Albert Hofmann’s Long, Strange Trip with LSD
May 9th, 2008 – 7:48 AMOn April 19, 1943, a young Swiss chemist took a bike ride that he, and the world, would never forget. Peddling home from his job at Sandoz Laboratories in Basel, he “began to see radiant colors, bent space and collapsing dimensions,” writes Crispin Sartwell, in the Philadelphia Inquirer.
Such a scene would be unremarkable 25 years later at a Grateful Dead concert. But since it took place during World War II’s darkest days, you might reasonably ask: Who was this guy and what was he high on?
That April day, Albert Hofmann — who recently died at the ripe old age of 102 — inadvertently discovered what many came to view as the most magic and monstrous of psychedelic drugs—lysergic acid diethylamide, or LSD.
Most Americans may not know that Hofmann’s LSD had a long public life before its big splash in the 1960s. The New York Times recounts the highlights:
Scientists in the 1940s and 1950s, for instance, thought [LSD] might be the key to providing healing insight, a window on the soul, a way to transcend psychosis, mania, depression. Dr. Hofmann thought it could awaken a deeper awareness of mankind’s place in nature.
About 1,000 studies crowd the medical literature of that era, many of them sloppy, a few tantalizing and some disastrous for the people being ‘treated’ with an acid trip.
The C.I.A. tested the drug as an aid to interrogation, a kind of truth serum. The Army modeled the possibility of using it as a madness gas, of dosing the enemy to gain quick advantage.
LSD’s “madness”-inducing propensities set it apart from other recreational drugs of the psychedelic era. While marijuana, cocaine and amphetamines could enhance or depress moods or states of mind, LSD promised a giant shove into another world.
The Times recalls the good and bad aspects of such trips:
LSD, it turns out, is one of the most potent consciousness-altering substances known; an amount the size of a grain of salt can induce swirls of emotion, and shimmering clear senses in which the ordinary becomes extraordinary, luminous, meaningful.
It can infuse a person with creative energy or overwhelm the brain with a swarming feeling of loss and fear. Sometimes both: Even Dr. Hofmann had at least one bad trip, recalling in his autobiography, ‘Everything in the room spun around, and the familiar objects and pieces of furniture assumed grotesque, threatening forms.’
LSD differed from other illegal recreational drugs in another respect—it offered little chance of addiction. The substance was simply too much of a sensory avalanche to ingest with any regularity.
Hofmann had high hopes for LSD, and he wasn’t thinking of mere medicinal benefits. He saw something almost sacred in the drug, often referring to it as “medicine for the soul.” He believed that LSD was “a revelatory aid for contemplating and understanding what he saw as humanity’s oneness with nature,” according to the Times’ obituary.
As with all attempts to imitate the Sacred, however, this one fell short. Most of LSD’s adherents soon realized that the drug-induced explosion of color and euphoria—or its alternative vision of unspeakable darkness—was just a distraction from the real “medicine for the soul.” That comes from genuine spirituality, and from family, friends, mutual obligations, and other sweetnesses of ordinary life.




