches. We administered a battery of questionnaires, but we also did a neuropsychological assessment: how their working memory is, their performance on different tasks. When we administered those neuropsychological tasks, ayahuasca users performed better than controls on some tasks. In a way, this came as a surprise because traditionally, regular use of psychoactives has been associated with certain deficits, at least for some addictive drugs. The pattern we’re seeing here with ayahuasca has nothing to do with the traditional patterns of addictive drugs.

As you said, we also assessed people before an ayahuasca session and during the ayahuasca session. In this experiment we saw that people could be divided in two groups. People who had taken ayahuasca just a few times – say, less than 30 – saw a decrease in their performance under ayahuasca. But those who were experienced users not only didn’t suffer these detrimental effects, but they performed better. How did we interpret this? In our study of the brain structure of long-term ayahuasca users, we had also observed an increase in cortical thickness in the frontal part of the brain, in an area which is a key hub of the ‘task-positive’ or ‘attentional’ network. It appears this might be helping people to perform better on certain neuropsychological tasks, because many of those are dependent on the correct functioning of the prefrontal cortex.

You often mention the experienced subjects that you use in your studies. Did these subjects come from a variety of backgrounds, including shamanic backgrounds, or only from established ayahuasca churches?

In most of the lab studies we have conducted where we administered ayahuasca, the participants did not have any religious background. They were experienced with psychedelics, and only some of them had had previous experience with ayahuasca. In the first pilot study, we did recruit six volunteers who had experience with ayahuasca. Then, when we saw that it was safe to administer, we also recruited people who had experience with psilocybin, mescaline or other similar substances. For the studies in the long-term users, the samples did come from the ayahuasca religions, mostly from the Santo Daime.

Do you think this might impact the results in any way? The membership of a religion can also have an impact on personality and – who knows? – maybe even on brain structure…

Yes, that’s a confounding factor, and we were worried that perhaps the beneficial effects we were seeing in the participants might be due to the combined effects of membership in a supportive group and ayahuasca intake. But in this last paper we have published on mindfulness facets, none of the people we assessed had any association with an ayahuasca religion, and they weren’t part of a group that was meeting on a regular basis. An important finding here is that we can see the same benefits in people that don’t have the confounding effect of religious beliefs or membership in a religious group. So I think ayahuasca has therapeutic potential of its own.

* * *

Now over to another type of research you did, about cannabis. The title of a recent article you co-authored, and which stirred up some controversy, was: “Cannabis users show increased susceptibility to false memories.” What struck me was the apparent lack of caution here, whereas usually you seem like a very cautious person. In the article, you state yourself that the results are “subtle”, but the wording, “false memories”, seems quite strong, while this is about lists of words, not images or personal memories. Also, some inferences are quite far-reaching, since you mention possible legal implications in the courtroom. Don’t you think this could lead to a situation where the word of chronic cannabis users would systematically be doubted?

Let me start with the term “false memory”. It’s a technical term used in psychology research and associated with the Roediger-McDermott paradigm we used in the study. In this sense, false memory is a kind of illusion that is common, it affects everyone in everyday life. Memory is constantly reprocessing information. Using this term was not a strategy to attract the reader’s attention, it’s just how this illusion is referred to in psychology.

If you want to assess this phenomenon in the lab, you have to standardise the way you’re doing this. One of the best approaches people have developed to do this, and that’s been used in different studies in different contexts, is this Roediger-McDermott paradigm, in which you use word lists. We had some experience with this paradigm, so we thought we could adapt it to be used in a magnetic resonance imaging setting. To my knowledge, this had not been done before, certainly not in the context of regular cannabis use. So we adapted it and looked at brain activation in two groups of subjects, and the methodology we used to compare these two populations was the same I had used to compare ayahuasca users and controls. We interviewed more than 60 long-term cannabis users, and we left some of them out of the study for various reasons, among which medical reasons: people who made it to the scanner were actually in good health, and in a situation in which we thought that any experience with other substances they might have, or any minor condition for which they could be taking medication would not interfere with the results.

What we found was that there was a difference in performance. We were assessing the users one month after having completely ceased cannabis use (as confirmed by negative urine samples), not during the acute effects of cannabis. They performed worse than the controls on the memory tests. The difference was not huge, but nevertheless around 50% more errors than controls. When you look at the brain activation patterns, you can clearly see that there’s a network which has been described by other scientists to be used in order to reject the false memory stimuli we were testing. To know that a certain word was not present in the initial list, you have to activate prefrontal regions, parietal regions and medial temporal lobe regions, which together act as a network. The controls performed better, they showed increased activation in all these regions that are needed to reject these lures, while in the cannabis users, there was a hypoactivation of this network. On top of that, when you look at the lifetime use of cannabis these people have, and you correlate this with brain regions where you see these hypoactivations, you see a clear negative correlation with the medial temporal cortex, an area that’s crucial for memory processing. We’re not the first team of researchers to have found such differences. There have been studies of hippocampal structure in which they have found decreases in hippocampal volume in cannabis users.

I know this study caused a lot of controversy, but I think the results show a good internal consistency because of these three facts: the behaviour results, the differences in brain activations, and this correlation. I’ve had some very negative reactions to this study, and unfortunately, some of them were quite hysterical, and not very rational. But I think one of the criticisms that were made was legitimate, namely the fact that the cannabis subjects might have been exposed to other substances as well over their lifetimes. This is possible, but not to an extent that was in the least comparable to their daily cannabis use for 20 years. To try to address this concern, we conducted another lab study in which we took healthy volunteers, people with no experience with cannabis, and this time we administered low doses of the active compound, tetrahydrocannabinol (THC). We were able to prove that the administration of 7.5 mg of THC could induce this false memory effect. So these deficits are present in long-term users one month after cessation of use, and the same false memory effect appears in healthy volunteers after acute administration. In a crime series, this would be called a smoking gun.

Cannabidiol.svg
The molecular structure of cannabidiol (CBD)

However, publishing these results doesn’t mean I think that cannabis has no therapeutic potential. And the good news from this second cannabis study is that we also assessed cannabidiol (CBD), this other compound that’s also present in the cannabis plant. CBD totally blocked the effect that THC was exerting on these memory processes when it was administered together with THC. And CBD on its own was actually able to improve performance on some neuropsychological tasks. So I think the cannabis plant has potential for therapeutic use, and I think CBD is a good candidate there. But I think what we should all think about is whether this trend that we’ve seen over the last 20 years or so, of selecting breeds of the cannabis plant with increasingly high THC levels, and increasingly low CBD levels, knowing they are somehow balancing out each other, is a good option. I’m not against personal choice regarding any drug, but if one decides to make this available to everyone over 18, I think people should be informed and they should know that THC and CBD exert very different effects. There are many other studies showing that acute cannabis administration causes memory troubles, that’s nothing new. The reason this paper got so much visibility and was published in a high-impact journal is that this specific false memory phenomenon had never been assessed in this group of users.

When it comes to ayahuasca, there’s a recurring criticism that I’m not studying ayahuasca in its ecological setting, that my studies may not have ecological validity. Here, one might argue that my study in cannabis users didn’t have ecological validity, because regular cannabis users use cannabis every day, and this study assessed effect after one month of abstinence. So perhaps I should have recruited stoned cannabis users. We would have seen they were even more affected, since we can induce these effects in the lab in non-chronic users with 7.5 mg of THC. So will a person, being a current daily cannabis user of a strain high in THC levels be a good witness in a trial? My educated guess is that more likely than not they won’t be.

But did you need to state this implication in the article?

You need to indicate why you’re calling people’s attention to this phenomenon. You have to put these things into context, you have to explain in which context this might be relevant. Moreover, we were asked by reviewers to contextualise our findings.

I think what also bothers people when you write about possible legal implications, is that they draw a line towards possible future discrimination against chronic cannabis users, be it in the courtroom, for job opportunities or whatever, some of which is already happening.

It was really not the intention to discriminate against anyone. If anyone thinks that’s what we intended, I apologise, this was not the case. I’m concerned about the users, and I think they should be informed, they should know that they might face these problems.

I think the problem with people who favour legalisation or decriminalisation, is that they interpret any bad news as an attack. Rafael Guimarães, my former PhD student, wrote an article describing a case study of someone who had suffered a psychotic break from ayahuasca, and he got a lot of criticism. Some people in the ayahuasca studies community told him that this was a war, so you shouldn’t show the enemy your weaknesses. But this is not a war, we’re trying to be scientists here. If we ask from society that we should be able to use these substances for legitimate purposes, medical or whatever, we should be aware of all their benefits, but also their risks. There’s no use in trying to sweep them under the carpet.

This also gave some people the impression that it’s easier to get public funding and a publication in renowned journals for studies that highlight the harms of cannabis rather than its benefits. People say there’s an imbalance between studies examining the benefits and the ones studying the harms of cannabis. Do you agree with this?

I’ve received public funds to study ayahuasca, salvinorin A and cannabis. Having received public funds has not interfered in any way in the way I’ve interpreted my findings. There was never a fear that, depending on what I might publish, I would get my funding cut. Review boards include scientists, who assess projects on their scientific merit and are usually driven by curiosity. It’s not the government who grants me these funds, it’s a panel of scientists. So there has not been any pressure from that side at all. I think I have a track record of saying positive and negative things, and we shouldn’t practice or encourage any kind of self-censorship.

And I don’t think it’s easier to get negative findings published than positive ones. Take for instance ketamine, which was demonised by the media. Some years ago, it was said that it was only used as an anaesthetic for horses by veterinarians, and by crazy young people in raves and clubs. Then some psychiatrists found out that ketamine had very potent antidepressant effects, and it worked very rapidly. This didn’t have to be published in underground magazines supporting free drugs for club users, just because it was about ketamine. It got published in Archives of General Psychiatry, and in many other top journals. The same goes for psilocybin. The study by Charles Grob in cancer patients, which was a pilot study with a very small sample, perhaps not with the best of designs, also got published in Archives of General Psychiatry. I don’t think we should succumb to this kind of paranoia.

[Interview] Bill Richards: “The ideal treatment includes some kind of mystical transcendence”

Richards_BillBill (William A.) Richards is a clinical psychologist in the Psychiatry Department at the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine, where he has pursued research with psychedelics during the past sixteen years, including his current studies on psilocybin-assisted psychotherapy with cancer patients coping with end-of-life issues. Richards’ psychedelic research stems back to 1963; he worked with colleagues such as Walter Pahnke and Stanislav Grof in the late 1960’s and early 1970s. More recently, he details his decades of scientific scholarship on psychedelics and human consciousness in his book, “Sacred Knowledge: Psychedelics and Religious Experiences.” OPEN Foundation talked to Richards, who is immediately affable and speaks about his work with both serious and tangible enthusiasm. [fusion_builder_container hundred_percent=”yes” overflow=”visible”][fusion_builder_row][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”][Bill Richards will be among the speakers at our ICPR 2016 conference on psychedelics research.]

You’re a clinical psychologist with formal training in theology and comparative religion and have spent your entire career investigating the promise of psychedelics in clinical treatment. How did all these disparate strains of interest come together?

When I first arrived in college, I thought I would be a minister and majored in Philosophy and minored in Psychology and Sociology. Then I went to Yale Divinity School, where I studied courses such as contemporary Hindu systems and language analysis, and my vision of religion grew increasingly rich and broad. But at the end of the first year, I wasn’t sure it was right for me.

Then I studied in Germany (at the University of Göttingen) where I accidentally stumbled on psychedelics in 1963. While I found some of the theological courses there rather pedantic—sometimes arguing over the meaning of certain Hebrew words—to my surprise, I discovered the experiential dimension of religion in the School of Medicine, where different alternative states of consciousness were taken seriously, including experiences of a religious nature often viewed as revelatory.

After Yale, I went to Andover Newton Theological School and studied the Psychology of Religion, followed by courses at Brandeis University with the Humanistic/Transpersonal psychologist, Abraham Maslow. Then I was offered a job working with psychedelics and moved from Boston to Baltimore (where I pursued psychotherapy research with LSD, DPT, MDA and psilocybin at the Maryland Psychiatric Research Center). But I felt I didn’t have the right letters after my name to qualify as a researcher so I continued my studies at Catholic University, got a PhD and became a licensed clinical psychologist.

