Getting High with Shakespeare? It Might Have Happened

From clay pipe residues to cryp­tic son­net lines, a long-run­ning the­o­ry pro­pos­es that William Shake­speare exper­i­ment­ed with mind-alter­ing sub­stances, rais­ing ques­tions about evi­dence, inter­pre­ta­tion, and the endur­ing appetite for lit­er­ary con­spir­a­cy. The evi­dence reveals as much about mod­ern fas­ci­na­tion as it does about the Bard him­self.

Var­i­ous sub­stances from caf­feine to LSD have been known to stim­u­late writ­ers and artists across the cen­turies, but one his­tor­i­cal con­spir­a­cy sug­gests that some of the great­est lit­er­ary works of the West­ern world were not cre­at­ed with a sober mind. The spec­u­la­tion has con­tin­ued for near­ly two decades now, with ten­u­ous stud­ies being per­formed and rad­i­cal, if ahis­tor­i­cal inter­pre­ta­tions of Shakespeare’s work hav­ing fueled the debate. The the­o­ry is now almost three decades old, but does it amount to any­thing more than much ado about noth­ing?

The idea behind this burn­ing issue was sparked some­time around Jan­u­ary 1999 by Pro­fes­sor Fran­cis Thack­er­ay when he pub­lished a paper titled The Tenth Muse: Hemp as a Source of Inspi­ra­tion for Shake­speare­an Lit­er­a­ture? in an edi­tion of the Occa­sion­al Papers and Reviews of the Shake­speare Soci­ety of South­ern Africa. It was here that the seeds of a decade-long project were plant­ed.

Thack­ery, a Yale-edu­cat­ed bio­log­i­cal anthro­pol­o­gist and trained chemist who believes that the hard and soft sci­ences are not mutu­al­ly exclu­sive, claims that his cre­ative inspi­ra­tion came from a read­ing of all of Shakespeare’s 154 known son­nets. One work in par­tic­u­lar, known as Son­net 76, refers to “new-found meth­ods and com­pounds strange” and “inven­tion in a not­ed weed” which Thack­er­ay inter­pret­ed as a cod­ed ref­er­ence to the source of cre­ativ­i­ty (“inven­tion”) result­ing from the use of mar­i­jua­na (“not­ed weed”). His crit­ics beg to dif­fer, but we’ll get to that.

By this point, Thack­ery, then work­ing at the Trans­vaal Muse­um in Pre­to­ria and who usu­al­ly spe­cial­izes in pre­his­toric spec­i­mens, direct­ed his meth­ods to two dozen clay pipe frag­ments in the pos­ses­sion of the Shake­speare Birth­place Trust, dug up from the grounds of Shakespeare’s for­mer homes of Straford-upon-Avon and New Place, the lat­ter being where he spent his last days until his death in 1616.

The analy­sis of the pipes, through a process known as GCMS, or gas chro­matog­ra­phy-mass spec­trom­e­try (most promi­nent­ly used for explo­sive residue detec­tion in trans­port hubs such as air­ports), was a joint effort car­ried out with the help of a col­league from his for­mer alma mater of the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cape Town, Pro­fes­sor Nicholas van der Mer­we as well as Inspec­tor Tom­my van der Mer­we of the South African Police nar­cotics lab­o­ra­to­ry. Talk about being a narc, all of this effort, and get­ting the police involved essen­tial­ly just to pin some drug charges on a guy who’s been dead for over 4 cen­turies.

Heinz Tschanz-Hof­mann, Abyssin­ian peas­ants smok­ing a pipe and play­ing a musi­cal instru­ment in present-day Ethiopia, 1869.

