Aldous Huxley was. . . highly. . . educated, at Oxford, in history, religion, the classics,  literature and philosophy.  His brother Julian was a renowned biologist, his grandfather Thomas was the famous defender of Charles Darwin.

Aldous Huxley came  to call  himself a ‘verbalist’,  someone who did too much thinking, with words, and not enough perceiving  –  experiencing things as they really are –  with his senses.  He was a very successful verbalist,  a world renowned writer.  All of his privileged, upper class friends were also ‘verbalists’.  He found himself, however,  mostly, unhappy, and came to see in his friends and in himself, distressing egotism, obsessiveness,  and alcoholism.

“In a world where education is predominantly verbal, highly educated people find it all but impossible to pay serious attention to anything but words and notions.”

He sought to try to stop being verbalist.  He studied and wrote about mystical religion. He decided to try LSD, hoping for . . .something.

He got it.  It gave him intense perception, a profound awakening of his senses.

“A large pale blue automobile was standing at the curb.  At the sight of it, I was suddenly overcome by enormous merriment.  What complacency, what an absurd self-satisfaction beamed from this bulging surface of glossiest enamel!”

“. . .the percept had swallowed up the concept.  I was so completely absorbed in looking, so thunderstruck by what I actually saw, that I could not be aware of anything else.. . interest in space is diminished and interest in time fell almost to zero.”

He found wonder and awe, a reverence for the non-verbal  – “the glory and the power of pure existence belongs to another order, beyond the power of even the highest art to express. . . an impeccable sense of gratitude for the privilege of being born into this universe.”

In, Brave New World, his most famous novel, he presents a verbalist world where rationality and thought control a society that values ‘stability’ above all else.  Words of propaganda are used for control.  Living requires soma, the state supplied tranquilizer.

We must be ‘amphibians’, he concludes – alive in both the worlds of perception and of thought.

We must have “education both in facts and in values, and in the abuses as well as the uses of language; and development of smaller, more autonomous units of government – ‘self-governing, voluntarily co-operating groups. ”

In his last novel, The Island, a utopian answer to Brave New World, he writes of a ceremonial ‘Island Service’ of death in which the experience is fully embraced, with no sedation.

He died of throat cancer, in 1963, on the same day as John F. Kennedy.  In his final moments, his wife gave him IV LSD, as he requested.