Two Worlds, Two Ways of Drinking

Imagine an ancient Maya shaman lifting a clay cup of balché – a sacred honey-mead – toward the sky, seeking visions of the divine. Now picture a modern Westerner raising a beer glass in a crowded bar for a casual toast. These scenes, separated by centuries and cultures, reveal just how differently alcohol has been woven into human life. In the Maya world, alcoholic inebriation was a sacred act, loaded with spiritual purpose and strict ritual. Today’s Western drinking culture, by contrast, is largely a social affair, more about camaraderie and relaxation than communion with gods. This journey will explore the timeline and traditions of Maya alcoholic rituals – who drank and why, how these brews were made and imbibed, and the rules and rites that guided them – and then we’ll contrast that with the way people drink in modern Western societies. Along the way, we’ll briefly see how the Maya’s use of alcohol stood apart from their other mind-altering substances. Get ready to travel from ancient temples to modern taverns, uncovering two very different worlds united by the quest for a good drink.

Sacred Brews of the Maya

In the Maya civilization, alcohol was not a mere beverage – it was a “spirit” in every sense. The oldest evidence of fermentation in Mesoamerica suggests that by the time of the early Maya (over 2,000 years ago), people had learned to brew intoxicating drinks. Long before grapes and wine were introduced by Europeans, the Maya were crafting their own libations from local resources. The centerpiece was balché, a ceremonial drink made from the bark of the balché tree (Lonchocarpus species) fermented with water and sacred honey from native stingless bees. According to Maya tradition, every ingredient was special. Elders would draw pure, “virgin” water at dawn from hidden cenotes (natural wells), and women were usually forbidden from these water-gathering rituals. The honey – a prized ingredient – came from carefully tended beehives of the Melipona bee, yielding a unique, aromatic sweetness. Brewmasters would soak the tree bark in the honey-water mixture, letting wild yeast ferment it over a couple of days. The result was a mildly alcoholic mead with a sweet, woody taste. This was the beloved balché, often described as having a low alcohol content (roughly comparable to beer). Because it fermented quickly and reached only about 3–4% alcohol by volume, one had to drink bowl after bowl to achieve a strong buzz – which the Maya quite enthusiastically did during rituals.

Balché wasn’t the only drink in town. Another common Maya alcoholic beverage was known simply as chih, essentially a form of pulque (fermented agave sap). The Maya of the Yucatán tapped the maguey plant for its sweet sap, fermenting it into a milky, mildly alcoholic brew much like the pulque made by their Aztec neighbors. In Maya mythology, this maguey sap was likened to the blood of a goddess. (In central Mexico the maguey had its own deity, Mayahuel, and a classic legend tells how the god Quetzalcoatl fell in love with her and brought humanity the agave plant as a gift – a myth reflecting the divine status of alcoholic drink.) Maya potters even painted hieroglyphic symbols for “chi” on drinking vessels, indicating pulque’s presence at least by the Classic period of Maya history. Besides balché and chih, the Maya could ferment maize to make something akin to corn beer, and they sometimes concocted fruit wines or other local beverages. Another related drink was xtabentún, a liqueur originating in Yucatán that combined fermented honey (often from anise-scented nectar) with anise seed – likely a post-Spanish variation of the older honey brews.

Crucially, these drinks were not consumed casually in ancient times. They were imbued with ritual meaning and often reserved for special contexts. The very existence of a Maya god of alcohol underlines how important inebriation was in their culture. This deity, known as Acan, presided over drinking and intoxication much like Bacchus or Dionysus did in the Old World. Acan’s name itself supposedly meant “groan” or “belch,” a humorous nod to the sounds of a drunkard, and he was counted among the divine figures the Maya honored. Brewing and drinking were often done under the gods’ watchful eyes. In fact, archaeologists have found that the Madrid Codex (one of the surviving Maya books) devotes multiple pages to bees and honey, suggesting how central honey-ferment was to Maya life and ritual. With the blessing of Acan and other spirits, the Maya regarded their alcoholic drinks as gifted from the sacred – tools to heal the body, nourish social bonds, and open gateways to the spiritual realm.

