Aleister Crowley (1875–1947)

Crowley writes superbly, a surprising conclusion to make about one who was once called “the wickedest man in the world.” His descriptions come at you from an unexpected angle and one is forced to pause, to slow down at the sheer uniqueness of what is being said. A cursory reading will miss his subtlety and, while not deserving of a slow reading per se, we should call it 'slower than normal' reading. Then, we would approach the book properly.

There is a sensuality to the language which is show more decadent in same way that the music of the Grateful Dead somehow brings to mind the idea of overripe fruit. I have to wonder, however, if I am being slowly corrupted by this book. Crowley writes like a man whose familiar associations arrive from a dimension different from ours. About such folk, we might have once said ". . . not quite right" which only means they don't fit our particular social paradigm. The 21st century reader struggles to accommodate Crowley's phrases and metaphors, whose effect is to gently push one out of a comfortable reality . . . especially since the subject matter is the overuse of cocaine and heroin. If there is an agenda here, it may be precisely to accomplish that gentle push.

The story of Peter Pendragon and his lover Lou Laleham unfolds in three parts, Paradiso, Inferno, and Purgatorio, a take off on Dante's tour of the afterlife. The couple travel through Europe on stipends from Peter's inheritance, gradually succumbing to the enflaming passions created by a heroin and cocaine addiction. As the addiction becomes more pronounced and the propensity for self-knowledge rises, the perspective turns increasingly wild and, for this reason, spiritual. It is an unaccustomed spirituality: that of the liberated mind, the insane mind, a mind that no longer turns automatically from questionable things. There is a coming-to-terms period in the second section of the book, called Inferno, which touches on these mad things. The perspective is utterly fascinating – a good exposure to things beyond the ken of most of us.

Having said that, this reader felt a kinship with that narrator's internal monologue. These voicings ring similar to what form spontaneously on the basis of immediate experience. In some cases, they may be felt only briefly before cultural cues have had their chance to redirect them into more acceptable cliches. We all live inside the gated communities of our expectations. Those gates and walls are quite invisible to ordinary perception. It is from within these walls we knowingly pass judgement on the world "out there. "What is good? and what is bad?” Typically we are supplied with the answers by culture, along with a corresponding judgment. Such judgments. . . in fact, all judgments. . . are (as a bottom line) based on the need to have a reliable handle on the world. They vital to the survival of that squirming little creature we call 'self.'

A strange book, possibly a 'gateway' book (to further questionable activities), and a worthwhile reading experience. You're a reader. Have some courage. show less

Why did Aleister Crowley hate Christianity so much? You would too, if you were "Alec." The long autobiographical preface to The World's Tragedy makes his personal motivation abundantly clear. The main text of the book is a play in verse, re-writing the entire Gospel myth to subordinate it to the worldview of Crowley's "Pagan rapture," and soundly trashing all of the fondest and most revered of Christian imaginings.

A prologue in "The Garden of Eros" translates the Christian Trinity into a show more not-even-demiurgic threesome of schemers in an antelapsarian Arcadia. The first act is "The Red Star," in which an act of child sacrifice (what else?) inaugurates the drama, and the spiritual life of humanity turns toward the darkness of Christianity. In "The White Wind," the annunciation is supplanted with a depiction of the rape of the Virgin Mary by a Roman centurion (an allegation advanced in antiquity by both critics and believers of Christianity). "The Blue Dwarf" is the act that presents the nativity of Jesus, who comes forth as a bottle-bound genie, under the sage appraisals of the magi. The fourth act is "The Black Bean," showing unpleasant domestic relations among Jesus and two "beloved disciples" (John and Magda). The final section crucifies Jesus in the "thick darkness of the Emptiness of Things," and heralds the act as the beginning of the end of classical virtue, descending into "The Grey Night" of Christianity.

The second printing of the New Falcon Press edition includes two additional pieces of font matter. An introduction by Israel Regardie describes his own personal relationship to the text, as well as vouching for its literary quality and keen sense of humor. The foreword by Hyatt and DuQuette places the 1991 republication of the book in the context of aggressive political reaction on the part of fundamentalist Christians in the USA. The two also mention that the play had at that time never been staged.

I have talked with Thelemites from time to time who think it would be rewarding to publicly stage this often hilarious and unquestionably blasphemous work. In truth, it would not be worth the bother to amass the necessary resources for a full and polished production. The play is almost entirely destructive and anti-Christian: its final message of messianism for a new Aeon is too cryptic to communicate effectively to profane audiences. On the other hand, individual acts can make excellent reader's theater for consumption among the cognoscenti. They can even be timed to the liturgical calendar: I have enjoyed seeing "The Blue Dwarf" put on as the Worst Xmas Pageant Ever. show less

This book, published in the nineteen nineties by New Falcon, is the 'authorized' edition of the commentary on Liber AL vel Legis, edited, as Crowley wished, by his friend Louis Wilkinson. Two previous editions of the commentary were published before this, by Symonds and Grant and another by Israel Regardie, and though they were far more extensive, Hymenaeus Beta claims they were edited down from rough typescripts and battled with editorial inconsistencies.

Though it is possible that show more something is lost for the serious student of Magick in this edition, I appreciate that, having been edited by a poet rather than a Magician, it is geared toward the layman, for the most part avoiding long passages of indecipherable Magickal exposition, as Crowley does have a tendency to fully expound upon ideas that only high grade practitioners, or maybe only Crowley himself, could be able to fully grasp. However, he does not omit too much as to cheapen the value of the commentary, retaining a good amount of explication on Qabalisitc values and the many layers of symbolism present in the work.

Liber AL is, in my eyes at least, more philosophical than mystical, espousing the practically Nietzschean framework of the system of Thelema. Crowley elucidates verses with impassioned arguments for self liberation and sex positive feminism, though he is sometimes betrayed in these monologues by flashes of his inherent misogyny and arrogance. The commentary might hold even more to reveal about Crowley himself than the text, as we are given great insights into his views of humanity, as well as his struggles in accepting this work that, in part, evades even him. Whether the Book of the Law was transmitted to Crowley by mystical forces or was birthed by his pen as a sort of subconcious Jungian automation, I couldn't say. Regardless, this commentary offers a wide window into Crowley's thought, and illuminates the complexities of language and symbolism found within the text that is the cornerstone of his output. show less

Crowley is never boring, although sometimes his poetry is. This work of fiction is very much of its time (post-WWI Europe), complete with the sexism, racism, antisemitism and colonialism of a British gentleman of the era (I'm not sure if Crowley was considered a gentleman at the time but I am sure he considered himself one). The plot is about a couple of a certain station in life who meet, marry and debauch themselves, all with the help of cocaine and heroin. It's quite harrowing. The last show more few chapters tells how they redeem their lives through the practice of Thelema taught to them by a character who is very much Crowley himself by another name. Crowley said this was fictionalized autobiography and while I am sure that is true for the story of addiction and degradation, the depiction of Crowley's actual Abbey of Thelema, already is in operation at the time of his writing of the book, was a dump and far cry from the starry-eye utopia envisioned in the novel.

At any rate, it's an interesting look at that moment of history and an interesting look at what Crowley thought it would look like, a far cry from what he managed to do with his own life. show less