When I went through graduate school some people seemed to look at me as if I was aimless—I studied music, philosophy, psychology and religion—but looking back, I see it was the perfect training for the work I do. I became a psychedelic therapist long before the name was even invented and somehow, I intuitively seemed to know what I was doing!

What did you initially work on in the early days?

When I arrived in Baltimore we had two federal grants from the National Institute of Mental Health to pursue research with LSD-assisted psychotherapy: one for treating alcoholics and the other for treating what we labelled “neurotics” at the time, hospitalised people who were depressed, anxious or suffering with personality disorders. I also began working with cancer patients struggling with anxiety and depression (which had minimal funding). One of the reasons I was hired was my theological background.

From working with such disparate groups, I’ve learned that people are people no matter what their diagnosis. Everyone experiences grief, guilt and anger, high points and low ones, and yearns for a philosophy or understanding that helps life make sense.

Could you please guide me through how you work with someone in a clinical setting?

The basic format for a session with a psychedelic substance is that there are two therapists present; one is the primary and the other is the co-therapist. We treat one person at a time, which allows each volunteer to have an interior focus. The subject lies on a couch; we use eyeshades and headphones to help them relax but also, to help them dive deeply into the mind. This produces a safe and productive way to work, as the subject doesn’t get distracted by sensory perceptions of what’s in the room, or any pressures to be social and interact. Typically, people experience more profound content when an initial psychedelic session is structured in this manner than they might otherwise in a different setting. In terms of measuring the variables, it’s also easier to work with one person at a time. If several subjects were in the room, simultaneously having psychedelic experiences, it would complicate the research design.

I read an article in the New Yorker mentioning how you created a set of “flight instructions” for those undergoing psychedelic therapy. At what point did you create this and why?

It’s not something I ever wrote down as a formal document; it’s more like an informal checklist shared with the subject in person. It helps to cement the relationship and promotes a sense of security. It covers practicalities from how we handle someone going to bathroom or what to do if they feel the need to vomit, to how to navigate within their field of consciousness. For example, if something threatening appears, we encourage subjects to reach out for support if they need it, and to look the threatening image in the eye. In other words, to go towards it because when people seek control by trying to avoid what’s there, that’s when they become paranoid and confused. Resistance usually comes from fighting what’s happening. Telling them to “Trust, Let go, and Be open” is our basic mantra. We also encourage them to send their intellects outside to play in the yard during the period of drug action, rather than trying to cognitively categorise the experience when it is occurring.

Many researchers posit that the power of suggestion may play a role when medical professionals administer psilocybin. Is it true that under such conditions, the patient will be more likely to fulfil the therapist’s expectations (including avoiding a bad trip)?

It’s critical that people feel safe. We suggest that people declare “Open House” in their minds, affirming that everyone and everything is welcome. I’d say the content of an interior journey is rarely influenced by suggestion, though, because people have radically different experiences in identical settings. In very low doses, psychological suggestion may play a stronger role in terms of imagery but in medium and high doses, the content seems independent of what one might expect and often quite surprising.

It’s often a struggle for people to coordinate their language and ideas with their actual experiences on psychedelics. For example, I recently worked with an atheist who had a profound spiritual experience and subsequently claimed to have “seen God”. Then there are those who yearn to experience a beatific vision of Christ, like some priests, but instead find themselves dealing with childhood issues, such as being molested. Psychedelics reliably seem to take you right to where the work needs to be done.

This unpredictability is why some people fear psychedelics, labelling them as dangerous. But for the individual undergoing the unfolding process, there’s an incredible wisdom and choreography to all of it that makes sense. In other words, what happens isn’t chaotic or by chance—it all has meaning.

You refer to psychedelics as ‘entheogens,’ which literally means a compound that “generates the divine within,” and your work is focused on mystical/religious experience and its benefits. Many religious scholars have wondered if chemically induced mystical experiences are the same as naturally occurring ones. What do you think?

There may well be a chemical substrate to everything we experience. For example, we know that DMT is naturally produced in humans. One hypothesis is that when someone deep in meditation experiences a spiritual moment, more DMT is generated, or perhaps the balance of CO2 to O2 in the blood changes, or whatever. But there’s probably always a chemical substrate that correlates with whatever we experience, with and without psychedelic substances.

I have no idea if saints throughout history ate psychogenic mushrooms in their stew or if they had mystical experiences simply due to the makeup of their natural biochemistry.

What is a gift of grace and what is induced by what we eat? Who knows? But there is no doubt that incredibly profound mystical experiences sometimes happen when one ingests psychedelics in adequate dosage in a supportive environment with serious intentions. They are wonderful tools because they are so reliably potent in helping people actually experience deep, transformative states of human consciousness. Phenomenologically, the content of transcendental psychedelic sessions (retrospectively described) appears indistinguishable from the content reported in the historical literature of mysticism, so it is probable that they indeed reflect the same quality and depth of experiencing.

You employ scientific methods to explore psychedelic experiences, or states of consciousness that often are highly individual and ineffable. Is it really possible for science to explore mystical experiences?

The science is the design of the research project. Let’s say one person gets Ritalin and the other psilocybin with the same expectation in a “double-blind” design; the only thing different is the content of the capsule, which no one knows except for the pharmacist. Science thereby establishes that, yes, it really is psilocybin that triggers profound experiences, not just suggestion because those who were administered Ritalin did not report the same experiences.[1]

I am now conducting a psychedelic study with leaders from different world religions. There’s a waiting list control group, so following screening and acceptance some are randomly assigned to immediate preparation for psilocybin while others have to wait 6 months before they enter the active phase of the study. We’re comparing what happens to those who haven’t taken psilocybin with those who have and collecting this information through questionnaires, and formal interviews with family and colleagues. We’re especially interested in studying changes in attitudes and behaviour that tend to be reported after transcendental states of consciousness have been experienced. The state of consciousness we call “mystical”, characterised by reports of unity, transcendence of time and space, intuitive knowledge, sacredness, deeply-felt positive mood and ineffability, appears not only to be awesomely meaningful for those who experience and remember it, but it also appears to facilitate what William James called “fruits for life.”

Why it is important to explore such states?

Some people just live their lives, never worrying about where we came from, where we’re going and why we’re on this little planet spinning through space. Others do. Maybe it’s a gene. Some of us have a religious or philosophical gene that wants to understand what life means. I think most people ask these questions when life gets difficult, when they’re forced to approach death (their own or a loved one’s) or even when they see the birth of a child. It’s that sense of mystery.

I like to think that, as part of our current evolution within consciousness, we are beginning to understand that we are still being created and waking up. I think the current focus on meditation, spiritual development, yoga and beyond in our culture reflects a yearning to awaken to broader consciousness. I believe mystical consciousness is simply intrinsic to our being.

Research has proven that psychedelics facilitate the occurrence of mystical forms of consciousness in healthy volunteers with a high degree of reliability. Would you then say that mystical experience is a key factor in the benefits subjects derive from psychedelic treatment?

Yes. If there could be only one key factor that would be it. Experiencing a sense of unified consciousness is life-transforming for many people. In that sense, we are not really studying the effect of psilocybin as a simple drug effect so much as we’re studying the effects of discrete alternative states of human consciousness.

The most dramatic shifts in attitudes and behaviour seem to happen in the aftermath of a mystical experience. We see changes in a person’s concept of what the nature of reality is, who they are, their connection to others; it gives them a sense of confidence that there is nothing within that cannot be forgiven and resolved; there’s an increase in self worth; an appreciation of beauty and treasuring others, even those one disagrees with. The ideal treatment appears to be one that includes both experiences of psychodynamic resolution and some kind of mystical transcendence.

Does having a psychedelic experience challenge the prevailing materialistic paradigm?

I would rather say it enriches or deepens it. Philosophically, I think the question that arises is “What is the ultimate nature of matter?” When we look at matter from the viewpoint of quantum physics, we’re just beginning to understand there are deeper substrates to the so-called “material world”.

It has been reported consistently in psychedelic research that mystical experiences, when they occur, have a powerful effect in removing the fear of death; there’s something about these states that feels more real than everyday reality. This brings up the classic mind/body problem: what is the relationship of the brain to consciousness? If, as some theorise, the brain receives and processes consciousness like a radio would a radio signal, where does consciousness actually originate? Another example: if you dissect a television set, you cannot find a trace of the blonde newscaster who just delivered the news inside of it. But the broadcast did happen—it came from somewhere. We’re at the edge of a fascinating frontier, in psychiatry, in religious studies and in physics. Ultimately, we honestly still do not know what we are.

Many first-wave studies have been criticised as being flawed in more than one way, and sometimes even unethical. Was this simply how science was done at the time, or did the ‘wild enthusiasm’ for this novel range of substances play a part in the sometimes reckless way in which experiments were conducted? Historically, it led to popular hysteria and ultimately restrictive legislation, which have taken decades to recover from.

There was a lot of early enthusiasm. When psychedelics first appeared in modern Western culture, they were just sent through the mail to therapists. Timothy Leary wasn’t the only one working with these substances. A lot of people were using them clinically at universities or in private practices, both in Europe and North America to experiment with their usefulness. While some clinicians weren’t trained as researchers and there were no control groups, many carried out studies with great responsibility and care. Psychedelics actually have a remarkable safety record. Indigenous groups have used these chemicals in their plant-based forms (ayahuasca, psilocybin-containing mushrooms, peyote, etc.) in group formats for thousands of years without anyone ever checking their blood pressure.

In the 1960’s we weren’t prepared to deal with psychedelics and many people clumsily misused them. The media reaction was alarmist and psychedelics were quickly devalued. The press is much saner now, approaching psychedelics from a much more sober, grounded perspective.

Why is that? Our research designs are much tighter today. We have gathered decades more of testimonials and statistics about how extraordinary these drugs are. The entire field has matured—we know more. We’re smarter. We’ve learned that psychedelics are not for everyone. There are a multitude of ways to explore personal and spiritual growth, so even if they one day become legally available, I don’t think everyone will be interested in using them. In fact, some people should be wisely counselled not to, such as those with some severe forms of mental illness.

Suppose that you had all means of scientific investigation ready to use, which question would you like to have answered?

In my book there are three chapters that address such questions—one on medical, one on educational and one on religious frontiers—and I could go down any of those paths. Medically, the promise of psychedelics in treating addictions appears to be very hopeful. Outside medical treatment, they may well hold great promise in facilitating creativity and perhaps that’s what I’d explore.

 One problem is that people who generally shouldn’t be taking psychedelics—such as young people, who do it recreationally—are taking them whereas responsible, established scholars aren’t. So what we frequently see in the press are stories on how young people are ending up in emergency rooms, rather than hearing about how scientists are discovering new insights through the use of psilocybin, DMT, mescaline or LSD. Steve Jobs once claimed that psychedelics gave him critical intuitive insights that enhanced his creativity in life. I would love to give well-trained physicists on the frontier of their discipline a structured psychedelic experience. There could be really valuable new insights and perspectives from such a study.

I also have a wild fantasy that some day it will be an option (for those in religious studies) to have a psychedelic experience with academic credit. Whether they are studying to become a Christian minister, Jewish rabbi, Hindu or Buddhist priest or Islamic imam, I propose that having a profound religious experience could be a part of their training, rather than relying on scriptures and traditions alone.

Do you have any plans for future psychedelic studies you would like to carry out?

I would love to see work done exploring the value of psychedelics with sociopathic personalities. The way we fill prisons today is not enlightened. There are ways of helping those with traumatised childhoods to gain a sense of personal value and respect for other people, and to develop a sense of ethics that is genuine and not imposed, but instead rises from within. It wouldn’t be cheap and it would require intensive therapy, but compared to locking someone up for life, it would still make good sense economically, as well as altruistically. Especially for young people just beginning to tumble into the prison system, such treatment just might change the course of their lives.

[1] see csp.org/psilocybin for published research studies and commentaries

[/fusion_builder_column][/fusion_builder_row][/fusion_builder_container]

[Interview] Phil Wolfson deems MDMA, ketamine and psychedelics “not terribly different”

Philip E. Wolfson is a psychiatrist and psychotherapist who used MDMA legally in his practice in the 1980’s. A founding member of Stanislav and Christina Grof’s Spiritual Emergence Network and of the Heffter Research Institute, he has held a long-time interest in the use of psychoactive substances as adjuncts to psychotherapy. Currently, he is working on the early stages of a MAPS clinical study on the use of MDMA to relieve anxiety in patients with life-threatening illness.

