Beyond Description: A Critical Analysis of the Theological Construction of Entheogenic Discourses

Abstract

This article provides a critical analysis of the term “entheogen” as a name for certain psychoactive drugs, arguing that it functions more as a theological construct than a neutral designation. The article analyzes how entheogenic discourses present claims about the historicity of their use, their supposed spiritual or religious meaning, and their ultimate significance for individual and social transformation as descriptive, when they are, in fact, normative. Particular attention is given to the creation of the term “entheogen” as an alternative to other designations, how advocates understand the alleged exceptional nature of entheogens and what they do, appeals to shamanism as a legitimating discourse, and the eschatological hopes invested in these substances as agents of social, cultural, and religious renewal. Rather than adjudicating the truth of these claims or creating an alternative designation, the article interrogates the theological interests and commitments at work, and the rhetorical strategies that sustain them. In doing so, the article argues that entheogenic discourses often blur the boundaries between description and prescription, or advocacy. The article suggests the need for a more reflexive, contextual approach to how we understand the use of these substances.

Scientific, academic and popular literature often refer to psychoactive substances that produce spiritual, religious, or mystical experiences, such as LSD, psilocybin, mescaline, and DMT, as “entheogens”. In contrast to standard terms like “hallucinogen” and “psychedelic”, the term “entheogen” emphasizes the supposedly divine nature of these drugs, their unique ability to generate experiences that connect the user to the sacred. The use of the term “entheogen”, however, is not merely semantic. The decision to use “entheogen” instead of other terms entails claims about the fundamental nature of these substances, their proper uses, and their ability to generate authentic religious experiences. As with any word, the term “entheogen” is not simply descriptive; rather, it implies an entire referential field which is ultimately theological in nature.

In this article, I provide a critical examination of the use of the term “entheogen” to designate certain psychoactive drugs, such as LSD, psilocybin, mescaline, and DMT, and their plant counterparts, interrogating the historical construction of the term and the ways in which it is commonly used. Throughout this paper, I argue that the term and its uses, which I refer to as entheogenic discourses, are fundamentally theological in nature, whether this is explicit or implied, intentional or not. The various claims made about entheogens, including their inherent sacredness, their revelatory power, the historicity of their use, and their potential role in human evolution, are often taken as descriptively self-evident and veridical. In what follows, I cast a critical eye on such claims, drawing out the theological presuppositions and commitments that shape entheogenic discourses. To do so, I focus on the construction of the term “entheogen” over against alternative designations, how advocates of the term understand the nature of entheogens, various calls for the development of an entheogenic theology, attempts to ground the latter in shamanism, and the investment of eschatological hope in these substances. The goal is to foster more scrupulous, reflexive, and honest conversations about how we interpret and define these drugs and the interests involved in the process.

1. What Is an “Entheogen”?

In the final chapter of The Road to Eleusis (Ruck et al. 2008), originally published in 1978, Carl Ruck, Jeremy Bigwood, Danny Staples, Jonathan Ott, and Gordon Wasson propose the term “entheogen” to name certain psychoactive, mind-altering drugs, such as LSD, psilocybin, mescaline, and DMT, and their plant counterparts, as they consider it a more accurate and less contentious designation than other, mainstream terms which were currently circulating at the time and in the present. They first reject the term “hallucinogen” as an inadequate and negatively charged description of these drugs. The verb “hallucinate”, from which the term “hallucinogen” derives, “immediately imposes a value judgment upon the nature of the altered perceptions, for it means ‘to be deceived or entertain false notions’.” (Ruck et al. 2008, p. 137). It is important to note that, at least here, their claim is not specifically related to how accurate it is to say that these drugs cause what we would term “hallucinations”, in a psychological or clinical sense. Their argument is, rather, one of valuation, based on the putative divine substance of these drugs. They write, “How can such a term allow one to discuss without bias those transcendent and beatific states of communion with deity that numerous people believe they or their shamans attain through the ingestion of what we now call ‘hallucinogens’?” (Ruck et al. 2008, p. 138). Wasson reiterates this valuation, elsewhere writing, “No one who respects the ancient Mystery of Eleusis, the Soma of the Aryans, and the fungal and other potions of the American natives, no one who respects the English language, would consent to apply ‘hallucinogen’ to these plant substances.” (Wasson 1986, p. 30).

On a side note, many current scientific and clinical studies continue to use the term “hallucinogen”, in that one of the common effects of these drugs does seem to be to cause hallucinations, that is, “distortions of perceptions of sights and sounds” (National Institute of Drug Abuse 2014, p. 7). But there is by no means agreement on this matter. Some researchers claim that, although the drugs do involve changes in perception in users, strictly speaking, they do not cause “true” hallucinations, in the sense that users mistake perceptual alterations as real (Garcia-Romeu 2025). In addition, some researchers argue that hallucinations are a relatively minor aspect of the drug experience, a “side-effect” more than anything else.1

Nevertheless, Ruck et al. go on to consider the other two predominant terms then in circulation, “psychotomimetic” and “psychedelic”, terms that continue to be used, although “psychedelic” is more commonly preferred. These terms are “no less damning” than “hallucinogen.” (Ruck et al. 2008, p. 138). The term “psychotomimetic” carries with it the problems found in the term “hallucinogen”, perhaps even more so. Simply put, “psychotomimetic” associates these substances with “deranged and psychotic states.” (Ruck et al. 2008, p. 138). In the mid-twentieth century, the seeming ability of these drugs to mimic mental illnesses and psychosis was precisely what attracted the attention of psychiatrists at the time. As Humprey Osmond notes, the thinking was that these “psychotomimetics” might teach us how “to aggravate and alleviate these model illnesses, and thus we can devise ‘model therapies’ that may later have wider application.” (Osmond 1957, p. 420).

