The Center for Science Writings

“If Gang Shootings and Revenge Killings Were an Infectious Disease, How Would You Stop It?” Good question, posed in the pat-worthy cover story of the most recent New York Times Magazine. Author Alex Kotlowitz, a compassionate chronicler of Chicago’s underclass, reports on a program called CeaseFire. The program enlists former violent criminals to prevent urban violence by intervening with potential perpetrators—for example, relatives of those killed in a gang battle, robbery or drug transaction. The program was conceived by Gary Slutkin, an epidemiologist who spent a decade battling infectious diseases in Africa. Slotkin believes that, just as health workers can slow the spread of AIDS by changing the behavior of prostitutes and other major virus transmitters, so can CeaseFire’s “interveners” reduce inner-city killings by persuading gang members and others not to redress wrongs through violence. Slotkin hopes to test the concept in Iraq and other hotspots.

Kotlowitz’s article reminds me of two other, less upbeat takes on violence. One is an April 21 New Yorker article, “Vengeance Is Ours,” in which anthropologist Jared Diamond ruminates on the endless feuds afflicting tribes he has worked among in New Guinea. Diamond suggests that vengeance is such a deep-rooted and in some ways appropriate human instinct that we may have lost something by giving governments the exclusive right to mete out justice. Then there is the 1996 book Blood Rites, in which Barbara Ehrenreich describes war as a meme, or cultural virus, that keeps mutating into new forms and hence resisting all efforts at eradication. She warns her fellow antiwar activists that they “must prepare themselves to lose battle after battle and still fight on, to lose security, comfort, position, even life.” Not exactly the best way to inspire people to oppose war and militarism.

Here’s my no doubt absurdly Pollyanna-ish take on the Kotlowitz piece: It points out that cycles of violence are usually perpetuated by a relatively small group of individuals. That is true of war as well as street crime. In fact, this is what separates war from other scourges of humanity, such poverty, environmental devastation and infectious diseases: We could be rid of war right now, today, if a tiny fraction of the world’s population—from an 11-year-old, AK47-toting boy in the Congo to the President of the United States--simply decided to stop killing and giving the order to kill.

Albert Hofmann, the Sandoz chemist who accidentally discovered LSD’s remarkable psychotropic properties in 1943, died on Tuesday. Hofmann’s fateful discovery took place in Basel, Switzerland. I met Hofmann in Basel in November 1999 at “Worlds of Consciousness,” a gathering of the world's leading experts on altered states. Hofmann was the guest of honor. I described the Basel meeting, and my encounter with Hofmann, in “In the Birthplace of LSD,” a chapter in Rational Mysticism. Here is an excerpt:

Albert Hofmann’s Second Thoughts

Albert Hofmann has been for the most part a vigorous defender of his legacy. Although he turned 93 in 1999, the year of the “Worlds of Consciousness” conference in Basel, Hofmann was still avidly following the field he helped create. A stooped, white-haired man, in coat and tie, with a fierce, Churchillian mien, he attended virtually all the scientific sessions at the meeting.

When I approached him, he was reluctant to speak to me at first. In halting, thickly accented English, he explained that after more than half a century he was weary of answering questions about LSD. But one day we spoke during the lunch break, and Hofmann energetically defended his “problem child.” Timothy Leary, whom Hofmann had met several times, was partly to blame for LSD acquiring such a bad reputation. “I had this discussion with him. I said, ‘Oh, you should not tell everybody, even the children, “Take LSD! Take LSD!”’” LSD is too powerful for young people, including teenagers, Hofmann said. “They are still in growth, and it is a very dangerous stage.”

LSD is “very, very potent,” Hofmann acknowledged, “and everything that is potent is dangerous.” If used improperly, LSD “can hurt you, it can disturb you, it can make you crazy.” But Hofmann was outraged that scientists and psychiatrists are still prohibited from investigating LSD and prescribing it in a safe, controlled fashion. “That is nonsense! Absolute nonsense! I don't want to promote absolute freedom,” Hofmann said. “But the medical professions should have access to it.”

Although it can harm people by provoking reckless or suicidal behavior, LSD is neither toxic nor addictive, Hofmann said; it has never killed anyone by overdose. Used with respect, it has enormous potential as a tool for investigating human consciousness and as an adjunct for psychotherapy. Psychedelics can also stimulate the “inborn faculty of visionary experience” that we all possess as children but lose as we mature. Hofmann hoped that in the future people would be able to take psychedelic drugs in “meditation centers” to awaken their religious awe.

