July 12th, 2011
magic, tradition and the golden age myth
I picked up a copy of Arthur Verluis’ The Philosophy of Magic sometime ago but apart from the first few pages, haven’t put any real effort into reading it until last night. I’m a person that reads in fits and starts and some books just have to wait until my mood is right. I keep a stock of funny books for when I need a mood lift, for example.
Not that Versluis is a comic, although he can be comical. I’ve written about Versluis before and you may be wondering why I keep reading his stuff since I sometimes appear to have a “hate-on” for him, at least according to an email I received from a Tailfeather reader. The thing is I adore magic, the way magical belief systems work, the power of magical narrative in human life, and especially, the way magical systems are transforming themselves in the contemporary West. And yes, I am an atheist, but that doesn’t mean I don’t recognize the power that the concept of magic has on the human mind. And remember, like all art forms, this power is not a bad thing. It’s only when narrative is confused with empirical reality that it gets hairy.
So I keep reading Versluis (and others like him) because he is a magician, and one that clearly that has some deep knowledge of his chosen path. Reading him is instructive with respect to how such belief systems work; how true believers function conceptually to enable magical systems in their life and world.
Having said that, the other reason I read Versluis is because he is also an academic. That I find particularly engaging because I have always associated academia with intentional rationality and Versluis just blows that fucking right out of the water. I mean how cool is that to get blown away and reminded that all is not what you expect. At least for me this disturbance pushes me to attempt understanding, to read, to think, to reason.
The thing is though, that this book is actually a little scary. Or at least, reading it because I couldn’t sleep last night, at 2 AM and 3 and 4, the book took on a kind of horror, like the thought of one of the current batch of mad-dog Republicans becoming the US president and devastating the sanctuary of Western democracy.
Why so scary? It’s not the overall stated purpose of the book. He just wants to say that magic (alchemy, et al.) can only really be understood and practiced properly from within the tradition that gave it birth. OK. His idea is that magic, ripped from the larger tradition (belief system) is like a sick person dealing with symptoms and not the root cause of the illness. That’s just going to cause more problems. Health – in this case spiritual – comes from walking a hermetic path and using magic when appropriate to that path. The assumption, of course, is that walking a hermetic path is synonymous with working for spiritual development and with that bringing on emotional and behavioural adulthood. Of course the biographies of such seekers in history tends to undermine the veracity of such assumptions, but that is something Versluis doesn’t seem to address. (At least in my readings so far. If you have a reference or two that contradicts this, I would absolutely love to follow it up.)
Where it starts to get scary is what he considers to the true path, which, of course, is hermeticism for those of us in the West. What is scary is the disdain, the anger and fear, and the apparently concomitant severe lack of factual historical knowledge or analysis that underlies such a belief in the existence of “true”.
Although it is difficult for us – bound as we are to the dualistic, Cartesian view of existence as consisting in the purely physical and in external series of coincidence – to rightly understand the more organic and unified vision of the traditional cultures, reflected in the West by the Hermetic tradition, it is precisely this which is most necessary, for it is only within such a tradition that magic and alchemy arose, and through which they can be understood.
(As if, even were it true, that a “more organic” understanding of our ancestors resulted in better behaviour with respect to the earth, its indigenous peoples, or non-human animals. I mean what does he think this “organic” understanding really achieved in the functional lives of the society?)
He’s just as mad at modern manifestations of magical religion as he is at the church and science. He names, for example, neo-shamanism. Versluis feels that without the “protective shell” of hermetic tradition, Westerners who practice magical technologies like shamanic drumming and alchemy are in danger. What danger?
For this reason, to the extent that magic and alchemy exist outside a tradition they are – as is the traditional orthodoxy – increasingly subject to malevolent and infernal influences, manifested in greed in the former case and hatred in the latter.
In other words, the fact that we have left behind the traditional belief system of Hermeticism has caused us to be at risk for what the Christians would call the devil and his lesser demons.
I shit you not.
…because the modern era has consisted in a ‘hardening’ against the Divine protection which traditional cultures afforded those within their sphere – in the ‘unchaining’ of the inferior or infernal forces against which modern man has virtually no higher protection, having cut himself off from the traditional.
Dude.
Has he read any actual history? Any idea of what women (or any other power-minority) suffered under those “traditional” cultures? The devastation done to the earth because of the assumptions of such belief systems. The idea of “purity” for example. The horrendous and morally bankrupt idea that error equals “deformity”. Has he read anything at all about the position of the disabled in our history? Is he really suggesting that “infernal” dangers are something worse than what was done exactly because of those traditions? Does he not understand that those traditional horrific acts were in fact the infernal and malevolent forces he perceives as endangering us today?
This text is a manifestation of a golden-age longing, apparently completely divorced from any real understanding of how those traditions functioned in the real economic, political and ethnic worlds.
I understand why neo-Platonism, Hermeticism and Pythagorian systems hold on to the spiritual movements today. They provide a sense of rootedness, a belief system that is deeply Western and therefore feels like home. The problem is that they are just wrong. Empirically wrong. It’s like holding on to the ideology of the celestial spheres because you just know you are the center of the universe and that damn Copernicus is placing you in infernal danger.
