“If only we could give him a straight dose of that ‘transcendent symbol’ and have it over with!”
A straight dose
In September 1944 the Grapevine printed an article by the writer Philip Wylie, an alcoholic who said he had quit on his own, with psychiatry and other scientific aids to keep him sober. Bill W. answered it in the same issue. What caught his attention most, he wrote, was Wylie’s mention of a spiritual experience “a la Jung,” seemingly brought on “by scientific psychological technique.” He half wished for one: a dose like that would spare members the long wait while a newcomer battered his way to an open mind. Still, he agreed with Wylie that it mattered little how the change came, so long as it worked, though most members, he thought, would find that way of living inadequate, and call humility and faith in God the stronger medicine.
Twelve years later something of another kind was on offer. In the mid-1950s two psychiatrists at a mental hospital in Saskatchewan, Humphry Osmond and Abram Hoffer, were giving alcoholics LSD, a drug so new that no law yet covered it. They had expected it to frighten them like an attack of the D.T.’s. Instead, Osmond said, it gave people pause “not on the grounds of how terrifying it was, but how illuminating it was.” Bill, he remembered, was “extremely unthrilled” at first. Then he heard of their results, and on August 29, 1956, in California, he took it himself. Mr. Anonymous, in Number One Man, tells those years, and Backing away from hell tells Father Ed Dowling’s part in them.
Bill didn’t claim the drug made the experience. As he saw it, it cut the ego down for a while, and “ego reduction makes the influx of God’s grace possible”; it would “never take the place” of the other ways of reducing the ego and keeping it reduced. But in June 1958 he wrote to the minister Sam Shoemaker that prayer, fasting, meditation and despair probably had chemical sides too, and if so, it mattered little whether a mystic result came by fasting or some other way. His secretary, Nell Wing, said his first session was “totally spiritual,” like the night at Towns Hospital that had freed him.
In January 1961 he wrote at last to Carl Jung, to thank him for what he had told Rowland H. decades before (Court of Last Resort tells it). Jung answered within a week. Rowland’s craving, he wrote, had been the equivalent, on a low level, of the spiritual thirst for wholeness, and “the only right and legitimate way to such an experience is, that it happens to you in reality,” to someone walking a path toward higher understanding. Alcohol in Latin is spiritus, he added, the same word as for the highest religious experience; hence the formula, spiritus contra spiritum.
Bill wrote back on March 20. On the letter’s third page, which AA’s biography of him leaves out and the writer Ian McCabe printed in 2015 from a copy a source he doesn’t name sent him, Bill told Jung that on his first trial of LSD his experience of twenty-five years before had been “re-enacted in wonderful splendor and conviction,” and asked for Jung’s comment. None came. In May Jung’s secretary wrote that he had read the letter and meant to answer, but had fallen ill. He died on June 6.
It’s March 1961, in New York. Bill W. is writing to the psychiatrist Carl Jung for the second time in two months.
Back in 1944 he had half wished that an agnostic newcomer could be given a straight dose of the spiritual by some scientific technique, though most members, he thought, would find that road inadequate. Since then he has found something he thinks might help: LSD, which two doctors in Canada have been giving to alcoholics. On his own first try, he tells Jung, his old experience at Towns Hospital came back in all its splendor.
Four years before, Jung had told an American psychologist that religion can’t be swallowed in the form of a pill. And in January he had written to Bill that such an experience has to happen to you in reality.
He never answers Bill’s question. By June he is dead.