book report: Advanced Magick for Beginners (Alan Chapman)

A quite enjoyable introduction to chaos magic. I feel now, having read a few books & watched a dozen Youtube videos on the subject, that I more or less understand the topic. It’s an interesting discipline, though I feel it is not for me: perhaps my aversion arose at a Rune Gild conference some years ago, where one of the speakers began: “Any chaos magicians here? Any wiccans?” and I started laughing, assuming it was a joke; to the first question, a couple dressed all in black, with purple dye in their jet-black hair, raised their hands with a superior look; to the second, a chestnut-haired woman in green, wearing wooden earrings. The person I was sitting next to later said, “did you notice how they looked exactly like you’d expect?” I asked him: “what exactly is a, uh, chaos magician?” and he to me, “someone with purple dye in their hair.”

One should not judge based on such a small sample size, of course; however, chaos magic feels dangerously superficial & solipsistic to me. My perspective is too strongly religious to accept that one can arbitrarily create a god and then pray to it for practical results. I assume the universe to have an implicit order, manifesting both in us and in the vast non-human reality; so some symbols (runes, for example) stick, however arbitrary their origin, because they resonate with something in us, and hence with something in the cosmic core from which we were birthed (and so they were never arbitrary).

There is however much of interest in the book; especially Chapman’s chapter on initiation: unlike the traditional account, in which one undergoes a single, transformative ordeal, Chapman argues for a process of constant unfolding:

It is customary in all magical approaches, traditional or otherwise, for the aspirant to undergo initiation. The word itself can be traced to ancient Greek where one of its many meanings was death. [I could find no evidence for this and think it’s probably false]. Initiation usually involves undergoing some kind of ordeal in a ritual setting, sometimes with a death/rebirth element, that marks a definite step away from what you were, and a step towards what you want to be. 

In magical terms, you cease to be an ordinary human and become a magician.

The benefits of undergoing initiation are numerous. As stated earlier, in magical tradition this will usually involve access to previously hidden techniques or ‘secrets’ that the teacher or guru will hand down to the initiate, and more often than not functions as a formal recognition of some kind of attainment. It is not necessary to belong to an occult body in order to be initiated; however it can be beneficial to undergo an initiation ritual regardless of whether or not you do. This can be as simple or as complex as you like, and it is probably a good idea to incorporate a symbolic discarding of old, outmoded habits or ways of being, and an acceptance of new characteristics you wish to have.

Initiation can best be summed up as a transformation of the self

Chapman takes issue with the standard model:

[…] if initiation is transformation, then you underwent initiation the moment you performed your first magical act.

Furthermore, every revelatory or transformative experience, from the moment you first used your lungs to the reading of this sentence, must be part of an initiatory process. As an exercise in revelation, the practice of magick can be considered an acceleration of this process. However, due to the very nature of revelation, initiation never ends.

I would tend to agree, having repeatedly undergone transformative ordeals, mostly near-death; after each I felt altered and saw things & myself differently, but then the bustle and banality of the everyday exerted itself once more, and I found I could barely even remember the momentous event of my near demise. I sometimes read over my old journals and am amazed at the clarity & vision I had then, and forgot since. That is, I think, the difficult lesson for the magician or religious seeker: to maintain a regular pattern of initiatory experience, rather than assuming it’s a one-time deal and you can get fat and relax with your occult groupies.

on divination, Oracle Cards, Tarot, runes, our mortal being

Varg Vikernes had a good video, on his now-Shoahed channel, about “cosmic censorship”. Quoth Varg:

“We cannot find these things that way for a reason. That there is some sort of cosmic censorship preventing us from understanding, because we are not meant to, because it’s not that track we are supposed to follow, because it’s not going to help us in any way, even if we find out these things.”

I’ve been doing a lot of Tarot readings recently, as my life is desperate and I can see no way out. I’ve also briefly experimented with oracle cards but found them often useless. I believe this is because they are too obvious: whereas the Tarot will yield a suggestive image

an Oracle Card will tell you something like “consider your friendships” or “believe in yourself”. A sceptic might say that, with oracle cards, there is no room for the deluded to weave a justifying fantasy. Perhaps. But I have also occasionally had Tarot readings that simply made no sense – which is an answer of sorts; as it were invalidating the query.

The word rune comes from Old English run, meaning a secret or mystery. I believe there is a kind of existential censorship, which limits us to interpretation, speculation, uncertainty. Divination, at least in my experience, works very well but only within a speculative context; only insofar as everything is deniable (it is, in this sense, akin to a “Q proof”). When divination becomes too mechanistic, too obvious, it fails.

This suggests, to me, that we mortal beings are not intended to perceive face to face, but rather through a glass darkly. When I began my largely self-initiation, just over a decade ago, I experienced a number of omens, real-world events, visions, and assumed this was my new normal; instead, after a few weeks things returned (largely) to the banal. I noticed this with others – when they entered the Path, they experienced dazzling tokens of the divine, and then nothing. Some, naturally, lose faith and become apostate; hopping from faith to faith until they finally become secular materialists who wish there was a spiritual force to things, but cannot believe. They are, if not hollow men, at least destitute and forlorn:

Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man’s gift and that man’s scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the agèd eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?

In Eliot’s poem, the speaker is placed between worlds, unable to devote himself to the merely material, unable to wholly believe. I would say, it is important to recall and rekindle the tokens of faith:

But the fountain sprang up and the bird sang down
Redeem the time, redeem the dream
The token of the word unheard, unspoken

Till the wind shake a thousand whispers from the yew

And after this our exile

In our material exist, we require the patience and deep roots of the yew, the death tree.