If scholars lament the loss of their authority in society, they have only themselves to blame. For too long they hid in their ivory towers, completely aloof from the common man. They disdained him, yet were always ready to tell him how to live. This is especially true in regards to religion. The educated elite have gleefully trampled on Holy Tradition, on the Scriptures, on the very idea that God exists. “Oh how those rustics must hate us,” they sardonically thought to themselves, “but we are only doing it for their own good.” This is precisely the logic Lenin and Trotsky employed as they murdered millions of Orthodox Christians.

Perhaps the most ridiculous and myopic academic claim against Christianity came from John Allegro in his book The Sacred Mushroom and the Cross (1970). There he posited the audacious theory that “Jesus” was code for the Amanita muscaria, a species of hallucinogenic fungus he believed the Essenes were eating in first century Judea. The eucharist, he opined, was simply a shroom, and therefore so was the mystical encounter with Christ. Although Allegro was an established scholar and professor, known for his research on the Dead Sea Scrolls, he destroyed his career with such foolishness. But what his peers rejected were his unsubstantiated claims, not his intentions—they likewise did not believe that Jesus is the eternal Son of God. Had he provided more evidence (the sort accepted by mainstream academe) they would have gladly signed on.

Since then, new theories have arisen proposing that ancient Israelites or Christians based their religion on getting high. And why not? Religions originating before the Axial Age, often dubbed as “shamanistic,” all seemed to have had an hallucinogenic connection. Various types of hashish, made from Cannabis sativa, were used in India and Nepal; opium made from poppy seeds was used throughout the Middle East as far back as the Sumerian period; and ayahuasca, containing active agents from Psychotria viridis, is still used by South American tribes today. It is only natural that studies rooted in “the evolution of ideas” would assume that all religions have inherited something from these prehistoric practices.

To add fuel to the fire, a few years ago a group of archaeologists released their findings concerning a small Jewish worship space discovered inside a military installment in the Negev Desert (about 35 miles south of Jerusalem) dated to the 8^th century BC. The space was divided into thirds, just like the Temple located on Mount Zion; yet in the high place there was only a standing stone and two incense altars. On the larger altar, resins were found to contain burnt frankincense; and on the smaller one there was evidence marijuana had been burnt. Before the press release even made it to Reuters, pundits began asking, “Is this where the Israelites came up with their idea of God?” Never mind that no evidence of this practice had been found on Mount Zion. Never mind that Exodus 30:34-8 names the licit ingredients for incense to be only gum resin, onycha, galbanum, and pure frankincense (in equal measures). And never mind the fact that the Scriptures tell us that the Israelites often rebelled against God, opting for syncretism rather than obedience. To comply with academic standards, we are told, God must be a mushroom.

In the past decade, the clamor for a return to psychedelics has grown louder. Many are asking, “Was Timothy Leary right all along?” Everyone from Bill Maher to Joe Rogan to Will Smith to Susan Sarandon are getting high. Alternative historian Graham Hancock even claims that pharmacology is the gateway to building an advanced civilization. Everywhere he goes, he links the geometrical patterns engraved at prehistoric sites to those experienced by drug users—evidence that human advancements must have piggy-backed on shamanistic practices. It seems he is just the latest figure to adopt the psychoactive worldview. What connects the celebrities and scholars (and pseudo-scholars) on this matter is the assumption that God is not real (or at least not the personal God of the Bible).

What do the Scriptures say about all this? While the Masoretic Text forbids the Israelites from adopting pagan practices such as “sorcery” (see Exodus 22:18), the Septuagint goes further in defining this term. In translating the Hebrew kashaf into Greek, the Alexandrian scribes chose farmakeia, connecting sorcery to the use of various ingestibles and inhalants. Farmakeia is likewise condemned in Galatians 5:20, Revelation 18:23, and Didache 2.2. These texts distinguish such practices from the consumption of wine, a practice condoned in the Bible (even if drunkenness is not). As there are no biblical texts or canons that address the moderate use of downers (alcohol) or uppers (nicotine, caffeine) we may assume that God is not concerned much with these mild substances because they do not acutely alter a person’s state of consciousness. They are more physical than spiritual. The same cannot be said for psychoactive substances, whether organic or synthesized. Even if the user were to completely reject the numinous in theory, he nevertheless propels himself into countries he is unprepared to traverse.