The tech­nique is, of course, very sen­si­tive and can pick up very slight residues, even ones that have been com­bust­ed and are liable to break down after only a few years of being in the ground, as is the case with cannabis resin. In an unre­lat­ed study, Pro­fes­sor van der Mer­we pro­duced sim­i­lar results in his tests of Ethiopi­an pipes from the 15th cen­tu­ry. An in-depth arti­cle describes the process thus: “Residues and sed­i­ments from the inte­ri­or of bowls and bores of pipe stems were treat­ed in 5‑mL chlo­ro­form to extract organ­ic com­pounds. The organ­ics were then con­cen­trat­ed in 0.2‑mL sol­vent and ana­lyzed by cou­pled GCMS using an HP 5890 gas chro­mato­graph inter­faced with a 5890 mass selec­tive detec­tor. Iden­ti­fi­ca­tions were based on EI spec­tra expressed in terms of mass:charge ratios (m/z) and rel­a­tive abun­dances of com­pounds in ref­er­ence sam­ples.”

With expec­ta­tions high, the tests were per­formed. Ulti­mate­ly, the pipes were dat­ed to some­time around the ear­ly 17th cen­tu­ry, and despite being cleaned of most resin and dirt by restor­ers of the Shake­speare Birth­place Trust, eight of the sam­ples showed signs of trace com­pounds asso­ci­at­ed with cannabis (name­ly cannabi­nol and cannabid­i­ol) while two con­tained ele­ments of Peru­vian cocaine (ery­throx­y­lum) as well as the more con­ven­tion­al sub­stance of nico­tine (imply­ing tobac­co use), “more than we bar­gained for,” accord­ing to Thack­er­ay. But that’s not all, the pipes were also found to have residue from cam­phor and myris­tic acid, the lat­ter of which is pri­mar­i­ly found in plants such as nut­meg, known for its hal­lu­cino­genic and dan­ger­ous effects, although these results were weed­ed out from the con­clu­sions. A high point for the project indeed, and it was here where Thack­er­ay found his oppor­tu­ni­ty to pipe up to the media to present his trail­blaz­ing results to the world.

An engrav­ing depict­ing Nut­meg plant. From John Parkin­son’s The­atrum Botan­icum or the The­ater of Plantes, Lon­don, 1640.

But what does the world know now besides that who­ev­er smoked these pipes was into some heavy shit? Regard­ing Shake­speare, noth­ing. But it does offer a win­dow into the social his­to­ry of Eng­land, as the ear­li­est record of con­sump­tion of cocaine in Europe only dates back less than two cen­turies ago imme­di­ate­ly fol­low­ing its suc­cess­ful extrac­tion from coca leaves by Ger­man sci­en­tist Friedrich Gaed­cke in 1855. So at the very least, it rewrites the com­plete his­to­ry of drug use in Eng­land, a sto­ry for which no writ­ten records seem to exist.

This is in large part because the use of hal­lu­cino­genic stim­u­lants and oth­er intox­i­cants short of alco­hol was met with con­dem­na­tion from both roy­al and church author­i­ties alike and likened to witch­craft in an offi­cial decree against cannabis by Pope Inno­cent VIII in 1484. Any writer who risked men­tion­ing it or any oth­er out­side source of inspi­ra­tion like­ly had their work destroyed. At the time, Pope Urban VII even threat­ened with excom­mu­ni­ca­tion any­one who con­sumed tobac­co in or near a church while King James I wrote an entire trea­tise against tobac­co, imply­ing that it may lead to steril­i­ty and pos­ses­sion by the dev­il. The orig­i­nal devil’s weed.

It’s sug­gest­ed that coca leaves were brought over to Eng­land by the explor­er Sir Fran­cis Drake dur­ing his time in Peru (as ear­ly as 1573) while nico­tiana leaves — from which we derive mod­ern tobac­co crop — arrived into mass con­sump­tion by way of Sir Wal­ter Raleigh’s expe­di­tions to Vir­ginia between 1584–87 after Sir John Hawkins brought the first seeds to Eng­land in 1565. Being that these men were all con­tem­po­raries of Shake­speare, this gives a nar­row win­dow of rough­ly 32 years for both sub­stances to have poten­tial­ly reached Shake­speare before his death in 1616, but from here the trail becomes hazy. Four of the pipes with cannabis came from Shakespeare’s gar­den at his home of New Place, which he acquired in 1602. It may be a stretch, but giv­en Shakespeare’s immense life­time fame and roy­al con­nec­tions, he may very well have had access to goods that were yet unavail­able to the gen­er­al pub­lic. Put that in your clay pipe and smoke it.