You were trained as a psychiatrist and therapist, and you worked in those capacities for most of your life. How did you cross over to psychedelic research?

There was no crossover, actually. The research that’s arisen comes out of the illegalisation of MDMA, in this case. I was doing clinical work with MDMA in the 1980’s, with a large group of other therapists, psychiatrists and psychologists, when it was suppressed in 1985 by making it illegal. People either went underground or stopped. But the promise of that research was so great that I stayed attuned to being able to do that. As organisations like MAPS and Heffter began to have mild success with the FDA, and were able to do research on a very small scale, I became involved again. Also, I had lost my oldest son to leukaemia, and I was very involved with people with cancer and life-threatening illnesses and their families. So it really wasn’t a crossover, it was a natural kind of confluence of various interests in my life.

You use another substance, ketamine, in your current practice as a treatment against depression. Has this always been legal? Do you need a licence to use it, or how does this work?

Unlike MDMA, which is a Schedule I drug, like LSD, ketamine is a dissociative anaesthetic, and it’s Schedule III. It’s been in widespread use as an anaesthetic and analgesic. In the 1970’s, the late Salvador Roquet, a Mexican psychiatrist of great consequence, began recognising that in the sub-anaesthetic realm – dosages that were less than what put people to sleep – ketamine caused major psychedelic phenomena. This was also occurring among surgical patients who, when they came out of anaesthesia, often had exit effects that were very perplexing and often disturbing. So this began to be explored and the potential of ketamine as a psychedelic agent became widely known. It’s even been banned in Russia because of street use and is a drug of widespread abuse in China. It has a spectrum of use from low-level, which causes a kind of sedative effect, to what’s called the “k-hole”, where for a period of time, say 45 minutes with a significant dose, people have truly deep and transformative psychedelic experiences.

To add to that, in the late 1990’s, some people at the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH) began to explore ketamine in even lower dosages, trying to eliminate the psychoactive properties and retain what had been perceived to be an anti-depressant effect in some individuals. They developed what I call the intravenous drip method, in which they use 0.5mg/kg instilled over 40 minutes in a slow drip, so there’s not particularly much of a psychedelic effect. They began to claim, somewhat adventitiously, off another experience that was just by happenstance, that there was an antidepressant effect. Unfortunately, that antidepressant effect is very short-lived and doesn’t persist for most people.

So there were these two tracks, and the NIMH track began to develop a method which enabled off-label use for a different kind of indication, in this case what was called ‘treatment-resistant depression’. A body of literature emerged, which enabled people like myself to say: “Off-label use is not covered by malpractice insurance, if we’re going to do this, we’ll have to have very stringent protocols and informed consent methods, but we can begin to use it as an antidepressant and, more importantly, as a transformative experience.” That’s the kind of work I and quite a few others are doing more and more. Methods remain very variable, and because the anti-depressant effect tends to be short-lived, there are more and more sessions being added on to clinical practice – so, series of sessions over time. It is an evolving practice that needs a lot more information and clarity.

What’s also occurred in the United States is that there are an increasing number of anaesthesiologists involved in providing the intravenous treatment for depression, so it’s not even psychiatrically oriented. I see this as: “I can make some money, I’ll set up a ‘clinic’ and treat some people with low-dose IV for 45 minutes. They can walk out and maybe there’ll be a difference.” So it’s promising in some ways and it’s controversial in others. We don’t know enough yet, either about my methods or about the antidepressant IV methods to say definitively this is a great antidepressant. I don’t think so, I think like all things that are useful in this realm, it has to be embodied within a psychotherapy framework. It’s a different kind of psychotherapy, because people are really not present in an emotive contact way for periods of time until they come out of the influence of the drug.

You were the editor of a recent thematic issue on ketamine of the International Journal of Transpersonal Studies. In one of your articles, you expressed the view that the antidepressant effect of ketamine is correlated with the intensity of its psychedelic effect – or at least, that if you suppress the psychedelic effect, you’ll probably suppress the antidepressant effect as well.

Well that’s the controversy, you’ve put your finger on it. I don’t know if it’s correlated with actual dosage, because at some point you get anaesthesia. But yes, I think if you suppress the psychedelic experience, the antidepressant effect will vanish too. I think that’s really the controversy, and it remains to be shown both ways.

It seems that results with classical psychedelics are more long-lasting, while the effects of ketamine experiences seem to fade over time. Do you think there’s a real difference between ketamine and the so-called ‘classical’ psychedelics?

No, I don’t, and I don’t think it’s true that it fades more with ketamine than with LSD or psilocybin. I think what we see with, for instance, the Johns Hopkins work with psilocybin is that profound – often dosage-related – experiences that are peak or transformative experiences have a more lasting impact on us. Any of us who did LSD way back as a first drug, or MDMA for that matter, as an empathogenic first experience, had very important experiences from it. I don’t think that’s any different for ketamine. People have profound, transformative experiences that last, in terms of impact on soul, impact on imagination, and they discover how vast their minds are. I don’t think any of those substances are terribly different in that sense. I don’t think we can distinguish between them, like one is good and one is bad, or one more powerful than the other.

Ketamine is definitely not a classical psychedelic, though. What would you say are the differences in effects and nature?

Ketamine has a different mechanism of action, but I don’t think its effects are so different from classical psychedelics. You have to lie down, you go into an altered, deep space in which you’re journeying through the cosmos, and personal, psychological, mythic, transpersonal, cultural, philosophical experiences arise, generally unbidden. I think that applies as a taxonomy of experience across the psychedelic board with different amounts of different substances producing somewhat different effects as they have different effects within the brain. Anyway, there are so many hundreds of psychedelics out there, with new ones coming every day, so what’s classical and what’s not? We’re not going back to Mozart here, we’re going back to 1943…

You mentioned that it’s easier to use ketamine because it’s a Schedule III substance, unlike the others that are on Schedule I. What are some of its other advantages or disadvantages, like the fact that it’s short-acting, and most often injected instead of ingested, or others still?

I’m not so sure these differences are critical. The shortness of the peak experience, 35 minutes to an hour, with a trail-off of another hour or so, is not discouraging at all, because time dilation within that framework is so extreme…

What I meant is that the shortness of action is more practical for the therapist, who doesn’t have to spend the whole day.

You spend three to four hours, there’s just no way around it, because people have to recover. It’s not a simple walk to the convenience store. The IV method is convenience store, people don’t go that far, they can walk, they’re not really asleep, they’re always conscious. The IV format is easy, the intramuscular format is not so easy. And if you compare duration of action, DMT is 10 minutes and you’re walking, 5-MeO-DMT is 18 minutes, or 40 minutes, however you slice it, so ketamine is not that short-acting.

Regarding the route of administration, oral use of ketamine requires a lot of material and is unpredictable regarding absorption and timing. The nasal route is easy to use and is the main route for street use. There’s no reason to do medically based work using the intravenous method save for analgesia. For psychiatric work, it makes it very medical, and I think it’s an alienating kind of format. The intramuscular method is safe, the drug is relatively safe, so I don’t think that’s intimidating. And, yes, you have to stay with your people until they are safe and you have helped them to re-integrate.

You devised a study with ketamine in order to examine this NIMH protocol and its claim of antidepressant effects, but you enrolled non-depressive subjects who were experienced with ketamine.

The idea was that a group of experienced users of ketamine – very intelligent, thoughtful people, some of them psychiatrists – could not understand how the NIMH protocol had any meaningful impact on anyone, because the intramuscular use is so much more profound. What we were reading and learning about the NIMH protocol was not. We didn’t have a group of particularly depressed people, we weren’t really measuring depression. We tried to have a set of experiences with the NIMH IV method that would give us some sense of comparison. In fact, knowing people over many years with longitudinal experiences, I’m not clear that ketamine is a great antidepressant, but I’m not clear that any psychedelic is a great antidepressant. The motivation of the study was to see what our own experience might tell us about what was being purported to be this great new breakthrough, which had been touted on Science magazine’s front page. And basically what people found was a very innocuous, not particularly meaningful experience.

We couldn’t really comment on depression, as you pointed out correctly, because the group was not composed of depressed people. So it’s theoretically aimed at what the effect on depression would be. The question is: what are the psychological mechanisms of action of ketamine? If you have just a mild kind of swoon, a kind of light taking yourself out of time as in the intravenous method, you have little highlights of psychedelic, but you don’t have much of an experience, so what does it mean? Why would that be helpful, as a 45-minute experience of being lightly anaesthetised, with a mild change in sensory modalities? Why would that do anything? And I don’t think it does, but there are reports – and I can’t debunk them completely – that say that doing that, people get an antidepressant effect if you do it enough times. Single dosage doesn’t seem to have much impact, it’s very short-lived – minutes, hours, a few people have days. So, it has been evolving into many consecutive IV sessions over weeks’ to months’ time with boosters to keep the effect going – if it occurs. Each time, it is a mild interruption of consciousness.

The larger argument is: why do the psychedelic effects of ketamine have an antidepressant or peak experience effect – when they do? You can look at it through a few aspects. One is of course set and setting. If you do it in a good setting you tend to have a better result than if you don’t. If you interrupt ordinary consciousness sufficiently, and you’re taking a break from the obsessional nature of the things that keep you going with depression, anxiety or confusion, there’s an interruption, and ketamine is certainly a very significant interruption of consciousness at the dosages that we’re using. This also goes towards electro-convulsive therapy, and the traditional therapies of interrupting consciousness. If you add to that the kind of brain scramble of a psychedelic experience which ketamine and others provide, this new mind-manifestation kind of experience, what we mean really by ‘psychedelic’, that people are having new experiences, that brain and mind are reorganising, then I think you have the capacity for both a change in mood and a change in consciousness. These two particular aspects, interruption of consciousness and new formation of consciousness, or reformation of ordinary consciousness, bring the possibility for real change.

It doesn’t happen all the time, though, people are very tough. Many people have done hundreds of acid trips, and seem pretty much the same. Our character re-exerts itself, so I think that’s one of the great riddles: why do we stay the same? I don’t have a clear answer, but we have definite strong pathways laid down in mind and brain that keep us humming in the same direction. Psychoactive treatment, I hope, is disruptive of that, in a good way. That’s why I think a therapy setting is important, because the disruption also has to be integrated, it has to be put back into a life stream, into a context, a community, integrated in the values that people hold, which are critical to any change. If you do a trip and all you see are lights and colours, and you come back and say, “Those were beautiful lights and colours, I really like that, I’ll do more lights and colours,” it’s not quite the same as saying, “What’s my attitude towards violence, or towards women, or racism, or what’s my being in the world, with nature, how do I perform and make my own character better?” That’s why I think a therapy that’s addressed to that – and not all therapies do that – is an imperative if we want to create a world of sharing, love and connection.

You’ve started conducting this new study with MDMA for people with anxiety related to life-threatening illness. You seem to consider MDMA as a genuine psychedelic as well. What differences and similarities would you point out with ‘classical’ ones?

I think MDMA is classical, it arose in the 1970’s. It all depends on how you define classical. The only real classical is nitrous oxide, right? It’s from the 1790’s, the second would be morphine, then mescaline with Arthur Heffter in 1897, etc.

Yes, but many people label it an empathogen or entactogen, and won’t consider it a psychedelic. What’s your opinion on that?

Well, it arose from Alexander Shulgin’s research, who was rediscovering phenethylamines, mescaline analogues. Before we ever coined the term ‘empathogen’, it had this quality of a different kind of experiential space that was very related to other psychedelics, particularly in those days LSD and mescaline, peyote and mushrooms. But it’s not psychedelic in the sense of ‘hallucinogenic’. So the differentiation is around ‘hallucinogenicism’, that is the ability to create mind manifestations that are hallucinogenic. The term ‘empathogenic’, which I prefer over the others because I think it’s accurate, is not unique to MDMA either. We call a bunch of other substances, even LSD, empathogenic, depending on dose. Otherwise, 2C-B for instance is considered to be an empathogen with mild hallucinatory properties.

