Also included in set and setting are expectations, intentions, and wishes surrounding what the ‘ideal’ psychedelic experience looks like. Features of trips that people may want and chase include ego death, unity, insight, catharsis, entity encounters, and states of heightened bliss and joy. Psychedelic culture also sometimes involves the glorification of the ‘bad’ (or challenging) trip, which is seen to involve the deepest healing, shadow work, and the most insights and personal growth.
While psychedelic experiences can certainly involve all of these effects and benefits, might some memories of trips involve the insertion or exaggeration of one or more of these elements? If one thinks a psychedelic trip is only worthy – worth having or talking about – if it features one or more ‘ideal’ qualities, then could we be unconsciously inserting ego death into our experiences, or exaggerating the sense to which the ego dissolved?
In his book Deeper Learning with Psychedelics, the philosopher David Blacker has questioned whether the concept of ‘ego death’ makes sense: “Where were you during the alleged ego death? If you weren’t there then you didn’t experience it (because there was no ‘you’ present).” I wonder, then, whether the assumption of one’s ego dying during a psychedelic state is not just (potentially) a conceptual error, but also an outcome of retroactively imposing concepts on one’s trips due to cultural assumptions about psychedelics.
This can apply to all sorts of other psychedelic effects. The profundity of insights, the appearance or messages of entities, and other mystical and visionary qualities may be unconsciously embellished to sound (to oneself and others) more intense, deeper, clearer, and therapeutic. Moreover, while a psychedelic experience is rightfully called a ‘trip’ because it feels like a journey, it’s also possible that the way individuals construct the narrative of their experience from start to finish can still involve embellished elements that serve to create a more coherent, interesting, and exciting story.
Unlike cases of false memories, however, these other psychedelic effects only occur for the person having them; that person cannot seek external evidence or accounts from trusted witnesses to tell them whether their experience really was as mystical or insightful as they say it was. In this way, it can be a difficult task to separate ‘fact’ from ‘fiction’ in terms of recollecting psychedelic memories, that is, whether the lived moment-to-moment psychedelic experience matches the later recollection of it.
Yet perhaps it’s not worth spending time worrying about this (potential) divergence between so-called ‘fact’ and ‘fiction’: after all, if the embellishment of trips makes them feel more spiritual, cathartic, insightful, and therapeutic, could this not be framed in more positive terms, rather than as self-delusion? Believing an experience was more profound than it was may make it precisely that profound; this could be viewed as a form of integration that deepens and augments the experience in a way so that it becomes more meaningful and purposeful.
I can, however, imagine some pitfalls associated with this pro-embellishment view, such as deluding oneself about the extent to which therapeutic progress or personal growth has been achieved, or promoting a narrative around psychedelics that exaggerates its benefits or diminishes its risks (or inefficacy), which may mislead others.
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