Fol­low­ing the pub­li­ca­tion of the study, titled Chem­i­cal analy­sis of residues from sev­en­teenth-cen­tu­ry clay pipes from Strat­ford-upon-Avon and envi­rons, in 2001 and again in the July/August 2015 edi­tion of The South African Jour­nal of Sci­ence, Thack­er­ay was quick to empha­size that there was no guar­an­tee that any of the pipes belonged to the bard him­self, adding that their time and place of ori­gin were the strongest link, and giv­en the preva­lence of the crop in Eng­land at the time, Shake­speare would have been aware of its exis­tence, at least. Cer­tain­ly, even if the spec­u­la­tion is based on truth, there is no guar­an­tee that some of these sub­stances would have been imbibed pure­ly for plea­sure, as cannabis (along­side opi­um pop­pies) was a known home rem­e­dy in Eliz­a­bethan Eng­land.

Cannabis sati­va is said to have been intro­duced to Eng­land some­time dur­ing the Roman peri­od and reached indus­tri­al-scale pro­duc­tion dur­ing the Tudor era, becom­ing the nation’s sec­ond-most plant for cul­ti­va­tion fol­low­ing a man­date by King Hen­ry VIII, accord­ing to Har­vard Mag­a­zine. Although, it wasn’t for any kind of high. The plant was employed in the form of hemp for a vari­ety of rea­sons includ­ing paper­mak­ing and can­vas cloth as well as being twist­ed into rope (instead of joints), most­ly for use on ships, due to their dura­bil­i­ty in resist­ing the effect of harsh sea­wa­ter. After his death, Shakespeare’s First Folio was the world’s first attempt at col­lect­ing his works into a sin­gle book. Sure enough, the book was print­ed on hemp paper. Coin­ci­dence? A poet­ic one, cer­tain­ly.

Notably, Sir Wal­ter Raleigh is famous­ly cred­it­ed with intro­duc­ing pipe smok­ing to Eliz­a­bethan Eng­land around July 27, 1586, after return­ing from the New World. Anoth­er key fact to take into account is that even though the infa­mous pipes were dat­ed to the 17th cen­tu­ry, a por­tion of Shakespeare’s birth­place in Strat­ford-upon-Avon ( where sev­er­al of the pipes were dis­cov­ered) turned into an inn around 1647 named the Swan and Maid­en­head. This is notable because exact­ly around this time, the Eng­lish Civ­il War was rag­ing and in response to the war and oth­er tur­moil, Eng­land saw a rise in drink­ing estab­lish­ments where peo­ple went to relieve their stress. Who’s to say an errant cus­tomer didn’t light up a bowl of the stuff one night and drop their pipe amid a cross­fad­ed haze? Giv­en this infor­ma­tion, there’s a like­li­er chance of that hap­pen­ing than the pipes hav­ing been in the pos­ses­sion of the famous play­wright, see­ing as he died ear­ly on in the cen­tu­ry.

Shakespeare’s birth­place in Strat­ford-upon-Avon, lat­er the Swan and Maid­en­head inn.

Nev­er­the­less, the results set the media world aflame, and these small, incon­ve­nient caveats didn’t stop the out­lets from pub­lish­ing a crop of intense click­bait procla­ma­tions that Shake­speare was def­i­nite­ly a rag­ing ston­er and chilled out with a fat bowl while cre­at­ing some of the world’s best the­atri­cal works. Rid­ing on the buzz gen­er­at­ed from his dis­cov­er­ies, Thack­er­ay then set his sights on the earth­ly remains of Shake­speare, buried at the Church of the Holy Trin­i­ty in Strat­ford-upon-Avon on April 25, 1616. Again, the media lit up in response to the announce­ment.

