In this interview, Sam Woolfe talks about growing up in north London, Pokémon, an early desire to be an archeologist, the God Delusion, the Tractatus, Korn, teenage drinking, Marilyn Manson, his emo phase, Evil Dead 2, going to Durham to study philosophy, taking classes with E.J. Lowe, developing an interest in philosophy of psychiatry, going vegan, not pursuing a grad degree in philosophy, blogging, backpacking around the world, freelancing in the ChatGPT era, writing about philosophy for the public without a PhD, what Sam Harris and Saul Kripke have in common, imposter syndrome and overconfidence, personality and philosophy, the philosophical and therapeutic significance of mescaline, mysticism, his forthcoming book, Altered Perspectives: Critical Essays on Psychedelic Consciousness, reducetarian approaches to animal ethics, Martin Buber, the films of Chantal Akerman and the Dardenne brothers, Philip Goff on twitter, and his last meal…
[5/23/2024]
So, where did you grow up? What did your parents do for a living?
I grew up in north London, in a quiet and leafy neighbourhood. My mum is a reflexologist and my dad is a property surveyor; they're both self-employed and have always worked hard, especially earlier in their careers, and they ended up doing well for themselves, gaining good reputations for what they do. I always looked up to that idea of working for yourself, and not having a boss (a path I eventually followed myself). I would describe my upbringing as pretty middle-class.
Religious upbringing?
It wasn't a religious household, but my background is Jewish. I could describe my upbringing, and perhaps even my identity, as Jew-ish. I had a bar mitzvah (reluctantly I should say, although the gifts I later got were good compensation for having to study for it). This didn't really feel like a coming-of-age ritual for me, as it's meant to be, and I resonate with Ram Dass' description of his bar mitzvah, as something where you go through the motions, as something you're meant to do as a Jewish boy, but it had no sense of sacredness or strong meaning attached to it. I didn't have the sense of entering manhood (or at least a different stage of life or a shift in identity) after it. I also went to synagogue on other occasions: for other bar mitzvahs/bat mitzvahs, weddings, holidays, and as a child we did celebrate Chanukah and Passover, but not seriously or consistently; it felt more cultural and fun than spiritually meaningful to me. So neither my parents nor I were religious, but a lot of my friends at primary school were Jewish and the neighbourhood I grew up in was quite Jewish (it's close to Kosher shops and not far from Golders Green, which is also known as 'little Israel' or 'little Tel Aviv').
What were you into as a kid?
As a kid, I was mainly interested in whatever was trendy at that time, so I had different phases of what I was into, like any kid growing up in the 90s: Power Rangers, Pogs, Tamigotchi, GoGo's Crazy Bones, Pokemon.
What did you want to be when you grew up?
I remember in school, I can't remember what age exactly, maybe around 7, we had to write down what we wanted to be when we were older. I put down 'archaeologist'. I'm not sure why exactly. I think I just liked the idea of digging in the dirt and finding something there.
Same. Favorite classes?
My favourite classes when I got to Sixth Form and did A-Levels (in the UK, that's ages 16-18) were Philosophy and English Literature, more so philosophy because of the topics we were studying. Because both were based around essay writing, I think that's when I discovered I was good at something for the first time. I ended up doing better in English Literature than in Philosophy, but it was the latter that kept my interest, so that's what I chose to study at university.
Extracurriculars?
Outside of school, I was an avid reader. The first serious book I decided to read (not because I had to for school) was Richard Dawkins' The God Delusion, and that pretty much landed me in the staunch atheist and anti-religion camp, but it also got me into reading generally. After that, I read books on a range of subjects: evolutionary biology, religion, physics, philosophy, spirituality, history, and different types of fiction. Some of the first philosophy texts I read (outside school) were Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil and Wittgenstein's Tractatus (the latter of which was probably a bit too heavy and inscrutable at that age, although I thought I grasped some of it).
Teenage shenanigans?
Fun for me as a teenager pretty much involved getting drunk with friends and going to gigs.
I sometimes got into trouble at school. I remember starting Secondary School (at around 11), and during class once I jumped out the window (it wasn't very high), then came back into class and did the same thing again. It was an all boys' school and there was a lot of behaviour like that. I also got suspended because a group of us got drunk in school; some of us got found out (including myself), so a friend and I had to go into school, not to attend classes but to help out the groundsmen with some tasks. To be honest, a lot of the trouble (as well as fun) I got into involved drinking; nothing serious happened, but it involved stuff like being in parks late at night and getting kicked out by police or police raiding a house party that got out of hand.
How were you different from, or similar to, your friends and family?
I was quieter than my other friends. My dad is more on the quiet side too, whereas my mum is much more extroverted. But I do share both sides of them; I think I have my mum's silly sense of humour. My younger brother is similar to me in some ways: pretty chill, although a bit on the cheekier side, and we differ in terms of our interests.
World events that informed your world view?
I don't remember if world events featured large in my life growing up. But I do have a distinct memory of being in Primary School when the attack on the Twin Towers occurred. I didn't really comprehend the magnitude of what had happened, but I do remember adults being very shocked when the news broke. There was a real commotion about it.