Rituals, Roles, and Rules in Maya Drinking

Alcohol consumption in the Maya world followed elaborate rituals and strict social rules. It was not a recreational pastime but a ceremonially choreographed event. Who drank, when they drank, and how much they drank were all defined by tradition.

For everyday Maya people, a lightly fermented beverage could be a staple – something consumed in moderation as a nutritive drink (much as small beer was in medieval Europe). Indeed, colonial accounts suggest that among some Mesoamerican communities, a modest amount of pulque or similar drink was taken daily, regarded as normal and healthful. However, true drunkenness was generally reserved for special occasions and sacred ceremonies. On important festival days – marking events like harvests, fertility rites, or victories – drinking became a central feature of celebration. Archaeologists point to an ancient mural discovered in Cholula (near Puebla, Mexico) that vividly depicts a massive drinking scene: men and women in ritual attire, 164 figures strong, quaffing pulque from pottery vessels, offering drinks to the gods, and even appearing to vomit and relieve themselves openly. This 1,800-year-old “Mural of the Drinkers” reveals that being drunk in moderation was everyday, but during major religious events the Maya would consume alcohol in copious amounts. On those days, intoxication was not only accepted – it was expected.

At the heart of these rituals were the shamans and priests, who acted as spiritual guides and master of ceremonies for communal drinking. In a typical ceremony (for example, the rain-bringing ritual known as Ch’a Cháak), a shaman would begin by preparing an altar and offering food to the deities. Four balché gourds or bottles might be placed at the cardinal directions of a sacred table, symbolizing the cosmic order. The shaman would then dedicate the drink to the gods – often dramatically splashing a bit of balché to the earth in each direction as an offering to the earth and sky. Only after the gods and ancestors had “tasted” their share would the people begin to drink. And there was a strict order to it: The shaman, as the spiritual leader, usually drank first and drank the most. In fact, it was practically a job requirement that the shaman become heavily intoxicated. As the ritual unfolded, the shaman might down an entire bottle or gourd of balché while chanting prayers, entering a trance state to communicate with supernatural forces. This extreme inebriation was seen as the shaman “crossing over” to the spirit world, guided by the alcohol. Other participants drank in descending order of status: the oldest and most honored men received their balché next, then younger men, and so on. (In many Maya communities, women did not partake in ritual drinking at all – they prepared the feast and drink, but stood aside during the intoxication, which was considered a male and priestly domain.) In the circle of drinkers, how soon you were handed the communal gourd and how much you consumed was a public marker of your social standing. From nobles and warriors to farmers, everyone’s role in society was mirrored in the drinking order.

The rules of drinking in Maya society were quite strict. Outside of ritual contexts, drunkenness could be frowned upon or even punished – similar to the laws of the Aztecs, who severely penalized young people for public intoxication. It’s likely that the Maya, too, expected only mature adults and esteemed elders to drink freely. Youths and those of lesser status were probably forbidden from overindulging except perhaps during specific sanctioned festivals. The reverence for alcohol came with a recognition of its power; it had to be handled with respect. There were even practical rules like what time of day or how many rounds could be drunk during a ceremony. Some rituals prescribed specific quantities – for instance, one guardian of tradition described a protective ceremony that involved walking around a property nine times and drinking thirteen bowls of balché in the process. The symbolism of numbers and directions was intertwined with the act of drinking.

One striking aspect of Maya ritual inebriation was the acceptance – even the encouragement – of extreme physical reactions as part of the spiritual experience. During marathon drinking rites, it was common for participants (especially the shaman or lead drinkers) to vomit from overindulgence. While today we’d consider that a party foul, the Maya saw it as part of the purification process. We have accounts of ritual participants collecting their own vomit in sacks hung around their necks as a sort of badge of honor and purification. The balché brew itself had a mild emetic effect due to compounds in the tree bark, and this “cleansing” was seen as expelling evil or illness from the body. In some cases, ritual drinkers would continue consuming until their bodies literally couldn’t take more. The combination of dizziness, purging, and trance was viewed as a gateway to communing with spirits. Some artwork even shows celebrants in the throes of intoxication transforming into animal forms – for instance, a man might be depicted half-changed into a jaguar – symbolizing that through drunken ecstasy they could access their wayob, or spirit companions, and travel in the spiritual realm. Only in these altered states could certain prophecies be made or divine messages interpreted.