Thack­er­ay, now the direc­tor of the Insti­tute for Human Evo­lu­tion at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Wit­wa­ter­srand in Johan­nes­burg, is no stranger to pick­ing through bones and assured that the tech­nol­o­gy is “non-destruc­tive” and suf­fi­cient­ly state-of-the-art. “We have incred­i­ble tech­niques … we don’t intend to move the remains at all.” Thack­er­ay said in a state­ment pro­vid­ed to FoxNews.

At the time, the plan was to exam­ine Shakespeare’s teeth to check for signs that they may have clenched a clay pipe while also extract­ing a small DNA sam­ple from his tooth enam­el or any remain­ing tis­sue, hair, or nails that could expose his drug habits when put under chem­i­cal analy­sis. Thack­er­ay also hopes to scan the bones of Shake­speare (as well as those of his his wife Anne Hath­away and daugh­ter Susan­na while he’s at it) and gen­er­ate a dig­i­tal recon­struc­tion, in the hope that he could poten­tial­ly dis­cov­er the man’s cause of death and gen­er­ate a facial recon­struc­tion from his skull.

It all sounds well and good, except for the ‘under­ly­ing’ fact that Shake­speare had a death­ly anx­i­ety — pho­bia, even — of his bod­i­ly exhuma­tion, he was even not­ed by Pro­fes­sor Philip Schwyz­er of Exeter Uni­ver­si­ty to have includ­ed ref­er­ences to the abuse or exhuma­tion of corpses through­out some 16 of his 37 known plays. As his final lit­er­ary cre­ation before his death, he wrote a curse which con­tin­ues to stand above his tomb inside the church of his bur­ial: “Good frend for Jesus sake forebeare,/ To digg the dust encloased heare;/ Bleste be the man that spares thes stones,/ And curst be he that moves my bones.”

Since this goes lit­er­al­ly against the man’s final wish, this is like­ly the rea­son why there have nev­er been any attempts to dig the man’s bones up any­time in the last four cen­turies, with the excep­tion of an unfound­ed rumor that Shakespeare’s skull was stolen in 1769. But con­sid­er­ing that some strange man from half the world away has come to chip off pieces of his teeth and upload his remains to cyber­space, one could say that in the end, the fears weren’t irra­tional at all. Thack­er­ay, when asked about the curse, clev­er­ly respond­ed, “The curse said noth­ing about teeth.”

In 2011, Thack­er­ay sent in a for­mal appli­ca­tion to the Church of Eng­land to be giv­en the go-ahead for the under­tak­ing, the announce­ment was well pub­li­cized in the hope that some results would be com­piled before the 400th anniver­sary of Shakespeare’s death in 2016. But media high wore off imme­di­ate­ly after the church denied any exis­tence of such a request, and it was only dis­cov­ered sev­er­al years lat­er that the project took a hit when the request was denied by the Dio­cese of Worces­ter. Nev­er­the­less, the ques­tion tempts: to see or not to see?

For inter­est­ed par­ties, it was a buzz kill in the truest sense of the phrase. Shake­speare is enig­mat­ic not only for his ground­break­ing works of lit­er­a­ture but also for the fact that such a peren­ni­al­ly famous his­tor­i­cal fig­ure has entire gaps in his life unknown to mod­ern his­to­ry. Nat­u­ral­ly, these gaps get filled with con­spir­a­cy and spec­u­la­tion of every degree, and judg­ment tends to become a bit cloud­ed. There­fore, it makes sense that a 15-year effort to con­clu­sive­ly attach just one new fact about the man and his life would attract such wide­spread atten­tion and such high hopes that the effort doesn’t go up in smoke. Seem­ing­ly once or twice a year, there’s a new report of rev­e­la­tions of new details or the­o­ries about the man. Usu­al­ly, every time it hap­pens, the world gets fired up about it until the infor­ma­tion gets sub­ject­ed to aca­d­e­m­ic scruti­ny.