Music?
From about age 11, I started listening to rock and metal music. The first album I ever bought was Korn's second album, Life is Peachy. I distinctly remember being in a music store with my mum, picking out the album and asking if I could get it. She asked an employee whether she thought it would be suitable for me, and he assured her the 'Parental Advisory Explicit Content' label was nothing to worry about. So I think now, God bless that guy. I don't know if he actually listened to the album, but it's one of those albums (like Korn's first album) where 'explicit content' is far from an exaggeration. After that, I got heavily into Marilyn Manson, like obsessed with his music. I got all his albums, his autobiography and biography, T-shirts, posters. So I had a quasi-goth phase (someone in the year above me at Secondary School called me 'micro goth'). I wore baggy black goth trousers and big goth boots at one point (but not for long). My goth/grunger phase eventually morphed more into an emo/scene kid phase, where I wore skinny jeans, New Era hats, Nike Dunk High Tops, and (embarrassingly) straightened my hair. I was listening to the classic emo bands at the time (My Chemical Romance, Taking Back Sunday, Hawthorne Heights, Funeral for a Friend, The Used, Alexisonfire, Silverstein, Finch, From First to Last) and then eventually got into heavier music like deathcore (bands like Bring Me The Horizon, Suicide Silence, Whitechapel, Carnifex,, Despised Icon, All Shall Perish). I definitely feel a lot more nostalgia (and appreciation) for the emo bands than the deathcore ones. It was definitely fun (and also cringeworthy, thinking about the MySpace days) being part of the emo/scene kid subculture in London.
I was way too into Manson for too long. Movies?
I was into horror films as a teenager. The Evil Dead was my all-time favourite horror film. I loved the low-budget feel, over-the-top gore, and the very Sam Raimi stylistic elements. I really enjoyed Evil Dead 2 as well for cranking up the camp, cheesy lines, and dark comedy. The only horror film that disturbed me was The Exorcist, which I watched when I was too young I think (pre-teenager). I watched it again when I was a bit older and found it was pretty silly and almost like a parody of my memory of watching it the first time. And then I watched it a third time a couple of years ago and felt it was a brilliant film, masterfully created and well deserving of its title as one of the greatest horrors ever made. As a kid, I also bought a collection of the Nightmare on Elm Street films and enjoyed other horrors like Halloween, The Omen, and The Blair Witch Project. Space Jam stands out to me as a film I watched as a kid.
Who doesn’t like Evil Dead? TV?
Growing up, I loved SpongeBob SquarePants, and probably felt that encapsulated my humour a lot at the time. I also spent a lot of time watching The Simpsons and Futurama.
College?
I applied to 5 different universities to study philosophy, which I basically picked purely for academic rankings, generally and for philosophy specifically (rather than other factors like location, city, and how fun the student life was meant to be): Cambridge, Bristol, Durham, Edinburgh, and St Andrews. I didn't get into Cambridge so accepted an offer for my second choice (Durham).
Favorite classes? Inspirational teachers?
At university, my favourite classes were applied ethics and philosophy of psychiatry. I was actually lucky enough to have logic classes with E.J. Lowe, and had dinner with him at my college, Castle College, which he belonged to. Unfortunately, I was terrible at logic and it didn’t appeal to me that much. But for the philosophy of psychiatry classes, which I did take an interest in, I had Matthew Ratcliffe as a lecturer, who has made some important and fascinating contributions to the phenomenology of mental distress (such as depression). One of my favourite papers I got to write, as part of that module, was comparing religious experiences with psychotic episodes, and looking at the similarities and differences. We also explored the phenomenology of depression, which I found very helpful, having experienced depression myself. It was probably the first time I had read so many well-described, first-hand accounts of the experience. The animal ethics aspect of applied ethics was personally very influential for me. We read Peter Singer’s essay ‘All Animals Are Equal’, and I was entirely convinced of the reasoning and moral arguments for abandoning meat. So I did. I went vegetarian for a few months, and then – upon watching footage of dairy and egg factory farms, and realising Singer’s arguments applied equally to these industries – I went vegan. I’ve been vegan for 14 years now, and underlying the lifestyle is the kind of reasoning and ethical motives I learnt about at uni (I may not be a strict utilitarian like Singer but I still appreciate his consequentialist arguments).
Hurdles?
Obstacles were definitely mental health-related. I struggled with depression during the initial months of my first year. The experience of being in a new city, away from friends and family, felt quite isolating when going through those difficulties. Also, Durham was a very small city compared to London, and I found the culture or cliques at the university quite hard to relate to: there was a laddy culture – but the posh version of that, maybe quite homogenous in the sense that I struggled to meet people with similar interests, attitudes, and taste in music. I did make friends though and had a consistent social group. If I could go back, I’d probably drink less, smoke weed less often, and attend more of my lectures and seminars (rather than just rely on online materials and textbooks). It’s kind of crazy to think that I accrued all that student debt, which went to classes I was often absent from.
High points?
Highlights were probably the parties, some of the gigs and nights out (including in Newcastle, which was far better for music), the independence, and developing my writing more with the essay writing I had to do.