The beauty of MDMA in the work we were doing from the late 1970’s on until 1985 was that it was fabulously helpful in making people feel an ability to reach out to others and themselves in compassionate ways, and to handle what had been otherwise fearsome negative experiences, so that there was a warming that you could feel with it, and that warming came to be called empathy for good reason. But empathy is more than a warming, it’s the ability to put yourself in others people’s shoes, or in your own shoes but in a better way. So it became very potent as a psychotherapeutic experience. It revolutionised therapy – although LSD therapy had been doing it as well – in that you had to be with people for three to six hours. No therapy of the psychoanalytic or psychotherapeutic sort, with their 45- to 50-minute hours, was doing that much time with people. So the contact point was huge, and the knowing of the person or persons you were sitting with was immensely different. And because it enabled the re-examination, the feeling examination of oneself and one’s relationships, its potency for a quicker, more breakthrough, less defended kind of therapy was manifested.

Compared to previous end-of-life studies with LSD and psilocybin, is your protocol roughly the same, or did you include significant differences?

We’re not doing end-of-life, it’s more similar to the psilocybin protocol done at Johns Hopkins, in the sense that we have excluded terminal illness. We’re placebo-controlled, we’re doing at least three MDMA sessions, and up to five overnight sessions. We’re doing them in my home, and I’m there with my co-therapist and partner Julane Andries. These are 6- to 8-hour sessions with 24 hours of contact that are very taxing. In fact the intensity of the therapy is so strong that we’re with people 17 or more times, including those 3 or 5 sessions. So it’s a very exacting protocol, and we couldn’t bring in people who might be actually facing death or major events in the time period of the study, because that would distort the effects of MDMA and the therapy. So we created a boundary, as Hopkins did, which was that there would be at least 9 months of life expectancy. In fact, we’re having people coming to the study who are either in maintenance therapy for cancer or other illnesses, or they’re free of cancer as far as they know, but facing the possibility of recurrence, relapse and potential death. We needed to have enough space and time so that we could do the work and the measurements, which couldn’t have happened if this was truly and end-of-life study with terminally ill people.

The protocol goes as follows. First there are two sessions, either both with MDMA or both with placebo, in a randomised double-blind setup. We just had an amazing surprise there by the way, where Julane and I thought the person was on MDMA, when in fact they were on placebo. I was absolutely certain, but it was actually the effects of set and setting and therapy, and they had a marvellous experience. They had less certainty about it. So that was a great humiliation of my ego there, and I loved that it meant I could be wrong about something and still have the experience of a very positive effect. After the two overnight sessions, the study moves to a primary endpoint where we compare MDMA and placebo over those 2 sessions. If people got the placebo, they can go on voluntarily to 3 more sessions with MDMA, so they go on to a total of 5 sessions. Those who received the active dose in the first two sessions end the process with a third MDMA session. We have a secondary endpoint where we examine the impact of all 3 MDMA sessions. Finally, we have a 6-month follow-up and a 12-month follow-up. Right now, we’ve completed one subject, we have six more going, and there will be a total of 18 subjects. The whole process will take us a year and a half, and the first results should be out in 2017.

You’ve had personal experience with the use of MDMA in situations of distress, both as a therapist and as a father faced with the life-threatening illness of his son. Did this play a role in the choice of substance and/or subject population?

No, I don’t think it was an influence. My son, to be clear, didn’t use the substance, it was embedded in a framework where my wife and I used MDMA in the legal period with our kids being around. My son had leukaemia, which was a very difficult and traumatizing experience for all of us and then we lost him after nearly 4 years.[fusion_builder_container hundred_percent=”yes” overflow=”visible”][fusion_builder_row][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”][1] MDMA was beneficial to us on that personal level, and MDMA was beneficial to many people including myself in the couples and relationship therapy framework. No, I don’t think it influenced the choice of drug. I just think MDMA is a fabulous psychotherapy tool, and the fact was that MAPS and Rick Doblin had made great strides toward getting FDA research on MDMA going. So I was very pleased to have the opportunity to work with it that way. As for the field of research with life-threatening illness, I didn’t entirely choose it. Rick Doblin and MAPS had received a bequest that was aimed at that. The interest of the person who had died was towards giving money to explore MDMA with life-threatening illness. So there was an opportunity, Rick came to me because of my son and my history as a doctor, my interest in MDMA and our connection over many years. He honoured me by asking if I wanted to do this study, and I sort of leapt at it and said, “Great, let’s go!”

[1] Phil Wolfson wrote a book about his family’s ordeal: Noe – A Father-Son Song of Love, Life, Illness and Death, North Atlantic Books, 2011.

[/fusion_builder_column][/fusion_builder_row][/fusion_builder_container]

[Interview] Felix Hasler: “What’s missing is a holistic view on the psyche”

Felix_Hasler_Portrait_by_Oscar_Lebeck_(G&G)-cropAs a psychopharmacologist, Felix Hasler has studied the pharmacology of psilocybin over a decade together with Franz Vollenweider at the University of Zürich. A short time later he published his book “Neuromythology”, in which he argues against the current hype within the field of neuroscience and for a more moderate and humble scientific practice. Felix is also a member of the neuroculturelab, a multimedia project aiming to raise awareness of the modern view of the self that is suggested by brain researchers and is the subject of controversial discussion among philosophers. We met in Berlin, where he is currently a guest researcher at the Berlin School of Mind and Brain (Humboldt University), to talk about current tendencies within the neurosciences, mental disorders and the medical application of psychedelics.

Mental disorders are on the rise and research labs around the world are trying to improve pharmacological intervention, ranging from finding biomarkers for schizophrenia to genetic screening for depression. In your book “Neuromythology”, you express your doubts towards the successfulness of such biopsychiatric experiments. Can you shortly explain why?

The big buzzword we talk about here is the one of “personalised medicine”. It creates the impression that mental disorders could soon be treated on an individual basis. Treated pharmacologically, I should add, since psychoanalysis of course is traditionally a highly individualised way of dealing with mental problems. In the biomedical context of mental disorders, I think that “personalised medicine” is a big illusion. We still have no clue how depression emerges from the brain – if it does in the first place. Even in somatic medicine, personalised medicine works in only 2 cases to date. First, there is Herceptin, a chemostatic against certain types of breast cancer. It is known that tumour cells produce different levels of the protein onto which the drug binds. The higher this protein expression, the higher the efficacy of the drug. Secondly, some drugs can be prescribed “personally” when it is known whether the patient is a slow or fast metabolizer of the substance being prescribed. Thus overdosing can be avoided. But especially in psychiatry, the only remedies available today act highly unspecifically, e.g. antidepressants.

Is it the research methods that have to be improved in order to one day establish individualised treatment for mental disorders, or is it simply impossible to completely understand the aetiology of illnesses of such a complex system as the human brain?

If you look back in the history of psychiatry, there has always been discrimination between psychiatric and neurological disorders. Ones that could be treated with classic medical interventions (drugs, surgery, substitution, etc.) and ones that could not. Today, we have a more complex situation where this distinction is almost given up. At least in the academic discourse, everything is conflated in the umbrella term “neuropsychiatric disorders”. There certainly are examples of mental symptoms that can be explained on a neurological basis like Dementia with psychotic episodes or Chorea Huntington. However, with other affections such as depression or schizophrenia, the face of affairs seems to differ a whole lot. This leads me to believe that there won’t be any specific and truly successful drug treatments for mental disorders in the future. There is no such thing as a “depressive brain”. Therefore we don’t even know the target configuration of a “non-depressive brain” that we could reinstall by some kind of biomedical treatment. One reason for this is the immense physiological variability in human brains. The expression of, let’s say, a specific serotonin transporter that is discussed to be involved in depression fluctuates within several hundred per cent in large enough study populations. Ergo, it is very difficult to extract a general hypothesis on healthy or diseased brain physiology regarding depression. Focussing on single neurotransmitter systems such as serotonin and changing their functionality (eg. by SSRIs) has not shown to be very effective. Neurons don’t get depressed, only humans do. Mental disorders, in my view, are disorders of consciousness and therefore have to be treated on a much more holistic level, taking the whole human being into account. I’m aware that many biological psychiatrists say the same thing. But when you then look at the current clinical practice, this seems little more than lip service.

When you say that the prescription drugs against depression and schizophrenia don’t really have medical benefit for the patients, are the definitions and medical treatments of these disorders just a scam in order to sell more and more pharmaceuticals?

There are of course criteria to classify mental disorders in order to inform medical treatments. The process of these groupings, however, is not based on scientific grounds. The whole mental diagnostics are in fact decisions by members of the American Psychiatric Association (APA) who compile their results in the DSM, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual for Mental Disorders. It is a pretty simple system of expert consensus that defines which psychological state is deemed a mental disorder and which one is not. From these rather arbitrary definitions arise fashionable complaints for people that objectively have no pathological significance. Someone who is by nature an introvert may thus be diagnosed with social anxiety and treated with SSRIs. That’s a classic case. On the other hand, some disorders become very rare in clinical practice – such as catatonic schizophrenia – or disappear entirely from the diagnostic manual, such as hysteria, which was very common in Sigmund Freud’s times. I would not go so far as to state that depression is another myth put out by “big pharma”, however it is interesting that more and more people are diagnosed with depression without clear evidence that there are indeed more depressed patients than decades ago…

…because naturally occurring melancholic phases that every one of us experiences from time to time are being pathologized?

Precisely! The pharmaceutical companies have an intrinsic interest in increasing the number of psychiatric patients – at least on paper – in order to sell their products. With the previously mentioned human-made definitions of mental disorders this is easily achievable. Their tool is the so-called “disease awareness campaign”. This happens in accordance with patient organisations and sponsored of course by the respective pharmaceutical industries themselves. The result of such a campaign is that a person hears that if they experience symptom abc, they should go see a doctor and check for disease xyz. They then become a patient that they actually aren’t and have to take medications that they do not need.

As well as I can retrace your line of argumentation, shouldn’t you as a neuropsychopharmacologist be in favour of such pharmaceutical developments? In 2006, at a symposium in honour of Albert Hofmann’s 100th birthday, you were still convinced that a more detailed analysis of the serotonergic neurotransmitter system would automatically lead to a better understanding of some mental disorders.

10 years ago I was indeed still convinced that there is something like a “neurochemical self”. By that I mean that conscious experiences and mental disorders can be explained in a reductionist way by investigating the neurobiological foundations of these mental states in a scientific way. Hallucinogens such as psilocybin are in that sense a perfect tool, as they pharmacologically act very specifically on certain serotonergic receptors and psychologically result in a very profound alteration of consciousness. I am still very much in favour of research into psychedelics because I believe that they possess a big potential for treatment in psychiatric institutions. However, I’m strongly convinced that neither the psychedelic experience nor mental disorders can be explained by mere alterations in brain chemistry. What’s missing is a holistic view on the psyche taking into consideration both the isolated brain and the whole person as a social and political being.

With what skills would you equip a future researcher who wishes to study the brain in the context of psychedelics and mental disorders so that they can pursue that goal of scientific holism?

I believe modesty is a rare characteristic that I wish to be cultivated more amongst young scientists. Especially in medical aspects of research there exists a tremendous misinterpretation in the mind of students thinking that science would always result in axiomatic theories that last forever. This is not the case at all! Everyone should take a class in the history of science to get an idea of which aspects of nature actually can be studied and which can’t. This is also important to get a feeling for the philosophical question of what can be known at all and to which degree study results may be interpreted in order for them to still be validated. An example of this are the EEG experiments performed in the 1920’s. Scientists were unequivocally clear about their claim that these visualised brain waves are the biological foundation to explain the phenomenon of consciousness. Or look at the study of phrenology in the 19th century. Advocates of this theory were convinced that they could identify criminals by measuring the shape of people’s skulls. Nowadays neuroscientists look for biological markers in the brain and in the genes that might predict criminal behaviour. Critics of this “predictive neuroscience” say that this is nothing but an updated form of phrenology. A critical attitude towards scientific claims is very important, especially in the neurosciences.

You have worked within this field yourself for 10 years at the ETH Zürich in the lab together with one of the pioneers in the second wave of psychedelic research, Franz Vollenweider. What was your motivation to do so?

On the one hand it was the fundamental research within the neuroscientific field that I found very interesting. On the other hand it was the scientific examination of human consciousness. Substances like psilocybin are tailor-made for that endeavour in that they display an ideal interface between biology and the soul, psyche or however you may want to call the mental aspect of the human experience. There is also the field of “experimental psychopathology” with psychedelics, but I’m sceptical about the epistemic and practical usefulness of the “model psychosis” paradigm. I am a strong supporter of investigating the medical properties of psychedelics, however I wonder if it is possible to extract objective scientific insights with hallucinogens given the subjective nature of a psychedelic experience. In Zürich I learned how extremely difficult it is to explain states of consciousness that emerge from substances like psilocybin by scientific means.

