The Doors of Perception
When I first picked up “The Doors of Perception”, I had no idea what it was about. All I knew was that Aldous Huxley was the man. Aldous was an English writer in the early 1900s who greatly contributed to both literature and film. He was involved in the Vedanta branch of Hindu philosophy, allegedly befriended Ray Bradbury, promoted pacifism, and wrote a script for Alice in Wonderland (ah, swooning). We are clearly a match made in heaven, so I trusted that whatever this book was about, it was probably in my best interest to read it.
Turns out, the book is about Aldous’ mescaline trip. Mescaline is a naturally occurring peyote cactus extract that, when ingested, creates a psychedelic experience. I’m probably not going to make it into any political office posting about hallucinatory drugs (darn) but Aldous makes some great points that are worth talking about regardless of how down you are with D.A.R.E.
He begins by explaining that each of us is an “island universe”—we experience things, both good and bad, in solitude; the exact nature of these experiences are only expressible through indirect symbols (Huxley, 13). For instance, if your dog dies, I can try and make you feel better by subconsciously drawing from the movies I’ve seen where people’s dogs have died, the time when I witnessed consolation in general, my understanding that dogs are adorable, etc. I am not personally experiencing the death of your dog as you are, but I can try my hardest to empathize. Aldous hoped that one of the benefits of mescaline would be to create a bridge between the islands, allowing himself to know others as they know themselves. As such, the drug would be a nice means of character building.
Upon taking the pill under the supervision of his wife and a fellow investigator, he begins to marvel intensely at the significance and beauty of the seemingly mundane. The entirety of the book is a back-and-forth between descriptions of his high and a reflection on what took place. One of my favorite parts is when the investigator asks him his attitude towards time and Aldous profoundly replies, “there seems to be plenty of it” (Huxley, 21). He discovers that mescaline induces egolessness—he no longer thinks in terms of selves. All things are rightly egoless because they are “sufficient in their Suchness”, i.e. satisfied in a pure, non-assertive state of being (Huxley, 38). Mere existence. He refers to this overall awareness as “the timeless bliss of seeing as one ought to see” (Huxley, 35).
A key point to understanding the effects of the drug on him is the theory of “Mind At Large”. This theory suggests that the Central Nervous System operates eliminatively. At any point in time, we are capable of perceiving everything everywhere… but this obviously interferes with our ability to exist as efficient humans. I can’t get any work done if my mind is busy processing all that is happening in the office. I can barely get any work done if someone is using a stapler nearby. So, in order to survive, the “Mind at Large has to be funneled through the reducing valve of the brain” (Huxley, 23). One method we’ve used to simplify and manage this reduced consciousness is through language; however, due to our indelible reliance on words, we start to mistake words for reality. We are distanced from the realness of existence because we think in terms of concepts communicable through man-made words. He later extrapolates that our education system is primarily to blame for this problem and that we need to begin emphasizing the non-verbal humanities more in order to experience and interact with the world in its majestic, unadulterated rawness. Aldous claims that mescaline somewhat halts the eliminatory process, allowing the mind to perceive a wider range of sensory material that is normally foregone for functionality. Because of this, the contemplation that accompanies mescaline is not balanced by action. You are perfectly satisfied with staring at the flowers for a while, seeing them as you’ve never seen them before and seeing them how you feel you ought to see them.
Towards the end, Aldous transitions from detailing his trip to outlining the practical implications of his awesome time. He asserts that the introspective, “inner-world” is special to us—for some, of spiritual importance—because it’s much more mysterious and much less monotonous than the outer world where we wake up in the same bed, in the same city, with the same job, and the same routines (Huxley, 46). There’s a lot about life that sucks and people frequently have the irrepressible desire to escape and transcend. Aldous recommends mescaline as a healthy approach to do so (in comparison to things like alcohol and other drugs). He hypes it, citing the fact that there is no hangover, no withdrawal, and virtually no toxicity. Basically, he shits on all the other drugs. Still, he doesn’t just irresponsibly suggest that we all quit our jobs and start snorting mescaline on the reg. He does put forth the disclaimer that it must be done in the “right” quantities, in the “right” circumstances, under the “right” state of mind.
So what’s the biggest problem with it all? The research is scarce. Why is the research scarce? The government classifies it as a Schedule I hallucinogen. This is very restrictive—and not just for those tryna get their buzz on. Personally, I am a huge proponent of research because I think that *knowledge is power*. To rob the world/country of access to certain things largely based on unfounded, outdated, moralistic premises is so ridiculous to me. It’s a shame that controlled substances are under-researched simply because of the limitation of an (often arbitrary) government label. I was literally just reading in Men’s Health* (don’t ask me why I was reading Men’s Health) that “every 15-year-old boy in the United States has access to better marijuana than researchers do” (Warner, 2014). Different drug, same basic idea.
This book was first published in 1954—clearly, the government did not heed his advice and mescaline is not readily available. Still, the boldness of his widely-publicized experiment and the value of the lessons he derives from it make this book worth reading. I am extremely impressed with his ability to effectively verbalize what I’m sure was mostly an indescribable experience. He also used the word “foppish”, which is a pretty awesome word. In spite of all this 5 flame praise, I give it 4 out of 5 flames. It is compelling, entertaining, and enlightening—but probably because I am personally very interested in the intersection between spirituality and psychology. It’s not necessarily a “must-read” for those who are not inclined to these areas of study, but I trust it would be a joy for those readers nonetheless.
*Warner, Joel. “Weed is Legal. Are we High?” Men’s Health July/August 2014: 111-113, 151. Print.
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