Call it fate. Call it luck. Call it destiny. Call it providence.
Call it the Facebook algorithm that matched me to an application process.
With gratitude to any or all the unseen forces setting the itinerary for me, I was matched up with researchers at Johns Hopkins University to take a trip on the bullet train to the interior journey, what the late Dr. Roland Griffiths has dubbed the “crash course” in spiritual awakening. With his gentle spirit, trustworthy nature, and curious mind, Dr. Griffiths created the first national Center for Psychedelic and Consciousness Research at Johns Hopkins, after a long hiatus of the schedule 1 psychedelic drugs being off limits for scientific inquiry. For the experiment in which I became a test subject, the center brought together well-respected psychologists and major funders, physical data and questionnaires designed to assess spirituality, and they enlisted religious leader participants and keen scientific observers to track how psilocybin (the psychoactive compound in magic-mushrooms) might be able to affect and alter one’s spiritual perspective.
I viewed it as a chance to physically participate at a unique crossroads of religion and science. The deep spiritual questions were being asked in different kinds of ways than normally happen in the institutions of religious training and practice. And the scientific inquiry involved in setting up such a study with spiritual leaders as test subjects allowed the usual skepticism of the science lab to make room for the possibility of the profound.
Such curiosity is a wonderful driver for both science and religion. I have always been interested in that space where questions give way to more questions rather than answers. It is where we make room for awe and wonder. It is where we ask about the enormous magnitude of God and push our minds to think beyond the known limits of the Universe. It is where we plumb the tiniest details of subatomic particles as light and energy and treasure the personal connection to the holiness we feel within.
“When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars you have established; what are humans that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them?” (Psalm 8:3-4)
What a great question for us to keep asking!
So, you might be wondering, if the study ultimately determines that high doses of psilocybin do reliably occasion numinous insights, mystical experiences, and a sense of unitive connectedness, then what information does that give us? How will we interpret what we find? How might we practically apply this knowledge for scientific or medicinal purposes? Do we presume that it either proves or disproves that there is a God? Does it tell us which religion got things “right?” Does it only show that there’s a chemistry to the human brain that demonstrates a certain range of effects in the presence of entheogens (chemical substances that produce a non-ordinary consciousness for religious or spiritual purposes)? Does it mean that religion itself has a drugging effect on the brain? Would we want people in general to experience such spiritual moments, or spiritual leaders to be guided by these effects? Would we want those dabbling in the psychonaut realm to have access to spiritual leaders who can help such individuals process what they see, hear, and feel in such a session?
During my session, I happened to be one of the subjects who occasioned a tremendous mystical experience that lasted throughout the 6-hour duration of the drug’s effects. Again, timing can mean a lot, and my session was scheduled for the week following Holy Week, when all the material of Jesus’ Passion narrative was fresh in my mind. I experienced the dying and resurrection of the Christian tradition through the “ego death” that is often associated with intense psychedelic experiences. But that wasn’t all that happened; my jaw loosened with the voice of the prophets, I encountered the creative rage of Shiva, and felt the emptying associated with the Buddha. It was a journey through multiple religious lenses, leading to a cycle of terror, wonder, and bliss that repeated itself, showing me a holy pattern that was both religiously familiar and profoundly human. As I reflected on the experience in the weeks that followed, I was surer of ultimate truth than I ever had been before, and yet, I started asking myself, did that make me any less Presbyterian? Did it nullify the Reformed theology that formed me and made me who I am, all those years before I signed up to pop a psilocybin capsule from a ritual challis in a calming setting with two tripsitters ready to take copious notes on my adventure?
As deeply as the experience took me and shook me, it also blessed me, oddly with something I do associate with my long-standing religious roots. It affirmed that curiosity is a gift. Both knowledge of God and knowledge of ourselves are sources of revelation. Calvin, the father of Reformed theology, and Galileo, the brilliant astronomer, were 16th century champions of probing their world for truth and understanding. I find it somewhat serendipitous that John Calvin died the year Galileo was born. The questioning spirit running through both men is a spirit that was sometimes lauded and sometimes punished — in their own time and in every single era up until our present day. The idea that we can always reform our understanding in light of new insights is not only a scientific truth, but it should also be seen as a spiritual truth as well. How might we continue to promote such curiosity in an era like our own, where certainty and irrefutability are seen as signs of power, and lies are so easy to propagate?
Having been a test subject for the convergence of these two realms of understanding, human consciousness, and spirituality, my hope and prayer is that more and more conversations will bubble up that encourage religious practitioners to engage in conversation with their broader world. Princeton University has brought together Reformed theologians and astronomers to talk deeply about the vastness of the universe. Human consciousness becomes a greater area of study as we continue to map more details about brain science and explore ways in which humans seek to understand their world. Of course, I was happy to oblige the experiment being explored at Johns Hopkins Bayview Medical Center, but I am also fascinated by the lifetime of primate studies that Jane Goodall and Frans DeWaal have conducted to help us understand ourselves better by studying our closest animal kin. There is no limit to what we can learn when our minds are open to seeing the connections both science and spirituality are making in our understanding of what it means to be human.
Out of a sense of curiosity alone, I would love to see more spiritual seekers asking the open-ended questions that lead us to understand who we are as humans in relationship with the context of our cosmos. When we look at the night sky, the stars and the moon, it is humbling to think of our smallness in the vastness of the universe. When we think about the context of our own planet, of the intricate web of life of which we are a part, it does inspire questions like, “What are humans that this greater power might be mindful of us?” Our relationship with the Divine is well suited to be one of awe and wonder. It’s my favorite part of being a spiritual leader — to see when someone has that wide-eyed experience that inspires connection and gratitude.
After waxing eloquently about wonder, Psalm 8 gets to the follow up question about dominion. Human beings are capable of and culpable for asserting power over their surroundings. What we choose to do with our lives matters. That’s another deep concept of the Reformed tradition that has remained true for me. As we consider that entheogens might tell us more about ourselves and the ability of our brains to process in alternate ways, thought should go into the settings where that can be done safely, and how spiritual leaders might help integrate the insights that occur into daily practice. To use such knowledge requires consideration of ethical boundaries — not in a moralistic, judgement kind of way, but in a concern for outcomes and best practices kind of way.
For those with curious scientific minds in a spiritually Presbyterian framework, I say, use your gifts in tandem with each other. Be profoundly curious about your world and ALL that is in it. Then, rather than being skeptical about the spiritual realm, engage it to its fullest as well. Let your mind and spirit worship with wonder and awe — which is a characteristically Psalm 8 kind of thing to do. And then ask really good questions, as I know you can, about what it means to be responsible with the knowledge we discover. This idea of human dominion is not tacit permission to be reckless, but rather a charge to be purposeful and to realize that there are consequences in the exploration of the “new” that will have effects on our neighbors or on the creatures and life-forces with which we share this planet.
