Why the proscription of some drugs goes beyond the health and welfare of human kind.

Written by Lana Pennington

Throughout human history, it would be almost impossible to find a culture that did not incorporate the use of some type of drug for religious or recreational purposes. Whether introduced into a society like tobacco was into Europe, or as a gift from the gods as peyote is viewed by the Huichols of Mexico, the human capacity to find and use mind-altering drugs is both disturbing and fascinating. But equally fascinating is our need to suppress, prohibit and legislate drug use, which at a national and international level is something of a 20^th century phenomena (Bean 1974). This is most curious considering that the production and use of drugs for human kind is virtually universal through time. Drugs have been in use at least as long as recorded history. The Chinese were utilising cannabis in medicine as far back as 2737 B.C. Nevertheless, anything that can alter human perception has uses beyond that of recreational or medicinal finding application in control and dominance of many by a few.

Political paranoia aside, Dr. Andrew T. Weil argued that "the desire to alter consciousness periodically is an innate, normal drive analogous to hunger and the sexual drive" (quoted in Furst 1976:7) indicating it is a biological need rather than one culturally conditioned. It has even been suggested that the twirling of children can be seen as their way of moving beyond the consciousness of the everyday (Furst 1976:11). But it should not be forgotten that human kind’s voracious curiosity (sometimes stupidity) and need for stimulus can often lead to fatal consequences as people seek ‘highs’ from drinking neat essential oils or ingesting large toxic quantities of nutmeg. Trying to protect people by banning a substance often creates what designers refer to as the ‘lust factor’ where a demand is created by making something very desirable, while scare tactics only increase this desire (Chayet 101).

However, what is viewed as sacred medicine to one group of people can be a dangerous and evil narcotic to another, such is the case with peyote in North America where a cultural dichotomy exists. The Native American Church of North America did not find overnight acceptance to their use of peyote as a religious sacrament but other churches wishing to find religious experience through drugs have only found persecution (Clark 1969). During the 1960s Timothy Leary was one of the proponents of drugs like LSD as essential in the pursuit of religion. Considering that the United States was built on the rights of religious freedom it is an interesting irony that his proposal was rejected. All reverence of the particular substance aside, in an Orwellian twist it is seen as all right for some groups to use peyote as part of a religious experience but not all right for anyone without a history of ‘tradition’ or even legal precedent (Chayet 100-106). This notion of when does something become ‘traditional’ has always fascinated anthropologists.

Over the centuries various drugs have gone through cycles of acceptance and rejection. One prime example is the history of tobacco, which has undergone many moral panics and prohibitions from having your nose cut off for using it in 16^th century Russia to the modern day medicalization of tobacco use as an unhealthy lifestyle choice (Cooke 1997:22). The growth of Western pharmacology brought with it many benefits in pain management, but also created opportunities for addiction and abuse of such drugs as morphine and opium. Towards the end of the 19^th century, the United States was emerging as a political power. Its acquisition of the Philippine Islands and a large number of opium users that came with the islands prompted a ban on opium’s non-medical use. From the lobbying of many groups such as the Temperance movement America was beginning a move towards prohibition, and in 1909 having sought out other European powers interested in opium control, President Theodore Roosevelt organised the First International Conference (Bean 1974).

Despite many attempts to prevent drug use political groups in many countries have discovered that the process of drug control is a double-edged sword. The histories of drugs such as tobacco, tea, absinthe and LSD are grounded very much in fear, marginalisation, social and political control. It is not enough to look at the mind-altering effects of any one drug, it must be placed within the social, cultural and historical context of the time to fully understand why tobacco and alcohol have achieved a degree of social acceptance, and absinthe and LSD are proscribed. However, throughout the 19^th and 20^th centuries, this has been of little interest to policy makers of past or present. The German philosopher G. W. F. Hegel (1770-1831) once remarked: " … people and governments never have learned anything from history, or acted on principals deduced from it" (Oxford 1979:244).

The 1909 Conference held in the Shanghai Hotel in China consisted of 13 countries including Britain, the USA, China, Russia, Japan and France. Though they had no diplomatic power to sign an act they did unanimously adopt nine resolutions which succeeded in rousing strong international public opinion on opium (Bean 1974:20-21). Though the conference was organised on the pretext of assisting China with its opium problem it reflected the growing concern and moral conscience in countries like Britain, due to its earlier role in the Opium Wars. It also reflected the growing interest of the United States in controlling opiates and cocaine beyond their own borders. Prior to the First International Opium Convention in The Hague in 1912, Britain felt there was no evidence to suggest that opiates and cocaine were problematic within Britain itself. Its subsequent interest can best be seen in terms of its Far Eastern territories (Bean 23-24). But by being a party to The Hague Convention of 1912, Britain was bound to create internal legislation hence the Dangerous Drugs Act of 1920, which was really aimed at the minority Chinese community. Consequently, this meant that a selected group of drugs was targeted for control irrespective of the domestic situation of the country concerned.

