A Reading of “The Dangers of Mysticism” by Aleister Crowley

A reading of “The Dangers of Mysticism” by Aleister Crowley, published in The Equinox, Volume I, No. VI.

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You can find the text here: 

https://hermetic.com/crowley/equinox/i/vi/eqi06018

And here:

https://lib.oto-usa.org/crowley/essays/dangers-mysticism.html

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”A curious idea is being sedulously disseminated, and appears to be gaining ground, that mysticism is the “safe” path to the highest, and magic the dangerous path to the lowest.”

”One may doubt whether anything worth doing at all is free from danger, and one may wonder what danger can threaten the man whose object is his own utter ruin.”

More than a hundred years has passed since this text was written, but strangely it seems relevant. The idea that the Mystic is safe, and the Magician is dangerous – or in danger – is still around today. It might be because the Mystic is passive, while the Magician is active. The Mystic avoids. The Magician confronts. The Mystic ponders. The Magician acts. From the perspective of the bystander a mysterious uttering is not nearly as dangerous as a magical act. From the perspective of the doer there seems to be more danger in acting than in pondering. Regardless of perspective, it’s only true if we think of the world as static. Once we realize that the world itself is in motion, we must also realize that we are safer on our feet – moving with it – than we are sitting down – resisting movement. In fact stillness brings us into confrontation, (with what is moving), while skillful movement might let us escape just that. 

For example, hunger can be prevented with consistent meal times. Fatigue can be prevented with exercise. Exhaustion is preventable with sleep. But to achieve equilibrium, (or homeostasis, in this case), you must cook, run, and go to bed at the right moments. Life is always working, and magic is nothing else than another level of work. Stillness, regular motion, and speed exist on a spectrum. We are always colliding with reality, but hopefully at a sustainable and comfortable speed.

“…and magic, the dangerous path to the lowest” is a path some of us choose freely. There can be many reasons. Life brings you down in some way, or another, and you learn that as a matter of fact you must put effort into living, or you will die. If you are unlucky, and you hit rock bottom, sometimes you must learn to eat, exercise, and sleep – again – as if learning a new language. Life is hard – but it is interesting – and even wonderful. Once I saw what mere breathing could do for me, if I did it right, I was hooked on exploring “…the lowest” and it wasn’t (extra) dangerous. To the contrary, not exploring it seemed to be more of a risk. Like driving without driving lessons. 

“…utter ruin” may seem like a strange objective. Crowley himself does seem to have been in a hurry to find his own grave, but I’m not. I take “…utter ruin” to mean I’m not going to Heaven. I’m going to turn to space dust when I die. Meanwhile, many things feel threatening to me. I worry a lot. I guess I’m not as macho as Aleister Crowley was. But in spite of my worries, I wouldn’t prefer a “…safe path to the highest” because I don’t think it exists. I think it’s like vacation resorts. For a limited time you feel like paradise is real, but then you have to go home, because it isn’t.

Even if the Mystic would manage to avoid normal problems for a whole lifetime, what would become of it? That’s exactly Crowley’s next question.

”Hundreds of mystics shut themselves up completely and forever. Not only is their wealth-producing capacity lost to society, but so is their love and good-will, and worst of all, so is their example and precept.”

”Beware of all those who shirk the lower difficulties: it’s a good bet that they shirk the higher difficulties too.”

”…although an ounce of true humility is worth an ounce of honest pride; the man who works has no time to bother with either.”

Work is undoubtedly the best path to forgetting yourself for a minute. For a minute you’re free of the burden of being a person. You’re busy doing things. Something is done, and you have your exercise. You might even have met the needs of others in the same moment you met your own. But work must not be confused with just regular labor. There are all kinds of work in life. We are always working. There is delicate work to be done too. There are thoughts working through our brains, and sensations. We dream, and dreams are efforts. We laugh, we cry – and our muscles ache.

The sum of Aleister Crowley’s hopes in the year of 1911 was as follows:

“…but I would ask even the strongest to apply these correctives: first, the skeptical or scientific attitude, both in outlook and method; second, a healthy life, meaning by that what the athlete and the explorer mean; third, hearty human companionship, and devotion to life, work, and duty.”

We know he failed on all accords, but we know he tried for something. His hope was the hope of someone with some experience, someone who had threaded “…the dangerous path to the lowest.” And not the hopes of someone with high, or safety oriented, ideals.

My final comment on this reading will be that the text contains the word

”kindheartedness.”

Another deal Aleister Crowley broke for himself all the time. But the deal was there to be broken. And who wouldn’t want to be a skeptical athlete explorer with lots of warm relationships, and a combined zest for life, and devotion to work and duty? Kindhearted too? Too good to be true? Absolutely. I’m done reading. I’m in.

Because unlike the Mystic, the Magician tries.

A Practice of Acceptance

A second reflection on ego death.

The Angel

There is no way out of being a person, so it matters what we think a person is, and what we think a person can, or should be. 

According to contemporary science we have little choice in who we are, and even little choice in what we are becoming. A large chunk of our personality is natural. Another large chunk depends on chance. Not much depends on upbringing, or schooling. To be treated well as a child is important for a positive development. Mistreatment scars us. Therapy might help to some extent, but for adults, as well as for children, loving relationships, and having our needs met, while also meeting the needs of others, is what ultimately heals us. Stress is detrimental. Belonging and safety is crucial. 

