The Seven Sisters of Sleep

More book stuff about drugs.   In this case, a book written in 1860 by Mordecai Cooke, intended as a definitive guide, at the time, on how to get f**ked up.  Or rather, how people around the world got high back them.   Cooke has been accused to writing this to suggest that what they do in China or India or South America is appropriate for them and not for UK souls, but I didn’t get that impression.  What Cooke was going for was suggesting that our natural nightly downtime had some competition from various inebriants of varying quality and potency, scattered across the globe.  

These were 1) tobacco, 2) opium, 3) cannabis, 4) betel nut, 5) coca, 6) Datura (aka Jimson weed), and 7) fly agaric (Europe’s magic mushroom). 

Tobacco – why does this qualify as a sister of sleep?  Isn’t nicotine a stimulant?  MC cites an 18^th century priest railing against the drug citing blackened lungs of heavy smokers revealed in autopsies.  So in the 1700s they knew what tobacco did!  Amazing.  But to read Cooke’s account, you would think that tobacco was LSD.  So far it’s a chapter on tobacco itself, then a chapter on smoking it in pipes, a chapter on snuff (tobacco consumed in the nose), and the next on chewing tobacco (most popular in the US where everyone spits).  Finally a chapter on “pretenders” (tobacco substitutes of various types, none of which he considers comparable though acknowledging that others do).

 

Finally we can move on… to opium.  After a tedious chapter on how opium is made (like anyone needs to know) he proceeds to finally tell us: WHAT DOES IT DO.   And so far as I can tell it’s the LSD of the 1800s.  Except that it’s addictive.  Thank you, Albert Hofmann. 

In fact there are not just one but – as with tobacco - several chapters on opium.  And what I found surprising was this.  By now we’ve been consistently presented with the spectacle of the opium addict, reduced to poverty and crime, health ruined, to support his habit.  But apparently there were “chippers”, occasional users, who may have used regularly but probably more like once a month instead of daily.  These opium users show no health issues, lived long healthy lives, and had normal lifestyles.  In other words, they were not addicts.  Overall Cooke takes the position that opium is actually no worse than alcohol in terms of aggregate damage caused to its users and society as a whole (what economists would refer to as negative externalities).  He observed that drunkards frequently became extremely violent under the influence of alcohol, whereas chronic opium users retreated into a dreamlike catatonia which threatened no one other than the user himself.  The real problem for either substance is excessive consumption, not consumption per se.

Next, there’s an extensive section on HEMP and HASHISH, with the inevitable reference to Assassins from Syria.  From what he says, recreational cannabis use was well known at that time, except that it was extremely uncommon as such in the Western world – that is to say, hemp was well known in its non-marijuana properties but cannabis was only smoked recreationally outside the Western world, with the Middle East being a consistent consumer of hashish, which is highly concentrated marijuana.  He makes some brief mentions of Fitzhugh Ludlow, who was a contemporary of his.  In fact, it would seem the express reason for Ludlow to write his book, The Hasheesh Eater, was specifically because marijuana and hashish were so little known in the US at the time.  Oddly, although Ludlow’s book was published in 1857 and reissued several times in the following decade, Cooke makes no specific references to it.  Apparently he didn’t read it.  For that matter, I don’t see any evidence that Cooke actually even tried hashish.  And that looks to be the case with the majority of the exotic substances he chronicles.  I would hope he at least smoked tobacco or drank alcohol.

Next is a chapter on coca leaves, mainly consumed by the Indians of Peru.  The active ingredient is cocaine, which was synthesized soon after this book was written, and acts as a more concentrated version of the coca leaf.  From Cooke’s writing it does not appear that coca leaves were exported abroad for recreational consumption, and my impression is that cocaine itself was initially marketed as a legitimate drug before being banned and turned – much later – into the rich and famous party drug.  Even so, although far less concentrated and effective than cocaine, chewing the leaves did produce a substantial narcotic effect and this practice counts as a form of recreational use, which was popular and widespread in that part of the world at that time.