Of course this highly selective process did not go unnoticed. A letter to the British Medical Journal in 1922 asked why tobacco and alcohol were not being proscribed; "everyone in the medical world knows the chronic effect of nicotine poisoning" and "the effects of excessive use of alcohol on the brain, liver, heart and lungs" (Bean 1974:24). The writer never received a reply. Clearly there was and is more to drug control than issues of health and well-being in society. Any moral stance by powerful countries was usually a smokescreen for vested interest. Rufus King noted in 1957 that drug control was a way for America to protect itself against a market they were not in initial control of and could not profit from (Bean 1974:25). But history shows that despite political pressure trying to control drug-producing countries has never been successful in stopping the illicit drug importer, or the consumer.

To understand how particular drugs can go from being socially accepted to social pariahs, it is worth looking at a once popular beverage called absinthe, and the hallucinogen LSD, a chemical protegee of the American CIA. Fin-de-siècle France and the American swinging 60s have more in common than you might think. Both were times of great social and political unrest. Late 19^th century social scientist, Max Weber believed that no single factor ever precipitated social change and that a combination of the physical environment, political organization and cultural factors had to be taken into account (Giddens 1989:656-657). Drug use in Europe had a long history of self-medication, especially for returning soldiers. Why France developed a moral panic over absinthe and the United States over LSD is closely tied in with the politics of the time and the social climate. Absinthe had taken a long path over a couple of centuries to be demonised and finally banned, while LSD seemed to arrive and ‘disappear’ within the space of a few decades. Upon closer examination we can see why.

(poet-inventor Charles Cros (quoted in Conrad 6)

Of the many drugs adopted by western countries, few people today have heard of or are aware of the influence of a drink called absinthe on French society and culture in the 19^th and early 20^th centuries. Drunk by rich and poor a like, poets wrote poems about it and artists painted its vibrant green into their paintings. However, by 1918 it was just another victim of a world war that had changed France forever (Conrad 1988).

Today absinthe’s legacy can be found in the works of Picasso, Manet, Oscar Wilde, poet Ernest Dowson, Toulouse-Lautrec, Gauguin and Degas, to name a few. Not all these famous men thought absinthe a marvellous drink though most were known to imbibe it in large quantities. As the social tide turned against absinthe so did artistic patronage. However, at its zenith absinthe was so much part of French café culture that Montmartre was said to have a constant sickly odour of absinthe lying heavily on the air (Conrad 44). Absinthe was not the sort of drink you quaffed by the pint (especially as it was often 70 to 90 per cent alcohol), even if it was often drunk to excess. Its culturally created elegance was something that embodied fin-de-siècle France; bohemian cafés with smartly dressed ladies and gentlemen, and a waiter at your wrist waiting for your order of: "L’Absinthe, s’il vous plait" (Conrad 6, 44).

Distilled from a leafy herb called wormwood, absinthe often had other flavourful herbs such as angelica and aniseed added to it to disguise the bitter taste of the essential oil. The name absinthe comes from the French word for the plant, which in turn is derived from its Latin name Artemisia Absinthum (Quinion 1996). The name of the plant comes from old Germanic into Old English as weremod or wermod. As Quinion (1996:1) notes:

During the Middle Ages wormwood was often prescribed for such ailments as tapeworms, jaundice and dropsy. It reportedly left the patient uninjured and "even rejuvenated by the experience" (Richman 1998:1). In Roman times it was used to flavour ale and wine, and was also sprinkled on clothes to keep away moths and fleas:

Absinthe was ‘considered a vivifying elixir’ with entries from the Bible to the 17^th century herbalist Nicolas Culpepper extolling its virtues (Conrad 1988:85). While it appears to be something of a ‘cure-all’ the plant was a genuine addition to the European herb garden (Quinion 1996).

Yet it was not till early this century that researchers discovered that oil of wormwood contained the neurotoxin thujone linking its effects similar to that of marihuana (Conrad 1988:152-153).

