“The world’s first temple may have also been the world’s first bar.”

There’s more than a hint of confirmation bias in Brian C. Muraresku’s The Immortality Key: The Secret History of the Religion with No Name. Setting out with his conclusion already intact, the author—the real subject of the piece, who seems to have spent a good deal of time and capital researching the topic and so wrote a detective-style book instead of a paper in order to recoup his costs and make a name for himself outside of academia—attempts to prove not only that the ancients incorporated the use of psychedelic drugs in their pursuit of spiritual enlightenment, but also a far more startling claim: that Jesus Christ himself was nothing more than a temporary custodian of this older, nameless religion. Presenting his own research in the present tense like the protagonist of a Dan Brown conspiracy novel, Muraresku jumps around from excavated historical sites to museums to breweries, seeking to flesh out the research begun decades ago by professor Carl Ruck, summarized in a book called The Road to Eleusis.

Taking the Pagan Continuity Hypothesis and adding a “psychedelic twist,” the author traces the use of drug-laced ritual beverages back through history with an enthusiasm and dogmatism that could only stem from true passion for his subject. A multi-disciplinarian, he strives to make connections between various myths, archeological data, and expert opinions from modern day scholars, all the while building toward his revelatory conclusion. Clearly swayed by gnosticism and shamanism, Muraresku insists that his “religion with no name” is the authentic human religion, with Stone Age death cults evolving into the Eleusinian Mysteries and séances and Ayahuasca retreats, all of which are characterized as panacean. Indeed, all seekers using mind-altering substances seem to be ultimately honing in on the same thing—a mystical, transcendent experience that cleanses and reshapes and redeems, that connects the user with nature and the universe, that allows them to die before they die, so that they won’t die when they die. Somehow, miraculously, this use of psychedelics was both widespread and kept secret.

Though he makes a few wildly speculative claims, Muraresku’s suggestions each tend to seem plausible. The problem is he rarely finds strong evidence for his hypotheses but nevertheless forges ahead as if he’s set yet another solid block in a sturdy foundation. It’s flabbergasting how often he presents his idea to an authority figure in some field related to his thesis, catches them off guard, and then uses their “I guess it’s not impossible” as confirmation. By the end of the book he’s constructed such a shaky house of cards—maybe this, perhaps that, and if so, then possibly this—that his radical view of history and spirituality seems incredibly less viable than, say, basically any of the traditional religions that he seems determined to undermine. His chain of transmission, a choppy flow of historical evidence and conjecture, basically starts with chemical traces of ergot found in teeth at a site of religious rituals and ends with Christianity being founded upon the use of psychedelic drugs. There are far, far too many weak links to be using them in a chain that needs to carry the weight of a cosmic wrecking ball, especially considering the book’s premise is that Ruck’s theoretical/textual/artistic approach is unconvincing without chemical analysis to back it up—an approach the author curiously falls back on when his modern tools fail him. Also, notably, there’s scarcely any mention of alternative methods for achieving altered states of consciousness, e.g. fasting, sensory deprivation or overload, mediation, ritual dances and chants, self-flagellation.

He also begins his pursuit with (at least) two key oversights: he assumes that the contemporary Eucharist is entirely devoid of mystical connotations (it’s not) and does not explain why drugged potions used thousands of years ago are necessarily more authentic; and he fails to provide any reason for preferring the netherworld visions described by modern mental health patients treated with hallucinogenic drugs to the “third heaven” described by the Apostle Paul in 2nd Corinthians. For that matter, why are the spiritual writings of various ancient philosophers (who are characterized, correctly or not, as being enamored with this mind-altering ritual drink) more valid for describing the patterns of Christian praxis than those of, you know, the Apostles and Early Church Fathers? Does Paul’s sermon at the Areopagus, in which he presents “strange ideas” (the Gospel) to a group of people who reveled in discussing the latest ideas, suggest a remix of a pagan religion? No, rather, it suggests a radical new paradigm that curiously fulfills the Old Testament prophecies.

It’s a shame, really, that this myopic monomania (not to mention the author’s self-aggrandizing narrativizing or his reductive contrast between men and women) overshadows solid research into the use of psychedelics in ancient religions. Obviously the proto-Christians weren’t doing shots of grape juice after their gatherings, but they certainly believed their faith in Christ was the one true faith, not a continuation of a pagan religion, even as it subsumed various elements from the cultures from which it emanated.

An even worse shame is that after hundreds of pages of crying foul at the Church’s exercise of authority and enthusiastic spiels about how drugs can bring one face-to-face with the divine without the need for an intermediary, the author suggests that therapists form the new priesthood. Indeed, a book whose ostensible goal is to champion an underclass of drug users oppressed by various hierarchical social structures advocates for the installation of a new system of controlled access. “Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.”

In any case, more learned people than I (some of them actual scholars, in fact) have taken Muraresku to task for his various deceits. See criticisms from Jerry Brown, Cyberdisciple, and Jason Colavito for starters. For myself, this book led me to do some additional reading on early Christianity, and has encouraged me to resume the task of preparing myself “to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have” (1 Peter 3:15).