Hofmann saw no incompatibility between the scientific and spiritual outlooks. “They are not contradictory; they are complementary.” Reality, he said, has both material and spiritual aspects; science addresses the material aspect and religion the spiritual aspect. Conflict occurs when the scientist insists that the world is entirely material, or, conversely when a religious person insists that the material realm is an illusion, and only spirit matters. At their best, both religion and science can help us appreciate “how wonderful creation is,” Hofmann said. “We rarely see it! We forget it!”

I asked Hofmann if he believes in God, or some form of intelligence or plan underlying reality. “I am absolutely convinced,” he replied, “by feeling and by knowledge–my knowledge as a natural scientist–that there must be a creative spirit, an intelligence, which is the reason for what we have.” Everything that exists, Hofmann said, pounding the table between us with his fist, is a manifestation of this plan. “It is impossible to have this without a plan,” he insisted. “Otherwise you have only material, material, material!”

Hofmann has had frightening psychedelic experiences, including the early stages of his first trip in 1943, but they invariably yielded to more positive emotions. Hofmann’s worst trip occurred under the influence of psilocybin, when he hallucinated that he was in a ghost town deep inside the earth. “Nobody was there. I had the feeling of absolute loneliness, absolute loneliness. A terrible feeling!” When he emerged from this nightmare and found himself with his companions again, he felt ecstatic. “I had feeling of being reborn! To see now again! And see what wonderful life we have here!” The gruff old man looked past me, his eyes gleaming, as if reliving that moment again.

Hofmann has asserted that hellish trips have as much to teach us as heavenly ones. “Only when we are conversant with both heaven and hell is our life full and rich,” he once wrote. “And it is fuller and richer the more deeply we experience both.” But Hofmann also confessed misgivings about psychedelics’ destructive power. He noted that some of the young LSD enthusiasts who had appeared at his doorstep over the years were obviously deeply disturbed.

Writing to a friend in 1961, Hofmann divulged deep misgivings about having brought LSD and psilocybin into the world. He feared that these and other psychedelics might “represent a forbidden transgression of limits.” He compared his discoveries to the discovery of nuclear fission; just as nuclear fission threatens our fundamental physical integrity, so do psychedelics “attack the spiritual center of the personality, the self.”

Hofmann spelled out what he felt were the most disturbing metaphysical implications of LSD. The fact that minute amounts of a chemical can have such profound effects on our perceptions, thoughts, and beliefs suggests that free will, which supposedly gives us the power to shape our destiny, might be an illusion; moreover, our deepest spiritual convictions may be nothing more than fluctuations in brain chemistry. To emphasize this point, Hofmann quoted from an essay he had recently read: “God is a substance, a drug!”

Break Through is a book filled with big ideas and expansive themes, sweeping broadly across all aspects of global warming, from the political to the philosophical and the scientific to the sociological. All of this is done to convince us of the validity of Nordhaus and Shellenberger's claim that the classic approach of environmentalists, namely imposing limits on pollution and development, is ineffective in tackling the massive and multifaceted problem of global warming. Frightening people with apocalyptic climate change scenarios, the authors argue, does not yield positive results and only hurts prospects for solving global warming. Instead, they advocate proactive investment in green technologies and the development of clean energy sources.

The book is roughly divided into two halves; the first deals with classic environmentalism, its rise, successes, and shortcomings, while the second offers a new type of politics based on a unity and optimism that would unleash the power of human ingenuity and innovation to combat climate change. Somewhat ironically, I think Break Through is most effective when it's being negative, criticizing and pointing out the foibles of not only traditional environmentalism, but liberalism as a whole. Those jumping the gun should take note that Nordhaus and Shellenberger are not conservatives seeking to undermine liberal ideas and values, but instead are astute observers who've assessed the strategies of traditional liberalism to be no longer effective in today's postindustrial world.

One of the authors' most important criticisms of environmental movement is that environmental activists believe showing scientific facts and projections of gloomy ecological apocalypses is enough to persuade people to start clamoring for change. In fact, such methods tend to produce the opposite effect. More people view environmentalists as extremists than ten years ago, and the environment consistently ranks lowest on people's list of priorities, well behind things like the economy, health care, and national security. Compounding this problem is an element of psychology called mortality salience, or terror management theory. Terror management theory has demonstrated that when a person is exposed to words or images that evoke feelings about his or her own mortality, that person will tend to cling to their established world view even more arduously and be less receptive to change than before. Equating global warming to Armageddon, in this context, would make people instinctively eschew new ideas and proposals.

The other important point Nordhaus and Shellenberger make is that contrary to assertions by environmentalists, ecological concern is a fulfillment value, not a survival value. The environmental movements born in the 1960s stemmed from rising economic prosperity. Citizens did not have to worry about survival, so they were able to turn their attention to quality of life issues like pollution. But while Americans today are generally wealthier than they used to be, they are also less secure about their economic future. This has caused a return to survival values, including patriotism, religion, and discrimination, and the quest to be one better than your neighbor. Environmentalists and liberals have failed to take these factors into account in their approach.

