A recent visit to New York provided much fodder for thought about this for me. This was not only in the usual and quite endearing American way (“Wow, this is the biggest chocolate chip cookie ever!” uttered a child who received the cookie in question from the waiter when her parents were busy paying for lunch; the customer care that goes to any length, even potential diabetes, to ensure a safe return not home but to the restaurant in question) but rather more of a morose kind. On a busy street corner I saw three boys and one adult man. They were all clutching their cell phones, staring into them and then nervously up at “reality.” “There!” one boy shouted. “No, there!” shouted another. The adult looked as nervous and giddy as the boys. I realized they were playing Pokémon Go, and after an initial fascination, the scene depressed me. Despite the frenzy, the passivity was so total; their minds so completely immersed in a digital fantasy world alluringly mixed with so-called real-world landscapes. The invasion of the private sphere has now apparently gone public. It’s a dissolution of human dignity and a fictional entrapment that I fear will not be temporary.
When visiting the Museum of Modern Art, I was pleasantly overwhelmed by the exhibitions: a Bruce Conner retrospective, items from Tony Oursler’s truly magical collections, Nan Goldin’s The Ballad of Sexual Dependency series, and a display of Tristan Tzara and Francis Picabia’s DadaGlobe material. It was such a great display of art at its very best: evocative, intelligent, humorous, beautiful, transcending time, thought-provoking, and more. This visit was unfortunately balanced out perfectly by one to its sister museum, MoMA PS1. Where MoMA is “modern,” PS1 is “contemporary.” Although I entered with an open mind, the entire experience was intimidating and even more depressing than the Pokémon Go gang. It was floor upon floor of soulless displays of mental constructs. A lot of the works shown at the time of my visit supposedly celebrated the origins of the PS1 “concept,” with a focus on 1970s performance art. In this, the postmodern lingo runs amok in abstractions and explanations that shouldn’t really be needed if the art itself packed a mythological punch. But this is the arena not of visionary artists but of curators and collectors, defining spheres that really need no middlemen (or women) at all. It’s a sterile display celebrating superficiality and smartness rather than aestheticism and intelligence. Great art should need no externalized context.
The displayed photos of Chinese artist Deng Tai nocturnally draped in a red flag are quite beautiful in themselves. But when they become contextualized and, even worse, politicized, the mythology potential dwindles: “Deng is at once visible and illegible, bare and costumed, a fugitive body enacting a private theater in which he is both performer and audience.” Papo Colo: “The MoMA PS1 presentation centers around Colo’s Superman 51 (1977), in which he drags a collection of fifty-one white pieces of wood behind him, tethered to his body with ropes, as he runs shirtless down an empty stretch of Manhattan’s West Side Highway until collapsing from exhaustion.”
Who are these descriptions for? Is it impossible for the works of art to be self-explanatory or communicate via a mythological language that bars that of the curators? Images and symbols usually make more sense than clarifications and elaborations. I kept thinking of the psychology of reality shows on TV, where we first see what goes on, and then have it explained to us by one or often several of the participants. It’s a repetition of the already given that makes it hard (if not impossible) to make up your own mind. And perhaps that’s exactly the point of these dehumanized and de-enchanted pseudomythologies?
Almost as if to humor my prejudices in regard to the scene’s condescending predictability, the main exhibition, Vito Acconci’s 1976 Where Are We Now (And Who Are We Anyway?), is described with accentuations like “Since the mid-’80s through the present, Acconci has mixed with a design and architecture studio.” Why am I not surprised that this is stressed? Acconci’s hard work as a performance artist becomes utterly trivialized as the curators sprinkle evanescent lifestyle terms. That’s what happens when self-serving academics steal the show, and that’s exactly how essentially great art loses its mythological punch-packing.
6
What Remains for the Future?
An Initial Attempt at a Comparison between Aleister Crowley and Rudolf Steiner
Originally a lecture delivered at the Lashtal Conference in Gdansk, Poland, 2013.
LOOKING BACK AT the twentieth century, we can see that it was probably one of the most intense centuries ever. Regardless which kinds of glasses we put on to watch our own contemporary history closer, it’s easy to see that the twentieth century was phenomenal and revolutionary in many ways.
Aleister Crowley claimed that 1904 was an especially pivotal year, as that was the year he had authored or “received” his key text, The Book of the Law. By declaring the Law of Thelema and the Aeon of Horus (the child) Crowley positioned himself as prophet and interpreter through devoting his life and efforts to informing and, hopefully, enlightening others. He was pretty good at it, too. His efforts have actually brought us together here today, which is indeed a magical thing.
However, Crowley was far from alone in the participation of this aeonic shift. Several others presented similar ideas: individualism, cosmic altruism, breaking away from too-rigid cultural and religious structures, an integration of alternative spiritual methods that had up until the shift been looked upon as suspect and heretical, and so on. On the whole, the zeitgeist included a holistic spirituality that integrated thoughts, ideas, and methods from other cultures, predominantly Asian. Theosophy was one main movement, that stemming from Gurdjieff and his disciples was another.