How did your understanding of philosophy change?
My understanding of philosophy developed based on the range of subjects covered, being introduced to subdisciplines like medical ethics, philosophy of psychiatry, and philosophy of science. New texts introduced me to problems in philosophy I hadn’t considered: I remember reading, for instance, parts of Derek Parfit’s classic Reasons and Persons, and being introduced to discussions surrounding personal identity. The essay writing, and feedback from professors, also helped me to see flaws in reasoning and argumentation, and so become better at both, as well as structuring essays.
Did you consider doing anything else?
I did an elective module in anthropology in my first year, which I think I found equally as fascinating as philosophy, and did fairly well with the essays and exams. I could imagine studying that subject again. It also intersects with philosophy in many ways. I’d probably lean more towards social and cultural anthropology than the biological side, but I’m also interested in evolutionary perspectives on human experience and behaviour, so I can imagine getting really into that aspect too. Currently, I’m fascinated by discussions surrounding animism, shamanism, perspectivism, and the ontological turn.
What did your parents make of your decision to study philosophy?
I don’t know if my parents said much about my decision to study philosophy, to be honest. Fortunately, they weren’t the kind of Jewish parents who had a strong wish for me to study medicine, law, or some other subject associated with high status or high earnings (thanks mum and dad!). So it did feel like I was pretty much free to make up my own mind with that kind of stuff – what I studied, and what kind of work I wanted to pursue.
Philosophical virtues and vices?
My strengths, academically, were writing skills – the professors would often say the essays were written well. The weaknesses would be stuff like not adequately backing up an argument (leaving it prone to criticism). I became better at philosophy by trying to consider more counterarguments, steel man counterarguments, take into account fallacies, think more critically, rely on evidence, and temper my conclusions rather than make strong conclusions based on my personal biases (while also being comfortable expressing my own views). I also benefited from better understanding the real-life implications of philosophy (in applied ethics, e.g. biomedical ethics, environmental ethics, animal rights) and having opportunities to challenge my assumptions (about consciousness, the self, science, and fundamental reality).
What was the plan after college?
I didn’t have any life goals, to be honest, none that I can remember at the time. I was pretty much just focused on socialising and reading. I also had no plan after my degree while I was studying. I didn’t know what path to take, so I considered continuing in academia, just as it felt like something productive or worthwhile I could do. My memory of the timeline is a bit hazy (of what came first), but I did apply to study Global Ethics & Human Values MA at King’s College London after graduating. I got accepted but decided not to go ahead (I guess I didn’t feel a massive draw to it; it seemed like I would be getting myself into more debt for no reason since I didn’t see a path I wanted to take, or could imagine taking, after completing the MA). I ended up doing odd jobs soon after graduating. I remember applying for an MA again (the same or a similar one at King’s), got accepted, but ultimately decided again it wasn’t for me. I did continue writing, though. I created a blog in 2012 where I wrote about philosophy, ethics, religion, psychedelics, and politics (the blog is still active to this day, although it’s certainly evolved beyond the basic Blogspot version I used to have). I also contributed articles voluntarily to a political site (it was libertarian-leaning, which I felt drawn to at the time, although I covered a range of subjects, not always with a libertarian bent). At that time, I was pretty active with writing, especially for my blog, and felt motivated to keep doing it. I eventually started to gain traffic, readers, comments, shares, Google search results – all of which kept up my drive.
First gig after college?
My first paid job was at a call centre – making the most of my philosophy degree! – but the experience left a sour taste in my mouth. I was an ‘appointment booker’, cold calling people about their life insurance, trying to get them to speak to an insurance broker. I did admin for a few companies, and an internship as a runner for the BBC’s science programme Dara O Briain’s Science Club. That was pretty fun: I got to help the running of the show, including doing research that was used on the programme, and seeing what went into making it. I also got to meet Michio Kaku and Max Tegmark (well, I basically just told Kaku I was a fan of his books and asked for a photo, and I asked Tegmark if I could get him anything to drink). I also did some trips abroad on my own after university. The first was a group tour of Vietnam and Cambodia (this trip really gave me the travel bug, although I wasn’t the biggest fan of the organised aspect of it; I really wanted to go off my own, and was typically the only one who did when we had free days). After that, I travelled around southern Mexico on my own for a month. I stayed in private accommodation (I felt too averse to the idea of hostels at the time), so it felt lonelier than the Southeast Asia trip. But I still made some connections with locals and fellow travellers, and loved everything about the country, especially the archaeological sites. It remains my favourite country to this day. After that, I got my first ‘proper’ job, working full-time as a news researcher. This basically involved helping to plan the news calendar used by journalists, tracking all the important events, reports, government meetings, etc. that would be occurring in the year ahead.
Backpacking life lessons?
There were a lot of lessons learned from backpacking in my 20s. I learned the advantages of being more open and receptive to strangers, and became enthusiastic about meeting people from all kinds of cultural backgrounds and ways of life. I brought that attitude back with me. I do find myself becoming more closed off once back in London and the UK, I think for reasons of familiarity, culture, and city life, but I’ve still sought to meet new people through Meetup events. When solo backpacking, the only options are to do initiate conversations with strangers (or being open to them) or spend the whole time alone. So, it does kind of force a new social confidence. It’s like exposure therapy for social anxiety in many ways.