Do you think that this is even necessary? In the case of mind-altering drgalateaugs, isn’t it the subjective experience of the experience itself that initiates the healing process in a patient?

It depends on which substance we are talking about. With the application of MDMA I think the treatment should always have a depth psychological approach in order to reach the maximum effect – take the MDMA-assisted psychotherapy against posttraumatic stress disorder as an example. With ketamine against depression I am not sure whether a “full-blown” experience is necessary to evoke its medicinal properties. The answer to this question depends to a high degree on who you ask. A curandero in Peru who works with ayahuasca won’t care a lot about the pharmacological principle of DMT. It’s “mother Ayahuasca” who treats the soul of the patients. I like that idea because it fits into the holistic principle of healing I talked about. A bio-psychiatrist in the Western world, on the other hand, would probably be very much interested in the biochemical pathways that such a substance will create in order to synthesise analogues that can be sold as pharmaceuticals.

What is your opinion on psychedelic science in the future?

Everyone who has undergone a psychedelic experience first-hand would agree that substances like psilocybin and LSD are very potent and can be highly effective tools. Shortcuts to the depth of your soul – and possibly to the roots of your mental problems. But psychedelics are very sharp knives with which you can also cause a lot of harm if not handled correctly. With every experience, you start into an uncertain journey. That journey might turn into something beautiful, meaningful, eye-opening and even life-transforming, but you may also find yourself in the pit of a horror trip. Both the future of scientific research and the acceptance of psychedelic treatments in society will depend on how much the uncertainty in the outcome of a psychedelic experience can be controlled and steered. But again, there is so much variety in the psychedelic experience. And in biomedical research there is always the problem of the impact of a scientific clinical setting on the experience. In PET studies with psilocybin we did in Zürich, we saw that study subjects who managed to turn to their inner world had very positive experiences, whereas others who focussed on the outside world had quite a hard time given the anxiogenic sterile high-tech environment of a hospital PET centre. That was about 50:50. But how can you predict beforehand who will have what type of experience?

What is your advice to someone who would also want to engage in psychedelic science?

Unfortunately, I don’t think that there is a general plan or even an academic curriculum that you can follow. It depends a great deal on the political circumstances. Switzerland for instance is quite an ideal country to do psychedelic research, because politicians and healthcare officials there are not ideologists, but pragmatic bureaucrats. You can do research with almost any substance if your experimental design is sound, the study planned seriously and conducted in a strictly scientific way. Of course, ethics committees need to agree on your research plan and attest that your subjects won’t be at risk to be harmed. In that case, the Swiss government will not only tolerate your work but will also actively support it. In the US, of course, Rick Doblin from MAPS, a “man on a mission” advocating the medical use of psychedelics since the 1990s would be someone to talk to about research opportunities. One reason why research with LSD and other psychedelics might be easier in the future is because hallucinogen research “2.0” got completely depoliticised and doesn’t follow any agenda of societal revolution anymore. Contemporary “neuropsychedelia” – a term coined by the anthropologist Nicolas Langlitz – has absolutely nothing to do with a political propaganda à la Timothy Leary. So there is a chance that psychedelic research will even enter mainstream biomedical research, at least to a certain degree. In the case of ketamine, this is already taking place.

Suppose that you had all means of scientific investigation ready to use, which question would you like to have answered?

The central unanswered question still is – and will probably be for a very long time – how consciousness emerges from brain processes. To have a brain seems a necessary requirement for consciousness. But is it sufficient to fully explain the phenomenon? What western science seems to have long agreed upon, namely that “mind is what the brain does”, seems not so evident to me. Maybe consciousness is a fundamental characteristic of the universe, just like a negative charge is a fundamental characteristic of an electron, or gravity is a fundamental physical property of mass. And there is an even more fundamental question: Why is it that we are not mere stimulus-reaction-automata, but that we have conscious experiences so that we can rationally and emotionally navigate in a personal, subjective world? There are dozens of theories out there that aim to answer these questions, some very scientifically oriented, some less. However I have not encountered a single one that is really convincing or even practically verifiable. Personally I have the admittedly unscientific intuition that psychedelics might be key to the answer.

[Interview] Michael Bogenschutz likens psilocybin treatment to ‘reverse PTSD’

Addiction psychologist Michael P. Bogenschutz currently works at the Department of Psychiatry at NYU. Prior to New York, he worked at the Department of Psychiatry and Behavioral Sciences, University of New Mexico.

Much of Bogenschutz’s work has involved searching for new applications of existing treatments for addictions. The OPEN Foundation talked to him to learn more about his research on psilocybin-assisted treatment for alcohol dependence, the first trial of its kind.

Could you briefly describe your career, and what led you to pursue psychedelic research?

My career has focused on clinical treatment and, particularly in the last 10-15 years, clinical research on treating addictions. I have always been deeply interested in how people change and how we can facilitate change in problematic behaviours.

Working with patients, you’ll find people who will tell you they came to a point where they just quit suddenly, while some gradually become abstinent or the problem diminished over time, and others have relapse episodes for years, never improve, or get worse. There is a very real and not uncommon phenomenon of sudden and categorical change in behaviour, which is not unique to addiction. I find that interesting scientifically, psychologically and clinically. Why does this happen to some people and not to others?

I really became interested in research with psychedelics shortly after joining the faculty at the University of New Mexico (UNM) in 1994. At that time, Rick Strassman was doing work with the intravenous administration of DMT. Dr. Strassman left UNM not long afterwards and as I was a junior faculty member, it didn’t seem realistic to pursue my own research in that area. I didn’t think much about it again until I saw Roland Griffiths’ 2006 paper on the effects of psilocybin on healthy volunteers.

I was immensely impressed with both the findings and the fact that it was possible to do these kinds of studies. In that paper, the authors describe the acute effects of psilocybin in volunteers and the relatively high frequency of mystical types of experiences. More importantly, from a clinical perspective, there was a report of the persisting change in attitudes, emotional states and relationships. The follow-up paper two years later documented the persistence of these effects on the basis of a single experience with relatively high doses. I found it immensely interesting and it made sense to start investigating the clinical potential of these types of drugs myself.

Addiction obviously has a huge public health impact. Why are you interested in alcohol-related issues and treatments in particular?

I’m interested in addiction in general but for me alcohol, which is a very common, devastating addiction throughout the world, was a logical place to start. As I learned when I started investigating the topic, a considerable amount of research on the use of psychedelic treatment (mainly LSD) and alcohol had already been conducted in the late 1950s.

In the United States, the Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) philosophy is prevalent in addiction treatment. It’s a philosophy that emphasizes the spiritual component of the addiction process and the importance of becoming healthier spiritually in order to recover. This also interests me.

What are the benefits of using psilocybin over LSD in a study?

Psilocybin has two practical advantages. For one, the duration of action is significantly shorter, in the order of six hours instead of ten with LSD. This makes psilocybin easier to use in an outpatient model. In other words, you can administer it in the course of a normal workday, whereas LSD sessions could easily continue late into the evening. Another important reason is that there is much more stigma attached to LSD. Many people think of LSD as a very dangerous and frightening drug. Certainly in the 1960s, there were many adverse reactions to LSD. Much of this had to do with taking extremely high doses of a substance with unknown potency, as well as a lack of understanding at the time about how important setting was in determining an experience’s outcome. Clinically speaking, both LSD and psilocybin appear to be very safe when used under carefully controlled research conditions. Also, even though the psilocybin we administer is actually a synthetic version, people often think of the substance as “mushrooms” or a naturally occurring compound, which is reassuring to some people.

Could you generalise about what types of persons were interested in joining this trial?

We recruited from the community, using advertisements aimed specifically at people who were not engaged in treatment. We wanted this to be a stand-alone treatment. We required people to be alcohol dependent, in general good health, and not suffering from any serious psychiatric illness. In our Albuquerque study, participants were working and had some intact social structure or support. They had been alcohol-dependent for an average of 15 years, the mean age was 40, and there were six men and four women. Some had limited amounts of experience with psychedelics in the past, but we excluded those with extensive use.

One concern was that people might volunteer because they wanted a psilocybin experience. We wanted to attract those seriously interested in changing their drinking and open to the possibility of novel treatments.

Can you describe the setting you provided for your patients?

The outpatient clinic was set up to look as much as possible like a comfortable living room with a large couch. We asked participants for most of the session to wear eyeshades and headphones – there was a standard program of music – and instructions were to focus on their internal experience, to accept and explore whatever came up. We prepared them for what they might experience during sessions, what the possible range of experiences could be, and advised them to manage those experiences in order to make the most of them. We believed that setting an intention was important. In this context, the general intention might have been to use the session to learn or experience something to help them make a positive change in drinking or other issues related to drinking they wanted to explore. There was very little direct intervention. Two therapists provided support and were available to intervene when needed, otherwise they checked in every 30 minutes to an hour to make sure the participant was doing okay. At the end of that session, the participants could start talking about what they had experienced. (The volunteers received psilocybin in one or two supervised sessions; this was in addition to Motivational Enhancement Therapy and therapy sessions devoted to preparation for and debriefing from the psilocybin sessions, ed.)

In some of the initial LSD trials, the therapists’ aim was to recreate an experience akin to delirium tremens (DT), a severe withdrawal symptom sometimes experienced by alcohol-dependent patients. These DTs were often a turning point for alcoholics, and they felt LSD could have similar consequences. What they found was that some participants had mystical, transcendent experiences that affected their long-term behaviour. Could you describe how peak experiences affected the patients in your study?

On a psychological and biological level, we don’t have theories, let alone data to explain these phenomena. In the context of a person trying to address a problem and make a kind of change, what we’ve seen is that participants often have an experience of oneness, the hallmark of a mystical experience. They have a sense of unity with all of creation or the universe or God, and they also have a very powerful experience of love and connection on a deep emotional level. This includes self-love and self-compassion, that feeling of being okay. This sounds almost trivial, but for some of these folks who’ve experienced a lifetime of feeling unloved, it’s a very powerful experience. In some cases, they told us their drinking had been motivated by the lack of feeling loved or lovable, and that this experience made them feel less like they needed to drink for that reason.

Other changes accompany this kind of experience. People emerge with a sense of optimism that change is possible, that life can be different because they have experienced something that is so different from anything they could have imagined. We’ve seen people spend a lot of time during sessions thinking about family and relationships, about the grief, guilt and harm their drinking has brought to others, as well as themselves. People emerge from sessions talking about pro-social values like being a good parent or contributing to society. We’ve measured significant decreases in craving and an increase in confidence that they will be able to make a change in their drinking.

How can taking a drug once or twice cause lasting behaviour change? What evidence speaks to this question?

I don’t really have an answer. Clearly things are going on in the brain and we are beginning to conduct studies that look at brain function using MRI scans before and after the psilocybin sessions. But we can’t say yet why a single acute experience can produce such lasting changes.

The best analogy we have come up with is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), in which a single traumatic event can impact someone’s day-to-day experience. These traumas can be of a purely psychological nature, though they often involve physical violence as well. PTSD is an example of how an acute event can cause persistent psychological and measurable biological changes in brain function and structure. Maybe what we are seeing with psilocybin is something like the opposite of PTSD—an experience so powerfully positive it can actually make lasting impact on one’s psyche and brain.

Addiction is a misguided search for spirituality. Can you comment on this or elaborate?

Carl Jung is really the person who expanded on this idea, which was that through intoxicants people (in some limited way) were able to experience connection, unity, a sense of wellness and being loved. You can think of it as a misguided search for mystical or human connection, a way to experience a reliable emotional attachment to something external in order to receive comfort. This can be a useful way of understanding and reframing people’s struggle with addictive substances as not simply seeking hedonistic pleasure, but a genuine desire for wholeness. Though if this isn’t found in healthier ways, it can readily become a trap.

The outcome of your study seems to be very promising: all of the patients experienced a definite improvement. However it was a small sample. Do you have plans to do another clinical trial?