Now, lack of phys­i­cal proof notwith­stand­ing, let’s delve into the man’s work and see the evi­dence there. First of all, through­out his entire body of work, Shake­speare has nev­er made any direct ref­er­ences to tobac­co, hal­lu­cino­gens, or psy­choac­tive sub­stances. He did, how­ev­er, make mul­ti­ple ref­er­ences to intox­i­ca­tion by alco­hol and var­i­ous potions and poi­sons through­out his writ­ing — even hav­ing been rumored to have died as a result of con­tract­ing a fever after a par­tic­u­lar­ly seri­ous night of birth­day drink­ing, accord­ing to a dis­put­ed account of the man’s pass­ing, writ­ten 45 years after the fact — as well as dis­play­ing a strong famil­iar­i­ty with herbs and their effects.

Romeo and Juli­et men­tions Romeo’s suc­cess­ful acqui­si­tion of illic­it sub­stances, pun­ish­able by death in the city of Man­tua while in Oth­el­lo, “drowsy syrups”, opi­um pop­pies, and man­drakes are invoked as inad­e­quate reme­dies to the emo­tion­al manip­u­la­tion foist­ed upon the play’s epony­mous pro­tag­o­nist by the arch-vil­lain of the sto­ry, Iago. In the lat­ter exam­ple, Shake­speare specif­i­cal­ly clar­i­fies that he is aware of the psy­choac­tive opi­um pop­pies import­ed from Asia and not mere­ly the harm­less, local­ly grown vari­eties.

Ten­ta­tive­ly, the mat­ter of an anony­mous short play titled “A Coun­try Con­tro­ver­sy” is brought up and believed by some schol­ars (since 2015) to be writ­ten, at least in part, by Shake­speare. Per­formed for Queen Eliz­a­beth on May 10, 1591, the play deals with an argu­ment between a gar­den­er and a mol­e­catch­er who lay claim to a jew­el box dug up dur­ing the con­struc­tion of a gar­den. Sup­pos­ed­ly, the short per­for­mance was alle­gor­i­cal to the polit­i­cal intrigue of the time and was put on entire­ly to get on the queen’s good side, but that’s beside the point.

The good pro­fes­sor believes that this is indeed Shakespeare’s work, most­ly back­ing up the claim through schol­ar­ly analy­ses that iden­ti­fy vocab­u­lary sim­i­lar­i­ties to works defin­i­tive­ly known to be writ­ten by Shake­speare, pri­mar­i­ly in the use of cer­tain rare phras­es. In the play, Thack­er­ay points to a descrip­tion of a par­tic­u­lar plant in the gar­den. In the play, the plant is described as “that which maketh time with­er with son­der­ing”. “I sug­gest that this is a cryp­tic ref­er­ence to cannabis, which is known to have the effect of mak­ing time ‘slow down’ — as per­ceived by a per­son smok­ing cannabis [or “with­er]” he says. Cer­tain­ly, it would be dif­fi­cult to imag­ine what oth­er plants could read­i­ly be asso­ci­at­ed with such a descrip­tion.

An engrav­ing of Raleigh smok­ing the first pipe in Eng­land, from Fred­er­ick William Fairholt’s Tobac­co, Its His­to­ry and Asso­ci­a­tions, 1859.

Final­ly, Shakespeare’s son­nets are said to offer the clear­est poten­tial ref­er­ences to cannabis, and there are cer­tain­ly sev­er­al pos­si­bil­i­ties behind their mean­ings, but many of them are quite clear­ly half-baked. In Son­net 27, Shake­speare ref­er­ences “a jour­ney in my head,” while in Son­net 38, he refers to a “tenth muse, ten times more in worth than those old nine which rhymers invo­cate”. While the first exam­ple was writ­ten in the con­text of dream­ing after get­ting in bed after a tir­ing day of trav­el, the lat­ter quote sug­gests that Shake­speare encoun­tered some­thing, either a new per­son, sub­stance, or oth­er­wise that was unlike any of the con­ven­tion­al sources of poet­ic inspi­ra­tion.