Oil of wormwood moved from medicinal use to that of a beverage sometime during the 16^th century, but it was not until the 18^th century that modern absinthe came into being. Distiller Henri-Louis Pernod built a fortune on absinthe, refining the product (originally created in Switzerland) to export quality that became known world-wide (Conrad 6). Poured neat into a high glass, absinthe was usually mixed with ice water and sugar to produce a green, opalescent drink that could taste slightly antiseptic, with hints of licorice and aniseed (the current trend is to pour the ice water carefully to retain the clear green colour and avoid bruising the absinthe, while in Czechia the sugar is actually ignited, Taggart 1998). From various accounts the drink was an instant delight or an acquired taste. One contemporary drinker (Mangrum 1999) notes that even after 15 years he is still not sure if he likes the taste. Other people were not so taken with the taste noting that:

Maurice Barrymore, of the great acting dynasty, once remarked that absinthe was "the paregoric of second childhood" (Conrad x). (He was possibly referring to the opiate laced medicines given to small children for every type of minor complaint. During the industrial revolution mothers had little opportunity to take time off to nurse sick or coliky children). And as alcoholism was relatively unknown before the 19^th century in France some parents only realised too late that the preparations given to their children could kill them or set up a life long addiction (Conrad 20).

As an aperitif, absinthe was at its height in the bohemian café culture of 19^th century France. Popularised by poets, writers and artists, it was also consumed in large quantities by the working class as a refreshing companion to wine and a hot day. Initially it had been quite an expensive drink but as some absinthe producers, not afraid to make a quick franc, were able to make cheaper concoctions so the price reduced. In 1873 a glass of absinthe cost fifteen centimes (sometimes dropping as low as ten centimes), while a kilo of bread was fifty centimes and a bottle of good Bordeaux might cost a franc (Conrad 22).

The need to create cheaper kinds of absinthe may not have been necessary had not a disaster befallen the wine industry. The increase of absinthe is directly attributed to the disease phylloxera which attacked French vineyards in the 1880s and resulted in a shortage of wine (Conrad 115). However, consumption did not decrease after the shortage was over, which prompted one writer to say, "from the Nord to the Midi, from the Alps to the ocean, absinthe is queen" (Conrad 115).

Absinthe was not the only vice of French society and in actual fact only made up three percent of alcohol consumed in France. Opium, morphine and various other painkillers had entered France as a result of colonization (1840s-1850s) and war (1870) just as absinthe had. The age of absinthe for the French began in the 1840s during the Algerian war where it was issued to French soldiers as a fever preventative. Upon their return home their taste for absinthe did not diminish and by 1910, 36,000,000 litres of absinthe was being consumed a year prompting society columnist Alfred Capus to remark: "Absinthe has become the favourite drink of almost every French man" (Conrad 6,115). Another observer quipped that while Paris had only 17,000 bakers and 14,500 butchers, it did have 33,000 drinksellers (Conrad 7). On a more sombre note, absinthe rather than wine, beer or any other addictive drug, was starting to be seen as a national health problem in France (115).

French poet, Paul Marie Verlaine is credited with creating the bohemian cult surrounding absinthe but he was just one of many whose decadent lifestyle would be equated with this French drink and vice. Though he would often praise the Green Fairy (as Absinthe was called) near the end of his life in 1896 as he lay dying from his absinthe habit and such diseases as syphilis, rheumatism and pneumonia, he denounced absinthe prophetically as,

But not everyone who drank absinthe was doomed to addiction, or so argued Adolphe Girod, a moderate absinthe drinker and government advocate against banning the drink in 1906. Ronald Siegel, in a recent article does not agree believing that all drugs are insidious: "It appears that like all artifical intoxicants even the ‘deal’ serum can lead to abuse and social dysfunction" by even the noblest of souls (quoted in Conrad 22). What he means by artifical is not clear, but appears a moot point in the face of the human desire for altered states.

Contemporary anti-drugs campaigners might be surprised to note that it was the well-heeled middle class who were indulging in such deviant behaviour as opiate and absinthe use, in France. Also, far from being the province of men, the taking of morphine, opium and absinthe had found its way into the drawing rooms of fashionable ladies (Conrad 51). Equally, the emancipation of women saw them sipping absinthe alongside men in cafés, much to the disgust of those anti to the suffrage movement, and was used to discredit any social deviance by women. Francis Carco said:

A famous painting by the impressionist Edgar Degas, in 1893, added fuel to the intense Francophobia in Britain with its depiction of Degas’s actress friend Ellen Andrée seated in a café with a glass of absinthe set in front of her. While the absinthe was not the object of the painting outraged Victorian British saw it as a ‘lesson’ against the excesses of a bohemian lifestyle and a further example of the dangers of importing decadent French culture. Degas found himself powerless to defend his decision to paint his friend Ellen and she in turn received unwanted notoriety. Meanwhile in France, market forces had even created a demand by women for silver-gilt and gold-plated syringes along with ornate absinthe trowels and glasses causing Alexander Dumas the younger to exclaim: "Morphine is the absinthe of women" (Conrad 52).

