Are We Really Supposed to Believe Psychedelics Gave Us Our Souls?

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Plus: T. Rex and Hollywood

Photo by Külli Kittus on Unsplash

A mushroom?

Or God?

I didn’t fully appreciate the implication of The Stoned Ape theory until listening to Lex Fridman’s interview of Brian Muraresku.

Muraresku recently published The Immortality Key: The Secret History of the Religion with No Name, which claims psychedelics, in particular psilocybin, has made huge, possibly catalytic, contributions to religious experience for thousands of years.

I’d been following the discussion for over a year. It is a favorite topic on The Joe Rogan Experience, among other venues.

But it wasn’t until the Fridman interview did I appreciate one incredible claim by the psychedelic crowd: it was psilocybin that took man from apehood to personhood. Go to minute 31:00 to hear the discussion.

I’ve long envisioned the moment God created humans in his image. I imagine a group of Neanderthals sitting around a killed carcass, eating, and grunting. And then they suddenly start laughing.

That’s when the immortal soul entered the body.

It’s the whole question that drives the Missing Link problem. Our (oh-so artistically accurate charts) show the apes evolve closer and closer to manhood, but then there’s suddenly a man, not an ape.

But there’s a crucial step missing: the ensoulment.

The soul, being immortal and spiritual, can’t have a mundane origin. The origin must be divine. Therefore, there must be a God.

Unless it was a mushroom.

The ape goes from being sober to being stoned, and it’s the act of being stoned that is the real ensoulment, so the soul does have a mundane origin and, voila!, God doesn’t exist.

Jordan Peterson says this whole line of thought was thoroughly discredited after it peaked in the 1970s.

It’s now rearing its head again due to university studies that observe people on psychedelics and document their religious-like experiences. The new field of “bioarchaeology” is also providing evidence that ancient and classical people used psychedelics in their beer and wine.

Such a theory, even if true, wouldn’t discredit Catholicism. That, of course, is the spin Joe Rogan mildly puts on it (Rogan has articulated dislike for Catholicism and libertarianism), but it’s not accurate.

Muraresku himself identifies as Catholic. During his interview with Jordan Peterson, he mentions at least twice that he was educated in high school by the Jesuits order (which is Catholic in its own way) and at one point refers to “my Catholicism.” He’s also Romanian, and Romanians are fiercely proud of their (albeit spotty) ancestry with Rome, and with that, I suppose, comes a flair for the Roman Church.

So, I get the impression he doesn’t think the Eucharist is just a pale remnant of a classical rave party.

Like every new theory, it won’t discredit Catholicism or the Eucharist. At most, if the theory, in general, holds up (and it probably won’t), we’ll have to modify our understanding of historical development. “Yes, early adherents near Eleusis showed up to Mass while tripping.” Or maybe psilocybin nourished the early mystical experience for some worshippers.

And the idea that the mushroom replaces God?

I love it.

I’m just waiting for the debates about Traducianism: How did the psilocybin spark get transmitted through the generations?

I’m a descendant of Russian peasants. I’m reasonably certain there was no psilocybin in my family genes for at least 20 generations, if not 200. Is the psilocybin in my genes less than it was in my great grandfather’s?

Is that why religion is on the decline these days: the psilocybin in our genes is down to its last drops? Is that why art today sucks and we’re increasingly uncivil and don’t know the first thing about faith, hope, and charity?

You’d have to be a stoned ape to believe such a thing. For everyone else, such a proposition is absurd. It won’t take long for such a theory to be relegated to the dustbin of stupid theories that would supposedly eliminate God or the Church.

But it should stand for centuries for this proposition:

There must be a God. There must be a soul.

Even those who disagree know it. They’re so aware of it, they’ll strain for a theory, any theory, to explain how mankind came to exist without acknowledging that it must be God.

They’ll even speculate that a mushroom brought about our art, language, humor, philosophy, and religion.


To: “I Love to Boogie” by T. Rex.

When I first heard “Bang a Gong (Get It On),” I liked it. And I was listening to the Power Station version. When I heard the mellower T. Rex version, I loved it. I asked a college friend who was a DJ on the local college station if I could borrow T. Rex’s 1971 Electric Warrior record from their album library so I could tape that song.

I then put it on a TDK (my preferred brand of cassette tape) and proceeded to listen to it a hundred times.

I then pretty much forgot about T. Rex, until Spotify recently suggested I Love to Boogie. I’m a sucker for any song with “boogie” in the title (channel K.C. and the Sunshine Band), so I listened to it and have been listening to it since.

The recommended T. Rex playlist, incidentally, has a lot of good songs. Also recommended: “20th Century Boy.”


A lot of stuff about movies.

I occasionally go on Hollywood kicks. The whole history of L.A and Hollywood, the wars between the early moguls and Thomas Edison thugs, the debauchery and corruption, the loss-of-innocence and paradise: it all fascinates me.

I imagine myself in Los Angeles in the 1930s. Even the early 1960s. Orange groves. No slums. Very little traffic. No homeless taking a crap on the sidewalk. You know, idyllic stuff.

And then I think about all the slime and filth that was seething under the surface from the very start. Fascinating.

L.A. Confidential is one of my favorite movies for a reason.

And the collection of essays and short stories, The Golden West, by screenwriter Daniel Fuchs, is one of my favorites.

Fuchs was a struggling writer in New York when Hollywood offered him a gig in 1937. He went out and never went back, staying over 50 years and winning an Oscar. He writes about it in this excellent collection, including many portraits of early southern California.

In one part, he writes about corroborating with William Faulkner on a project. Fuchs considered him one of the greatest writers and was intimidated, not even looking Faulkner in the eyes and addressing him as “Mr. Faulkner.”

Faulkner noticed the awkward relationship and suggested to Fuchs that he was uncomfortable because of Faulkner’s alleged anti-Semitism.

Fuchs, a Jew, responded “Yes. How about that?”

Faulkner’s response, according to Fuchs:

“’Well, it’s troo-oo,’ he said, searching within himself and perplexed. ‘I don’t like Jews—but I don’t like Gentiles either.’”