Where I think the book starts to falter is when the authors attempt to put a spin on history, accusing author and evolutionary biologist Jared Diamond of baseless fear mongering in his book Collapse. They criticize Diamond for not being empathetic to the social values and circumstances that affected the citizens of defunct civilizations. But if these societies really did collapse because of ecological and economic circumstances, isn't it important to learn about them and take away valuable lessons? At worst, we'd still glean something about how resources were used and consumed in the past, and how they affect the stability of civilizations. Instead, Nordhaus and Shellenberger want to focus more on human accomplishments, and feel proud that we've survived those collapses and come this far. That might work as a feel-good propaganda tool, but in no way should it come at the expense of understanding history as accurately as possible.

The notion of increased optimism and social fulfillment is central to the "politics of possibility" the authors describe in the second half of their book. They argue that environmental movements need to address the economic and social needs of ordinary citizens in order to be effective, citing the example of mega churches to show that conservative organizations have been so successful because they satisfy basic social needs.

Consequently, Nordhaus and Shellenberger recommend rallying people by casting the global warming problem as an Apollo type of challenge. This would require governments to encourage investment in green technologies and solutions, thus creating more jobs and expanding economic stability while harnessing instincts like patriotism and sense of community. This seems like a great idea on the surface. But when you get down to the details, it seems less and less viable.

Apollo appealed to a lot of people for reasons that don't apply to global warming. First, Sputnik and the fear it produced launched a fierce determination to not be outdone by the hated Soviet Union. The current geopolitical situation does not inspire the same sentiments since China and India are becoming even worse polluters than the US. Second, Kennedy's death turned Apollo into tribute to Kennedy himself, and completing the task of putting a man on the moon became a way of achieving Kennedy's dream. Finally, putting a man on the moon is something you can easily depict as a great human achievement. We've always stared up at the Moon in awe while being confined to the earth. Putting a man on the moon is an accomplishment that naturally transcends countries and civilizations and evokes archetypal feelings that we've been harboring for tens of thousands of years.

Solving global warming does not have that same appeal. It's a problem so magnificent that it's difficult to consolidate into one coherent image. Technically, it's also a far more complex and complicated problem than the Apollo mission ever was. It's multifaceted, with unseen linkages and unpredictable variables on larger-than-life scales. Fixing global warming isn't simply a case of putting together a NASA-type organization and flooding it with brilliant minds and cash. It requires political, economic, and social factors to work in concert throughout the globe. That doesn't seem likely considering that concepts of nationalism, patriotism, and religiosity are still strong and poverty is increasing in third world countries.

Massive investment is also a very dubious proposition nowadays. Scandals with companies like KBR and Halliburton have demonstrated that giving large sums of money to contractors won't necessarily produce quality solutions, if it produces anything at all. Our political system has failed to prosecute and deal with this type of negligence, malfeasance, and criminal behavior. And it seems to be getting worse.

Finally, as Bolivian President Evo Morales expressed in a recent UN forum on the effects of climate change on indigenous peoples, global warming will hit poor countries a lot harder than wealthy ones. In fact, rich countries acting in the name of stopping global warming have actually exacerbated the problem. Investment in biofuels has diverted resources and farmland away from producing food grains, contributing to the global food crisis. The biofuel rush has also encouraged deforestation, which worsens global warming by reducing the number of trees available that could absorb the CO2 in the air.

How would we make sure that an Apollo-style mission wouldn't commit similarly fatal mistakes?

My last point is that if what Nordhaus and Shellenberger assert about Americans is true (that right now we are more concerned with material gains and social status due to economic insecurity), then convincing the American people to partake in something that will mainly benefit people in poor countries frankly seems improbable. It'd be easier to convince/force American corporations and famers to sell food to poor nations at a lower cost to alleviate the crisis at hand, but I don't see that happening either. The current political and economic system is unable to foster a new type of politics without a massive overhaul. Does anyone seriously think that will happen?

I could keep going on about the subtleties, intricacies, and nuances in Break Through and discussing them to death but I'm going to stop here. I think Break Through is a very important book, perhaps one of the most important to come out in recent years because it forces us, as people, as human beings, to take a hard look at the situation we're in and realize it's way more complicated than we convince ourselves it is in the course of our daily lives. There are looming philosophical, political, and social questions that need to be addressed, and Break Through opens up the floor for debate. Nordhaus and Shellenberger have done an excellent job in characterizing the failure of liberal politics over the last twenty to thirty years, and while their proposed solutions to global warming appear somewhat naïve, they offer a chance for substantive political and economic discussion. And that, in itself, is worthy of admiration and acclaim, in addition to our Green Book Award.