It is not till one views the many paintings of the French and other 18^th century artists that you realise just how pervasive absinthe was in French daily life. Usually not the subject of a painting, the absinthe glass, trowel and pitcher of water were ubiquitous elements. Later when absinthe came under attack this changed and demonic cartoons and paintings abounded enumerating the dangers of the drink. The gentle ‘green fairy’ took on elements of evil. What had once been daring and chic was now considered self-destructing and disease laden.

Many artists, such as Toulouse-Lautrec, who had they not abused absinthe would have abused other drugs (and in fact of the documented cases in Conrad it appears that an absinthe problem was just part of a general drug problem for a particular user), called absinthe their muse which he often carried around in a hollow cane. Over the centuries many artists and writers have used drugs to enhance their creativity such as Coleridge and Hemmingway who once wrote: "Got tight on absinthe. Did knife tricks" (Conrad 137). As a class of people, writers and artists were always something of a curiosity in 19^th century ‘polite’ society. Often living a liminal existence, and generally not accepted until after their death, drug experimentation was often an excuse to counter loneliness and poverty. But ordinary people also used absinthe to escape from the druggery of every day life.

By the 1890s absinthe had become a national passion not only in France but across Europe and the Americas (Conrad 71). Its high profile within French society like any popular social aspect, absinthe found its way into the language. In 1878 if a Frenchman said "avaler ton absinthe" he meant the English equivalent of to swallow one’s pride, while in 1901 "renverser ton absinthe" was the same as to kick the bucket (Conrad 55). As seems to be the process of an introduced drug it had gone from the preserve of a few (the intelligentsia) to the masses, and with it came its own 'cultural baggage' in the form of invented ‘sacredness’. The instruments of this sacred process were the glass and the trowel. There was a right way to drink absinthe. However, the British never really accepted absinthe as a popular drink and seemed wary of it, not so much it appears because of the ‘evil’ associated with the drink but because of intense British francophobia. A popular novel written by Marie Cortelli in the 19^th century highlighting the dangers of absinthe had only reinforced in the British mind the dangers of this French vice.

By the end of the 19^th century absinthe was no longer regarded as a ‘healthy elixir’ but as a vice of women and everything that was wrong with French society (Conrad 7,79). The temperance movement arrived in France in 1872 with the formation of the Société française contre l’abus des boissons alcooliques. By 1907, 52,471 people had signed the pledge, however infighting and money problems managed to halt much of their zeal and give the pro lobby groups time to argue absinthe’s case.

With the ban of absinthe in Switzerland in 1908 a petition circulated in France collecting over 400,000 signatures declaring that absinthe was responsible from provoking epilepsy and tuberculosis to destroying the family. Debate raged in the French National Assembly between the pro and anti lobby group. The greatest fear to the pro lobby group was not so much losing a ‘national treasure’ like absinthe but that banning it might place additional restrictions on other alcoholic beverages like wine. Much of the evidence on both sides was unscientific, incorporating twisted statistics and preying on the moral conscience of the time. The debate could have continued for many years had it not been for a murder.

At first glance one might think that the death of a woman and her children by her absinthe drunk husband was a disaster waiting to happen. But this is only a surface reality. On 28 August, 1905, Jean Lanfray, a 31 year old labourer from a French-speaking canton of Vaud, Switzerland, murdered his pregnant wife and two daughters aged two and four years old. Unable to kill himself as the rifle barrel of the murder weapon was too long he wounded himself in the jaw and collapsed into a deep sleep. Focusing on the two large glasses of absinthe that Lanfray drank, apart from the nearly 5 litres of wine and brandy he consumed (something of a daily occurrence), the newspapers declared the murders absinthe inspired. A few days later, another man in Geneva killed his wife with a hatchet and revolver after coming off an absinthe binge. Within weeks a petition containing over 82,000 signatures was presented demanding the banning of absinthe in Switzerland (Conrad 1-5).

Fear gripped the absinthe industry, and they fought hard to maintain control over a very profitable business that had seen a folk recipe turned into a multi-million franc business. But a popular vote held in Geneva showed the Swiss were no longer willing to tolerate what was campaigned as a dangerous poison, and in February 1907, the Grand Counseil voted to ban absinthe and its imitations. This was ratified by popular vote in July of 1908 with the law going into effect in 1910. This was quickly followed by a ban in Holland in 1910, and in The United States in 1912. Interestingly, Belgium had quietly banned the drink as early as 1905 without any public debate (Conrad 3-5).