Ruck et al.’s objection to the term “psychedelic”, it should be emphasized, is more social and political rather than grounded in a difference regarding the states and effects produced using these drugs. To be sure, “psychedelic”, which means “mind manifesting” or “mind revealing”, carries different meanings, depending on how one understands what it means to “manifest” or “reveal” “mind”. Nevertheless, Ruck et al. write that the term “‘psychedelic’ has become so invested with connotations of the pop culture of the 1960s that it is incongruous to speak of a shaman’s taking a ‘psychedelic’ drug.” (Ruck et al. 2008, pp. 138–39). Echoing this sentiment and separating himself from countercultural uses of these drugs, Wasson writes in Persephone’s Quest that, along with “hallucinogen, the term ‘psychedelic’ [has] circulated comfortably among the Tim Learys and their ilk, and uncomfortably among others including me for want of a suitable word: ‘hallucinogen’ is patently a misnomer, as a lie is of the essence of ‘hallucinogen,’ and ‘psychedelic’ is a barbarous formation.” (Wasson 1986, p. 30).

They propose the term “entheogen” as a more appropriate, and less loaded, designation. The term “entheogen” derives from the Greek term “entheos”, meaning something like “God within”. Within Greek literature, entheos often denotes divine enthusiasm or ecstatic states, a type of madness that overtakes one from without. In his Ion, for instance, Plato uses the term to describe the divine inspiration or possession required for the poet to create poetry. He writes, “For a poet is an airy thing, winged and holy, and he is not able to make poetry until he becomes inspired (entheos) and goes out of his mind and his intellect is no longer in him. As long as a human being has his intellect in his possession he will always lack the power to make poetry or sing prophecy.” (Plato 1997, p. 942/534b). Plato discusses this notion of inspiration or possession in the Phaedrus as well, where he outlines it in terms of four types of divine madness: prophecy or divination; deliverance or healing from sickness; poetic inspiration; and love (Plato 1952, pp. 56–58/243e–245c). Regarding poetic inspiration, for example, he states, “But if any man come to the gates of poetry without the madness of the Muses, persuaded that skill alone will make him a good poet, then shall he and his works of sanity with him be brought to nought by the poetry of madness, and behold, their place is nowhere to be found.” (Plato 1952, p. 57/245a). Whatever the form or type, they are all “achievements wrought by madness that comes from the gods.” (Plato 1952, p. 58/245b). To give another example, in his Moralia, Plutarch likewise associates entheos with madness or enthusiasm. He writes, “Another kind of madness is not uninspired or from within, but an afflatus from without, a deviation from sober reason, originated and set in motion by some higher power, the ordinary characteristic of which is called enthusiasm.” (Plutarch 1898, p. 47/XVI).

In their creation of the term “entheogen”, Ruck et al. pick up on this idea of entheos, but take it a step further to include states caused by psychoactive substances. They note that the term “was used to describe the condition that follows when one is inspired and possessed by the god that has entered one’s body. It was applied to prophetic seizures, erotic passion and artistic creation, as well as to those religious rites in which mystical states were experienced through the ingestion of substances that were transubstantial with the deity.” (Ruck et al. 2008, p. 139). Combined with the root -gen, the term “entheogen”, then, denotes a substance that causes a becoming or generation of God within.

It should be noted, however, that although Ruck and his colleagues outline a general understanding of the term “entheogen” as an alternative to other designations for these mind-altering, psychoactive drugs, they and the authors discussed below are not necessarily in agreement on the details. That is, although the term “entheogen” has a basic sense to it, it is often understood and used differently in different contexts by different authors, and there is some disagreement on what it actually means. I draw out some of these differences below, specifically in regard to whether entheogens are entheogenic in and of themselves or in their use; problems related to specific theological, often Christian, framings of the term; and how entheogens are discussed in relation to shamanism. However, although there is some disagreement on what the term actually means and in how it is and should be used, there is also significant agreement in the use of the term, especially when it comes to the supposed nature of entheogens, how they work on and what they reveal to the individual, and their spiritual, religious, and social importance. In order to mark out the referential, theological field of the term, I place significant emphasis on the similarities as well. Emphasizing the similarities helps us grasp the broader theological commitments and issues at play.

Nevertheless, although the derivation of the is significantly grounded in a philosophical lineage, the term also ostensibly has a more descriptive, anthropological sense, to designate certain naturally occurring drugs used in what are understood as traditional, shamanic contexts. Jonathan Ott, for instance, notes that the coining of the term “entheogen” was meant “not simply to retire faulty and pejorative designations like psychotomimetic, hallucinogenic and psychedelic, but to have a word that would allow us to speak in the same breath of such chemically and pharmacologically diverse plant-drugs (and their contained active principles) as tobacco, Amanita muscaria, ayahuasca, the Mexican shamanic morning glory seeds ololiuhqui/tlitlilnzin, and Salvia divinorum.” (Ott 1996, pp. 206–7). What distinguishes these drugs labeled “entheogenic” is that they are all “shamanic inebriants, visionary drugs and plant-teachers.” (Ott 1996, p. 207). As used by Ott, then, the term “entheogen” is an ethnographic or anthropological designation, giving researchers a specific term to discuss the use of these drugs in specific contexts. Ott writes, “Ethnographers and ethnobotanists (though perhaps not phytochemists nor pharmacologists) clearly have a need to discuss these diverse plant-drugs as a class, as kindred vision-producing psychoactive drugs traditionally utilized in shamanic divination and healing; sometimes also as sacraments in religious communion.” (Ott 1996, p. 207).

Ruck et al. also incorporate this use, but they extend it beyond traditional shamanic contexts and plant materials, including uses of both natural and synthetic drugs. They write, “In a strict sense, only those vision-producing drugs that can be shown to have figured in shamanic or religious rites would be designated entheogens, but it a looser sense, the term could also be applied to other drugs, both natural and artificial, that induce alterations of consciousness similar to those documented for ritual ingestion of traditional entheogens.” (Ruck et al. 2008, p. 139).

Whether confined to specific shamanic contexts or extended to other contexts which mirror the former, entheogens are considered special. For advocates of an entheogenic marking of these drugs, entheogens themselves and their uses are different from other drugs, because of the spiritual and religious elements at work in their use (Letcher 2007). I have already noted above that the designation of these drugs as entheogens is meant to separate their shamanic or religious uses from countercultural uses of entheogens, uses that many advocates for entheogens consider more “recreational”. However, it is worth noting that casting the use of these drugs in other contexts as out of the realm of the entheogenic is simplistic at best, given that such users often understand their use as spiritual or religious in nature, even if they do not use the term “entheogen.” (Shipley 2015).