This was a small trial without a control group, done to demonstrate the feasibility of conducting such a study. We were able to demonstrate clinical improvement, and the degree of improvement correlated with the strength of the subject’s experience during sessions. It is suggestive and by no means conclusive or convincing evidence. We need to do much larger controlled trials. Our current trial aims to recruit 180 alcohol-dependent patients, which will provide a much more rigorous test of efficacy. This will take a few years—we estimate five—to complete the trial.

Do you think there may be obstacles other than scientific that might bring psychedelic research to a halt all over again? Or do you think it will evolve into standard practice?

We understand these drugs better scientifically than we did in the 1960s, in terms of effects, potential dangers, and how to minimise those dangers in a clinical research setting. The people doing clinical research with psychedelics now are serious, experienced scientists who approach their work cautiously and with scientific rigour. The general public also has a much better understanding of psychedelics than it did 50 years ago. We need to stay balanced in our approach and avoid extrapolating beyond the data, guard against exaggerated claims and expectations, and remind people of the significant risks that exist with these drugs when used outside of structured and controlled settings.

While I and others in the field are hopeful that what we discover will lead to important advances in addiction treatment, no drug is a magic cure. There are limitations to any treatment. Addiction is a complex, chronic disorder and you cannot cure everyone in one or two sessions, nor reduce the risks to zero. But it’s reasonable to hope that we will be able to demonstrate reproducible benefits, and learn a lot about the psychology and biology of behaviour change in the process.

[Interview] Peter Gasser dreams of further research with group settings

The first LSD study on human subjects of the new era of psychedelic research was conducted in Switzerland by psychiatrist and psychotherapist Peter Gasser. This study, which was sponsored by MAPS, has yielded promising results in the treatment of end-of-life anxiety in patients facing a life-threatening disease. In this interview, Dr. Gasser reflects on the methodology and findings of the study and on future perspectives.

Could you briefly describe your career, and what led you to pursue psychedelic research?

When I was training to be a psychiatrist and psychotherapist, at the end of the 1980s, I got in contact with psychedelic drugs for the first time. At the time, there were five therapists in Switzerland who were allowed to work with MDMA and LSD, and I first underwent treatment, and then followed training in psycholytic therapy. That’s how I learned that psychedelics can be of great help, not only to myself, but also to patients. In 1992, I became a member of the Swiss Medical Society for Psycholytic Therapy, and in 1996 I became the chairman of this society – I still am to this day. With the society, we tried several times to get permission to set up research projects with psychedelics. In 2000, we sought permission to treat depressed patients with psilocybin, but this project was not approved by the ethical committee, so we had to drop it. In 2004, one of our members received approval to use MDMA to treat patients with PTSD. And in 2007, I got approval to use LSD to treat patients with cancer or other life-threatening diseases who struggled with end-of-life anxiety. This study went on from 2007 until 2011, and we’re still publishing our findings.

How did you become interested in the treatment of end-of-life anxiety?

In 2006, we had a conference in Switzerland for Albert Hofmann’s 100th birthday. At the end of this conference, we sent an open letter to several governments in Europe to urge them to allow scientific research with LSD again. The Swiss ministry of health actually responded with a letter, saying that if the ethical and scientific requirements were met, they would grant permission for such a study. So we wondered what kind of study we could do, and we learned that in the 1960s, studies had taken place involving the treatment of end-of-life anxiety in cancer patients using LSD, with very good results. Stanislav Grof, for instance, published on this topic. So we figured we could take up the research where it had been left. On the other hand, we thought patients with life-threatening diseases really need a fairly quick approach for the problems they face. They don’t have time for long psychotherapeutic processes, and I think LSD is a good tool to quickly enter the core issues that emerge in the psychotherapeutic process.

You refer to previous studies, like Grof’s, and in one of your articles you state that “the present LSD study was designed to evaluate previous findings applying current research methodology.” What exactly is the difference in methodology as compared to previous studies?

Today, in the eyes of authorities, this is a drug study, although I personally consider this to be a psychotherapeutic study. Therefore we had to have a double-blind, placebo-controlled, randomized study design. In the 1960s, this was not the gold standard for this kind of research. So we had to go by today’s procedures that allow a scientific evaluation of the drug.

Regarding methodology, there’s a distinction in the article between the psycholytic and the psychedelic approach. Is it right to state you chose to remain somewhere in between, but leaning slightly more toward the psychedelic method? In other words, you use the psychedelic approach but with a slightly smaller LSD dose?

Personally, I don’t really like this distinction between psycholytic and psychedelic, which seems to be of historical rather than methodological relevance. What is important to me is the fact that there is a psychotherapeutic process. We have regular, verbal psychotherapeutic sessions with the patients, and we integrate the psychedelic experiences into that process. The dosage we gave was moderate, 200 µg, which in a way is indeed somewhere in between psychedelic and psycholytic when you look at these respective procedures in the 1960s. But I think the important point is to insert these sessions in the psychotherapeutic process, to prepare the patients for them, and then afterwards to help them integrate the LSD experiences. Psychedelic therapy in the 1960s was more about giving high doses of the drug and just assuming that the peak experiences they provided the patients with would initiate change by themselves. I think the psychotherapy is necessary for the experience to be integrated, but I wouldn’t say that makes our approach “psycholytic”. It’s more something in between, and maybe we should invent a new term, it’s more along the lines of “therapy with psychoactive drugs”, something like that.

Can you describe the setting you provided for your patients?

We tried to provide a somewhat meditative setting, with just the patient and two therapists: me and a female colleague. There were no eyeshades or headphones, but we did play music, with silence in between, near half the time. The silence allowed the inner process to develop, while the music was there at times to guide it. The patients could have their eyes open or closed, as they preferred. We mostly discouraged long discussions. We were available for the patients and they could talk to us, but we suggested leaving most of the talking for the next day: talking is slow, and the inner process is quite fast. Only one patient preferred to wear eyeshades for some time, otherwise patients would alternate between eyes open and eyes closed. The sessions took place in my office, and the session room was arranged quite comfortably with candles, flowers, and blinds to dim the daylight. So the setting was not medicalized, but there was a hospital only five minutes away in case of emergency.

Were you satisfied with the approach you took, or do you think there is room for improvement or further experimenting with different approaches?

Personally, I would like to have group settings, which I think are more efficient than individual treatment sessions. This allows for a group process, i.e. interaction with other people in the latter part of the session, and there’s also a kind of group energy that is different from the individual setting. We would like to do that in the future. Also, several patients indicated they would have liked to have more LSD sessions, and I agree with them. The fact that we only had two had to do with study reasons, but it would be better to have more.

In the article, you mention the high rate of strong emotional experiences in patients, and you suggest this to be the most efficient therapeutic trigger in the study.

Yes, we used a peak experience questionnaire, which revealed that some of the patients really had mystical experiences – but most of them didn’t, although they were very satisfied with their sessions and felt they benefited from them. So we wondered what the therapeutic principle of this therapy may be, and I would say it has to do with emotional opening and broadening of the viewpoint, seeing the whole of existence in a broader context, not only in a cognitive, but also in an emotional sense. Sometimes we had to go through difficult emotional processes, anxiety, despair, things like that. But I think it can be of great help to go through this kind of difficult emotions in a safe and supportive setting. In that sense, I would rather put the emphasis on the emotional processes than on the idea that it is necessary to have a mystical experience. Which is fine if it comes, of course, it’s really helpful and precious for people who have them, but I don’t think it’s required for the therapy to yield benefits.

How do you qualify the difference between emotional peak experiences and full-blown mystical experiences?

The elements of a mystical experience are precisely defined in the state-of-consciousness questionnaire. If one has a score of more than 60% on all of these elements, an experience is labeled mystical. But aside from that, I think a mystical experience is a feeling of great unity with oneself, with the people around you, with the whole of existence and creation. It’s an experience of unity that’s not tied to any religion. Not all of the patients had experiences like that. Strong or peak emotional experiences are more related to the person, to their history, personality and individual life situation.

Do you think it’s important to determine the biological mechanisms of action, or is this secondary to you?

I’m not a researcher – I’m a therapist – so for me this is secondary. The most important thing for me is to see to it that it works, and the question about why it works and what happens exactly in the brain comes second. I think you can do the therapy without knowing what happens in terms of neurotransmitters, for instance. But of course, on a scientific level, this is interesting in its own right.

The outcome of your study seems to be very promising: all of the patients experienced a definite improvement. Could you describe how the LSD experiences affected the patients?

They were more relaxed, in a sense. Even though their life was threatened by a disease in a relatively short term, they said they felt more relaxed. This is not just a superficial sense of relief, like the release of muscular tension. It’s on a more existential level. They felt it really broadened their mind, and that’s what they really appreciated about this therapy. Many of them said they learned to decide what really matters, what’s really important to them for the time that remains, and what they want and don’t want to do with this limited time that’s left for them.

The article also states that the results of your study are “flatter” than those of past research in the same area, which have shown “dramatic” improvement in about 1/3 of the patients, “moderate improvement” in another 1/3, and no improvement at all in the remaining 1/3. In your study, all patients experienced a significant and lasting improvement. How do you explain this difference?

First of all, the results we obtained with only 12 patients cannot be generalized, our sample was too small for that. So maybe our findings are not significant. Maybe the fact that no-one had dramatic improvements, but on the other hand none of the patients dismissed the therapy as having no effect at all, was just a chance event. On the other hand, I think what we do is closer to standard psychotherapy than to classic psychedelic therapy, where patients take a higher dosage and the experience is more dramatic, but the result maybe isn’t as long-lasting. With the moderate dosages we administer, the experience may not be as dramatic, but hopefully the effects are more sustainable. I think we’re not seeking dramatic changes as much as past researchers were, but rather sustained changes.

Another remarkable outcome was the lowered score for trait anxiety, which was sustained in the long term. Does this mean these people have experienced a stable change toward a less anxious personality?

Yes, this seems to be the case, because when we made a long-term evaluation of our results, we also reran the anxiety questionnaire, and we still had the same results as just after the LSD sessions. So we can say that in general the patients were less anxious, not only regarding state anxiety, which is more dependent on one’s present situation, but also regarding trait anxiety, which has to do with personality structure. This is extraordinary, in the sense that we only had two LSD sessions with each patient, and nevertheless there seems to be a deep change in attitude in the patients.

This finding is interesting in that it implies that this kind of treatment could potentially benefit a broader population, not just patients with life-threatening diseases.

Yes, of course, I agree. We have chosen this population because, as I said, the research had already been done, and we had to choose a specific population in order to carry out the research. But I think there are a lot of people who could benefit from this kind of therapy outside of this specific group of patients. Also, this is not only about anxiety. We measured anxiety because it’s easy to measure, but this therapy impacts the whole personality.

You mentioned past research by Stanislav Grof, who has developed one of the few models of the psychedelic experience, with a strong emphasis on perinatal experiences, which he also used in his work with terminally ill patients. Were you interested in testing this model in your study?

No, we didn’t verify this, for several reasons. I think it’s an interesting model, but it’s also kind of a hypothesis. It’s Grof’s system, his way of looking at what happens, and I think one can look at what happens under other premises. We do not put that much emphasis on verifying theories, this is not our aim. Also, Grof’s theory doesn’t fit my personal therapeutic background very well, which is less psychoanalytical.

In a previous interview, Matthew Johnson from Johns Hopkins University told us that end-of-life anxiety would be the first indication for which psychedelic treatment would become available as a legal option. He suggested this might happen in as little as ten years in the US. Do you share his optimism?

No. I think at the moment we live in a great era for psychedelic research, because there’s a lot going on worldwide, or at least in several countries in the world. It’s really my hope that we are at the edge of a true restart of psychedelic research. Nevertheless, this is not a mainstream process. I mean, at the moment, we’re lucky that we can go on, but there are obstacles to be overcome to establish these therapies. For instance, there’s no perspective that LSD could become a prescription drug. Maybe, in the best case, I think LSD could move from Schedule I to Schedule II or III, which means one can obtain exceptions for treatment under certain circumstances. But then it would still be available only for exceptional cases. To become a standard treatment, you should have a real option to treat people regularly with LSD, outside of scientific research premises. And to go the whole way from research to treatment, without having to register the drug, is quite a tricky thing. So I’m not sure Matthew Johnson is right, but if he is, and I’m wrong, I would really be happy. With MDMA it’s a bit different. MAPS is really working to make MDMA a prescription drug. And maybe in 10 years, PTSD could be treated with MDMA as a regular treatment. But I think with psychedelic drugs like psilocybin or LSD this will not be the case.

