Illustration © Kaitlynn Copithorne
One of the highlights of my five years in London was volunteering at an occult bookshop in Bloomsbury called Treadwell’s. The shop hardly needs an introduction. Christina Oakley-Harrington, the “Treadwell’s founder and presiding spirit”, has changed the way people view the occult. Formerly a medieval historian at UCL, the curation of this bookshop is perfect. Many of the books are rare or antique; the newer stand up to scholarly scrutiny and are palatable to those of us who also see value, too, in empiricism. The people here know the difference between a witch and a cunning person, two figures many conflate. The events conjure up the image of the salons of times past, where artists and writers gathered to discuss literature and philosophy and exchange ideas.
It was at Treadwell’s I first met historian Professor Ronald Hutton, who taught us via The Triumph of the Moon that Neo-Pagan traditions, including modern Pagan witchcraft, don’t have an interrupted lineage from some ancient traditions of the past. Instead they are valid and creative new religions and spiritual practices, which draw from the past but also innovate. Hutton’s work was inspiring but also freeing. It showed there was no one great and authentic coven or spiritual group that preserved, exclusively, the secret knowledge of the ancient past. There was no one truth more powerful than all others. Instead there were a variety of different schools of thoughts that allowed practitioners to explore their inner and outer worlds. There was the potential for creativity, freedom and a breakdown of the hierarchies and rigid thinking that made so many people leave mainstream religion.
With this in mind, I wonder sometimes about the people who speak loudly and smugly on Twitter about doing “the great work”, while scoffing at others with “less authentic” practices. They are not exclusively on Twitter, nor new. They existed back when I was four years old and living in a retreat centre frequented by many spiritual practitioners. Such people typically belittle people who take up the occult casually, or during certain times of need. They call other people grifters for selling their work, while often promoting their own courses and workshops. They boast about their own powers, while using a language that is full of jargon and acronyms one can only acquire through initiation or very specific reading. So often I see such people dismissing new and creative practices. Too often they are men. I’m not saying this is something done exclusively by men, but it is a trend. Performatively, they might speak about the importance of women’s rights, and fighting against racism. But in practice, their vision is often a very narrow one, that privileges an affluent white male outlook.
Many of these are Crowley fan boys. Or they think there was one grimoire worth paying attention to. Only the rituals and recipes preserved within it were of value. All that came before it: forgettable. All that came after it: a scam. It’s like they found this one recipe for stew from the 16th century and decided it was the master of all recipes and could never be improved upon. And they alone could reproduce it. There was never a greater dish than this one – and if you disagree, your cooking and taste are not just terrible – you’re wrong. They often think folk magic and animism as silly, dismissing it as low magic, a term used to denigrate the magic practised by the common people, and by cunning-folk. They instead aspire to higher magick with loftier goals. After all, they are involved in the great work. They practise ceremonial magic, and gain their knowledge from the finest grimoires. And if you’re lucky, and dedicated, you can learn from them.
Lineage based traditions are interesting. Their authenticity usually hinges on claims that their founders took possession of a secret document that preserved teachings from ancient times. Or, they had a revelation, and transcribed the words of a deity. Usually such lineage claims are disproven by historians, but there is still great appeal in this idea there is, at the centre of this new religion, some deep and ancient truth almost lost to the mists of time. To reveal this concealed knowledge, you must jump through the right hoops, read the right things, and abide by the hierarchical structure. The culture of concealing and revealing knowledge is enticing. It’s like receiving a wrapped present. We want to know what’s inside. It’s what makes Scientologists so keen to pay for auditing, to cross the bridge towards eternal freedom, and on the way learn the secrets of the universe. It’s what compels the spiritually curious to initiate into secret societies.
Many of the ideas at the heart of these traditions are fascinating. As are the tools that can be accrued along the way. But we must remember that they are not the only way towards enlightenment, empowering oneself or gaining creative inspiration. They are usually one man’s way. WB Yeats, Florence Farr, Arthur Machen, Maude Gonne and Aleister Crowley were among many artists involved in the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, a 19th-century secret society founded by freemasons. The society drew from a wealth of ideas popular at the time, borrowing heavily from Judaism, renaissance magic and archeological findings from Ancient Egypt, among other things. Again, fascinating ideas, studied by lots of visionary students. All of these ideas had once existed in different forms, and in different cultural traditions.
This wasn’t the end of the line for these ideas, though. Nor was it the end of the line for the practitioners. Crowley went on to create his own religion, Thelema, cherrypicking from a variety of traditions, including yogic philosophy. WB Yeats was involved with other schools of thoughts around at the time, too, including the Theosophical Society, which was founded by a woman, Helena Blavatsky, and is suspiciously often viewed as more “occult light” than the secret societies created by men. It too drew on beliefs from the East and from Christianity, with the central idea that behind all religions there were essential truths.
In the 20th century, new religions continued to emerge, including Wicca, which Gerald Gardner claimed to be an older religion than it was. He proposed that a coven of witches had survived the witch trials, and continued to gather in the New Forest for the Witches’ sabbath. This fanciful conception story was romantic and pulled at the heartstrings of many who felt the magic of the past had been lost to modernity, but could still be recovered. To this there is a sliver of truth. We can’t forget, though, that the real “witches” were not witches at all, but innocent people tortured into confessions, and then executed.
I have noticed many of the aforementioned male occultists have a tendency to dismiss newer traditions, such as Wicca, for their dubious claims, even when the practices they have dedicated their lives to have similarly dubious conception stories, and borrow from older traditions too. There is no one truth that derives from Atlantis or Ancient Egypt or Babylon. Religion has changed and evolved and recreated itself to meet the demands of current times. Maybe it’s because with Wicca there was no longer such a focus on masculine power, but a recognition of female power. This new religion featured high priests and high priestesses. It included a god but also a goddess. Many of its main proponents, including Doreen Valiente, Margot Adler and Maxine Sanders, were women. That’s not to say there weren’t still gender-based abuses of power within Wicca, but that arguably things were starting to look better for women.
I am not saying here that any tradition is better or more authentic than another. On the contrary, all of these can be of benefit. Lineage claims may repel us or draw us in; whatever they do, they have at their heart good stories that inspire us. New or borrowed, stories are what invite us into new worlds. And thankfully we are learning to tell new stories that we urgently need now – without culturally appropriating – and with or without standardised religion. What I am saying is that we should be wary of he who claims to hold the secret power, while dismissing the practices and beliefs of others. This rigidity doesn’t suggest spiritual enlightenment. Rather, it suggests stagnation, an intolerance towards diversity, and a reluctance to surrender one’s hard earned privilege.