The difference between spiritual or religious uses of these drugs and their recreational uses also recapitulates itself in a distinction between entheogens and other drugs. Such a distinction is, at least partially, based on a descriptive component, given that the psychological and physiological effects of entheogens differ from other, commonly used drugs. But the distinction is also based on a valuation, one that elevates and promotes a “proper” use of entheogens via a devaluation of other drugs themselves. For instance, for Wasson, what makes entheogens unique is that, when used responsibly and for their designated purpose, they “inspire awe and reverence and possess power for good” and they are not “addictive under any circumstances.” (Wasson 1986, pp. 30–31). For this reason, he dismisses “hashish” and alcohol as non-entheogenic; to him, they are abusive substances which, in addition, do not produce the sort of “rapture” that entheogens do.2 Wasson’s logic applies to other drugs, such as cocaine and heroin, as well.

Wasson’s emphasis on the effects of entheogens over against other drugs may, at first, glance, seem wholly reactionary. But Wasson’s classification of some substances as “entheogens”, although expressing a certain degree of prejudice, also represents what we could call a more “progressive” approach to understanding drugs, at least related to then-existing and current drug classifications. Whereas federal drug policy in the United States indiscriminately lumps drugs such as psilocybin, peyote, LSD, DMT, heroin, MDMA, and cannabis together under one category or schedule (specifically, Schedule 1), Wasson suggests classifying and evaluating each on their own terms, according to their specific properties and characteristic uses. He writes, “We must break down the ‘Drugs’ of popular parlance according to their properties and overcome our ignorance, which in this field is still monumental. ‘Entheogen’ is a step in that direction.” (Wasson 1986, p. 31). Thus, whereas federal drug laws and public opinion often indiscriminately and, we might add, often inaccurately, lump certain psychoactive drugs under generalized “schedules”, Wasson proposes that we evaluate them individually, on their own terms.

Nevertheless, as mentioned above, one of the particularities of entheogens that Wasson uses to distinguish them from other drugs is the potential for abuse. For Wasson and, we can add, the bulk of contemporary researchers and advocates, entheogens largely lack the potential for abuse. Indeed, given their spiritual or religious nature, they cannot be subject to widespread abuse on par with other drugs, otherwise they would not “possess power for good.” (Wasson 1986, p. 31).

But this oft-repeated claim may be too simplistic an understanding of these drugs and their distinction from other drugs. Yes, when compared to other drugs, such as alcohol, cocaine, and heroin, entheogens appear nonaddictive, in that they do not provoke a compulsive need or desire for continued use or the often intense psychological or physiological withdrawal symptoms from discontinuation of use. However, this does not necessarily mean that the potential for abuse is lacking. One could certainly argue that the potential for abuse may only exist in a recreational, and not an entheogenic context, and Wasson seems to hold such a view, especially in his disparagement of the “Tim Learys and their ilk.” (Wasson 1986, p. 30). But as Johnstad has reported in his study of “entheogenic spirituality”, some users of entheogens do report a potential for abuse. Johnstad writes, “Thus, even if entheogens are not addictive in the physiological sense, some participants maintained that one can develop a sense of craving for the experiences that they make accessible. This dynamic could serve as a basis for a habit-forming potential.” (Johnstad 2023, p. 253).

Moreover, the line between recreational use and entheogenic use is blurry. I will discuss below the ambiguities surrounding what makes entheogens entheogens, whether it is a quality of the drug itself or found in its use. For now, we can note that, as the divisions among drugs and their uses assumes, the same substance may be used at different times for different purposes. That may be an obvious point, but the fact that the different uses of the drugs involved rests on the same drugs blurs the lines between entheogenic use and recreational use. The problem arises in the claim among advocates for entheogens that the latter are inherently sacred. Andy Letcher notes, “The entheogen discourse attempts to elevate the use of certain plants and chemicals by stripping away and making irrelevant the mundane practices and social contexts that surround their consumption. It claims these substances are inherently sacred. However, it cannot succeed because it is the practices and contexts of consumption that define mushrooms, say, as recreational drug or religious sacrament.” (Letcher 2007, p. 86).

The valuation of entheogens as different and distinct constitutes what is often called “psychedelic exceptionalism” or, more generally, “drug exceptionalism”, the view that these drugs are not only unique in their acute effects and outcomes but also in terms of their legal, clinical, psychological, moral, and spiritual value (Cohen and Marks 2025, p. 6). As Glenn Cohen and Mason Marks note, “Treating certain drugs as safer, less morally repugnant, or otherwise different from others is called drug exceptionalism.” Psychedelic exceptionalism occurs in numerous spheres, a full discussion of which is beyond the scope of this paper proper. Basically, though, this type of drug exceptionalism boils down to the view that “psychedelics are so different from other treatments that they warrant special consideration in how they are researched, regulated, commercialized, and administered.” (Cohen and Marks 2025, p. 6). That is, because of their apparent uniqueness relative to other drugs, different normative standards should apply to them (Villeger 2025). But, as discussed above, this exceptionalism extends to spiritual and religious uses as well, that is, to entheogenic uses.3

2. The Nature of Entheogens

All of these efforts to carve out a unique space for entheogens, however, raises the question: what makes an entheogen, an entheogen? That is, are the substances deemed “entheogens” entheogenic in and of themselves, in terms of some essence that is inherent to them? Or are entheogens entheogenic in their use? As noted above, Letcher reads entheogenic discourses as grounded in an essentialist understanding and use of entheogens. For such discourses, entheogens are intrinsically entheogenic, due to some innate quality unique to them. Letcher observes, “The discourse claims that entheogens are inherently sacred, irrespective of the context in which they are consumed, and yet, certain vision-producing substances such as cannabis are refused as entheogens precisely because of their use in ‘profane’ contexts.” (Letcher 2007, p. 86). Letcher goes on to note that ascribing to entheogens an inherent quality seems to entail that the entheogen necessarily results in an entheogenic experience. He writes that this understanding of entheogens “seems to claim that there is a deterministic, one on one, relationship between consuming an entheogen and having a religious or theophanous experience, and yet it is well known that the psychedelic experience is mutable and far from being independent of context.” (Letcher 2007, p. 86).