Son­net 118, a poem com­par­ing the con­sump­tion and purg­ing of food (and pos­si­bly oth­er sub­stances) with var­i­ous roman­tic rela­tion­ships in Shakespeare’s life begins with the lines “Like as to make our appetites more keen, With eager com­pounds we our palate urge.” To Thack­er­ay, this is a poten­tial allu­sion to the feel­ing of increased appetite under the influ­ence of cannabis, or as some would call it, “the munchies”.

The most divi­sive exam­ple among the son­nets is cer­tain­ly Son­net 76, quot­ed ear­li­er. While the believ­ers of the Cannabis Shake­speare Con­spir­a­cy (Shake­spear­a­cy?) the­o­ry sug­gest “com­pounds strange” are refer­ring to cocaine (with the word ‘com­pound’ known to be used as a chem­i­cal term as ear­ly as 1530) and the “not­ed weed” being, well, weed.

A more sober analy­sis sug­gests that the “com­pounds” are new lit­er­ary tech­niques involv­ing the cre­ation of com­pound words, or even port­man­teaus (such as ‘Shake­spear­a­cy’), which may have cer­tain­ly sound­ed “strange” upon their ini­tial encounter with read­ers. The “weed” is writ­ten off as a euphemism for cloth­ing, a com­mon lit­er­ary choice at the time, being used in this con­text as a way of “dress­ing up” lan­guage to be more inter­est­ing, accord­ing to one schol­ar, adding that there is no clear evi­dence that the word “weed” was used as a name for cannabis or any oth­er smok­ing sub­stances until well into the 20th cen­tu­ry.

Thack­er­ay hits back, claim­ing that the entire poem refers to see­ing the same words and lit­er­ary con­ven­tions in a new light, the same way you’d start see­ing any­thing dif­fer­ent­ly when you’re high. How­ev­er, Shake­speare, usu­al­ly the deal­er of potent verse, laments that he isn’t doing just that, lead­ing his words to have a pre­dictabil­i­ty to them in the eyes of the read­er. Still, the schol­ars of Shake­speare who see him as a sober genius wor­thy of his own mer­it alone are ambiva­lent, even hos­tile, to Thackeray’s con­clu­sions. His crit­ics main­tain he’s just blow­ing smoke.

In 2001, Pro­fes­sor Stan­ley Wells of the Shake­speare Birth­place Trust report­ed­ly called the whole thing “regret­table” while Pro­fes­sor James Shapiro of Colum­bia Uni­ver­si­ty described Thackeray’s read­ing of the son­nets as a “real­ly lame inter­pre­ta­tion” and that “Just because these pipes were found in his gar­den doesn’t mean his neigh­bor kid didn’t throw the pipes over the fence. There are a mil­lion pos­si­ble expla­na­tions.” Harsh. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

But could there be oth­er evi­dence left undis­cov­ered? Per­haps. It’s already been estab­lished that some plays not for­mal­ly attrib­uted to Shake­speare were writ­ten with his col­lab­o­ra­tion. But as with any­thing in the realm of con­spir­a­cies, if you go deep enough you’ll be sure to get some fas­ci­nat­ing sto­ries out of the deal, even if they’re far from true.

Close­up of the alleged por­trait of Shake­speare from the 1597 edi­tion of Gen­er­all His­to­rie of Plantes.

One deeply com­plex the­o­ry pro­posed by Mark Grif­fiths, a writer at Coun­try Life mag­a­zine, was described by his edi­tor as “the lit­er­ary dis­cov­ery of the cen­tu­ry” and sug­gests that a book of plants pub­lished in 1597, John Gerard’s Gen­er­all His­to­rie of Plantes con­tains the only known por­trait of Shake­speare made in his life­time on its cov­er, argu­ing his posi­tion through an inter­pre­ta­tion of sub­tle sym­bol­ic ele­ments around the engrav­ing (the herbs, ini­tials, motifs, etc.) such as the lau­rel wreath over the man’s head, sug­gest­ed to be an allu­sion to Apol­lo, the Greek god of poet­ry and a com­mon sym­bol for writ­ers at the time.