In 1907, Henri Robert, a leading French criminal barrister said: "Alcoholism is the chief cause of the increase in criminality. Absinthe is the enemy" (Conrad 113). As a scapegoat absinthe was a perfect choice to the extent it was even drawn into the anti-Semitism debate of the time. Fresh from the Dreyfus Affairit was not surprising that Edouard Drumont, editor of La Libre Parole, called absinthe a "tool of the Jews" (Conrad 114). One absinthe distiller even labelled his bottles "Absinthe Anti-Juive" (Anti-Jewish) with a sub-legend "France aux Français" (France for the French). There was much fear in France during the years surrounding the turn of the century. Strikes were common, the government was in confusion and there was growing concern about the military build up in Germany. With the rise of nationalism people were looking for scapegoats.

Absinthism, a type of alcoholism, was considered one of the many scourges of the working class. At the time the French were under the delusion that wine played no part in alcoholism and was usually promoted as being healthy to the detriment of absinthe. As wine drinking had been in a slump since the crisis winemakers were eager to find any method of boosting sales, even if it meant a campaign against absinthe. Yet a report in 1907 was surprisingly in absinthe’s favour when it showed that absinthe drinkers comprised only one-fortieth of the alcoholics in Frances insane asylums. Because of the strength of the pro-lobby groups the government took the easy option of placing heavy taxes on apéritifs like absinthe. By making absinthe a revenue earning product it would make it harder to ban. It finally took a world war to end absinthe (Conrad 104, 121).

THE DECLINE

While Germany flourished, France seemed in decline. A popular belief at the time was that absinthe made men sterile hence the low birthrate. It was also blamed for the unhealthy condition of conscripts and the large numbers being rejected for national service (Conrad 127). In 1900, all distilled liquors were banned in army canteens, but beer and wine, considered healthy, were still available. An all out campaign was waged in the barracks to convince the men of the evils of absinthe. As a rallying point it worked and in 1914 Generals Lyautey and Galopin banned it in Morocco and Nice. Other French generals followed suit. When Germany declared war on France in August of 1914, the government circumvented democratic process and quickly banned the sale of absinthe and other aperitifs. In March of 1915, the Chamber of deputies was able to effect a total ban of absinthe in France. In a state of emergency the producers could do nothing and the factories began to shut down. After decades as the national drink, "Absinthe has been expulsed from France just like a dumb Boche," wrote Leon Bailby in L’Intransigeant (Conrad 129).

As the first recorded LSD ‘trip’, Albert Hofmann did not find the first experience totally unpleasant. What surprised him on his next excursion into self-experimentation was that so small an amount such as a millionth of an ounce could have caused such a frightening altered state, combining amazing visions with feelings of schizophrenia. Of all the hallucinogenic drugs, LSD is considered the most potent. Small doses (1/2 - 2 ug/kg body weight) result in a number of system wide effects that can be classed into somatic, psychological, cognitive, and perceptual categories (Leicht 1996).

Mydriasis Hallucinations disturbed thought increased

processes stimulus from

environment

hyperglycemia depersonalization difficulty expressing changes in shape

thoughts & colour

hyperthermia reliving repressed impairment of synaethesia

memories reasoning (running together of

sensory modalities)

piloerection mood swings impairment of memory disturbed perception

(relates to set & setting) of time

vomiting euphoria

lachrymation megalomania

hypotension schizophrenic-like state

respiritory effects are

stimulated at low reduced "defences", subject

doses and depressed to "power of suggestion"

at higher doses

brachycardia

Hofmann worried he might be losing his mind. On the contrary, after the drug had worn off eight hours later, he reported feeling as if he had been reborn (a comment not unusual from people having taken LSD). Sandoz Pharmaceuticals, the company in Switzerland Hofmann worked for were impressed with his find but weren’t quite sure what to make of their experiments on animals or of the marketability of LSD. The answer came from interest by other researchers in the psychosis properties of mescaline, which was opening up a market for this drug and similar drugs in psychoanalysis (Stevens 1987:10-11). Sandoz set about offering free samples of the drug to legitimate researchers and government organisations like the CIA. No one ever dreamed that these products would find their way into the public domain.

The young fragmented science of psychology seemed on a mission to discover the source of human madness (Stevens 1987:23-25). Or so it might have seemed at its basic level. This was the post World War II era and pharmaceutical companies such as Sandoz were eager to provide free samples of their latest drugs to researchers, including the CIA and the US Army involved in covert operations. Ethical issues of experimenting on people without their full and informed consent was not a problem for the CIA when couched in notions of national security. In fact many in the CIA thought that LSD was some sort of Holy Grail waiting for them to use it to unlock the secrets of the universe, and agents who had used LSD were often referred to as ‘enlightened operatives’ (Lee & Shlain 14,17).