Letcher is certainly correct to note that these drugs can be used for different purposes in varied contexts, including those deemed non-entheogenic. Thus, it is simply not the case that there is a necessary relationship between the entheogen and a particular experiential outcome. One way that advocates of this essentialist view attempt to get around this problem is to moralize the use of entheogens by differentiating “proper” from “improper” uses of entheogens and making the user responsible for the resultant experiences. William Richards, for instance, acknowledges the wide range of non-entheogenic uses of psychedelics, but such uses are, for him, chalked up to misuse and abuse. Moreover, if users of entheogens do not, at some point, have the requisite, correlative experiences, then that is their fault and has nothing to do with the entheogen itself. Richards writes, “It is noteworthy that there are persons who have ingested psychedelic drugs hundreds of times without encountering the sacred, presumably due to ignorance, defenses intrinsic to their personality structures, or lack of motivation.” (Richards 2015, p. 652).

The notion that the inherent sacrality of entheogens is correlated to their “proper” use runs throughout entheogenic literature, whether the latter is historical or contemporary. For instance, when discussing indigenous uses of mushrooms in The Wondrous Mushroom, Wasson consistently notes that the states produced via their ingestion depends on a use appropriate to them. He notes the need to consume the mushrooms under “the proper circumstances and in the right number.” (Wasson 1980, p. 39). Likewise, “when properly handled,” the mushrooms “offer us psychotropic effects.” (Wasson 1980, p. 225). Regarding more contemporary uses, in his forward to William Richards’ Sacred Knowledge. G. William Barnard stresses that entheogens, “if taken in the proper context and with a specific mind-set or intentionality, can and do reliably catalyze genuine mystical and visionary experiences.” (In Richards 2016, p. xv). Richards himself echoes this sentiment throughout Sacred Knowledge, stressing the “responsible” use of entheogens (Richards 2016, pp. 12, 18, 119, 156, 177, 192, 203, 209), and the importance of using them “wisely”. (Richards 2016, pp. 8, 42, 177, 208). Richards even comes close to relying on some well-worn tropes about the dangers of these drugs, tropes that contributed to their prohibition in the first place:

Some of the reports of psychedelic use outside of medical or religious contexts reflect an alarming lack of knowledge. There are young people who have taken entheogens and then wandered through shopping centers or walked aimlessly through different landscapes without any intention beyond “seeing what might happen,” and sometimes without the presence of any companion to help to ensure safety. One young man took pride in watching horror films on his television set and expressed a special fondness for Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. With low dosage, some people may get away with such behavior, at least on some occasions, and label their experiences as “cool”. Eventually, however, if they persist, the seriousness of their misuse of these intrinsically sacred substances is likely to become apparent to themselves as well as others. Confrontation of fears is always in order, but there is ample grist for the mill within each of us and there is no need to supplement it with potentially distracting or disturbing stimuli from the environment or from the fantasies of other people.

(Richards 2016, pp. 185–86)

When framed this way, entheogens appear as entheogenic in and of themselves; if they do not produce entheogenic results, that has to do with how an individual uses them. But one can also read this emphasis on the “how” as indicating that what makes an entheogen an entheogen has to do with its use, rather than any inherent quality. Ralph Metzner, for instance, emphasizes the importance of set and setting for understanding the entheogenic characteristics of these drugs, meaning that there is no necessary relationship between entheogens and specific outcomes. Rather, the drug acts as a “catalyst” correlative to its context, producing altered states of consciousness that align with the intention of the user (Metzner 1989). Jonathan Ott reiterates the notion that entheogens function more as catalysts directly related to their use (Ott 1996). To put it in the parlance normal to psychedelic studies, psychedelic-induced experiences are dependent on set and setting.4

Rather than choosing between essence and use, it is probably more accurate to say that there is a certain ambivalence that runs throughout entheogenic discourses regarding the nature of these drugs. I have separated the two positions out for analytical purposes, but the authors mentioned above use language that can be interpreted in both directions, that is, in understanding the entheogenic qualities of entheogens in terms of essence or use. The ambivalence at work is not so much the result of imprecision but, rather, a necessary feature of entheogenic discourse itself. On the one hand, the psychedelic exceptionalism that runs throughout the literature on entheogens mandates that the latter are essentially unique among, and more valued than, other drugs and the experiences the latter produce. On the other hand, there is no immediate, causal relationship between entheogens and entheogenic experiences; as Shipley puts it, the drug is “a necessary but not sufficient condition.” (Shipley 2014, p. 370; emphasis in original). Because the use of entheogens does not always result in correlative experiences and, indeed, are sought after and used intentionally for other, different experiences, it is also necessary to insist that what matters is how they are used.

3. The Call for an Entheogenic Theology

The above discussion now allows us to discuss more explicit theological components of entheogenic discourses. What is at issue is the construction of a theology or theologies of entheogens. To claim that entheogenic discourses are theological is, to be sure, a contentious claim. As indicated above and as we will see here, some advocates for entheogens wear their theology on their sleeves, but the theological coding of entheogens may contrast with more ethnographic accounts of their use. Nevertheless, ethnographic accounts are not immune to the incorporation of certain theological concepts as normative.

Aline Marianne Lucas has specifically called for the framing of entheogenic discourses in terms of theology, or what she calls “entheology”. Lucas defines entheology as a “branch of theology that addresses the experience and/or knowledge of the divine, and of the revelation of the divine, through the agency of psychoactive substances (used as sacraments), be it a revelation of the divine within and/or without the individual.” (Lucas 1995, p. 294). Entheology, for Lucas, does not necessarily outline an entirely new discourse, confessional stance, or practice but is simply “a new name for an old discipline: old in the sense that many non-Western traditions, especially nature-based religions, long ago created a theology—or coherent language about the divine and experience of the divine—around the ritual use of psychoactive substances, such as peyote, ayahuasca, and mushrooms.” (Lucas 1995, p. 294).

