This chapter traces William Burroughs’ encounters with yagé (ayahuasca) as a critical inflection point in his literary development and spiritual imagination. Marcus Boon explores the 1950s Amazonian journeys that led to The Yage Letters (1963) and its expanded edition The Yage Letters Redux (2006), arguing that Burroughs’ experiences with the vine laid the groundwork for his later explorations of language as virus, the cut-up method, and his cosmological vision of control and resistance. Intertwining Cold War paranoia, psychedelic experimentation, and postcolonial critique, Boon situates yagé not as an outlier in Burroughs’ oeuvre but as a key to understanding its epistemological and aesthetic radicalism. The chapter maps Burroughs’ legacy in the broader literary and anthropological discourse on ayahuasca, showing how his early visions resonate with – and complicate – contemporary movements for psychedelic healing, spiritual tourism, and decolonial thought. Burroughs, Boon suggests, helped carry yagé out of the jungle and into a globalized discourse of language, healing, and power.

This chapter explores William Burroughs’ lifelong engagement with anthropology, from his early academic studies at Harvard and Columbia to his immersive depictions of indigenous and subcultural worlds. David Stephen Calonne charts Burroughs’ fascination with shamanism, Mayan hieroglyphics, animal totems, and visionary experience, arguing that his literary project is rooted in an outsider anthropological impulse that spans both ancient cultures and modern subcultures. Burroughs’ friendship with figures like Hal Chase and his involvement with institutions such as the Sahagún Anthropology Club informed works like The Soft Machine, Ah Pook Is Here, and Junky, which often merge ethnographic observation with mystical speculation. The chapter situates Burroughs alongside figures like Marcel Mauss, Georges Bataille, and Carlos Castaneda, and highlights the influence of his writings on contemporary anthropologists such as Michael Taussig. Ultimately, Burroughs emerges as an amateur but radical anthropologist, reimagining the potentials of cultural knowledge and visionary consciousness outside the confines of academic orthodoxy.

The spirituality of the psychiatrist is important because of the way that it may impact the well-being of the psychiatrist, clinical practice and the understanding of psychiatry more widely. In some cases, it may influence a psychiatrist’s sense of vocation to be a psychiatrist. The case study in this chapter draws on the author’s own experience of the ways in which spirituality and formation as a psychiatrist were entangled during training. Three historical examples are offered of different ways in which religion and psychiatry might be entangled in the life, work and thought of psychiatrists: a pragmatic atheism (Maudsley), religion understood as pathology (Freud) and religion as beneficial to mental flourishing (Jung). Three more recent examples are then considered, one of a Christian attempt to integrate theology and psychiatry (Frank Lake), one of reflections on how Buddhism influences practice as a psychiatrist (Mark Epstein) and one of a personal encounter of a psychiatrist with shamanism (Olga Kharitidi).

Allen Ginsberg taught Shelley’s notion of the poet as legislator and the Romantic ideologeme that art could save the world, and conceived of the poet as shaman. He heard his father recite Romantic verse daily for years before he learned to read. This informed his championing of poetry’s “aural renaissance,” in which he played a role. Ginsberg’s early exposure to the first blues recordings made him a lifelong aficionado who taught blues as poetry. Immersion with Kerouac and friends in the New York jazz scene of the 1940s–1950s informed his and Kerouac’s writing, as they adapted jazz – which they equated to “Black speech” – in their writing. The Beats’ synthesis of post-Whitmanic American poetics with the rhythms and inflections of African-American vernacular speech took that argot to the masses, and influenced the 1960s generation of rockers, in particular the two musical phenomena that would carry the Beat/Romantic vision into global mass culture: Bob Dylan and the Beatles.

This chapter explores the prehistoric and evolutionary origins of psychoactive substance use, focusing on how early humans discovered and ritualised mind-altering plants and compounds. It examines archaeological and ethnobotanical evidence from various regions, including the use of hallucinogenic cacti, fungi, and fermented beverages in shamanic traditions. The chapter contextualises substance use as a tool for spiritual mediation, community bonding, and survival adaptation, arguing that the cognitive expansion it facilitated may have contributed to symbolic thinking and early cultural complexity. Through a comparative cross-cultural framework, it identifies commonalities in how early societies integrated psychoactive substances into cosmologies and social structures, laying the groundwork for modern psychological and neuropharmacological interpretations. These early practices are presented not as aberrant or pathological but as foundational to the evolution of human consciousness and imagination.

The final chapter examines how a new kind of shamanism developed in the riverbank settlements and attracted peoples across the colonial and Indigenous spaces. Although shamanism was a feature of Amerindian societies, the Portuguese also had a tradition of healing and folk curing. Riverine shamans from Indigenous communities were highly active in the eighteenth century, and modified Indigenous practices and Catholic symbols to meet the needs of their clients from all backgrounds seeking their ‘merciful’ work. Shamanic curing and healing connected the three spaces as shamans moved between each one and provided clients with relief from their suffering.