Despite the intensity of these practices, not all Maya drinking was about wild excess. They also used alcohol in controlled ways for more quotidien needs. Small doses of fermented drink might be taken as medicine: balché was known to be used as a remedy for stomach ailments and infections (the fermentation plus the balché bark’s herbal properties made it antibacterial and probiotic). A bit of pulque was given to the elderly to ease pains, and even sacrificial victims were sometimes offered a hearty drink beforehand – both as an anesthetic and a ritual offering to the gods to dull the victim’s fear. The Maya clearly understood alcohol’s double-edged nature: it was a medicine and a sacrament when used properly, but also a potent force that could cause chaos if misused. That’s why the rituals and rules were so important – they kept this powerful tool in check and harnessed it for the community’s benefit.

Alcohol vs. Other Altered States in Maya Culture

Alcohol was just one of many psychoactive pathways the Maya explored in their spiritual life. They lived in a land rich with natural intoxicants, and they made use of several – from tobacco and mushrooms to cacao mixtures and even toad secretions. But alcoholic inebriation occupied a unique niche in this spectrum of mind-altering experiences. It’s illuminating to compare how the Maya viewed alcohol versus how they approached other substances.

For the Maya, hallucinogens and entheogens (substances that induce spiritual visions) were often regarded as more direct lines to the gods. For instance, they consumed wild psilocybin mushrooms (dubbed “k’aizalaj okox” in Maya, meaning crazy mushrooms) in certain rites to spark powerful visions. They crushed morning glory seeds (containing LSD-like compounds) into drinks and ate fresh water lilies, seeking trance states and prophetic dreams. Tobacco – far stronger and unfiltered compared to today’s cigarettes – was smoked or taken as snuff to bring on dizziness and vision, especially when combined with herbs like Datura. In fact, shamans sometimes administered tobacco or intoxicating herbs via enemas to intensify their effect; ceramic depictions show ritual enemas being given, with participants sometimes depicted vomiting or entering wild trances as a result. The Maya even experimented with bizarre additives: there are accounts of them infusing balché with the skin of certain toads or with extra tobacco, effectively “spiking” their alcoholic drink with additional hallucinogens to achieve a stronger spiritual experience.

So where did plain alcohol fit into this mind-bending menagerie? Generally, alcohol was a milder, more controllable intoxicant compared to the vivid hallucinations of mushrooms or peyote. A shaman might smoke or ingest potent psychoactives in very restricted, sacred contexts to, say, speak with ancestral spirits or perform healing magic. These were often solo or small-group experiences, carefully supervised, sometimes done in darkness or caves to commune with the underworld. Alcohol, on the other hand, was the go-to substance for communal rituals and celebrations. It was the great social lubricant of Maya society — but notably, with a spiritual twist that social drinking today usually lacks. Large groups of people could partake in alcohol together, syncing their mood and energy in a celebration, whereas hardcore hallucinogens were usually not taken by the masses at once due to their overwhelming effects.

The effects of alcohol – relaxation, euphoria, loss of inhibitions, and in large amounts dizziness and purging – were seen as a path to achieving a trance and connecting with divine forces, albeit a more grounded trance compared to the out-of-body visions of something like a mushroom trip. Importantly, alcohol’s effects could be scaled: a little for a light buzz in a small ceremony, a lot for a full ecstasy in a major rite. Other substances were harder to dose for a crowd without someone overdosing or “flying too far.” In a sense, balché and pulque were the entire community’s entheogen – safer to consume in bulk, nutritious, and only mildly mind-bending unless taken in extreme quantities.

Another difference was accessibility and frequency. The honey wine and pulque were available regularly and even had daily uses (nutrition, hydration, medicine) in small amounts. The potent hallucinogens were typically reserved for special moments – a king’s vision quest, a healer treating a patient, or an oracle seeking guidance. Alcohol was more democratic; it could involve the whole village in a festival where everyone shares the altered state together, singing, dancing, telling stories and reaffirming social bonds under the stars. Other drugs might connect an individual to the gods directly, but alcohol tended to connect the community together first, and then collectively to the divine.