One important lesson was how culturally specific the UK was: seeing both the positive and negatives – what I liked and disliked – in a way that was newly stark and apparent. I came to appreciate British humour a whole lot more, and the city of London a lot more as well, feeling grateful for how global it is, and how it is one of the few truly global cities in the world. Of course, I appreciated lots about others cities and countries I visited, but backpacking did also help to highlight what London and the UK has to offer. Going away is a way of seeing what makes home ‘home’. Cultural negatives about the UK I noticed, however, were the constant, heavy drinking, and the reliance on alcohol for socialising. Others would include British cynicism (as a general attitude, not as a form of humour, which I do like and indulge in), and also things like constant small talk/moaning about the weather, the ‘crabs in a bucket’ mentality, and often a lack of emotional openness and directness.
If I were to offer a more philosophical angle on backpacking, I can relate to a lot of what the Stoic philosophers had to say about travel, viewing the urge to ‘get away’ as often escapist. Travelling is certainly not a way to fix personal problems or achieve lasting peace of mind. I think later in my 20s, the urge to go backpacking had more of that escapist tendency; I’d enjoy the trips less because I’d be carrying mental baggage with me, or even if I didn’t, when I returned, I’d lose the carefree, confident self I gained when I was abroad. I initially saw solo backpacking as great for self-development, which it was in many ways, but I think it was naïve to see it as a solution to negative feelings. So, as Seneca and Epictetus advise, I try to question my motivation to travel: whether it’s coming from a wish to escape myself (which is doomed to fail) or a healthier motive like the need to rest, novelty seeking, knowledge seeking, or to have awe-inspiring experiences in nature. What I think the Stoics missed was how some people have higher novelty-seeking needs than others, and many psychologists are starting to see novelty as a basic psychological need. So I’m not convinced by the idea that leading a virtuous life at home and never travelling would be as fulfilling – for many people – as punctuating that same life with lots of travel.
The hardest lesson of backpacking is probably that the positive feelings I felt on one trip can’t be replicated, no matter how much I’d like that to be otherwise. I was a different person in my mid 20s. I was open to, and enthusiastic about, staying in hostels and hanging around other backpackers all the time. I had more energy, I felt more carefree, I didn’t mind the lack of privacy in dorms or being sleep deprived. Maybe I’m a bit more jaded now, but I’m less interested in meeting other backpackers (and having those same conversations), and over time, I found staying in dorms more irritating than enjoyable.
I’ve learned to feel grateful for the solo travelling I did, especially a round-the-world trip, which gave me a lot of great memories, as well as a newfound appreciation for nature and different cultures. I’ve also come to see how lucky having those opportunities were; it’s a privilege most people in the world don’t have.
If you could go back in time, give yourself advice, what would it be?
If I could go back in time, I’d probably give my self more self-compassion when I was struggling, and advise myself to reach out for help when I needed it the most, rather than isolate myself.
You freelance now. How did you get into freelancing?
I got into freelancing after my solo round-the-world trip. I had previously done office jobs, the last one as a news and politics researcher. I saved for a year to go backpacking. When I got back, and was at my parents’ place again, aged 25, I just started looking for office jobs again. I accepted a job offer that I knew deep down I would dislike. My gut instinct was correct. I stuck it out for a few weeks and then quit. I questioned whether that was hasty and irresponsible, but in hindsight, it was the right thing to do (but better would’ve been to trust my gut instinct in the first place). So I started applying for jobs again. I saw a freelance writing opportunity at a left-leaning UK news site. I applied and didn’t think much of it. But I had an interview and then got the job. It was low-paid, but it was still the first time I ever got paid to write. That gave me the motivation to apply to other freelancing writing roles, which again were low-paid, but for the first time, I felt motivated to put all my effort into a job. I wanted to make this work as a career. I wrote as much as I could for a few clients. In addition to the news site, I was writing blog posts for a graduate recruitment agency (who also got my work published on bigger career-related sites) and a startup. I continued to put in the hours, build my portfolio, get better (and higher-paying) clients, and eventually move closer towards the niche that I’m in now (psychedelics and mental health).
How’s business?
Strangely enough, the past year has been the quietest period of freelancing for me, despite having done it for 8 years. So it has been tough. The few years before that had been great in terms of the amount of work and earnings. I earned far more in certain months than I ever did in any other job. Because my rates had steadily increased over those 8 years, a single assignment (taking 3–4 hours) would be a decent day’s wages. In the past year, though, I’ve had some work, but not enough. I’ve been living off those earnings plus what I had saved from the previous good years of freelancing. There may be different reasons for this long dip in work (despite doing what I normally do, and more, to get new clients). AI (ChatGPT) is a factor, and the economic situation in the US (where most of my clients tend to be) could be a reason too, which I imagine has led to marketing departments being cut. In my niche (psychedelic therapy), it appears the ‘hype bubble’ has been burst. Several companies have either gone bust, seen a fall in market value, been receiving less funding, or have merged with other companies. Some companies I used to write for simply didn’t have the budget to keep me on as a writer. But the industry will continue to grow, and it has been following changes to psychedelic drug policy (which will also continue around the world). So fingers cross that will lead to some more work! I did get a new gig recently, which has given me some much-needed hope and optimism.