The introduction deals with the problematic concept of ‘paganism’ and the nature and variety of Europe’s pre-Christian religions, examining concepts such as animism, religious creolisation, ‘shamanism’, syncretism, and the ‘Christianesque’, as well as exploring the difference between conversion and Christianisation. The introduction argues for the use of the term ‘unchristianised peoples’ as the best one to describe its subject. It surveys the historiography of the last pre-Christian peoples and delineates and justifies the book’s chronological and geographical scope. The introduction critiques the concept of ‘pagan survivals’ in the traditional historiography of European religions, arguing for a tighter definition of pre-Christian religions, and outlines the nature and limitations of the sources available for studying pre-Christian cults.

This chapter centres around a structural equivalency between certain outside entities (e.g., anthropologists, tourists, and some organisations) and shamanic spirits (e.g., master-owners and spirit allies) in Surama Village. This equivalency is explored in connexion with the relational modes (particularly kinship and shamanism) and means (particularly hospitality) through which Makushi people form and manage strategic engagements with human and non-human others. This chapter articulates themes from previous chapters to clarify how Makushi shamanism reveals the status of contemporary visitors (particularly tourists) as akin to spirit allies and the Iwokrama International Centre as a magnified master-owner. Makushi shamanic relations with spirits, past missionaries, tourists, and organisations resonate and overlap. Makushi people seek esoteric knowledge and material goods from such outside entities. The chapter also discusses the spatial centralisation of alterity in Surama Village. The author’s status as a visitor and potential ally is highlighted to reflexively position the author within these relations.

This chapter consists of an extended discussion of shamanism and related ontological concepts among the Makushi. It opens with a narrative of the author’s experiences with a Makushi shaman named Mogo since 2012 and this shaman’s later death. The chapter discusses shamanic training and practices (including charms, spells, and tobacco use), as well as how shamans form relationships with spirits. It describes methods through which Makushi shamans obtain things and abilities from spirit allies. It examines notions of ‘mastery’ and ‘ownership’ and how these relations are grounded within the local landscape. However, unlike other recent ethnographic accounts from elsewhere in Amazonia, this chapter emphasises dimensions of reciprocity in Makushi shamanic relations with non-human beings. The chapter conceptualises Makushi shamanism through the combined theoretical lenses of historical ecology and Amerindian perspectivism. The shamanic relational mode described in this chapter provides a basis for examining relations with human outsiders in subsequent chapters.

This chapter examines the aftermath of early Anglican missionisation to Makushi groups. It begins with a story that was told to the author of a past Makushi leader described by a villager in Surama as a false prophet. The chapter then discusses various prophetic movements that arose among the Makushi and neighbouring Indigenous groups during the 1840s and afterwards which culminated in the alleluia religion. These movements used material and immaterial objects acquired and appropriated from the missionaries for new purposes. Many of these movements emphasised a central theme of transformation, which was often described in colonial sources in terms of Indigenous people becoming ‘white’ in one form or another. The movements combined resistance to colonialism with Christianity, shamanism, and sometimes also sorcery. In this context, shamanism became a means for contacting the Christian God. The chapter foregrounds a shamanic relational mode that structures interactions with outsiders among the Makushi.

Chapter 5 covers the tradition of the apotheosis in North America, principally the North East. It outlines the earliest encounters between Europeans and Native Americans and considers how the former were interpreted as shamans, as powerful spirits called manitou, or as the returning dead. The Europeans’ magnificent vessels conveyed an impression of extraordinary power, but not divinity. The chapter considers what a “first encounter” might mean where coastal natives had already had (sometimes decades of) experience of Europeans by the early seventeenth century. It then considers the extent to which European voyagers, such as Francis Drake, Thomas Harriot, and Walter Raleigh, engaged in self-apotheosis. The final section analyzes eighteenth- and nineteenth-century first encounters in the North American North West, the emergence of prophetic narratives and the significance of oral traditions.

When we think about faith as a relationship with god, rather than a set of propositional beliefs, this changes the way we think about ethics. We think about ethics more as a set of practices and orientations than as rules. The chapter considers this claim through examining the way evangelical Christians come to understand their relationship with Jesus, and more briefly through Catholics who seek to understand what it is to be a modern Mexican, through Amazonian shamans who want to know their spirits, and modern magicians. When we focus on religion as something people do, rather than just what they believe, we must approach ethics as a series of incremental interpretations of how people make sense of who they have become in the world, rather than a carefully considered set of logical arguments.

The first chapter addresses the question of how folkloric beings, or godlings, ought to be defined, examining historic definitions of divine beings of a status lower than the greater gods, from Classical literature to contemporary anthropology. Turning to the British context, the chapter then discusses the evidence for the character of pre-Roman Iron Age religion, and assesses whether there is any evidence that elements of pre-Roman religion such as ‘animism’, therianthropic deities and ‘shamanism’ contributed to the distinctive character of godlings and popular religion in Roman Britain and thereafter. The chapter isolates certain characteristic (though not exclusive) features of godlings, including their identity as chthonic, non-human entities; their status as a multiple group rather than a single personality (in many cases); their status as objects of popular rather than official cults and their links with features of the natural landscape such as forests, groves and water sources.