Carl Jung once quipped regarding psychedelics, “Beware of unearned wisdom.” Sapiential traditions are meant to humble us, to link us to something greater than ourselves, while these substances do the opposite. The danger is not that users will reject the God revealed to the Patriarchs, Prophets, and Saints, but that they will adopt a very different one. Two common themes emerge from the thousands of published “trip reports.” The first is the perception that everything is one: you, me, and all of creation are spiritually united. God is not somewhere out there, nor is he personally present here—he is the very cosmos itself (this idea is at the root of pantheism). The second so-called insight is that I myself am divine. I do not need to connect with God, I only need to know myself better, trust myself more.

The experience of God preserved in Holy Tradition pushes in the opposite direction. He is perceived as entirely other, uncreated and infinite. As St. Maximus writes in Epistle 1, God is “one, alone, and impassible.” At the same time (as the Confessor makes clear) the multiplicity of created things are also moving towards the One. Each thing finds its fulfillment, its perfect expression in God, even while remaining eternally distinct from him. Creatures participate in his unlimited grace while remaining limited beings. That God is both the source of existence and entirely beyond it is precisely why everything is drawn to him. However, nothing that was created to reflect God’s goodness will disappear or be absorbed into him. He remains distinct, and the distinctive attributes of the many find their perfection in him.

This vision of God and the cosmos experienced by all the saints stands in stark contrast to the pantheism produced from shamanism. But why do psychedelics produce such a different realization?  Over the centuries, the hesychasts have offered a theory to explain these phenomena. Human beings are not merely carbon-based lifeforms, material entities reacting to various stimuli. We are also noetic (from the Greek word nous, meaning “mind”), endowed with a spiritual nature capable of interacting with the unseen world. Ideally, we would turn our minds to God, hearing his word and seeing his Uncreated Light. But psychedelics produce a different effect, similar to that of pagan meditation: we turn inward and mistake the light of our mind for something transcendent. No wonder so many have come to believe that the universe is one and that man is divine—when we cut ourselves off from the Uncreated, we mistake the creation for God. Rather than be transformed and changed in order to reflect his divine will, we embrace a theoretical unity that in practice permits an absolute individualism in self-aggrandizement.

Of all the reports coming from the other side—whether the journey was produced by PSC, DMT, LSD, or THC—there is one reaction that seems to be missing: tears of repentance. The strongest evidence against these experiences is that they do not produce a sense of remorse for sin, a desire to take responsibility for the ramification of past actions. Users are elevated and enthroned in their noetic palaces, never considering how broken they truly are. If they are unable to see themselves clearly, they are unable to see God’s love as the solution to their dilemma. If we think the cosmos itself to be both transcendent and immanent, and that we in turn are collections of stardust capable of greatness, then all our works will be tainted by ego.

Holy Tradition preserves a very different path for us, born out of a hard-earned wisdom gained through self-denial. As Jesus Christ taught, “Whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 16:25). The transcendent God, entirely other, has entered into our created world and assumed our passable nature. He did not teach us to avoid suffering (as in Epicureanism), nor to pretend it does not exist (as in Buddhism), but rather to transform it through self-sacrificial acts. When we empty ourselves through repentance, poured out like a drink offering, we encounter the God who did the same for us. When we humble ourselves and turn our minds outward to him in worship and prayer, we meet the Lord who is utterly distinct from us yet desires to act in and through us. In rejecting self, we find it.

Just as in the ancient world, we are presented with two choices. On the one hand, there is Farmakeia, which offers a fast path to false wisdom and a counterfeit spirituality that at best simply puffs up our pride, at worse puts us into contact with demons. On the other hand, there is the ascetical and sacramental path of the Church, while not glamorous (and lacks those cool geometric designs), leads us to true union with the One who perfects what is uniquely good within each of us. These two paths head in different directions, so choose wisely.