History

Eleusis translates as “Advent” or “place of happy arrival” and is associated with “Elysion,” the island of the blessed. It is also the city of Elefsina, 20 km from Athens in Greece. The mystery cult of Eleusis was one of the best-kept secrets of antiquity. For almost two thousand years, until the destruction of the temple there by Christian barbarians in the 4th century, pilgrims traveled every September along the Sacred Way to Athens to Eleusis, fasted, and danced around the fountain dedicated to the goddess Demeter in the forecourt of the temple. They spent the night in the Hall of Mysteries, a windowless hall, and drank – all together – a “sacred drink” called kykeon. And so it happened – such an immediate experience was had that it could only be “seen” but not spoken of. It was forbidden to talk about the experience, under penalty of death. The philosophers Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, like all Greek-speaking people of their time, made a pilgrimage to Eleusis at least once in their lives to celebrate this introspection. The journey to Eleusis served to unite all participants and to suspend the rules of normal life regarding gender and social interaction. By breaking down the barriers of society, the procession revealed the fundamental equality and unity of all people. The procession promoted and protected a common understanding among people of their ultimate fate, death. The rites at Eleusis were considered essential for the survival of humanity, and it was said that the lives of the Greeks would be unbearable if they were prevented from observing the most sacred mysteries that held all of humanity together.

Thousands of books on Greek mythology have been written since then, hundreds of treatises on the Eleusinian rites have been published—yet what lay at the heart of this mystery remains a puzzle to this day.

It was not until the late 1970s that an interdisciplinary collaboration succeeded in establishing a plausible hypothesis. Banker and ethnobotanist Gordon Wasson, pharmacologist and chemist Albert Hofmann, and ancient historian Carl A.P. Ruck suspected that the “sacred drink,” kykeon, could be a preparation made from a hallucinogenic mushroom. Specifically, from Claviceps purpurea, known in German as “Mutterkorn” (mother corn), which grows as a parasite on cereals. This mushroom contains a chemical precursor of LSD, the strongest known psychedelic, which Albert Hofmann discovered by chance in 1943 while experimenting with the alkaloids of mother corn. In their study, the authors point out how closely this fungus is also intertwined with the myth of Demeter, the earth goddess. The Eleusinian Mysteries were celebrated in her honor.

The Eleusinian potion spread throughout the Greek Empire in the form of a Dionysian wine prepared by women, reaching as far as the region of Galilee, where the (itinerant) preacher Jesus later performed his first miracle, transforming the “dry” wedding at Cana into a wine-filled celebration—entirely in keeping with the traditions of the Eleusinian rituals. Until the 4th century, the Christian sect persecuted in the Roman Empire continued its practices in catacombs and private homes. When Emperor Constantine made Christianity the state religion, the priestesses disappeared from the rituals, the sacrament became a placebo, and the largest and most important temple in the Western world was destroyed.

In our cultural history, Eleusis seems to be the last sanctuary that gave the visionary experience an institutional form: a balance between transparency and secrecy, between politics and sanctuary. Hofmann has repeatedly stated that he would like to see a new Eleusis. An interesting proposal indeed.

The history of psychedelics does not begin in the laboratory, but in ritual. Long before terms such as “neurotransmitter” or “consciousness” existed, people knew that certain plants, fungi, and preparations could open doors to images, insights, fear, and ecstasy, but also to healing and meaning. These experiences were not sought out randomly, but were embedded in seasons, rites of passage, and communities.

Cultures around the world explored similar paths. In Central and South America, psilocybin mushrooms were revered as the “flesh of the gods,” peyote accompanied visions of responsibility and belonging, and ayahuasca connected people with ancestors, animals, and the forest itself. In Africa, iboga led to experiences of death and rebirth; in Asia, religious practices revolved around soma and cannabis; and in Siberian regions, the fly agaric mushroom became part of shamanic cosmologies. Everywhere, it was less the substance than the attitude that was similar: the experience was sacred, dangerous, healing—and never private. It required preparation, guidance, and, above all, integration into social life.

This long relationship between humans and psychedelic experiences was abruptly interrupted in modern times. With colonization, missionary work, and the enforcement of a rational Christian worldview, ecstatic practices were increasingly perceived as a threat. Indigenous rituals were considered pagan or demonic, knowledge of plants was suppressed, and the experience of direct transcendence gave way to a belief system based more on texts, dogmas, and authorities. Psychedelic experiences did not disappear, but they were pushed to the margins—into secrecy, illegality, or silence.

It was not until the 20th century that they made an unexpected comeback, this time through the back door of chemistry. In the 1950s and 60s, a serious scientific debate began: psychiatrists used psychedelics to treat depression, addiction, and existential anxiety, often with astonishing results. At the same time, these substances found their way out of clinics and into counterculture. They became symbols of freedom, protest, and consciousness expansion – and thus political. The reaction was swift. In the 1970s, psychedelics were criminalized in the wake of the “War on Drugs” and classified as dangerous, useless, and socially divisive. Research came to a near standstill, and what had served as a tool for the search for meaning for thousands of years was now considered a threat to order. For decades, this story seemed to be over.

Since the turn of the millennium, however, psychedelic research has been experiencing a renaissance. Modern imaging shows how psychedelics loosen rigid self-patterns in the brain, how they can enable new connections and help to break down fixed narratives. Clinical studies prove their effectiveness in treating depression, addiction, anxiety, and trauma—always with one crucial exception: the substance alone does not work.

Thus, the circle closes in a quiet, almost paradoxical way. Modern psychonautics—often understood as individual exploration of consciousness—unconsciously draws on something very old. What happens today in therapeutic rooms, laboratories, or carefully prepared inner journeys is similar in structure to the initiations of earlier cultures: the conscious crossing of boundaries, the temporary loss of the familiar self, and the return with a changed perspective. The difference lies less in the experience itself than in the language we use to interpret it.

Where gods, spirits, or ancestors were once encountered, we now speak of neural networks, default mode suppression, or autobiographical patterns. But both perspectives revolve around the same phenomenon: the breaking down of a self-image that has become too narrow.

In this sense, psychedelics do not lead back to a lost past, nor simply to a technologized future of the mind. They remind us that knowledge must always be embodied, experienced, and integrated. Ancient traditions knew about the necessity of ritual and community, while modern research knows about the importance of set, setting, and follow- up. Both are different answers to the same insight: that consciousness not only wants to be understood, but also embodied.

How can we observe the uncertain day in which we find ourselves? How do our fundamental assumptions (our ontologies) affect the world and ourselves? What is the nature of the veil that separates body and consciousness? What about the right to explore consciousness? And who is even asking this question?