Crowley’s own Herculean labor of giving birth to this new aeon has recently been well documented in several biographies, and I think most of us know his story fairly well: An initial curiosity about all things magical and esoteric, a firsthand experience of philosophical systems and religious approaches through his travels, a will to inform and enlighten through his Equinox volumes, in which he also divulged the secrets of the previous kings of the hill, the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, and then working with the Thelemic orders the AA and the OTO, as well as writing ambitiously (to say the least).
Although plagued by a great number of personal issues and problems, the impression we get of Crowley is still one of great devotion and self-discipline. Whether Thelema will become a major religion or philosophy in the future we have yet to see. But if we stick with the human being Crowley for now, we can see that he is currently about as established as he can be. He is out there, present in contemporary consciousness, but perhaps more for his fascinating life story than for Thelema as a philosophy or religious system.
Another important interpreter and innovator of the same New Age shift was Austrian Rudolf Steiner (1861–1925). His Anthroposophy has many similarities with Thelema. I’m going to try to point out some similarities, and also some differences, in order to shine the light on how it is that these two movements have both been quite successful but in very different ways and to varying degrees.
Steiner for a long time contained his own individual enlightenment, which was a result of thinking, feeling, and willing but also of contacts with a spiritual master/teacher earlier on. When the time came for him to eventually blossom, during his successful career within Theosophy, he bloomed with a great appetite for sharing what he had experienced on the inner planes. He too became good at that. Theosophy was soon no longer enough for him, and he created his own system and school, Anthroposophy, just as Crowley had done after the Golden Dawn experiences and the reception of The Book of the Law. Initially an academic specializing in Goethe studies, Steiner gradually developed into a very creative polymath who also had the ability to enthuse people to help him out.
Crowley published his ten massive Equinox volumes between 1909 and 1913, under the banner of Scientific Illuminism and the motto “The method of science, the aim of religion.” Steiner called his method Spiritual Science, and also wrote and lectured intensely to inform the int
erested. In this sense, both men were very much alike. Crowley was certainly more of a rebel, but they shared an ego-transcending will to improve mankind through the integration of nonrational phenomena within a contemporary and very rational mind frame, thereby bringing occult and spiritual ideas from both the outer and inner worlds into contact with modern society and its empirical standards and critical demands.
Essentially, their wisdoms are one and the same:
A human being has the potential to become enlightened and fully individual. One method of achieving this is to trust one’s own intuition and be guided in inner spheres by strata of consciousness previously unacknowledged.
A human being has the potential to set standards for others and inspire them to explore themselves through this process of self-trust. Altruism happens by proxy.
A holistic integration of various human expressions (science, art, culture, religion, etc.) into this overall philosophy will also benefit and further mankind by setting new stages and standards.
A pragmatic synthesis will result from the holistic integration of teachings from different cultural spheres. Examples include the integration of yoga and meditation within a basically Western mind frame (Christianity in Steiner’s case, Qabalistic mysticism in Crowley’s).
Basically, we’re seeing a teaching that empowers the individual to see the bigger picture, something that will help others too, either by concrete measures or by inspiration. Trusting one’s inner experiences and non-rational, esoteric processes is of vital importance in both cases. These must, however, be tested by empirical research and validated by usefulness in spheres larger than the merely individual. Phenomena that had previously been regarded as hocus-pocus or even superstitiously as the Devil’s work were now becoming substantial parts of entire systems of philosophy for normal people from all walks of life. Communicating with angels, elemental entities, astral intelligences, and so on, were suddenly presented as not only matters of fact but also as recommended practices for better self-knowledge and development for modern people.
Crowley used The Book of the Law and Thelema as springboards for applications and implementations on different fields of human behavior and existence but seldom got further than theoretical blueprints. Steiner, on the other hand, networked intensely with people who had both assets and ideas of their own. For instance, the collaboration with the altruistic cigarette manufacturer Emil Molt initiated the first Waldorf school at Molt’s Waldorf-Astoria factory in Stuttgart in 1919. Today, there are more than one thousand Waldorf schools worldwide. The construction of the first Goethanum building in Dornach (Steiner’s spiritual teaching center) was begun in 1913 but the building unfortunately burnt down in 1922. The building of the new Goetheanum, this time constructed of concrete, was finished in 1928. Work on biodynamic farming and gardening was also initiated early on, as were clinical, empirical experiments in Anthroposophic medicine.
Crowley’s legacy is basically owed to a handful of individuals who were close to him at some point quite late in his life. I’m thinking specifically of Karl Germer, Grady McMurtry, Gerald Yorke, John Symonds, and Kenneth Grant. If it weren’t for the diligent archival obsession of Gerald Yorke, for instance, and his donation to the Warburg Institute at the University of London, invaluable Crowley source material would be lost forever or scattered into the digital abyss of eBay. If it weren’t for these other men’s exploitation of their own Crowley association, there would be no substantial Crowley presence today. The value of these few contacts, which were essentially uncontrollable for Crowley himself, has of course been enormous. The same is true for the value of Crowley’s own publishing efforts.