I am not sure I can be said to worship anything, but if I were to have to name something it would be the earth. It is, after all, my life blood, my source, my future. The thing is that exactly because it is so important to me I would rather actually come to know it. Not what my 2600 year old ancestors thought of it (although that is also valuable in a narrative way), but what reality is like from the point of view of the Other, from the Now.
So I balance narrative and science. Currently it is the only way to access something close to the truth, in particular a workable truth for the contemporary world and the world of our children. Traditions won’t cut it. Belief systems alone won’t do. The earth is not the center of the universe. Neither is the sun. It’s better to know this than pretend otherwise. I suspect we’ll live longer as a species if we can come to grips with this.
So, again, why keep reading Versluis and others like him? Because at some point, some academic (believer or not) will find a way to honour his or her “spiritual” tradition in such a way as to not violate the actual facts of the case – whether empirical or narrative. I suspect this might come out of eco-spiritual traditions since many of them are also science majors. Someone, somewhere, will find a way to pull scientific reality and narrative together and then a new, workable, tradition will have had its birth. I hope I live long enough to see it, and am astute enough to recognize it when it happens.
January 5th, 2011
belief and scholarship
I have finished reading Her Hidden Children: The rise of Wicca and Paganism in America by Chas S. Clifton and I have to say I am glad I read the book. It’s a solid piece of scholarship.
That may not seem much in the way of praise, but it is really. Not that there aren’t things about the book that I find “interesting,” there are and I will tell you about them shortly but let me digress just a bit before I do.
There is another author the I have have spoken of here, Arthur Versluis. While I find his subject area fascinating, what I could never get past is the fact that his books read like apologetics while taking the shape of a scholarly examination. These are not the same thing at all. I don’t care at all what the beliefs of the scholar are about his subject area. I do care if he or she is able to think past them for the purposes of a clear examination of what is in fact the case. Versluis doesn’t seem to be able to do that very well and Clifton can.
Still (and here is where I find “interesting things” in the text), Clifton’s personality and personal beliefs do pop up occasionally throughout the book and, I should say, I was delighted by the appearance of those because otherwise the book, while good research, is written with a rather dry style. But I think there is a reason for that. Whether conscious or unconscious, I suspect Clifton is compensating for the somewhat precarious position pagan studies has in the academic world, and the even more delicate position out-pagans have in most academic departments. It’s like the first woman doctor – I bet she had to really work hard to prove she was as good as her male colleagues. It’s not rational, but change stirs up some deep wells of irrationality and taking pagans and paganism seriously is asking for a pretty big change for most academics. It’s this, I think, that explains Clifton’s writing style.
So here’s one of the twinkly bits. In chapter five (West Coast Wicca) there is this:
Two other legacies of the feminist Witchcraft of the 1970s are the concept of consensus-based decision making and, as noted above, a free-form approach to history and mythology that valued “empowerment” over documentation. The consensus decision-making process, already familiar to Quakers and to political anarchists, and modeled in some instances on tribal practices, offered a challenge to hierarchical coven structure and lineages. (On the other hand, people who have studied with famous feminist Witches such as Starhawk and Budapest usually manage to work that fact into their conversation.) Occasional critics of the consensus process will note that strong individuals seem to get their way even through consensus-based decision making, but the model of more egalitarian, fluid leadership is now firmly in place in many Wiccan circles. (emphasis mine)
A moment please: snort, giggle…OK
There’s Clifton the community member and participant. It speaks to his experience as a believer and adds an evaluative touch to the work really only possible for those who are both insiders and academics. And while such a tone transgresses the cautious scholarly (dry) tone he has so carefully established, it does no harm at all the the value of the study. This, I think, is because while his personality shows through (his insider status appears at these moments) what never happens — his belief never overshadows his scholarship. This is what Versluis does (over and over), why I think of his work as apologetics, and what irks me when reading his books, since I see the facts of the subject area as important.
Another brief digression: one of my favourite books is Awash in a Sea of Faith by Jon Butler. The chapter in there on the occult in American religion is both important and very well done. Partly this is the scholarship (very good), but partly this is the fact that Butler is there as a person while never straying from his choice to place facts in precedence to whatever his personal beliefs may be. His writing style allows for the natural assimilation of personality and a dedication to a factually-based reality.
This balance of a personality-based style and scholarship is what Clifton misses, but I suspect this has nothing to do with his capacities as a writer and everything to do with the position pagan studies holds in the larger academic world—and Clifton’s ideas about how to compensate for that tenuousness. And you know this isn’t a problem, because as I said, I am glad I read the book. I have a couple of new things to think about and a couple of resources that were brought to my attention that I now want to check out. But it is interesting, this example of how belief and scholarship resonate in the larger culture and how one can work past the obstacle that an unfortunate conjunction of those forces can become.
It reminds me of some advice a professor gave me once. He said a PhD isn’t the place for outrageous things. It’s the time to prove yourself. Once you’ve done that then be as out-there as you want. Good, solid advice given the nature of the academic world. And I suppose pagan studies (especially by pagans) is there still, still proving itself.
September 22nd, 2009
Versluis, final post (for a while anyway)
The purpose of Western esoteric tradition, writes Versluis, is “the restoration of paradise, which could also be expressed as the ending of objectification, or division into self and other.” For this to occur, a change of consciousness (or rather a transcendance of consciousness into awareness) is required. In the Western tradition, this change is codified in text providing both the means and the method of personal transformation. The word (lettter, number, glyph, what have you) is sacred because it is both the method of transformation and the desired outcome.
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September 16th, 2009
Struggling with Versluis – Writing, magic and practice
I am struggling with Versluis. I keep running into things that tick me off. Why keep reading then? For a couple of reasons. The first is that the subject matter is important to understanding the Western mind and because he is an academic writing about a subject I consider to be important (I expect a certain quality and tenor to his presentation based on this.) It is this last bit, my expectation, that keeps getting nicked by the jagged edges of his presentation.
The thing is he appears to be a practitioner. Not that this is a problem in itself. Every human being comes to a subject with a point of view, with a set of beliefs and ways. The problem is that he doesn’t seem to be able to bracket his beliefs to allow for the reader’s, nor to take into account that some of his beliefs may need support. At least that’s what I think is the problem.
For me writing about the magical mind requires this bracketing as much if not more than any other subject. For one thing, the magical mind by its very nature posits more than one reality. To understand it, to get a glimspe of its workings as part of the human mind, multiple realities must be maintained, not just the belief in multiple realities.
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September 12th, 2009
Versluis’ Restoring Paradise
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh…………….
Ok. That’s better.
I find I am having to read this book of Versluis’ in the same way I read Bachelard. Let me give you an example from his book.
In setting up the thesis that text has become a primary route for initiatory transmission of esoteric understanding in the Western tradition, Versluis has come up with a three-fold description of readers (i.e. potential receivers of this proffered understanding). These are:
1.Closed readers—those who come to a work with predetermined theses that disallow their imaginative entry;
2.sympathetic readers, who enter into a work imaginatively; and
3.Initiates, who see the work as mirroring a process that they seek to undergo in themselves.
While I agree with Versluis that text is being used as a tool for esoteric transmission, and while I agree that to understand these texts as intended one must imaginatively allow the world entry in one’s imagination, I think number three above would be more accurately stated as
3.Open readers—those who come to a work with predetermined theses that allow their imaginative entry. (And perhaps permanent residence if these readers tend to think of themselves as initiates. –perhaps this last coda is a touch uncharitable of me, but I am irritated–)
And perhaps number 2 might be better if it read:
2.Sympathetic readers, who enter into a work imaginatively but also maintain simultaneously an active recognition that the world of the text is provisional.
OK, Mary, calm down. (Breathe, breathe, breathe….)
Having got that little hissy fit over and done with, I will now proceed to read the rest of the book.
September 3rd, 2009
More on Arthur Versluis’s book
I’ve been thinking about my mixed feelings with Verluis’ book. Around 3 AM today I found myself thinking about that book and about an essay I deeply admire by Cynthia Ozick called “Mrs. Virginia Woolf and Her Nurse“. When I caught myself thinking of them together, I searched for the connection I had subconsciously perceived, because apart from the fact that they are both in English, they are very different bits of work. What came to me was was the phrase “compassionate writing.” I now think that I didn’t respond whole-heartedly to Verluis’ book is because it isn’t what I think of as compassionate writing. So, in fact, it wasn’t a connection I was seeking between Ozick and Versluis but a difference.
When reading Verluis, I got the strongest sense that he was hiding something. Not data, of course. And no, I do not think he misrepresents his study. Rather, I think he is hiding himself, hiding something essential about his response to his subject, and by doing that he is unintentionally hiding his subject from me.
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August 27th, 2009
Arthur Versluis, esotericism and understanding the American mind
So I finished Versluis’ The Esoteric Origins of The American Renaissance. I’m a long way from synthesizing it and I find myself experiencing mixed reactions. It is an academic book. Its style of prose, its pursuit of detail and evidence, all mark its genre and of course this is not a bad thing but it does effect the way the subject comes across the page. I mean my experience of magic as it is practiced, of alchemy and the secretly borne passionate intensity of alchemists has led me to associate these topics and practices with drama and the excitement of a piece of art newly born. And the book doesn’t carry this sense. Also, to be fair, it is a survey book; one that is necessary given the state of academic research into this topic, but surveys are by necessity books that cannot deeply grapple with the implications of a subject let alone practice the art of literature as the words are laid down – the literary art which must always take you deep somewhere. And of course, this stuff is something I already had some familiarity with, so perhaps it is unfair of me to have expected more. In fact it is unfair, but still, I did.
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August 21st, 2009
Studying magic in North America
I’ve started reading Arthur Versluis’ book The Esoteric Origins of the American Renaissance. It’s clear that the author is going to bring to bear many of the magical strains that populate the early American mental landscape – alchemy, gnosticism, theosophy, Hermeticism and Swedenborgianism – on authors such as Emerson, Poe, Alcott, Whitman and Dickinson (can’t wait until I get to that chapter!).
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