Your study was the first study on LSD in human subjects after decades. How do you explain the fact that, although LSD is a ‘classic’ psychedelic, it took this long to see it come back to the forefront of this second wave of psychedelic research?

I think that’s because LSD has by far the most difficult reputation. LSD is really “the hippie drug”, the drug of the counterculture. This reputation is definitely a big obstacle for LSD to become a medicine again. There’s a whole lot of prejudice against LSD, and I think that’s the main reason. The second reason is the duration of its action. LSD is quite long-acting, which means that if you want to work with it, it takes a lot of human resources. You have to be prepared to work one full day with a single patient, which makes it more difficult to work with than MDMA or psilocybin.

Switzerland seems to be very productive in psychedelic research in Europe. How do you explain this?

I think Switzerland has a certain tradition of research, on drugs and addiction in particular. As you may know, in the 1990s, it was one of the first countries to give heroin to addicts, and I think in this context it’s easier to get permission for drug research. Also, Switzerland is a small country, where personal contact is easier and more important. And finally, regarding my own LSD research, I would say luck also came into play. We were the right people in the right place at the right moment. If the ethical committee had denied us permission for this study, their answer would have been final, you can’t just make another attempt and hope for success. So I think I applied exactly at the right time.

Could it also have something to do with Albert Hofmann’s legacy? The first new LSD research took place in Switzerland, the country where it was discovered…

Maybe this is a factor too. Albert Hofmann always had a good reputation in Switzerland, he was a well-known and highly regarded researcher. But I don’t think this was a decisive element in the approval of the study.

Do you have any plans for future psychedelic studies you would like to carry out?

At the moment I have no plans for psychedelic studies, because I work in a private practice, I’m not a university researcher. I would like to do some research again, but only with a link to an academic institution and research team. In the eight years since I did my study, it’s become increasingly difficult to start new psychedelic research, because the restrictions on human research in general are on the rise, so for people like me working in an office, there’s almost no chance of doing research. Therefore I would need some link to a university. I do have some connections, but there is no specific project in the planning. And there’s also the question of financing.

If you had absolute freedom, what kind of research would you like to do with psychedelics?

That’s a good question. I’d love to have that kind of freedom! I would do two things. I would start a researchers’ training group, to train young academics who are interested in this work, so that they could learn how to conduct psychedelic therapy, and we’d have the next generation of psychedelic therapists who would be trained, who would be experienced in a legal context, who could talk about it. And second, I would carry on this end-of-life research. The study I did was only a pilot study with 12 patients. I’d like to do the same with 30 or 50 people, in group settings, just to show statistically significant results can be obtained that prove the efficacy of this method. These are my two dreams.

[Interview] Matthew Johnson: "Psychedelic therapy may become available in a decade"

Matthew Johnson is part of the team at the Johns Hopkins University that conducts research with psilocybin in a growing number of areas, ranging from mystical experiences to the treatment of end-of-life anxiety and addictions. Matthew’s personal focus lies in addiction treatment, and his latest scientific article described his research using psilocybin for smoking cessation. He spoke with the OPEN Foundation about his studies and the future of psychedelic science.

How did you wind up in psychedelic research ? Was this an old dream of yours, or rather a chance event?

Well, it was both an old dream and a chance event. About 15 years ago when I was in graduate school, I was hoping to do research with psychedelic compounds, although I anticipated that it would take many decades before achieving that. But then I was fortunate enough to discover that my postdoctoral fellowship mentor, Roland Griffiths, had started research with psilocybin. I discovered this when I was on my postdoctoral interview, so I jumped in as much as I could, and I’ve stayed on the faculty here many years since.

What got you interested in the first place?

Well, the questions these psychedelics are associated with, these very broad, interesting, philosophical questions that really intrigued me. When I was about 19-20 years old, I became very interested in many of the readings on psychedelics and on the older research with them, the questions of mind-body connections, the nature of mind… we don’t have any definitive answers to those questions, but psychedelics seem to be a very good place to start when you’re interested in them.

Do you have any tips for those who would like to embrace the same career?

The biggest piece of advice is to receive training in some type of discipline that would allow you to conduct research: either receive an MD or receive a PhD to become a researcher in some area of neuroscience or psychology. I suggest picking an area that dovetails nicely with more mainstream interests. A researcher is not likely to find a position where they can exclusively focus on psychedelics. Take me for example, I study addiction generally, the acute effects of drugs, the nature of addiction and addiction treatment, and this dovetails very nicely with my interest in psychedelics in the treatment of addiction. So that other area of work is able to support my position even though the focus on psychedelics wouldn’t be able to do that by itself. So get into something mainstream that can intersect with your interest in psychedelics.

Getting to the research you’ve conducted, your latest article was about your smoking cessation study using psilocybin in combination with cognitive behavioral therapy. The results seem very promising, as the article reports an 80% success rate on the limited sample of the study. What could be the mechanism of action that helps people kick their addiction when treated with psychedelics?

So far, evidence suggests that there are psychological mechanisms of action at play. For example, people endorse that after the psilocybin sessions, it was easier for them to make decisions that were in their long-term best interest, and they were less likely to make decisions based on short-term, hedonistic desires. They also reported an increase in their self-efficacy, their confidence in their ability to remain quit. Many of the participants had what they considered spiritual or very meaningful experiences. All of these psychological aspects are consistent with addiction therapies. Certainly, there’s a long history of people reporting that spiritual experiences or insights have led them to overcome an addiction. We believe there are also biological mechanisms which we have not explored yet, we’re just beginning to in this next phase of the study. Ultimately, I believe the answer’s going to cover many aspects and reveal both psychological and biological mechanisms.

What about the 3 people (out of 15) who weren’t able to quit smoking? Do you have an idea why?

They tended to have less meaningful experiences in their psilocybin sessions. Our sample is relatively small, so we’re cautious in overstating our conclusions, but it appears that the trend is that those people who had less personally meaningful or spiritually significant session experiences were less likely to be successful in the long term. And that’s consistent with other data we collected in other psilocybin studies. The nature of the experience, particularly the positive, mystical-type nature of the experience, seems to be what’s predicting positive change in personality and long-term attributions of benefit.

If these interesting results could be confirmed on a larger scale, do you think this kind of therapy could become generally available, and if so, how long could it take?

Yes, I do believe so. I think it would be at least ten years, I’m hopeful that it wouldn’t be much longer than that. Research with psilocybin in the United States is further along in the treatment of cancer-related anxiety and depression. We would expect that in the US, initial FDA approval of psilocybin as a prescription medicine would likely be for cancer-related distress. But we would anticipate, if the data continue to look promising, that an addictions indication could come soon after that. I think it absolutely is possible, and that’s our hope, that this would be disseminated beyond research, into approved prescription use. We believe that this would be conducted in clinics, in a way similar to outpatient surgery. So it would not be, “take two of these and call me in the morning”, sending the patient home with psilocybin to use on their own. It would involve preparation, much like what is going on in our research. Screening, followed by a few preparatory meetings with professional staff, and then one or a few day-long experiences where the person would come in in the morning and leave at 5 or 6pm. They’d be released into the care of a friend or a loved one, very similarly to the way outpatient surgery procedures are performed.

Would doctors need a special license to practice this kind of thing?

Yes, they might need some specialized training, some certificate in the basics of conducting these kinds of sessions. The procedures that are at play in the current research studies with psilocybin are very effective, so it would essentially look like this, with similar safety mechanisms.

You’ve also conducted research on mystical experiences, in another study. Everything seems to indicate that those experiences induced by psychedelics cannot be distinguished from spontaneous or naturally occurring mystical experiences. What are the implications of this, and what does it mean for scientific research?

I think it opens up many avenues. It’s going to be a long time before we fully realize – perhaps we never will – the potential of this. The most interesting thing, perhaps, is what it may tell us about the biology of naturally occurring experiences. Even if those occur without the provocation of an external substance, it may be that something very similar is going on endogenously. One speculation that Dr. Rick Strassman has put forth is that naturally occurring dimethyltryptamine (DMT) could be responsible for extraordinary spontaneous experiences of this type. We don’t really know that to be the case, although it certainly sounds plausible at this point. But I think if we do find a similar biological basis to naturally occurring spiritual or mystical experiences and psychedelically mediated experiences, this would have profound philosophical implications for how we view human experience generally, the idea that there’s not this dualistic divide between biology and subjective experience. It would suggest that these are always two sides of the same coin.

What do you think we can gain or learn from mystical experiences? Could they be useful to society as a whole?

It’s been speculated that the world would be a better place in many ways if more people had such experiences. Perhaps it’s wishful thinking to think that these experiences, by themselves, would save the world. But it makes sense that if more people have genuine experiences of openness and connection with the rest of humanity, that can only help – whether this be from psychedelics or spontaneously occurring experiences, or through the use of other techniques. I’m interested in the speculation that these experiences can lead to prosocial behavior, which can be good for the world in general, although I’m a bit cautious. I certainly wouldn’t say that psychedelics are a panacea that is single-handedly going to save the world. But perhaps, if cautiously used under the right circumstances, they could be part of and contribute to an overall greater level of awareness. Ultimately, we’re all completely dependent on each other, we’re on this planet together, trying to figure out how to ultimately survive and thrive, and I think these profound mystical experiences, however they might be occasioned, can perhaps help point us in the right direction.

Several sources, including the scientific articles themselves, seemed to suggest that the subjects in the studies about mystical experiences were highly educated, high functioning, and prone to spiritual practice. Isn’t there a bias here that could prevent generalization towards the general population?

That’s an interesting question and a good point. Across the number of studies we’ve conducted, we’ve become less specialized in our target population. In the very first study that Roland conducted, these were people who already had an intense interest and an ongoing spiritual practice of some type. In subsequent studies, we have loosened our requirements of that nature, and now it’s getting closer to a general population. At baseline, before people enter the study, we collect measures of their lifetime experience of mystical-type effects, using the Hood mysticism scale. We found that people in our subsequent studies have a much lower score than in that initial study. In my smoking study of 15 individuals, these were very ‘normal’ people in that regard. Some had an interest in spirituality, but most of them didn’t have any particularly strong interest. Regarding education and level of functioning, the subjects are generally pretty high functioning, although it tends to get rather normative. In the smoking study, we had an elementary school teacher, we had a carpenter that fixed furniture, a child care worker, as well as a lawyer, for instance. So although some did, not all of them had intellectual occupations. Furthermore, we haven’t noticed any real difference in experience between highly intellectual individuals or people with high socioeconomic status and people who are more normative.

Are there any significant differences from one substance to another, or does everything revolve around having the psychedelic experience in and of itself, whatever the substance that triggers it?

We don’t know yet. Very much of the recent resurgence of interest in psychedelics has been research done with psilocybin. Our presumption with many of these research questions is that similar results would be obtained with LSD, mescaline and the other classic psychedelics. But that’s just an assumption. We certainly know that they have a common biological pathway. I think there’s potential for both possibilities. When we compare our research to the older research with LSD, and when you compare these psilocybin accounts to naturally occurring, non-drug occasioned experiences, you do see substantial commonality. But at the same time, we do know that these various psychedelics have shades of different effects, even though the classic psychedelics all have effects at the serotonin 2A receptor. We also know that they differ in their effects at a variety of other receptor sites, and this is likely to account for some of the more subtle differences in subjective effects that people will report. Sometimes those might be specific to the individual: some people will report that e.g. psilocybin is more psychologically gentle, and that LSD is more abrasive, and other people will report exactly the opposite. All of this is reporting from anecdotal or recreational use. All those questions should be examined in the laboratory under double blind conditions to really validate them. There’s a lot of excitement that, if there is any promise to psilocybin or one or a few of these psychedelic compounds, we have a whole library of hundreds of compounds waiting in the weeds, much of the work that Sasha Shulgin and David Nichols and others have done to create dozens of compounds that are derivatives of the tryptamine or the phenethylamine structure. It’s going to be really exciting to follow up this initial research with psilocybin with a wide variety of compounds. It could be that they are all very general, but – I’m just speculating here – perhaps one of these other substituted tryptamines might be as effective for cancer-related anxiety as psilocybin, but perhaps comes with less of a chance of difficult acute experiences, or perhaps it’s a shorter or longer duration, in a way that makes it more ideal for treatment. I think there’s a lot of potential, and we’re in our infancy in examining these things, so there’s a lot of exciting things to come ahead.