Next are chapters – only one each – on eating clay/dirt/lime (quicklime/whitewash); low doses of arsenic, obviously a poison in higher doses, but also addictive and with no apparent narcotic properties; Datura, belladonna, and henbane, all of which appear to cause hallucinations but possibly death.  Betel Nut stains your teeth and makes you high.  Apparently he did not try it.

Finally, one chapter on fly agaric (magic mushroom), which mainly grows in Siberia and the far east of Russia, in Kamchatka (remember RISK?).  The big fun thing about this is that the active ingredient survives unscathed into the user’s urine.  The same person, or someone else, can conceivably drink that – if so inclined – and trip all over again.  Even Cooke couldn’t ascertain if there was a limit on how many times it could be so “recycled”.  But since Mexican mushrooms, which appear to be the strongest and most trippiest of all the psychedelic varieties (psilocybe cubensis), were not commonly known outside the little villages in Mexico until Gordon Wasson blew the whole scene open in the late 1950s, Cooke would have been oblivious to that branch of the shroom tree.  

Opium, Morphine, and Heroin

As a “companion” to The Annotated Hashish Eater, is the Hashish Eater’s Companion.  However, as a practical matter, this volume is mostly about opium and not hashish.  It includes various articles on opium, including Thomas DeQuincey’s famous Confessions of An English Opium Eater (in its entirety) which served to inspire Ludlow to write his own Hashish Eater.

Opium was the original deal.  Opium essentially consists of a mixture of codeine and morphine.  Morphine is the underlying drug.  Laudanum is a mixture of alcohol and opium. 

Heroin came later.  Diacetylmorphine is the chemical name, tradenamed as heroin by Bayer.  It was originally synthesized in 1874, then developed into a commercially marketable drug in 1897, and sold from 1898 to 1910 – ironically, as a non-addictive alternative to morphine, although they soon realized that error.  It was banned in 1924.

Unlike Ludlow, whose hashish consumption was purely recreational, DeQuincey claims his opium habit stemmed from various painful and uncurable medical conditions, although both authors cite Samuel Taylor Coleridge, the author of “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” and “Kubla Khan”.   Coleridge’s own addiction to opium was well known to both of them.   What’s strange is that both were aware of Coleridge’s conditions before beginning their own consumption.

Back in the nineteenth century, up until the early twentieth century, morphine was the most powerful painkiller.  For many suffering from painful, incurable conditions, morphine was the only drug that worked.  Many soldiers were given morphine for their wounds and later became addicts.  “Heroes For Sale” (1933) describes a WWI US soldier given morphine by well-meaning German doctors and ultimately becoming addicted.  Oddly enough, back in 2000 I had back pain, so I was given one shot of morphine at the E.R. for it.  It did the job well.  But I only had that one shot, and did not turn into an addict.

In addition to killing pain and inducing a general state of intense euphoria, opium produced extremely lucid and colorful dreams, powerful enough to be remembered and recorded, thus Coleridge’s inspiration and muse.   However, the horrendous chemical dependence arguably offset this benefit.  Opium becomes a necessary ingredient for sustained life.  At that time there was no receptor substitute like methadone to help an addict wean off the drug.  Insomnia, chronic constipation, issues with appetite, skin complexion, in fact so many different problems that the addict’s body is taken over by the drug with irreversible physiological damage. 

Ludlow actually echoed this in his own stories.   Those who condemn the opium addict have no idea what the person is going through.  The drug is so powerful, the addiction and dependence so thorough, that the addict is consumed with the need to get more.  He will lie, cheat, steal, do whatever it takes, to friends, family, loved ones, anyone, to get more.   He is no longer in control of himself.