Hallucinogens were totally outside of the realm of western culture and conjured fearful and exciting images to the average person. Realising how value loaded such words as hallucination and psychosis were, British psychiatrist Dr. Humphrey Osmond carrying out work on LSD in relation to mental illness gave a new name to the range of drugs that included LSD. In a letter to Aldous Huxley in 1957, he wrote:

Thus was born the era of psychedelia.

Meanwhile, in their search for a Cold War mind control weapon the CIA were happy to use the drug at every opportunity and leave the research to academics whose data they could pick over later. They were not interested in LSD as a therapeutic agent and this is perhaps where the dichotomy lay between doctors and government, while on the periphery hovered those who saw LSD as an escape from the stifling confines of American conformitism. Ultimately, after years of fruitless research finding no application for the drug, and knowing how difficult it was to control the CIA did not believe it could ever be used productively. By the mid-1960s, even the medical profession were doubting the legitimacy of LSD research. Agencies like the US Federal Food and Drug Administration felt the drug was too powerful and unpredictable to be left in the hands of people who, far from advocating scientific application, were hoping to use it to "conjure up so-called religious experiences" (Lee & Shlain 87)

When Mr. Wiley of the US Pure Food Board declared, " …if we can keep the people of the United States from becoming slaves to this demon, we will do it," he was referring to absinthe not LSD. Ever vigilante and fearful of drugs the rhetoric of Mr Wiley’s speech in 1912 had not changed much in 1960s or 90s America (Conrad 5). As all classes of people discovered the mind expanding properties of psychedelics so they began to threaten the status quo (Lee & Shlain 80). LSD culture with its notions of "love through chemistry" was an anathema to the establishment’s protestant work ethic. This "drive to succeed, so profound to capitalism, and which helped initiate Western economic development, was originally prompted by a desire to serve God"(Giddens 467). Was anyone in high office taking Timothy Leary seriously when he declared that all social conflict was neurological and the only cure biochemical? (Lee & Shlain 79). In their own way, ‘prophets’ such as Leary, were offering another view of salvation but it had all the hallmarks of revolution to the keepers of the established order like the CIA, and they monitored the Harvard professor as closely as they monitored others involved in drug research. However, not everyone was so trusting in LSD as a cure-all for social ills, fearing that what could be liberating could also be controlling, something the CIA had been hoping to achieve from the start. But despite knowing what LSD was capable of evoking in the human mind they had not anticipated social revolution (Lee & Shlain 79-90).

The 1960s were a time of violent social change and a sense of pending apocalypse. The sterile 50s had given way to an era where women were beginning to take control of their bodies, student activism was at its peak and "nothing less than wholesale transformation of society was thought to be in the offing" (Lee & Shlain 127). Social radicalism was a way of life and to conservative elements these bohemians with their long hair and unconventional lifestyles were nothing short of dangerous and parasitic. Considered a social disease the problem was blamed on the evil influence of drugs. While moral panics began to pick up speed across America, for students "taking drugs was a way of saying "No!" to authority, of bucking the status quo" (Lee & Shlain 128).

In the past, American drug control had been targeted at the poor, racial minorities and disadvantaged. However, during the 1960s psychedelic drug use was mainly by well-educated middle class youth, those who were creating the most opposition to the war in Vietnam. By turning on LSD (no pun intended), politicians hoped to show the mainstream public that a bunch of drug-crazed radicals could not possibly know what was best for society. As Octavio Paz wrote in ‘Alternating Current’: "The authorities do not behave as though they were attempting to stamp out a harmful vice, but as though they were attempting to stamp out dissidence" (Lee & Shlain 154). This was clearly not a health issue but one of trying to halt social collapse.