COVID 19…how’d you deal?
The best parts of lockdown were discovering new places to walk and watching lots of films (which got me much more into film in general). I’ve since kept up that cinephilia. The worst parts of lockdown were (as I’m sure it was for many others) mental heath-related: isolation, boredom, anxiety, and just uneasiness and uncertainty when things were opening up again. I do kind of miss the lockdown lifestyle in some ways, but I’m glad it’s in the past; I see it as a time when a lot of people were really (and understandably) worried, which I think helped explain the antagonism between so many people (both online and in person).
You don’t have a PhD. Do you feel qualified to write about philosophy publicly?
I think people without PhDs can contribute meaningfully to philosophy. But of course, it makes sense that those with PhDs will be the ones more likely to contribute original theses and ideas since that’s what they’re focused on. Nonetheless, there are some interesting autodidactic philosophers out there, and some of the most famous in the history of philosophy were self-taught, although it would be unfair to compare an autodidactic philosopher today with those of the past since the educational contexts are very different. But I have appreciated reading philosophical writings of those without PhDs (who may have an MA, a BA, or no academic background specifically in philosophy). I won’t lie, though, there have been times when I had imposter syndrome: who am I to write about philosophy with only a BA in the subject? But I suppose arguments and writing should be taken on their own merits. A PhD grants a depth of skill and knowledge that make one better at philosophical writing, but it is not necessary for critical thinking, making good arguments, or having a strong interest in philosophy. There might also be a small minority of people without PhDs who, through their own reading and abilities, present more original and convincing arguments than those with them (I don’t by any means mean to include myself here!). Someone who comes to mind is Saul Kripke, who only gained a BA in philosophy but who remains one of the most important philosophers of the 20th century.
I understand, however, that many of those writing on philosophy without PhDs may be defending positions without necessarily presenting original arguments (I’ve heard this criticism made of Sam Harris, who self-avowedly doesn’t engage much with current discourse in academic philosophy, which I think is misguided when seriously defending or critiquing a philosophical position. Despite this, Harris is still referred to as a philosopher and has said he is happy to describe himself this way as well). Nonetheless, I still do think people without PhDs can contribute to the practical value of philosophy. Jules Evans, for instance, didn’t gain a PhD in philosophy but has produced some valuable work on Stoicism. Those without PhDs can usefully communicate philosophical ideas to the public, and they can also connect distinct philosophical ideas in unique, interesting, and helpful ways, as well as apply these ideas to a range of other ideas and issues in the world. Whether you, someone else, or the individual in question wants to apply the label ‘philosopher’ to them is another matter. I personally reserve that term for anyone who is a professional philosopher – someone who has gained a PhD in philosophy or who makes their living in the discipline of philosophy. Still, people can contribute to philosophy without being an expert in a highly specific area of it or getting paid to do it.
I probably worry more about imposter syndrome than overconfidence. But I try to keep the latter in mind as well – especially when strongly defending a position. I have to question how justified I am in doing so. How many of the counterarguments have I been exposed to? Have I sufficiently appreciated those counterarguments, i.e. have I avoided strawmaning them and instead tried to steelman them? Have I made any biased, illogical, or weakly supported points? To be honest, the older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve relaxed my grip on what used to be fundamental (and ostensibly common sense) assumptions. I tried to stay humble by recognising my own ignorance. Part of this ignorance is individual and (fortunately) correctable. I can read more. I can reflect more. I can engage more with counterarguments and become more comfortable with the idea of being wrong or being agnostic about something. But part of this ignorance is collective too: a recognition of how we view things from an unavoidable human and emotional perspective, and a very limited perspective in terms of space, time, technology, and understanding. I believe critical thinking, reason, evidence, and philosophical argument can (and should) help us rationally adjust our beliefs. At the same time, I’m sympathetic to the notion expressed by William James and Nietzsche that philosophical positions we hold reflect our personality more than our rationality, and arguments we end up making are just post-hoc rationalisations for what we like to believe based on who we are as people. This is all to say that I think we can have strong reasons for believing something (in a Bayesian sense), but I’m very suspicious of certainty and dogma (in myself and others). I strongly value epistemic humility. It seems like the only reasonable approach to take.
What pieces have you been most proud of?
Off the top of my head, the pieces I found most interesting to write, and which I’ve been most proud of, were my article ‘Can Philosophy Harm Your Mental Health?’ (a shorter version of which was published by the Institute of Art and Ideas, with the title ‘Is your worldview making you depressed?’), an analysis of Peter Wessel Zapffe’s essay ‘The Last Messiah’ for the Partially Examined Life blog, and a review of Matthew Strohl’s book Why It’s OK to Love Bad Movies for the online film journal Senses of Cinema.
What are you working on now?