That said, the lines did blur at times. As noted, the Maya were quite willing to combine substances to heighten experiences. A shaman might start with balché to get a warm glow and then take tobacco or psychoactive enemas to push into a deeper trance. Or a celebrant might drink pulque that had been steeped with some roots or mushrooms, giving a mix of mild hallucination and drunkenness. These combinations could produce rather intense results – hence some Spanish observers writing with shock about natives “drugging their wine” and behaving in frightening ways.

Ultimately, alcoholic inebriation for the Maya was distinct in that it was social and celebratory but also sacred. Unlike fasting and taking a lone vision quest with hallucinogenic herbs, drinking balché was usually a group activity, a public rite that tied everyone together. It was about joy, communion (in the spiritual sense) and community (in the human sense), all at once. Other psychoactives often had a more secretive or specialized role. In simpler terms: mushrooms and the like showed the Maya vivid gods and monsters in their mind’s eye, but alcohol let the Maya meet the gods through fellowship, singing and stumbling side by side into a shared spiritual experience.

Modern Western Drinking: Social, Not Sacred

Fast forward to today’s Western cultures, and the role of alcohol has changed in profound ways. Alcohol is as popular as ever – bars and pubs are filled with people clinking glasses, and drinks flow at celebrations from birthdays to weddings. But the purpose and context of drinking in modern Western society are a far cry from the Maya’s sacred inebriation. What was once a holy trance-inducing sacrament is now largely a social pastime, a form of entertainment, and an accompaniment to leisure. The contrast is striking: Western drinking culture is generally secular, casual, and regulated by personal preference and law rather than ritual taboo.

In many Western societies, alcohol is woven into daily life, but in a mostly profane (non-religious) way. We raise a toast to congratulate, to mourn, to bond with friends – not to commune with spirits (at least, not the supernatural kind!). The closest thing Western traditions have to a sacred drinking rite might be the small sip of wine in a Christian Communion service, yet that ritual explicitly avoids drunkenness; it’s symbolic, not inebriating. By and large, modern drinkers seek a light buzz, relaxation, or sociability, not a trance to talk to gods. The venue says it all: instead of temple courtyards, we drink in neon-lit bars, living rooms, restaurants, and sports stadiums. The mood is often kept fun and controlled – people generally don’t want to pass out or purge in public, and doing so is considered embarrassing or unsafe, not a spiritual purge of impurities.

Who drinks and how is also very different today. Unlike in ancient Maya ceremonies where typically only adult men (especially ritual specialists or elders) would partake heavily, modern Western drinking is open to all adults – male and female – as an everyday social equalizer. Save for the legal drinking age restrictions (commonly 18 or 21 years old), there’s an expectation in Western culture that any grown-up can choose to drink. In fact, at many social gatherings, there’s a subtle pressure that everyone should join in the drinking as a sign of participation (a far cry from the Maya women who had to stand aside while men got drunk). Gender roles in alcohol use have greatly equalized – it’s no longer seen as unseemly for women to drink in public in most Western contexts. And across ages, while youths are officially barred until a certain age, many young adults see reaching that age and having their “first legal drink” as a rite of passage. There’s even a modern ritual of sorts in 21st-birthday parties or college initiations, where getting outrageously drunk for the first time is treated as a milestone – a chaotic echo of the structured initiation feasts of old, but without the religious framing (and sometimes without the moderation the ancients eventually imposed).