Do you have an idea why psilocybin is so prominent right now?

Yes, for our group at Johns Hopkins and for a number of other investigators that have reinitiated research in the last decade, I think there was a sense that politically, we wanted to stay away from LSD. With people who are going to have a hair-trigger sensationalistic reaction when hearing about the research, LSD might have been a bad place to start, because it would raise all of the concerns about Tim Leary and the counterculture of the sixties. In some sense, psilocybin was a little safer politically because it was not the prominent psychedelic used recreationally in the 60s – that was primarily LSD. We also know that, next to LSD and mescaline, psilocybin is one of the classic psychedelics that received the most research in that earlier era of research from the 50s to the 70s, so there was a nice background on the basic toxicology and pharmacology. If we were starting with a brand new compound that’s never been administered to humans, there are many basic safety studies that would need to be done on animals and in early studies with humans. So psilocybin fit the bill nicely, and also, its time course happens to be pretty convenient: five to six hours. It fits into a therapeutic workday a little easier than the 10-12 hour experiences one can have with LSD or mescaline.

There have been some recent calls for legislative change regarding psychedelics (Nature Reviews Neuroscience in June 2013, Scientific American in February 2014). Are there any concrete efforts made to move these substances down a schedule or two in order to facilitate research?

The most concrete effort would be moving into phase 3 trials for cancer-related anxiety and depression. This is something that a number of the research teams in the US have talked about, and we’re preparing to enter into phase 3 research after our phase 2 study and the one at NYU are completed. We’ve already completed all our participants, so that’s going to be soon. If phase 3 is successful in terms of showing safety and efficacy, that would lead to the possibility of a schedule change. That would be a way within the current system to see a scheduling change, very specifically for one compound and one indication. Now a lot of the editorials that you’ve referred to are also raising concerns more broadly, regardless of whether phase 3 research prompts the rescheduling of a particular compound. There is concern that placing so many of these compounds in Schedule I, and the heavy restrictions we have on Schedule I compounds, can limit their clinical development potential. One aspect of that is that no pharmaceutical companies are interested in developing these compounds at all, and one reason for that is because they’re on Schedule 2, so that it’s a very bad bet to invest millions of dollars in a compound therapeutically if it’s already at the highest level of restriction and if it doesn’t seem hopeful that’s going to change. It also makes research much more difficult having a substance in Schedule I versus other schedules. It’s ironic that it can be much more difficult doing research with psilocybin or with cannabis, which are Schedule I drugs in the USA, than with cocaine, methamphetamine and many of the opioids, because these are Schedule II or less restrictive schedules. So even if a particular compound hasn’t gone through all the steps to merit clinical approval, there is still this notion – and I agree with this – that the level of regulation is too burdensome, and the system is not encouraging enough of cautious scientific exploration of these different compounds. There is this general sense across psychiatry that we have to some degree reached our limit with many of the conventional treatment methods, and so we need to be more open, and have a more flexible system for conducting safe research with some of these currently heavily restricted compounds.

After those phase 3 trials are completed, and if they’re successful, do you fear a renewed resistance, which would be more psychological or political in nature, from society and policymakers?

I do think there will be some resistance, and I think the only thing we can do is rely on data, and to conduct this research responsibly. The concerns about psychedelics are really related to the uncontrolled recreational use. They’re really very addressable when it comes to conducting research or approved clinical use. To draw an analogy, we know that drugs like heroin come with incredible toxicity and are associated with high death rates – that’s unquestionable. But heroin is virtually identical to the drugs that we use in medical settings, and those are indispensible to the practice of medicine. So mentally we draw a distinction between the uncontrolled hazardous use of heroin and other opioids on the street versus the careful use of morphine and other drugs in that same class in the clinic. As an example there, when under careful medical screening, people don’t stop breathing because of opioids, because that’s readily detectable and reversible if it happens in a medical setting, whereas people stop breathing unfortunately all too often in the recreational abuse of intravenous heroin. So in the same way, yes, with psychedelics, occasionally, even though it’s relatively infrequent, people will have panic attacks and hurt themselves, they’ll respond erratically, they’ll run across the highway, they’ll accidently fall from a height. They’ll do things that people do with many other drugs, such as alcohol, at a much higher rate. But those things are very addressable in a research or therapeutic context. They don’t happen in carefully controlled research contexts, because we just have all the safeguards in place. So the more we’re presenting cautious research and conveying the way this clinical intervention is done, the more we’re able to address those political concerns.

How badly are psychedelic researchers such as yourself considered mavericks within the scientific field, for studying such things as drugs and mystical experiences? Is this an obstacle to eventual implementation of results in society at large?

Not too much, I think. There’s a little bit of that, but I think it’s changing fast. It’s funny, sometimes media journalists want to highlight the controversy and they’ll find a clinician who really disagrees with this, often someone who runs a drug clinic or something, who will just say: oh, this sounds dangerous. But really, in the scientific field of those who study addiction and the harms of drug abuse, there’s not much in the way of controversy. It ranges from people who think this is very promising and are happy this kind of research is happening once again, to people who think this might be a bit weird and wouldn’t bet their money on it, but who agree that it is appropriate to conduct cautious research. No-one is credibly saying that this isn’t a legitimate scientific, medical inquiry. It’s really not so controversial, and I think the longer we and others are conducting the research, the more people respect the data. They can see for themselves that this mystical nature of experience is repeatedly predictive of long-term therapeutic outcome, so they recognize this is a meaningful scientific construct. These are also constructs that are known and respected in other areas of psychology as mechanisms of change. So I think this stuff is more and more becoming mainstream, and I guess it’s not much of an obstacle. I’d say to me it’s been more of a benefit, in terms of people saying: wow, that’s really interesting! How good of you to cautiously explore something that’s outside of the box and that needs attention!

Do you think there may be obstacles other than scientific that might bring psychedelic research to a halt all over again, like it happened before? Or do you think it will go on to evolve into standard practice?

I think it will move on and won’t be halted the way it was in previous decades. I don’t know definitively, but that’s what my gut tells me. As a society, we’re doing this in a much more mature way now. Also, in the 1960s, psychedelics were combined with so many other societal changes that it ultimately was a little traumatic for society. Psychedelics probably got too much of the blame for that, even though there were some individual harms caused. But much of it was just impression. There was a reason people were protesting the Vietnam war, fighting for civil rights, women’s rights, etc., completely outside of the fact that there were psychedelics. Today society has changed in many ways, and I think this research can be compartmentalized and can be seen for what it is: an interesting avenue that might be helpful in that it might address intriguing questions about the mind and biology, and there may be therapeutic outcomes. But I’m hopeful that if some rogue researcher comes around and does something very dangerous, it would be clearer now that things would go wrong because that researcher is dangerous and does his thing in an inappropriate way. Just like if someone were to apply morphine at a dangerous dose and not monitor the patient’s breathing in a hospital setting. That would be viewed more as an individual problem rather than as a reason to stop using opioid analgesics. I’m hopeful that that’s the point where we’re at with psychedelics.

Special issue about psychedelics in 'The Psychologist'

The British Psychological Association recently published a special issue of their accompanying journal The Psychologist (September 2014, vol. 27) devoted to the rising popularity of research into psychedelics. This is the first time such a lengthy publication, illuminating the intricacies of the psychedelic experience, has appeared in the journal.

David Nutt claims, in the first article of the issue, that the scientific disinterestedness of the past can be explained by society’s attempt to deny psychedelics their “value and importance” in the study of altered states for moral reasons. The political reasoning is the following one: how can we not but condemn research into psychedelics if this poses the risk that it would legitimize recreational use? However, Nutt asserts that despite the possible societal risk “(t)he failure of the scientific community, particularly neuroscientists, to protest the denial of research on hallucinogens is one of the most disturbing failures of science leadership in the past century, and it must be rectified. Psychologists and other neuroscientists must demand the right to study these drugs” (2014).

Many neuroscientists did not wait for Nutt’s summoning to start unraveling the relationship between psychedelic drugs and the human brain. In How do psychedelics work on the brain? (the second article) Carhart-Harris, Kaelen and Nutt (2014) describe the psychedelic experience, starting at the neurotransmitter level and ending at the neuronal large-scale systems of the brain. The obvious question for psychology (as is stated in the title of the special issue) is whether the neuronal level can tell us anything about the psychedelic experience that is within our field of meaning or, as Jameson puts it, our “cognitive mapping” (1991). The title of the special issue suggests that human psychology, by adopting neuroscientific knowledge, can do just that.

In the third article, Vaughan Bell (2014) opposes this approach and asks a different question: what can we learn from the ways in which other societies approach hallucinogenic drugs? Bell asserts that “drug-induced hallucinations are often discussed as if they can be entirely understood in terms of their chemical action in the brain”. In Bell’s view it is not the brain, but rather culture and the relationship between the individual and her social context where the real magic happens.

The fourth article, by Henry David Abraham (2014), connects the three previous ones by describing the author’s investigations into hallucinogen persisting perception disorder (HPPD). Here Abraham gives a phenomenological reading and tries to describe the complex dynamic between the neuronal and the psychological dimensions of HPPD.

Charles Grob, Ira Byock and Erica Rex, in the fifth article Viewpoints: Experiences of hallucinogen treatment (2014), extend the view posited by Abraham and give an account of the exciting ‘new’ realm of psychedelic treatment and psychological assistance. “Multiple participants”, says Byock, “report not mere alleviated anxiety or depression, but also an enduring sense of well-being. Some expressed feeling at peace, grateful for their lives, forgiving toward others and toward themselves and being less fearful and more confident about the future”. The treatment intervention for “existential anxiety” proposed by Grob (2014) is seen as just one of the many possible applications of psychedelic substances.

All articles appear in the September edition of The Psychologist (volume 27, part 9) “A brave new world for psychology?”


 
References
Abraham, H. D. (2014). When the trip doesn’t end. The Psychologist, 27(9), 670-673.
Bell, V. (2014). Cultures of chemically induced hallucinations. The Psychologist, 27(9), 666-669.
Carthart-Harris, R., Kaelen, M., & Nutt, D. (2014). How do hallucinogens work on the brain? The Psychologist, 27(9), 662-665.
Grob, C.S., Byock, I.R., Rex, E. (2014). Viewpoints: Experiences of hallucinogen treatment. The Psychologist, 27(9), 676-679
Jameson, F. (1991). Postmodernism, or, the cultural logic of late capitalism. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.
Nutt, D. (2014). A brave new world for psychology? The Psychologist, 27(9), 658-661.

In Memory of Andrew Sewell

The sad news has reached us that Andrew Sewell passed away on Sunday July 21st while he was recovering from surgery. R. Andrew Sewell, MD, was assistant professor of Psychiatry at Yale University where he conducted fascinating research on psyche

delics. We had the pleasure of meeting Andrew at our 2010 Mind Altering Science Conference, where he presented his research as one of our invited speakers.

We will remember Andrew Sewell as a cheerful, optimistic and talented researcher with a gift for inspiring others through his lectures. We feel that his passing away is a great loss for the psychedelic research community. Our deepest sympathies go out to Andrew’s friends and family.

Among other things, Andrew was responsible for writing the well read and sobering manual on how to become a psychedelic researcher, entitled ‘So you want to become a psychedelic researcher?’, a must read for aspiring scientists wanting to study psychedelic substances.

Thank you Andrew, for your contributions to psychedelic research and for your inspiring lectures, filled to the brim with information, delivered at high speed. You’ll be missed.

Labyrint TV special about therapy with psychedelics

psionderzoek

Next week on Wetenschap24 Labyrint TV reports on groundbreaking research into the use of psychedelics for the treatment of psychological disorders.

The episode was filmed at the Interdisciplinary Conference on Psychedelic Research 2012 and takes you from the first scientific research into psychedelics in the ’50s, the recreational use and the prohibition of these substances, to the recent research into psychedelics as potential tools for psychotherapy. Amongst others, the British psychopharmacologists Robin CarhartHarris and Matthew Johnson, both speakers at ICPR 2012, will appear in this episode. They will speak about their research into the therapeutic potential of psilocybin.

Next Wednesday, December 19th, 8:50pm at Nederland 2.

More information on the Labyrint TV website.

30 April - Q&A with Rick Strassman

X