‘I started graduate school when I was twenty-two. According to some of my professors and peers, this meant I was yet incapable of depth and genius, at least in comparison to my peers older than twenty-five: the age when humans begin to think with their prefrontal cortex (the rational part of their brain) more than their amygdala (the emotional part of their brain). Never mind the fact I felt less insecure and published more than some of my older peers, the fact of my biological development meant more to them than the muscle of my work. Not surprisingly, my twenty-fifth year came without any out-of-the-ordinary growth or major epiphanies, despite the developmental milestone.
While I do not want to dismiss the importance of the prefrontal cortex’s maturation and its significance in changing human behavior, one of the more fascinating insights of Michael Pollan’s “How to Change Your Mind: What the New Science of Psychedelics Teach Us About Consciousness, Dying, Addiction, Depression, and Transcendence” was it argued that the rigidity of the mature, older brain could, in fact, stifle genius and creativity necessary for innovation. Our minds, according to modern neuroscience, functions a bit like artificial intelligence, taking in information from our senses, then making educated guesses to fill in the blanks or shape the material in the window of our mind. Our senses are not transparent windows to an outer world, it seems; everything we experience is an interpretation of our minds. As we age, our interpretations may become less and less flexible, making us unable to see problems or experiences from new angles. Psychedelics, Pollan argues, can disrupt the rote patterns of an experienced mind, opening people to new insights into problems and perspectives on the world.
“How to Change Your Mind” is a fascinating piece of non-fiction. Part historical overview of psychedelics, part memoir, part lay-person literature review of contemporary psychedelic research, Pollan manages to provide a captivating and coolly narrated introduction to almost anything a neophyte would want to know about psychedelics. Eschewing the evangelistic and impassioned, or even feverish, tone popular in familiar iterations of psychedelic writing, Pollan’s narration is dominated by a sober, rational tone and a clear line of argument. This tone is definitely necessary in order to make Pollan’s writing credible and more persuasive for anyone suspicious of psychedelic exuberance. At times, however, it does seem to make Pollan’s interior life as somewhat devoid of the spiritual. As someone familiar with the emotional explosions of spiritual revelation and poetry, he can seem a bit stiff at times.
In particular, I wish Pollan would have shaken off the observational tone in places where race was central to his narration. Take Pollan’s narration of white people’s discovery of the “magic” mushrooms of the natives of the Sierra Mazteca. Maria Sabina, an indigenous Maztecan, provided the mushrooms to two Americans for the first time, so the story goes, and inadvertently ended up triggering a cultural revolution, as these two went on to spread the word, eventually leading to the famous feature in Life Magazine “Seeking the Magic Mushroom”. The magazine feature led thousands of tourists to swarm the once remote indigenous village, drawing the unwanted attention of law enforcement. The mushrooms became scarce. Sabina was ostracized from her community. The violation of an indigenous community’s environment and way of life is an crucial, unavoidable part of the history of psychedelics. And while Pollan competently narrates the history, there were times I just wish he would bare his teeth a little more and strike at some of the toxicities part and parcel of Western culture.
Perhaps the only major shortcoming of the work is Pollan’s treatment on race. I left the book being able to tell someone much more about American and European research on psychedelics, rather than the millenia-spanning history of indigenous practices. For a book concerned with the therapeutic uses of psychedelics, “How to Change Your Mind” glossed over the curandera uses of the velada and other indigenous practices, which probably merit chapter of their own. I imagine some of this information must be difficult to access, but if Pollan can go through the trouble of finding the underground community of psychonauts and therapists illegally using psychedelics, of pummeling his way through contemporary neuroscience, and of imbibing psychedelics himself, surely he could go through the trouble of familiarizing himself with the indigenous communities who preserved this practice despite extreme repression from Christian authorities.
Another sticky and tricky unexplored racial tension in the work is some researchers and enthusiasts tendency to use psychedelics as a way of “eating the other,” in the bell hooks’ sense of the phrase. Why do these psychedelic trips seem to encourage the orientalism of some of the researchers and enthusiasts? In moments like these, an observational side-eye is warranted, if not a more direct criticism.
Pollan does an amazing and thorough job of reporting the advancements made via psychedelics, although not all the advancements are as new as the title of the book implies. As Pollan himself acknowledges, much of the new research is retracing the ground researchers trekked in the 50s and 60s before psychedelic research became taboo. While the book didn’t necessarily change my mind about psychedelics—I was already inclined to believe they could be useful in psychotherapy—it did provide me with a robust set of arguments to advocate for their use in treatments for depression, addiction, and the existential dread of dying common in terminally ill patients. It has also guided me into an understanding about the safest way to use these drugs. Prior to reading the book, I assumed my C-PTSD would make any trip especially unpleasant for me, if not dangerous. Although its not legal yet, a trip guided by a shaman or psychotherapist could actually prove to be a transcendental experience, even for the severely traumatized.
My reading of “How to Change Your Mind” is informed by my own research into C-PTSD and Internal Family Systems Therapy, as well as by my EMDR and Brainspotting therapy sessions. Internal Family Systems Therapy “is an approach to psychotherapy that identifies and addresses multiple sub-personalities or families within each person’s mental system.” According to my therapist, this form of therapy is inherently spiritual. EMDR and Brainspotting, on the other hand, both use free association to heal unconscious, somatic wounds. Suffice to say, I have had plenty of material to evolve my understanding of the self, the limits of human perception, and how to heal my mind. One of the most energizing aspects of scientific research into psychedelics is that many users experience something inherently spiritual, forcing science to wrestle in unfamiliar territory. Pollan does an especially great job asking the right questions when it comes to expanding the bounds of science.
One of my favorite aspects of “How to Change Your Mind” is the expansive ways it asks you to consider perception. I have spent a lot more time engaging in the humbling experience of pondering other forms of consciousness, such as that of plants and animals, in an attempt to better understand my own limits and strengths. The book allows you to vicariously experience psychedelic trips, in a sense, and even that experience is rife with power.
“How to Change Your Mind” is a thoroughly enjoyable read, intelligent without being opaque or jargon-laden, personal without being indulgent. I recommend this book to anyone studying neuroscience, religion, Buddhism, the war on drugs, philosophy of the mind and self, psychology, mental illness, and mental wellness.