The frequency and amount of drinking in the West also differ in pattern. Many Westerners incorporate alcohol in moderate amounts into daily or weekly routines – a glass of wine with dinner, a beer after work to unwind, weekend cocktails with friends. This is somewhat analogous to the Maya who might have had a bowl of pulque each day, but the intention now is relaxation or flavor rather than low-level ritual. On special occasions, Western drinking often ramps up: think New Year’s Eve champagne, beers at a big football game, or rounds of shots at a wedding reception. These are celebratory, yes, but they are generally about enjoyment and social bonding. The idea of using alcohol to intentionally achieve an altered state for spiritual insight is largely absent. Instead, some Western drinkers pursue an altered state for fun – what we’d call “getting drunk” for the sake of amusement or stress release, not to perform divination. If an ancient Maya ritual was about losing oneself to find cosmic truth, a modern party might be about losing one’s stress or self-consciousness to have a good time. The “spirits” in the glass are just beverages now, not divine entities (though interestingly we still call liquor “spirits” – a linguistic shadow of alcohol’s mystical past!).

Ritual and rules in Western drinking culture are more about social etiquette and law than sacred tradition. We don’t have a shaman dictating that the eldest drinks first, but we do have unspoken customs: clink your glasses while saying “cheers” before taking a sip, don’t drink before the toast is made at a formal dinner, buy a round for your buddies if it’s your turn, etc. These little customs are secular rituals of camaraderie. And there are legal rules: don’t drink and drive, licensed hours for sale of alcohol, age limits, etc., reflecting a societal attempt to manage alcohol’s potential for harm. Society today is very aware of alcohol’s dangers (addiction, health issues, accidents) and many Western countries promote responsible drinking. It’s not that ancient Maya were reckless – they too had guidelines and a communal structure that prevented constant abuse – but our framing of alcohol now is often medical or moral (“drink responsibly!”) rather than cosmic or mythic (“drink to talk to the gods!”).

Another big difference is the variety and strength of alcohol available now. The Maya had essentially only naturally fermented drinks – relatively low-proof, spoiling fast, made in small batches. Modern technology has given us distilled liquors, refined wines and beers with much higher alcohol content and virtually limitless supply thanks to industrial production. That means a modern drinker can get far more intoxicated far more quickly with spirits like vodka or whiskey (which are 40% alcohol) than anyone in the ancient Americas could on their 3-5% balché or pulque. This fundamentally changes drinking behavior: modern binge drinking – slamming back multiple shots – can lead to extremely rapid intoxication, something mostly unknown to the ancients who had to fill their bellies with liters of liquid to reach a similar state. Western cultures have had to develop norms and cautionary tales around these potent beverages. A Maya priest might have had to chug balché until bursting to get truly drunk; a modern college student can down a few tequila shots and reach that point in minutes. It’s a qualitative difference in the experience and risk.

Purpose is the real dividing line. For the Maya, alcohol’s purpose was multifaceted – yes, it was enjoyable, but its highest purpose was to serve the gods and community: to seal a pact, to pray for rain, to send off the soul of a departed in a funeral feast, to cure an illness, to crown a king, or to sanctify a temple dedication. Intoxication was a means to an end (spiritual insight, social harmony) more than an end in itself. In modern Western life, the purposes skew more toward personal pleasure and social bonding. We drink to celebrate personal achievements (a promotion at work might be toasted with champagne), to break the ice on a date, to dance more freely in a nightclub, or simply because a craft beer or fine wine tastes wonderful with dinner. The spiritual or religious dimension of drinking is minimal for most people now. Even in occasions that have ceremonial roots – like toasting at a wedding – the act of drinking is a secular celebration of the moment, not believed to literally invoke any deity (aside from perhaps saying “God bless” in a toast, which is figurative).

It’s fascinating, though, that both ancient and modern contexts recognize a sort of transformative power in alcohol. The difference is in what transformation is desired. The Maya sought a transformation of consciousness to access something sacred and larger than themselves. Modern Westerners more often seek a transformation of mood – from sad to happy, from reserved to outgoing – as a form of entertainment or emotional management. We even speak of “drowning sorrows” or having “liquid courage,” acknowledging that alcohol can change how we feel and act. But these are very human-centered transformations (helping an individual relax or a group have fun). Where a Maya shaman drank to become a vessel for a god or a jaguar spirit, a modern person might drink to feel a bit more confident at a party or to bond with new coworkers at a happy hour.