Lucas, however, primarily conceptualizes entheology with respect to Christianity. Specifically, her entheology works in and with ideas and practices that come from a “mainline Christian perspective.” (Lucas 2012, p. 173). This makes sense, given that she is, in her own words, a “committed Christian” and ordained priest. But her interest goes beyond the personal, in that she wants to critique and provide an alternative to staid ecclesiastical forms and practices. She notes that Christianity has, on the whole, “vehemently condemned the use of psychoactive substances as valid revelatory media.” (Lucas 1995, p. 294). Lucas’ development of entheology is an attempt to redress this condemnation, as she calls for the incorporation of the use of entheogens into Christian practices. She writes, “I think that it is time for the Westerner to stand up and dare to speak against the oppressive status quo, the status quo he/she has created or let happen. It is time for religious leaders to get informed about the power of entheogens, to experience the power of the spirit. Christianity, historically, is a pneumatic religion. It believes in open revelation, in the presence of God made known in the world here and now (as well as in the tradition of the Church and in the biblical record). What happened at Pentecost? It is time for believers to demand—from their churches, temples, synagogues—to demand the space, the possibility, the latitude for a new Pentecost.” (Lucas 2012, p. 178).

Nevertheless, despite her focus on Christianity, she intends entheology to be inclusive of numerous and diverse beliefs and practices. Because of this diversity, entheology could be developed from within and for other religious and spiritual communities; if so, we might speak of entheologies, in the plural, as a discursive means to acknowledge the particularities of different traditions. Lucas, however, wants to keep “entheology” as a “generic term” that can serve as the basis of “ecumenical dialogue.” (Lucas 1995, p. 295). “Entheology” would, in this sense, function as an abstract, umbrella term, to serve as a common point of reference. Although she does not state it explicitly, this commits Lucas to a form of perennialism, which understands all religions in reference to a universal, non-specific core. We should note that perennialism of this sort is all too common in contemporary psychedelic research, particularly research concerned with the therapeutic effects of psychedelic-induced mystical experiences. Whatever the metaphysical or religious commitments and specific interests of researchers in this area, conceptually speaking, a perennialist position is all but inevitable considering their heavy reliance on W. T. Stace’s categorization of mystical experiences to assess psychedelic-induced mystical experiences and their outcomes. (Stace 1960; Phelps 2025).

Nevertheless, although Lucas wants the term “entheogen” to apply broadly, her use of it remains with the orbit of Christianity. When discussing the focus of entheogenic spirituality, she consistently relies on and applies terms such as “God” and the “divine”, which she views through a Christian lens. Moreover, the different spiritual and religious traditions she does refer to are for the most part syncretic, rooted in the hybridization of Christian beliefs and practices, indigenous beliefs and practices, and other forms of thought (e.g., Kacem spiritism) (Lucas 2012, p. 173). Lucas’s framing of “entheology”, then, remains colored by particular forms of Christianity and their concerns (e.g., ecumenism, dialogue), concerns that are ultimately theological and which might not be applicable to or desired among other religious and spiritual traditions.

It is worth pointing out that this sort of Christian influence remains a factor in contemporary clinical psychedelic research, although it often goes unexamined by the researchers themselves. Sharday Mosurinjohn, Leor Roseman, and Manesh Girn have pointed out that the focus on mystical experiences in contemporary psychedelic research imports, relies on, and operationalizes Christian theological concepts; such research, they argue, reflects a “Christian bias.” (Mosurinjohn et al. 2023, p. 1). Likewise, in his trenchant review of Richards’ Sacred Knowledge, which I referenced above, Rick Strassman argues that Richards conceives entheogenic mystical experiences with heavy reliance on Christian theological concepts, a reliance that ultimately comes from a confessional stance (Strassman 2018).

Such Christian framing, moreover, extends beyond the interpretation of entheogenic experiences to the sense or meaning of the term “entheogen” itself. Recall from above that the term “entheogen” literally means the generation of God or the divine within. It matters, though, how we understand this generation. As Lucas puts the question, “Is an entheogen a psychoactive substance that generates the divine within, or does it function as a revealer of the divine?” (Lucas 1995, p. 294). Lucas draws on the Christian doctrine of imago dei, that is, the idea that human beings are created in the image of God, to argue that strictly speaking, entheogens “do not generate the divine within.” (Lucas 1995, p. 294). Rather, human beings are already “imbued with a divine spark,” meaning that “the divine is already present” as an internal “revelatory medium.” (Lucas 1995, p. 294). But even if the entheogenic experience is an internal event made possible through something that is not generated, but already there, the concept of revelation as she characterizes it relies on an external, transcendent reality, a God who both creates and gives to human beings. So much is consistent with her Christian conceptualization of entheology—the God who reveals is the Christian God.

The same sentiment and interpretation of the term can be seen with Richards as well, who notes that the “idea of ‘generating God’ does not fit; mystical consciousness is almost always experienced as a gift received, not as the result of human effort. ‘Discovering God within’ would be more on target.” (Richards 2016, p. 20). However, the distinction between generation/reception and effort/gift is less a description and more a theological decision with respect to how we should understand these drugs. It is a decision that is all but inevitable, given the Christian presuppositions that shape the interpretation of entheogenic experiences. Ironically, conceiving of entheogenic experiences in terms of revelation clashes or, at the very least, is in tension with, the literal meaning of the term “entheogen” itself.

Even authors who do not overtly draw on Christian conceptualizations of revelation and an external transcendence tend to repeat the basic notion that an entheogen does not, properly speaking, generate God within. Metzner, for instance, notes that, given a conducive set and setting, these drugs can serve as a catalyst for piquing the divine subjectively, that is, within. He writes that the drug “seems to reveal something that is in the person.” (Metzner 1989, p. 80). It is because he considers the action of these drugs on something already in the individual that he is not entirely on board with the term “entheogen”. He writes,

In my opinion, the term “entheogen” is an unfortunate choice because it suggests the god within, the divine principle, is somehow “generated” in these states. My experiences have led me to the opposite conclusion: the god within is the generator, the source of life energy, the awakening and healing power. For someone whose conscious intention is a psychospiritual transformation, the psychedelic can be a catalyst that reveals and releases insight or knowledge from higher aspects of our being. This is, I believe, what is meant by gnosis—sacred knowledge or insight concerning the fundamental spiritual realities of the universe in general and one’s individual destiny in particular.