Oth­ers were quick to nip the the­o­ry in the bud and point out that the man is actu­al­ly Dioscorides, a Greek doc­tor who lived between 40–90 AD and pub­lished a book on herbal med­i­cine that remained the stan­dard across Europe for the next 1,500 years. For the doubters, he’s even labeled as such in a reprint of the same book with the same fron­tispiece engrav­ing, but we’ll ignore that detail for now because there are oth­er men on the cov­er as well, and this is where it begins to get delight­ful­ly con­spir­a­to­r­i­al.

Engrav­ing of William Cecil, oth­er­wise known as Lord Burgh­ley (left), Queen Eliz­a­beth, and prin­ci­pal sec­re­tary to the Queen Fran­cis Wals­ing­ham.

William Cecil, oth­er­wise known as Lord Burgh­ley, was also iden­ti­fied as one of the men on the engrav­ing. Cecil had his gar­dens tend­ed to by the book’s author, Ger­ard, but was also the man who com­mis­sioned the per­for­mance of that anony­mous play pos­si­bly writ­ten by Shake­speare, A Coun­try Con­tro­ver­sy, which was per­formed at his res­i­dence in Hert­ford­shire for Her Roy­al Majesty and her court. The play was set at the same afore­men­tioned gar­den at Cecil’s Hert­ford­shire estate that was worked on by Ger­ard, who even­tu­al­ly wrote his book on herbs six years after the play’s per­for­mance and includ­ed entries for the herb, cannabis sati­va, as well as the “taba­co or hen­bane of Peru” oth­er­wise known as coca leaves, from which one derives cocaine.

Con­nect­ing the dots, this could mean that Queen Eliz­a­beth, who was first in line to receive rich­es from the New World (cour­tesy of her favorite explor­ers such as Drake) and was also a vis­i­tor to Lord Burghley’s estate, brought along these exot­ic plants for Cecil’s exten­sive gar­den to be plant­ed and stud­ied by Ger­ard then poten­tial­ly used for inspi­ra­tion by the man behind the anony­mous play, assumed to be Shake­speare. It seems less of a stretch con­sid­er­ing that Shake­speare him­self was favored enough by the queen to have his plays per­formed at her court on more than one occa­sion and prob­a­bly received his own share of spe­cial priv­i­leges. But again, this is a reach, and it’s impor­tant to under­stand that the demand to prove this wild the­o­ry exceeds the evi­dence cur­rent­ly avail­able.

Illus­tra­tion of Burgh­ley House from Fran­cis Peck­’s Desider­a­ta Curiosa, 1732–35.

What­ev­er the case may be, Thack­er­ay remains adamant, “Lit­er­ary analy­ses and chem­i­cal sci­ence can be mutu­al­ly ben­e­fi­cial, bring­ing the arts and the sci­ences togeth­er to bet­ter under­stand Shake­speare and his con­tem­po­raries”, he explains to Time. Although it seems like every ounce of truth was being trad­ed for a pound of sen­sa­tion­al­ism, the idea of keep­ing Shake­speare rel­e­vant to our times by any means pos­si­ble is com­mend­able, but we may just have to set­tle on appre­ci­at­ing the uni­ver­sal, last­ing appeal of his plays alone and accept the blunt truth that Shake­speare was a mys­te­ri­ous­ly unique prod­uct of his time, even if his cre­ative process may not have been the same as ours.

At a time when recre­ation­al cannabis use is becom­ing extreme­ly pop­u­lar, it seems more like­ly the entire effort to prove Shake­speare blazed it in the 17th cen­tu­ry just like peo­ple do now tells us more about our­selves than of our pre­de­ces­sors, and we’re just look­ing at our reflec­tion. Per­haps in the com­ing years, as research meth­ods become more cre­ative and sophis­ti­cat­ed, we’ll be rid­ing on a new high, but for now, it’s just smoke and mir­rors.

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