Social norms today also emphasize self-control and consent in ways that differ from ancient expectations. It’s generally considered good to know your limit – being the person who gets sick from drinking too much at a party is viewed negatively. Ironically, in a Maya ritual, the one who got sick (the shaman) was doing exactly what he was supposed to! Modern drinkers typically try to avoid the negative physical extremes of alcohol; ancient ritual participants sometimes aimed for it. Our society has medicalized extreme intoxication as alcohol poisoning, whereas the Maya might have seen it as an ordeal or trial one undergoes in the quest for wisdom.

Of course, not all modern drinking is just light and sociable – there are subcultures and experiences (fraternity hazing rituals, for example, or saints’ day festivals in some communities) where people do drink to excess in a semi-ritualized way. Some echoes of the old patterns exist: consider the notion of “drinking games” or communal toasts where everyone must drink together at a cue, somewhat like a parody of communal ritual. But these are generally done for laughter or challenge, not to fulfill a sacred duty.

Finally, context of substance use: in the modern West, if someone wants a genuinely transcendental or hallucinogenic experience, they typically don’t turn to alcohol – they might seek other substances altogether (some may attend an ayahuasca retreat, for instance, or use psychedelics in private). Alcohol has settled comfortably into its role as the world’s favorite legal social lubricant, separated from the realm of formal spirituality. In fact, some modern movements and religions even forbid alcohol for moral or health reasons, something that would have been unthinkable in Maya society where it was a pillar of religious life. For many Westerners, alcohol is something to enjoy responsibly but also to be a bit wary of – a far cry from praying to a god of alcohol!

From Trance to Toasts: Unity in Diversity

Despite the dramatic differences between Maya ritual inebriation and modern Western drinking, there is a unifying thread: in both worlds, alcohol has been used as a tool for human connection and meaning. The ancient Maya gathered in ceremonies, drinking together to bond their community and bridge the mortal and divine. Today, we gather in bars or around dinner tables, clinking glasses to bond with each other, celebrating life’s highs and consoling its lows. The intentions have shifted from sacred to secular, but the act of sharing a drink still carries a sense of camaraderie that transcends time.

In the Maya world, alcoholic drink was treated with profound respect – a gateway to transcendence, transformation, and tradition. It reinforced social structures yet also allowed momentary escape from worldly limits, letting a farmer become a jaguar-dancer or a priest become a channel for gods. In the modern West, alcohol is mostly about pleasure, relaxation, and social ritual – it can dissolve boundaries between acquaintances, ignite laughter, and mark celebrations as special. While we no longer personify a “god of drink” at our tables, we still raise our glasses in unison as if invoking something – perhaps not a deity, but the shared spirit of friendship and joy.

By leaving no stone unturned in examining these two drinking cultures, we see how flexible and culturally shaped our relationship with alcohol really is. In one context, a brew served as a holy sacrament; in another, it’s a happy-hour special. Neither is inherently right or wrong – they simply show alcohol’s many faces in human life. We can marvel at the disciplined, mystical fervor of a Maya balché ritual and also appreciate the easy delight of a weekend beer with friends. In the end, both highlight a deep human trait: our love of coming together over a drink, whether to pray or to play. From the Maya shaman in a trance toasting the gods with mead, to friends in a pub toasting “cheers!” for good fun, the cup connects us. The context has changed, but the warmth and wonder of sharing inebriation – be it divine or simply delightful – continues to be a part of human culture that inspires and unites us across the ages.

References

1. Milligan, Mark. “The Ritual Drug Habits of the Maya.” HeritageDaily, 14 Sept. 2022.
2. Leach, Dylan John. “Mural of the Drinkers.” HistoricalMX, 2014.
3. “Historical Cultural and Religious References to Alcohol in Ancient Maya Civilization.” This Day in Wine History, 28 Aug. 2022.
4. Vadala, Jeffrey. “A Divine Brew: Alcohol in Haitian Vodou and Yucatec Maya Ritual.” Human Relations Area Files, 2019.
5. “The Heresy of Mayan Mead: Balché.” Drinking Folk, 2021.
6. “Drinking Culture: History, Traditions, and Modern Society.” Asana Recovery, 16 Dec. 2024.