“Fungi are the antithesis of civilization, born of wild mycelium that is free of social constraints and defiant of imposed hierarchies.” - Peter McCoy, Radical Mycology.
If you love mushrooms, surely you're aware of the fact that it is a niche interest here in the USA. Despite the ongoing “shroom boom,” hoards of people here remain ignorant of, indifferent to, or fearfully avoid our fungal companions, but why?
Mycophobia is defined as the irrational fear of fungus and mold. It is the idea that any fungus and its environment is toxic. We can understand why someone could be mycophobic in our society when we see that for generations, we've pushed mushrooms to the dark corners of our culture. Sure, some are toxic, but fearing all mushrooms and avoiding educating ourselves about their values as well as their risks is a missed opportunity. Mushroom foraging, cultivation, and research can promote self-sufficiency, sustainability, palate expansion, improved ecosystems, and much more. Furthermore, this fear of mushrooms may be worth questioning. Fellow Mainer and ecological expert Arther Haines brought up a good point in a similar blog post:
"We've been told [mushrooms] can kill us if we ingest the wrong species (which is true). So, we avoid culinary interaction with all wild species because some are poisonous. How is this different from plants, or wild animals, or even people (considering this recent debate, aren't some of those dangerous as well)? How is this different from farmed foods (people die every year from eating cultivated produce). Recognize that over 300,000 people are hospitalized each year in the US eating 'safe food'. Knowing this, are you going to avoid store-purchased food? Probably not. We all know some car accident horror story. Does that mean you will avoid riding in cars?"
Some biased mental gymnastics may be going on in the cultural hive mind. As Peter McCoy postulates in Radical Mycology: “...I find the degree to which certain societies fear fungi not only intriguing but, upon deeper analysis, reflective of that culture’s relationship with the world--a more cryptic and darker expression of human-fungal relations.” Paul Stamets, reflecting on the terms ‘mycophobe’ and ‘mycophile’ which were coined by amateur mycologists R. Gordon Wasson and his wife Valentina, states that “In fact, these terms were invented by the couple to describe their respective mushroom upbringings…Tina had collected, studied, and consumed wild mushrooms from an early age. Gordon, on the other hand, was initially appalled by Tina’s enthusiasm for fungi; he associated mushrooms with death, decomposition, and the dark, dank, dangerous underground.” Eventually, their mutual love of fungi led the Wassons to write a study of “edible mushrooms designed to persuade mycophobes of their foolishness in rejecting such wholesome, toothsome, and hearty food just because a few easily recognized varieties are toxic.” Time spent researching and learning about fungi helped Gordon Wasson get over his personal mycophobia; perhaps there’s a lesson here for the rest of us?
Mycophobia may be a relic of the English-speaking world. British naturalist William Delisle Hay said in 1887, “Fungophobia is very curious. If it were human – that is, universal – one would be inclined to set it down as an instinct and to reverence it accordingly. But it is not human – it is merely British.” According to ecologist and author Dr. Andy Letcher, British-based mycophobia may be a product of industrialization, when a mass movement to cities disconnected large swathes of the population from the land. “You take people off the land,” he writes, “and they lose what oral knowledge they have. All it takes is one break in the link.” Mycophobia is not a European trait, as some of the largest markets for foraged mushrooms are in Italy, France, Spain, and Switzerland. These cultures also invest in educating their public about the values and potential dangers of fungi through written resources. A universal fear of fungi is also not an indigenous tradition either, as native peoples across the world and even here in Maine have known and used fungi for food and medicine likely for centuries, and give offerings when removing them from the landscape.
Mushrooms are complex, multifaceted organisms. Opinions about them vary and can be extreme. Judgments are passed on them for the risks of misidentifying them (from reputable sources or disreputable ones), their tastes, their psychoactive effects (and the fear of what might happen when you consume psilocybin)… and rather than inquisitively educating ourselves, as we do other natural things, it seems many of us have stamped mushrooms with an everlasting skull-and-crossbones. Our media may not be helpful here, as successful mushroom forays rarely make the news, while accidental poisonings, suspected murder, and mid-flight psychosis do. But just like anything else carrying the weight of hundreds of years of stigma and misunderstanding, in a time of accumulating knowledge, it seems we've begun to re-evaluate the long-maligned mushroom.
Fungi and mushrooms in particular have physical and symbolic connections with death, rebirth, natural health, and natural decay. These cyclical relationships, particularly in cultures that fear the uncertainty of nature and death, make room for avoidance and even disdain or disgust. But mushrooms are not just harbingers of death - some are fantastic for the body and mind, they are also good for the environment, can inspire art and fashion, and may one day replace building materials on Earth and beyond.
So as we settle into an era of multiple environmental crises, why should we not contemplate our confused relationship with fungi? With our new concern about how we treat the earth come other relationships desiring balance: how we treat animals, and how we treat one another. Just as humans do, mushrooms live in realms of multiple truths. Can a culture dependent on absolutes accept intrinsic malleability, dual identity, intersectionality? “Both mycology and mushrooms themselves allow us to pave a way forward beyond the binaries of the world,” writes Annie Faye Cheng, “underscoring an essential interconnectedness amongst living beings.” She maintains that fungi “embody as much a sense of remarkable humility as they do resilience.”
We are beginning to explore the gray areas of relationships: with ourselves and with the world around us. Education, community, and support will bring us into a fruitful future.
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