I’m currently working on my second book, which is about ‘secular ecstasy’, or how one with a secular, naturalistic, or physicalist worldview can meaningfully experience, and meaningfully make sense of, mystical experiences (which may feature phenomena like the ‘divine’, the ‘sacred’, and encounters with spirits and entities). In some ways, this is a continuation of my forthcoming book, Altered Perspectives: Critical Essays on Psychedelic Consciousness, which will be published on 10th December (it’s available for preorder). My first book is a collection of quite distinct essays, about a particular aspect of the psychedelic experience, and mostly focused on the philosophy of psychedelics (or the application of certain subdisciplines in philosophy to psychedelic experiences). However, some essays draw more on other disciplines, such as psychology and anthropology. The current book I’m working on is a chance for me to address what I feel I left out from the first, but I also hope it will reflect a deeper, more nuanced, and more balanced discussion of issues in metaphysics, philosophy of mind, and the philosophy of mysticism that I touched on in the first book. This new book is very much more focused on the philosophy of mysticism (i.e. naturalising mystical experiences), and while I draw heavily on psychedelic research (since I’m familiar with many of these studies as a freelance writer), the arguments will apply to mystical states more generally, not specifically those induced by psychedelics.
You read the Tractatus when you were young. It’s a bit mystical. Connection?
I still resonate with the final, well-known line of the Tractatus: “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.” This could be interpreted in a mystical sense, although it’s open to other (non-mystical) interpretations. For Wittgenstein, many things (ethics and aesthetics) cannot be meaningfully expressed in language as ‘pictures’ (in contrast to a statement like ‘the cat is on the mat’). However, ethics and aesthetics, as well as the mystical, can still ‘show themselves’ to us, even if they cannot be conveyed in language.
Right.
Ineffability is a defining feature of the classic mystical experience and similar teachings to that last line in the Tractatus can be found in traditions like Taoism. I don’t mean to imply that this is what Wittgenstein had in mind when writing this line, but it nonetheless makes me think of traditions that not only view certain experiences as indescribable but stress that they should not be described. It is as if some experiences have a sacredness that can become disrespected and sullied by trying to force clunky words and rigid concepts onto them.
Do you do a lot of drugs?
I don’t. I’ve also been teetotal for over seven years now. I might have a psychedelic experience on a rare occasion, but I’ve kind of lost that strong drive to jump into those waters. I think people probably assume I must trip a lot if I write about psychedelics and have a book coming out about the subject. Even throughout my life, I haven’t done them much compared to others who are interested in them. I’m probably more risk-averse compared to other psychonauts out there. But I do think quality matters more than quantity when it comes to these experiences. A single experience can leave much to be unearthed over the course of many years. This integration may even last a lifetime.While I describe some personal experiences in the book, these are experiences that happened years ago, which I’ve later reflected on. These experiences are still relevant to my life today.
I’m always disappointed by reports of drug fueled insights…merely seems like the effect of…I don’t know…the chemical disorganization of the brain?
I can sympathise with you being disappointed by the insights people describe after taking psychedelics. One of the essays in my book, ‘Noetic Experiences and Spinoza’s God’, touches on the idea of false insights induced by psychedelics. This very phenomenon is now being scientifically studied. It’s also something I’ve written about for Psychedelic Support, and the journalist Shayla Love has covered this issue in an article for Vice. Scientists have found that the Aha! Moment can be artificially induced, and it can be applied to irrelevant information. I have no doubt psychedelics have the ability to induce this feeling of insight without actual insight. Moreover, the hyperconnectivity and plasticity we see in the brain following psychedelic intake can help explain some of the wild theories and connections people make while on psychedelics. In a 2023 preprint, a group of psychedelic researchers say increased neural plasticity induced by psychedelics increases the number of both true (and adaptive) and false (and maladaptive) insights.
I think you’re partly right when you say the experience is the outcome of a chemically disorganised brain, although it is an assumption that the experience is nothing but brain disorganisation. It is also doubtful whether all insights should be rejected solely as a consequence of more acute chaos or unpredictability in the brain. This assumes only the non-altered brain has access to true insight (the veracity of sober insights can often be doubted too, as research on the Aha! Moment has indicated). The philosopher Peter Sjöstedt-Hughes points out in his book Modes of Sentience that the fact an experience is drug-induced cannot in and of itself be a reason to deem it non-veridical. But I am open to William James’s argument that mystical experiences often confirm what one already knew on some level, rather than grant us any new knowledge. I am sceptical about the idea that psychedelics can give one direct access to the fundamental nature of reality. Nonetheless, it is still curious to me that these experiences so commonly have a metaphysical character, and that they commonly lead to one kind of metaphysics (e.g. unity/non-duality) over another. My personal view is that psychedelics tend to generate more true (and useful) insights regarding the self than they do metaphysics (and the philosopher Chris Letheby has argued this is precisely where the therapeutic benefits of these substances stem from).
Rank drugs.