(Metzner 1989, p. 81)

Although he continues to use the term, Metzner’s objection to it is not an objection to its theological sense. Rather, it is a theological objection to a way of understanding the term “entheogen”, specifically, and as mentioned above, as referring to the generation of God within. To put it another way, for Metzner, the question is not whether these drugs reveal higher or spiritual realities; that much is not in question. The question, rather, is how they do so. Thus, although he uses different language, like Lucas and Richards, entheogens reveal what is already in us rather than generate something within us.

The parsing of the term “entheogen” in terms of revelation and the like versus generation certainly ostensibly adds clarification to the original, literal sense of the term. But understood in light of what an entheogen putatively does, the discussion surrounding the term seems manufactured, since virtually no one who uses the term understands it in terms of generation. Indeed, given their theological presuppositions, they cannot understand the term and the experiences it ostensibly describes in terms of generation, since the experiences ultimately point to something real that is independent of the individual. That is, the divine, or whatever one calls it, is already there, waiting to reveal itself to the individual via the mediation of the entheogen, which acts internally.

4. Appealing to Shamanism

Entheogens, then, function as a means of revelation, a revelation of the true nature of reality to the individual. As we have seen above, the use of entheogens need not clash with established, organized religions, even if, as Lucas emphasizes, such religions have often been far from hospitable to their use. Nevertheless, even in the context of existing religions, the emphasis is on individual experience as the bearer of the essence of religion, rather than more formal theological norms and institutional structures.

In the modern era, an emphasis on individual experience can be traced back to Friedrich Schleiermacher, who conceptualized the essence of religion as a “feeling of absolute dependence.” Richards cites Schleiermacher, approvingly, as laying the groundwork for an experiential approach to religion (Richards 2016, p. 653). The feeling of absolute dependence, the experience of what Paul Tillich calls “the ground of being,” (Quoted in Richards 2016, pp. 652–53) shapes Richards understanding of entheogenic experiences but also fits well with the sort of mainline Protestantism that serves as the backdrop for Lucas’ entheology.

But other advocates of entheogenic discourses surrounding these drugs trace the “real” origins of this experiential spiritual or religious impulse to shamanism, both historically and conceptually. As Ott writes, “The theos of entheogen is shamanic ecstasy, the real ‘Old Time Religion,’ not its exsanguinated, contemporary evocations in the form of purely symbolic, monotheistic nonreligions devoid of ecstasy, based on placebo sacraments that are, indeed, nothing more than a historical flash in the pan.” (Ott 1996, p. 205). Robert Forte makes a similar claim, writing, “Entheogens have figured prominently in the mystical practices of some of the world’s greatest civilizations. They have been widely employed in shamanic societies, and their use continues today throughout the world. They alter consciousness in such a profound way that, depending on the set and setting, their effects can range from states resembling psychosis to what are perhaps the ultimate human experiences: union with God or revelation of other mystical realities.” (Forte 2012, p. 2). Or, as Wasson put it, “If, as is commonly believed, Homo sapiens sapiens began his domination of the world some 50,000 years ago, then it is possible, perhaps even a fair assumption that shamanism has been the highest vehicle for the expression of man’s religious yearnings for more than nine-tenths of his domination of the earth, and it still survives with diminishing vigor in the world’s outlying communities.” (Wasson 1980, pp. 223–24). For Wasson, this elevation of shamanism is not just historical or conceptual but personal as well. In his first entheogenic experience led by the curandera Maria Sabina, Wasson said of the psilocybin-containing mushrooms that he consumed, “I felt that I was now seeing plain, whereas ordinary vision gives us an imperfect view; I was seeing the archetypes, the Platonic ideas, that underlie the imperfect images of everyday life. The thought crossed my mind: could the divine mushrooms be the secret that lay behind the ancient mysteries?” (Wasson 1957, p. 109). Even more than religion, Terence McKenna has suggested that the use of entheogens (although he does not use this term) lies at the origins of humanity itself (McKenna 1993, pp. 43–56).

Perhaps the most well-known definition of shamanism comes from Mircea Eliade. At its root, shamanism is a “technique of ecstasy”. More specifically, “The shaman specializes in a trance during which his soul is believed to leave his body and ascend to the sky or the underworld.” (Eliade 1964, p. 3). Although Eliade himself originally denigrated the use of drugs in shamanic practices, the emphasis on ecstatic states or altered states is easily incorporated into entheogenic interpretations of shamanism. Wasson, for instance, notes that shamans “claim to possess, and are recognized by their neighbors as possessing, extraordinary powers for communicating with the unseen world, the world of departed spirits, which they enter through an ecstatic trance.” (Wasson 1980, p. 223). Although Eliade’s work on shamanism has been heavily critiqued, the emphasis on ecstatic trance states remains popular in contemporary literature on shamanism and especially the relationship between such states and the use of entheogens. (Singh 2025, pp. 199–215).

There are, however, at least two problems that arise with such claims. First, hinging the origins of religion, or specific religions, on the use of entheogens requires widespread use of entheogens among ancient, indigenous populations and in shamanic practices. Entheogenic discourses often approach the putative evidence for such use with an air of certitude. Michael Winkleman, for instance, notes, “When human ancestors first intentionally ingested psychedelics will forever remain unknown, but what is certain [emphasis mine] is that millions of years ago hominids encountered psilocybin containing mushroom species across the temperate regions of the world and undoubtedly [emphasis mine] consumed them.” The consumption of psilocybin, he argues, eventually resulted in the formation of rituals surrounding the use of psychoactive substances and “set the foundations for the emergence of shamanism and the deliberate use of psychoactive plants to enhance ritual activities and visionary experiences.” (Winkelman 2019, p. 43).