Notions of achieving higher consciousness had taken on a religious fervour. According to Giddens (1989:476) millenarian movements often arise where there is either radical or cultural change. They draw together the disaffected and those ready to throw off the status quo. But LSD a religious experience? It was certainly profound for many. Writer Arthur Koestler was unimpressed with psychedelics calling them instant mysticism: "I solved the secret of the universe last night, but this morning I forgot what it was" (Lee & Shlain 81). Nevertheless, ecstasy and mysticism lie at the heart of religion, according to Walter Clark (1969:65-66) and anyone who has undergone a mystical experience equates it with a religious experience. Whether induced by fasting or chemicals only recently have academics begun researching this in any systematic way. The best known experiment was carried out by Harvard PhD candidate, and assistant to Timothy Leary, Walter Pahnke. ‘The Good Friday Experiment’ involved twenty-one first year Protestant theological students in a double blind design to see if psychedelic chemicals could release profound religious experience. The results were highly significant resulting in the conclusion, "in proper circumstances and in certain people properly prepared, the psychedelic drugs have a strong tendency to release mystical experience" (Clark 78). But most importantly, subjects from this experiment and another at Norwich Hospital produced self reports that stated the experience had "improved their capacity to deal realistically with their problems and had enormously stimulated their psychological growth" (Clark 82). Leary agreed that with the proper set and setting the background of the subject did not matter. He believed everyone could have a mystical experience (Lee & Shlain 77).

Perhaps by trying to focus on the religious uses of LSD proponents of hallucinogens hoped to gain the drug wider acceptance. LSD certainly over time developed all the elements of a millenarian movement complete with prophets, however, it failed to achieve legitimate use like peyote in The Native American Church of North America (Clark 1969). Much of this has to do with the view by policy makers and the general public that psychedelics are used by the young and stupid, who court death and madness. The California Supreme Court in the case of People v. Woody viewed the Native Indians use of peyote as more than a sacrament, that it was in fact an object of worship. Whereas LSD is only a means by which a religious experience can be achieved. In the court’s opinion peyote had not proved deleterious to Indians while LSD could inflict genetic damage. Without political clout, Leary and Arthur Kleps were never able to place LSD use under a religious umbrella to achieve acceptability or credibility. Unlike the peyote Indians they had no ‘tradition’ to draw on and no precedent within European culture, especially when notions of psychedelic addition exists (as Clark 1969:125 asserts there is little evidence that psychedelics are addicting). But the biggest question remains, how can you determine anything on the effects of LSD if there is no continuing research? (Chayet 108). "The greater the fear aroused in authorities, and the more conscientious they are, the more unreasonable and drastic the punishments" (Clark 143).

What is it that frightens the critics of drugs such as LSD? Most would argue it is the crazed, drop-out who is passive and inert. Yet, Clark (160) postulates that it is in fact the opposite. "It is activism and participation, the radical departure from cultural norms that frighten older people, the ‘straight’ people and the ‘squares’". The co-opting of the mind of the young conjures pied-piper visions. While the rebellion of youth is not unique to the 20^th century some of its manifestations were.

As well known for his book, ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’ as he is for the Merry Pranksters, Ken Kesey made Timothy Leary look quite tame. At heart Leary was a behavourial psychologist who believed that LSD trips could be coordinated and recorded, while Kesey rejected rigid structure and thought LSD ‘trips’ should just ‘happen’. Driving across the States in the mid-60s in a refurbished school bus painted in swirling day-glo colours the Pranksters were embarking on their own magical mystery tour of bringing LSD to the masses. (Lee & Shlain 119-124). They were also bringing, as Leary had done, a whole new extension to western culture. Replete with a style of dress and language, this so-called ‘counter-culture’ provided a sort of social cohesion for anyone who did not fit into the mainstream. It also gave younger people a way of thumbing their nose at the older generation.

From its early days the law had little tolerance for illegal drug use. Two years in San Quentin for possession of a single marijuana joint was not uncommon (Lee & Shlain 122). Leary, himself had managed to squash a sentence of 30 years in prison and a $30,000 fine for possession of pot, stated before a Senate subcommittee that prohibiting drugs would not work like it had not worked for alcohol in the 30s. America’s history of drug control had generally been aimed at the poor and racial minorities in times of social crisis, however in the 1960s drugs were associated with cultural and political rebellion amongst white middle-class youth. LSD became a convenient scapegoat and used to discredit those opposed to the Vietnam War (Lee & Shlain 151).

"We wouldn’t want everyone doing too much of a good thing," stated Clare Booth Luce, the wife of Henry Luce, president of Time-Life (Lee & Shlain 71). Mrs Luce thought that LSD should remain the exclusive property of doctors and the ruling elite. It was through a 1957 Life magazine article that LSD had first came to the attention of professor Timothy Leary. But it was not till 1960 that this successful behavioural psychologist received an appointment at Harvard University where Lee and Shlain (73) note, "students and professors had for years served as guinea pigs for CIA – and military-funded LSD experiments". However, Timothy Leary was not the sort to remain a laboratory subject and his messianic antics were tolerated only until they got out of hand. Leary seemed to be the only one who did not understand that his ‘in-your-face’ message of peace through chemistry only played into the hands of those opposing it. Not that one man could be totally responsible for the demonisation of LSD, assert Lee & Shlain (91), the plausible notion seems that after nearly 15 years of CIA sponsored research the drug had proved next to useless for their purposes, and with more promising drugs were being developed, LSD had outlined its usefulness.