For me, the most appealing psychedelic is mescaline (in spite of the nausea it causes). It seems to be the easiest on the mind. It has a much clearer and lucid headspace compared to other classic psychedelics like LSD and psilocybin, so it’s harder (although not impossible) to have a challenging experience on it. I suppose given that it’s a phenethylamine and thus more chemically similar to MDMA than LSD and psilocybin are, it tends to be a very euphoric, empathogenic, and love-filled experience. Psychonauts like to call the mescaline experience a ‘heart-centred’ one. It tends to be very centred around strongly felt positive emotions. DMT is interesting in its own right, as a substance that tends to produce the most bizarre experiences. This is an experience that is typically not unitive (becoming one with everything) but dualistic (in which you often retain the sense of self and are visited by seemingly independently existing entities). It’s hard to say what is the most ‘overrated’ drug, as people want different things from different drugs. But I can see how cocaine could be called that, based on how expensive it is, and how few people seem to think the price is worth the experience. You could have several profound psychedelic experiences for the same price (so the cost-effectiveness here seems pretty obvious!).
Describe your best psychedelic experiences.
The most intense one, which gave me the biggest ‘ontological shock’, was a particular DMT experience. I’d describe it as mystical in many ways. It was ineffable (or hyperineffable as I like to think of it since it’s not only difficult to describe but difficult to remember, as if there is something about its otherworldliness that makes it hard to encode as a memory). What I do remember, however, was the feeling of losing my sense of body and self (very rapidly), the feeling of gaining an understanding of every secret and mystery, a feeling of the experience being everlasting, and meeting a presence that I instinctively called the ‘divine’. The experience also carried a sense of sacredness and profound joy, release, and cleansing. Coming back to sobriety had a ‘being born again’ quality – being reborn as pure consciousness and then having my body, self, and Earthly life slowly return, piece by piece.
The experience felt like a challenge to my atheism (since I met a powerful divine presence, and I found it resonated with descriptions of the prophets encountering God). I have remained an atheist, though, in the sense of not believing in a transcendent and mind-independent divine being. I have interpreted the ‘divine’ as coming from within, rather than without, although I’m still trying to make sense of why it exists within, and part of my latest book examines some naturalistic accounts of this experience.
That particular DMT experience felt very healing, and I think it had a positive impact on my mood, outlook on life, and interactions with others. Some experiences with mescaline also stand out, which have at times put me in touch with what felt like an outside presence that is healing, soothing, and loving. The best experiences, I would say, are those that have offered strong feelings of warmth, self-compassion, gratitude, and something like a Nietzschean yes-saying to life. These experiences have felt therapeutic, especially since they helped me re-evaluate my sense of self, although I’ve found that a lot of the mental health benefits fade over time.
Rad man. Ultimate career goal?
My ultimate career goal would be to make a full-time living by focusing on the kind of writing I find the most fulfilling. That would be the kind of writing I do for my blog, so this could involve covering philosophical topics for online and print magazines, delving more deeply into mental health and psychology topics I’ve become interested in, and continuing to write books. Perhaps in the future I will enter academia again to study philosophy, so I can make this path I have in mind more likely, although I don’t feel a strong calling to it currently, based on the time and financial commitment involved. I also have reservations about whether doing a PhD (at least right now) would be good for my mental health. Moreover, I have some uncertainty about what my ultimate career goal is. My feeling on this could change. Since I have been questioning the personal and social value of freelance writing (it can be quite isolating at times and it doesn’t always feel it makes a meaningful difference to others), I may decide to pursue a career that’s more noticeably impactful. Whatever I end up doing, I don’t imagine I’ll ever stop writing. It always feels like I have to write, and I can see a future in which I only continue to change, develop, and improve as a writer.
Seen any good movies lately? Books? Music?
I’ve seen a bunch of good movies lately (since I watch a lot of films). If I take a look at my Letterboxd profile and the films I recently watched that I rated highly, these would include The Zone of Interest, a couple of Chantal Akerman films (News from Home and The Captive), a couple of films by the Dardenne brothers (The Child and The Son), Camera Person, Walkabout, and Ordinary People. When I like the unique style of a certain film, I try to work through other well-received films by the same director. For instance, News from Home was impactful because of how accurately it communicates the experience of living abroad, homesickness, nostalgia, and the parent-child bond. And what I appreciate about the Dardenne’s work is the social realism and how everyday moral issues are played out in the characters’ lives.
I’m currently reading Philip Goff’s latest book, Why? The Purpose of the Universe. It’s a brilliant read. I’m not sure how I feel yet about some of the arguments – for instance, the idea the universe is fine-tuned because this produces value (i.e. conscious life). Many pessimistic philosophers would disagree with the assumption that the existence of sentience is ‘good’ and better than its non-existence. Still, Goff makes his case clearly and cogently, and like any good philosopher, he challenges many of my fundamental assumptions. I’m certainly more open to the idea of not just ubiquitous consciousness (or proto-consciousness) but also ubiquitous agency (or proto-agency). I’m also not closed off from the idea that the universe could be teleological in nature.
Recently I’ve been listening to Night Verses. I started listening to them after I saw they’d be supporting Tool at their London show in June. I’ve also been enjoying Carbon Based Lifeforms’ live in Ozora 2022 album and Iglooghost’s latest album, Tidal Memory Exo. Otherwise, I might put on a Spotify personalised playlist: the Chill Mix when I’m working or the Metal Mix when I work out.