Although there is certainly evidence of the use of psychoactive drugs among some indigenous peoples, the evidence for such use is limited, sporadic, and in many cases speculative. Moreover, even when the evidence is more concrete, it remains uncertain exactly how and for what reasons such drugs were used. Manvir Singh suggests that “much of what passes as psychedelic history has been distorted by a seductive mixture of flimsy archaeological evidence, outdated anthropological approaches, and economically expedient ideology.” (Singh 2025, p. 201). In contrast to those who advocate for the ancient, widespread use of entheogens, Singh notes that “psychedelics have been the exception in the history of humanity, not the rule. Yes, some peoples used them before a couple hundred years ago, but they aren’t nearly as common as we’ve come to believe, and various popular examples seem relatively recent.” (Singh 2025, p. 206).

This is not just speculative on Singh’s part but grounded in an eHRAF analysis of nearly “seven thousand digitized books and articles covering hundreds of human societies,” in which he focused on “passages about mythology.” (Singh 2025, p. 208). More specifically, he analyzed 51,035 paragraphs covering 325 cultural groups. If the use of entheogens or psychedelics, as is his preferred term, were ancient and widespread in human history, then it is reasonable to expect considerable mention of them in the existing literature. However, Singh found mention of mushrooms in only 22 paragraphs across 19 cultures. Comparatively speaking, psychedelic use seems rare. One could argue, as some do, that this is because psychedelic use remained shrouded in mystery. The problem, however, is that other psychoactive substances are mentioned much more frequently. For instance, he found that peyote was mentioned in 308 paragraphs across 10 cultures; and kava was mentioned in 155 paragraphs across 9 cultures.

Even if we were to grant widespread use of psychoactive drugs in the history of religions, it does not follow that such use corresponds to contemporary use, especially as used among indigenous peoples. Otherwise put, to label indigenous use “entheogenic” is often imprecise and anachronistic, in that it fails to represent how indigenous peoples use psychoactive drugs.

As discussed above, the term “entheogen” refers to drugs that pique intense, often mystical, experiences which generate, express, or reveal the divine within. In contrast, Marlene Dobkin de Rios argues that the term “entheogen” ignores the fact that “when native peoples who utilize plant hallucinogens do so, they generally do it in the context of seeking out exogenous forces as opposed to generating ‘a divine force’ within the individual or releasing something that is in the person.” (De Rios 1995, p. 297). That is, they “do not utilize such psychoactive substances for reaching ‘a god’.” (De Rios 1995, p. 297). Indeed, for de Rios, an emphasis on god or the divine as a singular energy or force reflects an “ethnocentric bias,” (De Rios 1995, p. 297) which takes its cue monotheism, rather than indigenous concepts. De Rios thus argues that it is “totally inaccurate to talk about ‘a god’ as if this were the natural form of worship over time, when indeed, such a concept of a sole preternatural being represents religious perceptions for less than one percent of human history.” (De Rios 1995, p. 297). Ott has criticized de Rios for conflating shamanic states of ecstasy with organized religion (Ott 1996), but de Rios’ criticism extends to ecstatic states as well. Entheogens do produce states we would consider ecstatic, but indigenous uses of them do not hinge on experience per se, as the term “entheogen” entails. The point of such use is, rather, to enter into relationships with “exogenous forces” or, as Graham Harvey puts it, “other-than-human persons.” (Harvey 2019, p. 82).

Moreover, contact with exogenous forces or other-than-human persons is not done for its own sake but often for very practical, instead of religious or spiritual, purposes. For instance, when Wasson participated in Maria Sabina’s velada, he interpreted the latter in terms of an entheogenic experience, even if the word had yet to be coined. In other words, he took the point of the velada to be the production of such an experience. However, for Sabina, the velada was primarily a healing ceremony. She did appeal to God or the divine in the velada, but not for an individual, mystical experience; she did so as a means to heal individual ailments within a communal context.5

Oscar Calavia Saez has made a similar point regarding the appropriation of ayahuasca by western drug tourists and neo-shamanic practitioners, though his observation could apply to other psychoactive drugs as well:

Although transcendental tourists understand ayahuasca as a kind of shortcut from individual to world consciousness (Nature, Great Mother, caring Pachamamma), ayahuasca among forest peoples is mostly about sociality: a negotiation among human and nonhuman companions and neighbors; an activity that establishes networks, sometimes precarious, between kin and affines; masters and apprentices; brothers-in-law, animal spirits and the dead; or a battleground between rival shamans. Euphemisms about medicine and religion obscures a darker and more complex reality in which shamanism necessarily involves witchcraft, or to use less exotic terms, very real microconflicts among neighbors, kin, and rivals over knowledge, power, and economic resources, which the presence of profitable neophytes only tends to intensify.

(Saez 2014, p. xx)

Saez’s flagging of the “darker and more complex” reality of the use of ayahuasca provides an important counterpoint to entheogenic discourses, which sees the shamanic uses of drugs in terms of a rapturous, beneficent experience. Shamans often use psychoactive substances for what outsiders would view as “darker” and more malign purposes, to engage in a sort of spiritual warfare against the malevolent entities and rival shamans which cause sickness (Beyer 2019, pp. 133–47).

In sum, the purveyors of entheogenic discourses project their understanding of the use of entheogens to generate an experience of the divine or individual enlightenment onto shamanic uses, both past and present, to connect entheogens with the origins and substance of religion. Not only is the assumption of widespread use of entheogens among ancient and indigenous peoples questionable, but when such drugs were or are used, entheogenic discourses often misrepresent how they were or are used. Rather than continuity, there is disjunction not only in terms of use but also regarding the broader metaphysical assumptions in which such use takes place.

5. Entheogenic Eschatology

Entheogenic discourses, however, do not only project into the past; they also project into the future, toward a mass spiritual or cosmic awakening. Entheogenic discourses tend to see the current state of our societies and the way that we live our lives as largely decadent, lacking a substantial spiritual foundation. The “proper” uses of entheogens promise to redress the problems with the present; entheogenic experiences contain a proleptic element, straining toward and providing a vision of a beatific future.