Ludlow himself described not only his own difficulty in trying to kick the habit, but his proposal for a rehab center – in third quarter of the nineteenth century – and efforts on his part to assist others in doing so.  Infrequent recreational use might not necessarily lead to addiction – Ludlow describes different patients having different levels of dependence – but after a certain point, there is no going back.   The withdrawal symptoms become so close to lethal that as a practical matter, the person is better off sustaining a modest habit than getting off the drug completely.  

At this point the victim is doomed to this for the remainder of his life.  Ludlow described this as a very slow form of suicide, oddly enough a sentiment echoed in Ozzy Osbourne’s song “Suicide Solution”.  But for all of Ozzy’s idiocy and substance issues, he was wise enough not to even dabble with heroin, much less become addicted to it: his song refers to alcoholism. 

By the twentieth century, opium and laudanum were replaced by heroin.  Several prominent rock stars got themselves hooked on heroin.  Of these, Sid Vicious (Sex Pistols) and Layne Staley (Alice in Chains) ultimately died.  David Crosby, of CSN/CSNY, described heroin (and other hard drugs aside from marijuana) as “a massive waste of time”.  The singer for Sublime, Bradley Nowell, is the most egregious example of this idiocy.  He deliberately got himself hooked on heroin because he believed it would help his musical inspiration and ability.  Naturally he learned what all the previous addicts learned:  it’s a losing bargain.  After a few cycles of clean and dirty, he finally fatally overdosed on the drug in 1996.

William S. Burroughs, the author of Naked Lunch and a member of the beatnik group that included Allen Ginsburg and Jack Kerouac, was an addict.  Much of Naked Lunch is a vivid depiction of heroin addiction and the extraordinary lengths to which an addict will go to procure more of the drug.  The appendixes to the latest edition include an essay by the author on heroin rehab, i.e. what works and what doesn’t.

By now there are several movies handling this topic, but “Trainspotting”, with Ewan McGregor long before Obi-Wan Kenobi or “Men Who Stare At Goats” as a recovering heroin addict, is probably the most graphic.   

Opium Wars.  In the 1840s, England traded with China.  They paid in silver, a valuable commodity, but had a surplus of opium grown in Afghanistan and India, so they decided they'd rather pay the Chinese in opium than silver.  The Chinese weren't idiots, and refused.  Unfortunately for the Chinese, despite having invented gunpowder centuries before the British, they fell well behind in its practical - military - applications; as early as the twentienth century, entire units of the Imperial Chinese Army and various warlord armies were equipped with spears.   Of course the British were successful at coercing the Chinese into accepting opium as payment instead of silver.  As you might imagine, this caused many problems in China and considerable anger and resentment.  See my blog on the Boxer Rebellion (1900).

Years ago our law office represented a heroin addict.  We negotiated a deal with his creditors to surrender his houseboat in a marina in southwest DC in exchange for writing off his debts.  He asked us to get a few personal belongings off the boat before surrendering it.  This boat essentially was a garbage scow, but he had been living on it.  Talk about a real life horror story.  Heroin? No thanks. 

The Hasheesh Eater

What with the recent legalization of marijuana in Colorado and Washington, and the increasing likelihood that other states will do the same, it might be a good time to review a major work on a related topic, dating from the mid 1800s, by Fitz Hugh Ludlow, The Hasheesh Eater (Annotated).   Reading his work gives us a vicarious experience without actually partaking of the drug(s), although filtered through Ludlow, the book itself is somewhat of an experience.   Thus, hopefully my readers will forgive me if I adopt Ludlow’s ponderous prose to address this topic.

Who was this man, Ludlow?   He was an American (1836-1870) who lived in New York state.  He went to Union College in Schenectady, New York (northwest of Albany), wrote their “fight song”, and is still mentioned on their virtual presence.  Judging by his appearance in photographs, were he to be portrayed in a modern film, I would suggest that Jared Leto do the job.  In 1857 he published this book, which chronicles his hashish consumption, habit, withdrawal, etc.   Some experiences take place in Poughkeepsie, some in Schenectady, and some in New York City.  However, the NYC he saw bears more resemblance to the depiction with DiCaprio and Lewis, or the London of Dickens, than that of Douglas & Sheen, or the Seinfeld Quartet. 