In 1965, tighter restrictions were placed on psychedelic research with the passing by Congress of the Drug Abuse Control Amendments. This made the illicit manufacture and sale of LSD a misdemeanor. Deeply concerned Sandoz halted manufacture in 1966, and research projects dried up to a mere handful. Heading a congressional probe at the time into why research was being curtailed Senator Robert Kennedy became frustrated by official stone-walling. Believing that research into LSD should be balanced, he said:

Lee & Shlain (94) speculate that because LSD was viewed as a strategic substance, and a possible threat to national security, any creative or medical applications were not considered important or in the national interest. In 1968 possession of LSD was made a misdemeanor and sale a felony, and in 1970 all psychedelic drugs came under the Schedule I category. This was a classification reserved for drugs of abuse that were considered to have no medical value.

No longer legal, the black market as Leary predicted stepped in to fill the gap and the ‘laboratory’ went underground. On the dark side, abuse of drugs was nothing new. And like alcohol could be used in areas of rape. Despite the romanticism attached to it today, places like Haight-Ashbury in the late 60s were fraught with sexually transmitted disease, malnutrition from being constantly stoned and neglecting health, and hepatitis (Lee & Shlain 170-173). Crime was also a problem as the Mafia had begun setting up their own distribution areas. Notions that LSD only promoted love and enlightenment was easily refuted when Charles Manson’s cronies committed the Tate and LaBianca murders. It would always be a case of set, setting and drug and had little to do with cultural constructions of love and peace. The tide was also turning politically. Leary in particular was disturbed by the acid militants that had sprung up in the 70s but even he eventually joined their ranks (260).

Thirty years have passed since Walter Houston Clark (1969) called for continuing research in LSD and other drugs. Neil Chayet (1967) believes that behaving like 15^th century Italy did over Gallileo’s discoveries only sets back the path of science rather than further it. While compared with its use in the 1960s, use of LSD appears to have dropped, a recent report by CNN claimed that 4.4% of American 8th graders had tried it and 25% of people from eighteen to twenty-six have experimented with hallucinogens (Leicht 1996). As John Lennon said in 1980, "You don’t hear about it anymore, but people are still visiting the cosmos. We must always remember to thank the CIA and the army for LSD" (Lee & Shlain 289). Usually available in a blotter form (drug soaked bits of paper) it is now used in smaller doses and joins other drugs such as ecstacy among the dance scene. It is no longer seen as a drug of social or political defiance, yet it remains a Schedule I drug (291).

Absinthe is also reporting a 'come-back' in fin-de-siecle San Francisco where one online writer Stuart Mangrum (1999) reports it is the drink of the fashionable hipster. Websites have sprung up, maintained by eager amateurs, historians and companies who legally sell absinthe. Yet a cautionary tale exists; while tobacco continues its slow descent into social purgatory, drinks like absinthe (with its original wormwood content and thujone) are now marketed in Britain. Never banned in that country the late 90s have seen the reintroduction of a drink containing a neurotoxin. Reflecting on the 1922 letter to the British Medical Journal questioning the acceptance of harmful substances like alcohol it appears little has changed as we approach a new century. The call for harsher penalties and greater drug control remain a political issue with little if anything being learnt from historical instances of drug use and abuse. Demonisation is about political expedience not about public health. As William F. Buckley notes: " …the cost of the drugs war is many times more painful …" (Kuhn, Swartzwelder, Wilson 1998:265).

While human kind’s need to achieve altered states might be innate we have to ask at what cost? Greater control seems to create a greater need. While reviewing online contemporary information on absinthe and LSD it appeared that what truly needed to be satisfied was a desire for knowledge. Of course knowledge will not save every individual set on a course of self awareness or self destruction. While we can argue that it is better to experiment with all the facts than as some poor individual who in his absinthe quest over dosed on oil of wormwood, there is a necessity for regulation (Taggart 1998). Peace and love did not exist for everyone in the 60s and misuse was not the sole realm of the user as we have seen. The fault lies in creating this regulation through moral panic and turning young experimenters into felons (Chayet 1967).

Education can provide educated decisions on whether or not to use a particular drug but we also need to examine what is it within human psychology and biology that calls for escape. What are our deeper cravings? (Lewin 1998:10-18). The great 19^th century poet Charles Baudelaire understood the self-destruction drugs could bring. He realised too late himself that drugs and alcohol debased reality: