Aleister Crowley 101

Aleister Crowley (1875-1947)

I’ve found that if you do enough research on conspiracy theories or the occult, all roads link back to Crowley. Magician, poet, author, mountain-climber, yoga practitioner, drug-addict, and occasional maniac, Crowley was one of the decisive influences on modern Western occult philosophy and practice. And it’s pronounced “Crolly,” by the way (at least according to him).

Born on October 12 to a prosperous Victorian English family, young Aleister was an inquisitive, intelligent child but also somewhat of a bloody terror–so much so that his mother would refer to him as “The Beast 666.” To be fair to Crowley, the fanatical religiosity of his parents most probably contributed to the boy’s rebellion and chosen life-path. After all, Marilyn Manson himself was once an altar boy.

Marilyn Manson: Altar Boy

After attending Cambridge University and having a short career in the Diplomatic Service, Crowley experienced an epiphany: he was completely wasting his life and was destined for awesomer, more eternal things. At the age of 23 he began his occult career by joining the Hermetic Order Of The Golden Dawn, a magical fraternity based in London. Following the tradition of all truly great psychic vampires, Crowley started trouble and dissent within the organization in no time flat, helping it schism and implode. His main objection to the Golden Dawn’s practices was their focus on “self-development” and their neglect of “real magic” – you know, "Earth-shattering kabooms". Crowley wanted Earth-shattering kabooms.

"Earth-Shattering Kabooms"

After being kicked out of the Golden Dawn, Crowley took some time to take stock of his life and travel with his new wife, Rose Kelly. One March day in Egypt, 1902, Kelly apparently received a psychic communication from the god Horus himself–and Crowley’s life would be changed forever. For the next few days Crowley took dictation from the entity identifying itself as Aiwass, and soon The Book Of The Law was written. The book would be the cornerstone of the man’s occult philosophy, and it stated that he was the prophet of the new age–the Age of Horus–in which all other religions would be cast aside.

He liked to doodle

The Book Of The Law is most famous for introducing the phrase “Do What Thou Wilt Shall Be The Whole Of The Law.” In contemporary times this has been bastardized into “do whatever the hell you feel like doing and it’s OK,” which was not exactly what Mr. Crowley meant (though he did do a lot of whatever the hell he wanted).

The Hip-Hop/Thelema connection

Rather, “Wilt” or “will” or, as Crowley referred to it, “Thelema”, was what one’s Higher Self dictated–the very unvarnished essence of one’s being, which not only was OK but mandatory for a person to express. The only sin that could really be committed would be not being true to yourself. Which sounds like a very nice, life-affirming philosophy–though it can be argued that such historical misanthropes as Hitler and Jack the Ripper were indeed following the unvarnished essences of their beings.

The Jonas/Thelema connection

After his encounter with Aiwass and the completion of The Book Of The Law, Crowley ostentatiously sent notice to his former leader in the Golden Dawn, Samuel Liddell MacGregor Mathers, that the New Aeon had come and that Crowley was its herald. At which point, according to Crowley, Mathers sent a vampire woman to kill him, thus starting out a bit of a witch-war between the two men that involved “evil currents,” dead bloodhounds, and the 47 demons of Beezlebub.

This is probably some sort of Christian propaganda poster, but it's still kind of rockin'

After all that nonsense was over, The Great Beast took a time-out from occult pursuits for a couple of years until 1907, when he founded the Argenteum Astrum, Order of the Silver Star, a magical organization based on his teachings from The Book Of The Law. In 1912 he was contacted by a German magical order, the Ordo Templi Orientis (OTO), and accused of plagiarizing some of their rituals. Crowley explained that it must have been all a coincidence, and shortly thereafter he was invited to be the head of the English-speaking branch of the OTO. In 1916 he promoted himself to the magical rank of Magus through a ritual he made up.

Aleister Crowley was not very well-liked in his native England–the fact that he spent World War I in the United States cranking out anti-British propaganda & expressing his support for the Germans might have had something to do with it. However, he later claimed that such an enterprise was conducted in a “satirical” fashion, and he was only kidding. His fate as “The Wickedest Man In The World”–as far as England was concerned–was later sealed when one of his mistresses did a tell-all with a London tabloid. Soon the newspapers were filled with tales of drug abuse, debauchery, and “black magic.”

shocking stories of debauchery

He had established a headquarters for himself in Sicily with his Abbey Of Thelema, but the unfavorable news reports from England plus the rise of fascism & Mussolini soon made Italy too hot for him to stay as well, and he was deported. In the interim he had written many books, including the occult classic Magick: In Theory And Practice, and was even elected head of the World OTO–but he was also in the midst of a massive drug addiction & a desperate financial situation.

Crowley claimed to be a British secret agent during World War II, hired for the task by no less that Winston Churchill himself. His mission: to exploit the Nazis’ interest in the occult & bring back their secrets. In case that didn’t work, Crowley drew up a “ V for victory” sigil for England to use in order to beat back the mystic Nazi onslaught. None of this can be verified, though, in Master Therion’s defense, the Allies did win World War II.

In the 40s Crowley met an eager young wannabe warlock named Jack Parsons, a Caltech rocket propulsion scientist. Parsons, described as the “true father of American rocketry,” became an enthusiastic disciple of Crowley’s & sought to both emulate the man and recreate his rituals.

Three's Company

In 1946 Parsons and a buddy named L Ron Hubbard performed the Crowley-inspired “Babalon Working,” which some conspiracy theorists believe created a trans-dimensional rift that allowed the aliens to infiltrate our world. In 1952 Parsons died in a mysterious explosion in his garage laboratory–the rumor was that he was trying to perform his idol’s ritual to create a homunculus. It was further rumored that the ritual failed because Crowley put “booby-traps” in all his written spells.


Aleister Crowley died on December 1st, 1947, at the age of 72...but his influence remains strong to this very day.

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Grant Morrison: Can He Serve Two Masters?

"Grant Morrison, I Am Disappoint"

Alex Zalben at MTV Geek has made the case far better than I could about what was so depressingly disconcerting about this recent Grant Morrison interview in Playboy:

The concern here is that he’s slipping more and more into predictable behavior, relying on looks at the past, rather than moving comics into the future. Sure, it’s a tough battle, given you’re on the losing side: fans and companies complain they don’t want change, so why should you go out on a limb to provide it? But really, the first superheroes weren’t created based on expectations, they were created as a way of inspiring the world outside comics to be better than itself. And the world did change... So can’t superhero comics change with it?

We used to look to Grant Morrison, for better or worse, to provide that change, and to be the guy who was mostly misunderstood in his own lifetime. It’s a thankless job, but for years, he took the position and embraced it. Ironically? We don’t want him to go changing on us now.

The op-ed goes on further to speculate if Morrison isn't just burnt-out after working on so many mainstream projects and facing the wrath of fans. The sort of "if this is what you want Fanboys, well let me be the first to stick the funnel down your throat and force that yummy-yum-yum gravy down." Behind every cynic beats the muffled, cholesterol-daubed heart of a former idealist, etc. The similarity of Morrison's commentary on the "essence" of these characters and that of Frederic Wertham is in particular quite stunning; I guess it all depends on the messenger, huh?

 What A Drag It Is Getting Old

This seems to happen quite a bit to many of my idols as they age. For example, I was a big Dennis Miller fan back in the day, and he has become quite conservative since then. Frank Miller, too. It makes me wonder if it isn't just an unavoidable consequence of aging -- not only aging, but aging and still trying to not go completely insane and bankrupt as the result of being in the middle of this stuff for 20, 30, 40 years. Certainly people like Hunter S. Thompson seemed to retain more of their anarchist, anti-establishment edge as they got older, but at least he had an extensive gun collection to blow off steam (among other things).

But what of Grant Morrison, spending such a long time working for the comics mainstream? Certainly, I assume he received more free rein to do what he wanted with his characters than say Joe Fill-In -- but working on mainstream comics with key branded characters will inevitably involve compromise, even for someone of his stature. How long can you balance your genius with the necessities of such work? Can you successfully do so? What is the trade-off?

The Universal And Eternal Dilemma: Simon Magus Vs. John The Baptist
This is an universal and eternal dilemma (reference Matthew 6:24) that entails sacrifice any way you look at it. Morrison gets to be Mr. Cool in Playboy, impeccably groomed and the essence of chic; in contrast, Alan Moore looks shaggy, baggy-eyed and somewhat fanatic in various interviews, the Wronged Man. Simon Magus versus John the Baptist in his animal skins. Is it better to metaphorically sacrifice these characters we've loved so much on the altar in a flourish of dismissive cynicism, or martyr ourselves for these creations rather than see them besmirched or commercialized?

Is the key that Morrison never created Batman, Wonder Woman, and the like? Is it the co-opting of one's own creations that eventually drives the creator insane? Whereas Morrison is writing about entities that have seen life as cake-toppers and inflatable bop-bags as well as comic books? So at the end of the day, Morrison can just say, "Well, he was a f**king cake-topper anyway. Lego. Bop-bag. Camp icon." At the end of the day, he can just claim a higher level of Cool, by presenting the very act of making mainstream comics as a conscious, ironic act, like painting soup-cans. Hence referring to characters like Batman and Wonder Woman as nothing more than what Wertham saw in them over 60 years ago, as nothing more than the Pow! Sock! camp icons from the 1960s.

Batman and Wonder Woman: More Than Just Lasso n' Leather Freaks?
Why not discuss the role of tragedy and childhood trauma in the psychological make-up of Bruce Wayne, as a topic at the heart of Batman that goes beyond the same tired Freudian/Werthamian/Mr. Roperian speculation as to whether or not he wanted to have sex with his underage ward? Why not acknowledge the role Wonder Woman played as a feminist icon in the 1970s, discussing how she evolved as a symbol? To acknowledge something deeper to these characters -- something deeper that might have a strong impact for positive change and self-reflection on the countless readers who have read their tales -- to acknowledge that, and to then have to deal with the mainstream System, comics as Product, that's all too much. That's too painful. Then he would have to also acknowledge The Universal And Eternal Dilemma.

But the other side of the coin is that if you're going to buck the system, say "F U" to the mainstream, and advocate tons of change -- especially in such a tiny industry as comic-making -- you will not only face a tremendous amount of nerd rage but limited job opportunities as well. If you are relatively lucky like Mr. Alan Moore, you have already built a substantial following based on your previous mainstream work, possess a prolific amount of creator-owned work to publish, and have enough various naturally-derived substances to kill the pain. Some of us would only be left with the substances, unfortunately, and the problem as to how to pay for them on a regular basis.

Better Living Through Magick?
I think Grant Morrison doesn't need the Mainstream. If I had to guess, he has already started to plant stakes in that Utopian Creator-Owned fallow field of untapped potential I've heard so much about. He has also spoken in the past of the rather anarchical practice of planting magickal sigils deep within his work as a way to counteract -- or transform --The System:

For every McDonald's you blow up, "they" will build two. Instead of slapping a wad of Semtex between the Happy Meals and the plastic tray, work your way up through the ranks, take over the board of  Directors and turn the company into an international laughing stock. You will learn agreat deal about magic on the way. Then move on to take our Disney, Nintendo, anyone you fancy.

But does this really work, or is it merely wishful thinking? Is it too easy to get seduced on the way to your Grand Trickster Play? Can you really "game" The System -- via magick or otherwise? If corporate logos and brands are as powerful as Morrison claims they are...is it not possible that they can work the other way, bewitching and bedazzling you without you even realizing it? Is the proper method to embrace the Brand, the System, in order to shape it -- or, like Moore, banish it completely from your line of sight and retreat into the wilderness?

And the final question is, does any of this even matter at all? Why waste our time defending the honor of imaginary creatures? Unless you believe, maybe, that these Bop Bags and Bondage Queens are really Gods.

Happy May Day.

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