I read the book in annotated format, meaning a modern writer, Gross, made little footnotes addressing some esoteric topics which Ludlow and his contemporaries would take for granted, yet those of us in the twenty-first century would draw complete blanks on.  The same writer also compiled a Companion.  This includes Ludlow’s later writings on the topic of opium, to which he became addicted after abandoning hashish – surely, out of the metal skillet into the flame over which it hovers – and de Quincey’s Confessions of an Opium Eater, which served to inspire Ludlow to give us his own story, and both are equally tedious and ponderous with too much explanation of things which have absolutely nothing to do with hashish or opium.

Attempting to avoid the same vice, I share: what did Ludlow experience?  The cannabis adventurer of a Dickensian context and demeanor, describes a vast and deep journey into visions, hallucinations, and dreams.  Fantastic landscapes, exotic locales, plunges into the depths of Hell and ascendency into the skies of Heaven, even disembodied voices of both regions loudly barking either praise or condemnation for his audacity to sample the pleasures out of the ordinary mien of mere mortals.  His own source of inspiration was the literature and stories available to him, obviously including Milton and Dante.   Unfortunately for him, no recorded music existed at that time.  To experience such, a music lover would have to consult sheet music and produce the music himself on an instrument, or attend a classical concert or opera at a major concert hall in a large city.  Nor, of course, were moving pictures even conceived of at that time.

It may not be too ambitious of me to suggest that a contemporary adventurer, equipped with a like amount of hasheesh, could be transported to Middle Earth, Hogwarts, or Westeros, or perhaps travel to Rigel, Tatooine, Degobah, or Arrakis, or maybe a distant future when vicious robots adopting human form vied with humans themselves for control of a post-apocalyptic Earth.  Add to this our vastly improved resources for enjoying a wide variety of music in the privacy our own homes, on equipment of unheard of power and quality.  The possibilities for a modern hasheesh user are of several orders of magnitude vaster than what Ludlow could experience.  We might even weep in sorrow for the poor soul, were it not that he had no idea what he was missing.

There may be those of you wondering how Ludlow was able to experience all this.  If you are familiar with the stories of Mr. Marin and Mr. Chong, or the more recent adventures of the Indian and the Korean questing for meat products in New Jersey in mid-morning hours, or even have personal familiarity with cannabis and its effects, the question is even more acute.  Indeed, his accounts resemble more those of Professor Leary and Dr. Hofmann than these other individuals.  The answer lies in hasheesh itself.

The contemporary maconheiro consumes the cannabis by smoking.  He purchases a quantity for personal consumption most likely in the amount of a quarter of an ounce.  This lasts him for several weekends, perhaps three months, depending on how frequently he consumes and how generous he shares with like-minded companions.  In no event, however, could he possibly consume that quarter ounce quantity at one time (well, he could mix that quantity with a cup of butter and use that to cook “consumables”, but that is another story).

However, the special ingredient which makes cannabis so popular is contained in resins within.  These resins can be extracted and concentrated into a more potent form called hasheesh.   Ludlow speaks of “grains”, and consuming hasheesh orally.  The annotator made careful calculations and estimated that Ludlow’s largest doses at a single session equate to an ounce and a half of smokable cannabis herb.  In other words, a year and a half of smoking – at once.  No wonder his escapades were so dramatic and intense. 

As of now, it appears that hasheesh will be regulated in the same form as cannabis.  Of course, the days of simply stepping into the local apothecary and purchasing hasheesh or opium from the proprietor, without so much as a physician’s recommendation, are long gone.  However, events in Colorado and Washington suggest that a return to Ludlow’s apothecary environment, at least as regards cannabis, may not be so far off, as to require consumption of said products to even imagine the reality.  What lies for us in the future?