Gerald Yorke not only donated his vast collection of information and Crowleyana to the Warburg but also earlier on sent duplicates to Germer in the United States and Norman Robb in Australia. Despite this enormous foresight and benevolence, things and papers disappeared along the way, as they tend to do. It seems that the most important thing to leave behind are actually good old-fashioned books.
Incidentally, the first book ever that stirred Yorke’s interest in things esoteric was one of Steiner’s.1
Steiner’s legacy, on the other hand, was carefully strategized by himself while still alive. The massive amount of lectures (4,941 lectures are documented, but I don’t know if that’s even possible; he started out fairly late, around the turn of the century within the Theosophical environment, and then had approximately twenty-five very active years, which would mean some 200 lectures per year) opened doors to new environments and a constant flow of new people in different countries. If even a fraction of these turned out benevolent, it was indeed a successful endeavor. The publishing of his ideas was more or less immediate through presses that were supportive of the movement. The integration into society in the Germanic sphere was of course important and a very logical extension of several decades of German open-mindedness in various forms of Lebensreform movements. The Third Reich temporarily put everything in hiatus of course, but not so much in neutral Switzerland, where the Goetheanum maintained its status as the international center of Anthroposophy (which it still is).
Steiner integrated a middle path that could but didn’t necessarily “involve a passionate ‘union of opposites’” (quoting Crowley in his description of the “magick of Horus”). However, Steiner was indeed aware of the transformative magic of diametrics. His own schematic symbol for the ideal human being was a statue he himself carved out of wood, and which today is displayed at the Goetheanum: The Representative of Man: Christ between Lucifer and Ahriman. This gnostic Christ principle balances the ungrounded, spiritual loftiness of Lucifer with its ensuing pride and the gross, Malkuthian materialism of Ahriman. An enlightened being who can balance these very human energies or temptations will have gained insight by the mere effort. If we allow ourselves some philosophically speculative slack within the Thelemic pantheon, the statue could perhaps equally well be called “Ra-Hoor-Khuit between Nuit and Hadit.”
Steiner’s progressive attitude to Christianity is without a doubt another reason why Anthroposophy has been able to grow and mature without head-on collisions with established powerful and intolerant dogmas. Early on Crowley took on a persona projected on him by his Christian fundamentalist mother: “the Great Beast.” That became an image he himself nurtured throughout his life, and his antipathy toward all things Christian became one of many controversial trademarks.
However, from the perspective of religious or philosophical studies, Thelema is a decidedly neo-Gnostic system. The incentive for and manifestation of enlightenment is individual. Steiner intuited and put forth exactly the same idea. But Steiner’s specific psychological fundament had no need of distancing itself from the religion that had prevailed up until the twentieth century, and not infrequently through violence and oppression. Steiner analyzed the Christian mysteries and myths thoroughly and regarded in particular the human being Jesus’s Golgothan experience, when he was acting as an enlightened Christ, a gnostic master, as the single most influential happening of the past aeon. This should be regarded solely from a magical, transformative perspective though, not a dogmatic Christian one. Steiner and Anthroposophy are more in debt to Neoplatonism, pantheism, the Renaissance thinkers, and Goethe than to any kind of dogmatic Christian church.
Interesting to note in regard to Thelema as a cosmology with a strong solar presence through Ra Hoor Khuit is that the Christ principle in Steiner’s mythology is imbued with distinctly solar force filtered through the archangel Michael. The Golgotha experience is, in Steiner’s eyes, not so much an individual self-sacrifice to redeem other people’s “sins” as it is a conduction of solar energy into the earth.
What remains if we look at their main ways of expressing themselves? Both men were voluminous writers, and basically everything there is has been made available for a hungry market—in Crowley’s case recently but very ambitiously, in Steiner’s case all along for decades. The availability of published works these days not only h
as to do with spreading the words per se but also with income for the respective organizations. There is a substantial value in both men’s writings, and especially now that copyright issues are more complex and floating than ever. The copyright holders are eager to maintain a presence on the market. That the books are published in high-quality editions and translations secures both revenue and interest.
Let’s not forget that both men were also visual artists. Steiner was inspired by Goethe in more ways than one and ambitiously tried to convey his own inner visions in visual form. Steiner’s paintings and sculptures certainly display his will both to communicate a higher system of aesthetics according to Goethe’s guidelines, and to have them used for instructional purposes. The main auditorium of the Goetheanum is an impressive, almost incredible, display of this Gesamt (total) vision, in which architecture, stained-glass images, mural paintings, light, and acoustics work together to tell a story, teach, and inspire. There are several books focusing on Steiner’s visual art available today.
For Steiner, the use of art was ultimately pedagogic and magically strategic: “Beauty is not the divine in a cloak of physical reality; no, it is physical reality in a cloak that is divine. The artist does not bring the divine on to the earth by letting it flow into the world; he raises the world into the sphere of the divine. Beauty is semblance because it conjures before our senses a reality which, as such, appears as an ideal world.”2
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