Favorite philosopher?
I don’t really have a single favourite philosopher, but I have been much more interested in the ideas of Martin Buber, especially since he presents a dialogical or dualistic kind of mysticism that I think is a nice counterpart to the dominant narrative of mystical experience, which prioritises the unitive experience. His thoughts on I-You connection as the true source of meaning also strongly resonate me. I’d also find it hard to pinpoint the ‘most impressive’ philosopher. But I am impressed with the work Peter Sjöstedt-Hughes has been doing in bringing psychedelics into the realm of academic philosophy. He has really helped to promote the philosophy of psychedelics in a number of ways, and his work certainly inspired my own decision to write about this growing subdiscipline. I also appreciate the work of Chris Letheby, who is helping to promote a naturalistic interpretation of the psychedelic experience (something which I think is sorely needed, given the prevalent belief that psychedelic use confirms the existence of supernatural realities).
Best philosopher you disagree with most?
I’d disagree with Peter Singer’s welfarist approach to animal ethics. I generally agree with the critique that such an approach can lead people to feel more comfortable with continued, needless animal exploitation and suffering, despite the (valuable) reductions in animal suffering that this approach can achieve. This is not to say I am anti-utilitarian. There may be cases in which something that is technically exploitative – such as extracting cells from a live animal – may lead to astronomical reductions in suffering (through the production of lab-grown meat in this case). The animal rights vs. welfare debate is complicated, but I disagree with a Singerian welfarist or reducetarian approach to animal ethics (given my views on the interests of every sentient creature). If I would reject a welfarist approach to human slavery or abuse, I struggle to see how I can logically accept such an approach in the case of animals (especially when I take on board Singer’s own idea of speciesism). Having said that, Singer was the philosopher who helped me become vegan in the first place, and he’s probably the philosopher who’s most effectively helped to improve the plight of many humans and non-human animals through his work on animal ethics and effective altruism. He’s controversial in areas besides animal ethics too, but despite these controversies, I do really value his argumentation, focus on practical ethics, commitment to his ethical principles, and the meaningful difference he has made in the world.
Social media: Good or bad for philosophy?
I don’t know if social media is ultimately good for philosophy. It’s hard to imagine that with the character limit on Twitter that properly nuanced discussions can be had. I see a lot of miscommunication and talking past each other happening on Twitter too. I see bad philosophy on Twitter, but maybe the platform can be a corrective to it too. In his latest book, Goff jokingly mentions a few times how spends far too much time arguing on Twitter. If you follow him, you’ll see him engaging a lot with commenters. I don’t know if I’d have the personal constitution for that. But I do respect how active he is and that he seriously engages with counterarguments, especially poor ones that he’s heard many times before. I guess one could hope that kind of engagement could help people see the errors in the argument. But I don’t know how realistic that is. Do Twitter back-and-forths really mimic Socratic dialogue? What I often end up seeing is defensiveness and closed-mindedness. On the other hand, social media can be really effective for promoting philosophical ideas (through the sharing of articles, essays, and papers, as well as through dialogue between philosophers). It can expose many people to ideas they otherwise might not have found out about (or not found out about for a while).
How do you see the future of philosophy?
A lot of philosophy (this would be mostly academic philosophy) can be pretty dry. If not dry, or in addition to being dry, a lot of philosophy can be written poorly. I really value those philosophers who write well and clearly (e.g. Russell), or with a distinct style and creative use of analogies (e.g. Schopenhauer and Cioran), or who write creatively (perhaps blurring the line between prose and poetry, as Cioran did). I admire philosophers who are able to activate the reader’s imagination and who beautifully, deeply, and personally express their ideas. That might be what is wrong with much of analytical philosophy. I suppose the issue I have with some continental philosophy is that it can sometimes be – for differing reasons, depending on the philosopher – more obfuscating and vague compared to analytical philosophy. I appreciate that the latter retains that sensibility of freedom and creativity, and being hard to read may test and expand the abilities of readers, but this also frustrates how impactful a work can be. Perhaps some philosophers write convolutedly as a conscious choice: in order to appear more profound. This point about readability could be applied to philosophy in general. However, I’m not ideas arguing that philosophical ideas should be watered down to make them more digestible. I would just like to see more professional philosophers who prioritise writing clearly and creatively, and in their own personal style, rather than always conforming to a certain standard.
What is philosophy?
I think philosophy is for everyone. It is a way of being able to think critically and for oneself, to engage with the world more curiously and virtuously, and to think about (and hopefully gain some insight into) both the big (metaphysical, societal, and existential) questions and the dilemmas of everyday life (e.g. is it permissible to gossip or tell a white lie?). The aim of philosophy should be to improve people’s faculties, the kind of people we are, and the world at large.
Last meal?
My last meal was grilled jerk tofu with rice and peas.
If you could ask an all knowing being a question and get an honest answer, what would it be?
What does the most advanced civilisation look like (one that exists now or will do in the future)?
Thanks Sam!
[interviewer: Cliff Sosis]