Another crossroads to understanding who we are is what we think about the mind-body-problem. I personally go against the tides of Christian thought in my own culture, which deem the body impure, bad, and corrupting. I imagine myself whole, and in my mind my body is my soul. My mental process goes on in the flesh. My emotions are real. My mind is like a jellyfish in shape, its tentacles reach every part of me in the shapes of nerves and substances. Beyond that, my body is embedded in the environment. I eat. I breathe. I move. There is no sharp line between my mind and my body, and there is no sharp line between my body and my habitat. I inhabit all of it, and I am my own habits. They result in my actions, and reactions. At the end of the day I am what I did. Deeds echo beyond myself and beyond my lifetime. That, and the substance of the Earth, the inheritance of living and belonging – relationships stretching out in all directions – is to me my immortal soul, my eternity. Needs, wants, feelings, thoughts, sensations mingle and are quite impossible to pinpoint since they exist in flux. What is consistent in all this inconsistency is what some may call character. I call it True Will. It is the part of me my friends recognize, and are often able to predict. The part of me I trust. The part of me that is also incredibly unique. Not like anyone, or anything, but typical. The star. The stone. The signature reaction. It is beyond human, and therefore soulful. I wouldn’t confuse my cat with cats in general. I wouldn’t confuse myself either. It’s worth wondering if I would still be me if I turned into a cat, and I think so. But I can’t prove it, since it can’t happen.

Since anxiety and stress are detrimental if they are allowed to dwell longer than what is useful as a signal, which is not long at all, my practice – my magic – is a practice of acceptance. It includes honoring my body, and listening. Listening to and through it. Following the weather, the needs in my relationships, the seasons, real and metaphorical. It includes meditation and forgiveness. It includes curiosity and an effort to care for life, and for living conditions. I call it witchcraft because with all it entails it might as well be. 

What part of this being that is meant to die when the ”ego death” occurs is obviously hard to tell. I hope my practice slays illusions, false concepts, unhealthy expectations – but most of all bad habits. The bad habits I have not been able to quit I try to understand and forgive. Nobody’s perfect, and no one should have to be either. Far from being divine – or being divine all the time – I know what I am is a natural occurrence. I happen to exist. I am part of life. A bug, a leaf, a person.

Death will come, but what was me will go on beyond that person.

Oceanic Feeling

A first reflection on ego death.

XIII Death and XVIII The Moon.

There is something called “oceanic feeling” which might more accurately describe what some refer to as “ego death” these days. Oceanic feelings are sensations of belonging so deeply to the world that one feels at one with eternity. A sense of oceanic oneness can engulf us at any moment, and without warning, or preparation. It might happen to us without effort. It might last for a period. It might last for just a moment. It might come and go. It might turn into a habit. It might happen only once. It might frighten us, or inspire us. It might make us happy, or sad. Often it comes with a sense of awe. How small we are, and still a part of something so large. We feel it. There is nothing wrong with feeling it. Oceanic feelings are completely normal.

But they are not ego deaths. 

One might also question why the ego must die – if it actually does die, or if we are just making things up – and what the ego is, if it is anything, in the first place. Does it really exist, and how real is it?

Definitions of the word “ego” vary. It is a word used by Sigmund Freud, but also by Carl Jung. It is a word used to describe concepts in diffrent strands of Eastern religion and philosophy when translated to the West. In everyday language it is used simply to mean a sense of self – healthy, or unhealthy – depending on the psychological state of the individual. It is even used to mean simply “self”; a thinking being. It is also used to mean self-esteem, and things similar to pride. Including the negative use of the word as a selfish drive, often in contrast to a better, or truer self. An ego is something that can be too big. A big ego means a selfish person, but a big person is unselfish, and generous. My point is that the word “ego” does not mean just one thing. It is as if the word “green” could also mean orange, and purple. What Sigmund Freud meant is not the same as what is meant in Zen meditation practice. What Freud means is something vital to mental health. What Zen means is something that stands in the way of the task. Something that causes suffering. The word becomes almost useless, or at least vague.

It is not very difficult to make it seem like the striking experience of oneness in the oceanic feeling somehow means that the elusive ego has died, which somehow means that one’s selfishness has died, and in the extreme cases, that one has achieved some level of enlightenment. In some cases of New Age thinking, this sense of oceanic oneness – which is something most people can experience – is taken as a sign of union with the divine, and at the very far end of extreme thinking, a sign of becoming the divine itself.

All because of a fleeting sensation.

“Ego death” was introduced to New Age culture in part by way of Timothy Leary, and his experiments with drugs. He held the belief that the right use of drugs could lead to enlightenment, as he understood the concept. Many would argue that drug use is not the way to go, and that he didn’t understand the concept at all. Perhaps he was just trying to comprehend the awe felt in drug induced oceanic feelings? For a long time New Age culture stood close to currents of magic that romanticized, and experimented with drug use. There are traces of it left today, some of them profound. In science the healing arts still experiment with mental health, and medicine based in psychedelic experience. And even today people put a lot of effort into thinking about, and trying to achieve “ego death” using all sorts of various methods. Many would even say “ego death” is the purpose of all spiritual practice. The concept has slipped into Western yoga, meditation, astrology, and tarot. But it is a nebulous concept.

The confusion is complete.

We don’t know what the word “ego” really means, so we have no way of knowing what “ego death” really means either. 

Words are just words. They aren’t the experience itself. But on the other hand, words dictate future experiences, and how we come to interpret them.

Certainly if the word “ego” means a sense of self, the death of it is catastrophic, both for the individual, and for the community it lives in. But if the word “ego” simply means selfishness, perhaps a bit of death is good for you. 

Whatever it means, it seems to be important, and I have tried to make sense of it. Two things can be gleaned from this initial reflection.

Some experiences – particularly those that are spontaneous and fleeting – might be better described as “oceanic feeling”.

Death is a certainty in life. All spirituality relates to death, and must relate to it. It is not strange that New Age culture tries to find new ways to relate to death. Neither is it strange to try to relate to the ego, if nothing else for practical reasons. For a self of some kind is as inevitable as death is.

“Ego death” is therefore not an irrational, or surprising concept, but it is – as it stands – nebulous, and vague.