The characterization of the present as debased is a common theme that runs throughout entheogenic literature. Metzner, for instance, argues that modern culture is “materialistic” and suppresses the spiritual aspects of existence. More specifically, Metzner writes that “our materialist-technological society, with its fragmented world-view, has largely lost its way, and can ill afford to ignore any potential aids to greater knowledge of the human mind.” (Metzner 1989, p. 87). Entheogens provide an alternative, a promise for something beyond our instrumental understanding of being. He writes, “Thus, it seems to me that the lessons we are to learn from these consciousness-expanding plants and drugs have to do not only with the recognition of other dimensions of the human psyche, but with a radically different world-view; a world-view that has been maintained in the beliefs, practices, and rituals of shamanic cultures, and almost totally forgotten or suppressed by twentieth century materialistic culture.” (Metzner 1989, p. 83). Entheogenic experiences, and altered states of consciousness more generally, promise a “solution [to] the staggering problems that confront our species,” awakening human consciousness to propel us into the future (Metzner 1989, p. 88).

Similarly, Roberts bemoans contemporary society, dominated as it is by “our ego and its addictive desires, especially for money, fame, and power.” (Roberts 2013, p. 49). Using derogatory, uncouth language, for Roberts we are materialistic in the worst, consumerist sense, “a nation of fat people, driving fat cars, living in fat houses with overstuffed closets.” (Roberts 2013, p. 53). Our present is one that is characterized by “pride”, “excessive self-absorption”, and “egocentrism”, which he correlates with the seven deadly sins (Roberts 2013, pp. 50–51). Roberts avers that one way to “rid ourselves from the domination of these self-centered demons is to wash them off the panes of glass with mystical experiences.” (Roberts 2013, p. 50). To the extent that entheogens provide access to such experiences, their use may shift our values, turning ourselves away from ego-centric materialism toward a “strengthened caring for others, increased compassion, forgiveness of others (and oneself), reduced resentment, acting to decrease suffering and viewing our actions in a wider context that includes society, humanity, and even the whole cosmos.” (Roberts 2013, pp. 56–57).

To cite just one more example, Richards characterizes our dominating worldview as reductionistic, which limits our consciousness to what is material and concrete. Entheogens, in contrast, encourage “the search for a paradigm of reality more adequate than the current reductionistic assumptions, both of many scientists and nonscientists, that tend to view consciousness as originating in the human brain and to assume that consciousness ceases when the cells of the brain decompose after death.” (Richards 2015, p. 661). For Richards, entheogens are “valuable tools in facilitating our spiritual evolution and awakening.” (Richards 2015, p. 663). Our spiritual evolution is not just a matter of individual enlightenment but is also socio-political in nature, as entheogens may promises nothing less that the possibility of global peace. Richards writes:

In our current evolution, fueled by the constructive use of technology, increasing international travel, and the Internet, diversity and intercultural communication are becoming increasingly valued. With fresh creativity and growing understanding of other societies and religious perspectives, perhaps more of our tensions can actually be resolved by respectful dialogues in the chambers of the United Nations and between individual countries rather on physical battlefields. Is there really anything immoral or demented about loving instead of making war? The love intuited in mystical states is not wimpy and naïve; it tends to be reported as intelligent, wise, and incredibly powerful. It can be expressed in reaching out to other cultures with a disciplined determination to master their histories, their social and economic situations, and their religions and their languages, and to enter into intercultural dialogues respectfully, humbly, and patiently.

(Richards 2016, p. 215)

For the authors cited above, the use of entheogens is, then, proleptic in nature, promising individual, social, and political transformation and enlightenment on the path to a just and equitable future. Indeed, entheogens may hold the key to nothing less than the spiritual evolution of the human species as such. Winkelman neatly sums up this proleptic hope:

the instrumentalization of psychedelics might enhance future adaptations through their use in enhancing self-transformations and discovery of future possibilities. Integrating psychedelics into responsible approaches to futures education and analysis can contribute original insights and novel approaches to determining how to better address the positive futures of all people on the planet in a just manner. Such uses of psychedelics for orienting us to the future could offer novel ideas for consideration and implementation into planning and policy settings. Central uses could be to explore how to guide personal transformations to enable people to be more tolerant of differences and more willing to engage with new paradigms of thought and behavior to address the changes we need to achieve as a species.

(Winkelman 2025, p. 14)

In light of such claims, the words of Saint Paul in his Letter to the Romans 8:22–23 seem apt: “We know that the whole creation has been groaning together as it suffers together the pains of labor, and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies” (NRSV 2018). Although the language may vary, the sentiment is similar, and entheogens claim to offer that redemption.

6. Conclusions

As I have discussed, the various claims made about entheogens, including their inherent sacredness, their revelatory power, the historicity of their use, and their potential role in human evolution, contain numerous theological assumptions. The term “entheogen” is not merely descriptive with respect to psychoactive substances and their uses, past or present. Although presented as a more accurate historical, anthropological, and experiential term for representing how and why people use certain drugs, the term and its referential field rest on theological commitments, whether these are explicitly articulated or not.

None of this is to dismiss the fact that many people do, in fact, understand their use of psychoactive drugs in spiritual or religious terms. No doubt, drugs such as LSD, psilocybin, mescaline, and DMT may catalyze profound, often life-changing, experiences, experiences that could be and often are considered divine. We do, however, need to pay attention to the theological assumptions embedded in how we describe, interpret, and understand these substances and the experiences they produce, in whatever context.

Going forward, a more nuanced, critical approach could acknowledge the significance that these drugs have for some people, while also paying attention to the interpretative frameworks in place, in place on the side of both the user and the researcher. Doing so would entail, at the very least, recognizing that while some people legitimately understand their experiences with certain psychoactive drugs in entheogenic terms, such interpretations rest on specific theological commitments rather than self-evident truths about the substances themselves or the veridicality of the experiences they produce.

As research into and interest in these drugs continues to increase, scrutinizing the terms and concepts we use becomes increasingly important, to foster self-awareness about the social, cultural, and religious assumptions at work in our interpretations of these substances and the experiences they produce. Rather than attempting to represent psychoactive drugs and their experiences with problematic, universalizing terms, a more sober, modest, contextual approach to the various and diverse ways that people use these substances seems more appropriate and accurate.