Mailbag: Thelema and Zen

In the comments section of a recent post, I addressed a question about why I expound Thelema as opposed to Buddhism or esoteric Christianity. The unspoken assumption there is that Thelema (that is, the way I present Thelema, which is the way that Thelema actually is, as opposed to the fantasy weirdness that many others present it as) is awfully similar – or perhaps even essentially identical – to those other systems.


The assumption reminds me of a private exchange I had many moons ago about the differences between Thelema and Zen. My response illustrates Thelema’s unique characteristics by contrast.


My correspondent writes:

Hi Los,

I just read Shun-Ryu Suzuki's "Zen Mind: Beginners Mind". And I was wondering, in what ways, practically speaking, would you say Thelema differs from the Zen approach? Because really, they seem very similar to me. That is when we define Thelema in the way you and Erwin do, as being something other than the practices and dogmas which are often bundled with it.

To quote Suzuki, "Zazen practice is the direct expression of our true nature. Strictly speaking for a human being , there is no other practice than this practice; there is no other way of life than this way of life."

 Isn't that there the essence of Thelema, the true will, our "true nature" manifesting in the moment? Doesn't what is generally understood as Thelema lack for the simplicity of the Zen approach? Isn't much of it distractionary and even counter-productive? In short what does Thelema offer that Zen does not?

An excerpt from my response appears below the cut.

The Value of Crowley

A reader posed a few questions last month in the comments section of this post, and it prompted an interesting and somewhat lengthy response from me. It’s worth reading the whole thing, but there was one piece of it in particular that I thought I would pull out and make its own post. It has to do with the question of why I spend my time explaining the works of Aleister Crowley and Thelema, as opposed to some other spiritual teacher or tradition that might equally be useful to communicate what I’m trying to say without the baggage.

Here’s how the commenter phrased it:

What is valuable enough to you about Crowley's perspective and the practices he developed that you think worth keeping despite both his own shortcomings and the additional shortcomings of his followers?

This is a really good question, as it allows me to reflect on the advantages of Aleister Crowley and his teachings specifically.

My answer to this part of the comment appears below the cut.

Intuition

Have you ever been thinking of a friend, only to have that friend call you a few minutes later? Have you ever had a sudden sense that “something is wrong,” only to come home and find that your brother got a flat tire earlier in the day? Have you ever had a dream, whose events seemed to come to pass in some way?

Of course you have. These experiences are exceedingly common, and I would be surprised to find someone who could not relate at least one story like this.

But here’s the more important question: does your experience demonstrate that you have some kind of mysterious power, that “intuition” is some real ability that can guide us and that we can develop by doing inane imagination exercises?

Of course not. Occurrences like those mentioned above are adequately accounted for by a combination of coincidence, confirmation bias, and the pattern-seeking functions of the brain, as I’ve explained elsewhere on this blog (like here, for example). But one thing I haven’t addressed so explicitly is this idea of “intuition,” the notion that one’s feelings actually provide information about the world and the related idea that one’s feelings actually provide information about what is “right” for the individual.

During various conversations with supernaturalists and religionists of all stripes – ranging from Christians to Hindus to people who practice supernaturalist religions based on Thelema – my interlocutors often bring up intuition.

How, they ask, do I account for intuition? Where, they demand, does intuition fit into my view of the world?

The purpose of this post is to examine the idea of intuition and to demonstrate that the common notion of intuition can actually be a great impediment to the intelligent practice of Thelema.

Read on for more.

Breaking Bad and Thelema

Now that the epic television series Breaking Bad has finally concluded, I thought this would be a good chance to post a few reflections on the series from a Thelemic viewpoint, including a reading of Percy Shelley’s “Ozymandias,” a poem used in the promotional material for the final season.

I’ll be discussing “spoilers” in this post, so if you haven’t seen all of the episodes (and if you intend to at some point) then don’t read any further.

Article continues below.

Quote of the Moment

"Religious people aren't afraid of other religious people. Oh, sure, sometimes they kill and hate them, but...they don't fear them. They fear atheists because we are the ones who aren't clapping during 'Peter Pan.'

 "Remember "Peter Pan"? If everybody in the audience doesn't clap and say, "I believe in fairies," then Tinkerbell's light goes out and she dies. Because religion is kind of like a conga line. If one person doesn't join in, you see yourself through their eyes, and you realize you look like a schmuck."

--Bill Maher

 

Don't worry. New content is coming soonish.

Celebration

A feast every day in your hearts in the joy of my rapture!

A feast every night unto Nu, and the pleasure of uttermost delight!

--The Book of the Law

 

   Cawcaught. Coocaged.

And Dub did glow that night. In Fingal of victories. Cann-
matha and Cathlin sang together. And the three shouters of
glory. Yelling halfviewed their harps. Surly Tuhal smiled upon
drear Darthoola: and Roscranna's bolgaboyo begirlified the
daughter of Cormac. The soul of everyelsesbody rolled into its
olesoleself. A doublemonth's licence, lease on mirth, while hooney-
moon and her flame went huneysuckling. Holyryssia, what boom
of bells! What battle of bragues on Sandgate where met the bobby
mobbed his bibby mabbing through the ryce. Even Tombs left
doss and dunnage down in Demidoff's tomb and drew on the
dournailed clogs that Morty Manning left him and legged in by
Ghoststown Gate, like Pompei up to date, with a sprig of White-
boys heather on his late Luke Elcock's heirloom. And some say
they seen old dummydeaf with a leaf of bronze on his cloak
so grey, trooping his colour a pace to the reire. And as owfally
posh with his halfcrown jool as if he was the Granjook Meckl or
Paster de Grace on the Route de l'Epèe. It was joobileejeu that
All Sorts' Jour. Freestouters and publicranks, hafts on glaives.
You could hear them swearing threaties on the Cymylaya
Mountains, man. And giving it out to the Ould Fathach and louth-
mouthing after the Healy Mealy with an enfysis to bring down
the rain of Tarar. Nevertoletta! Evertomind! The grandest
bethehailey seen or heard on earth's conspectrum since Scape   the Goat, that gafr, ate the Suenders bible. Hadn't we heaven's lamps to hide us? Yet every lane had its lively spark and every spark had its several spurtles and each spitfire spurtle had some trick of her trade, a tease for Ned, nook's nestle for Fred and a peep at me mow for Peer Pol. So that Father Matt Hughes looked taytotally threbled. But Danno the Dane grimmed. Dune. 'Twere yeg will elsecare doatty lanv meet they dewscent hyemn to cannons' roar and rifles' peal vill shantey soloweys sang! For there were no more Tyrrhanees and for Laxembraghs was pass- thecupper to Our Lader's. And it was dim upon the floods only and there was day on all the ground. […] He goat a berth. And she cot a manege. And wohl's gorse mundom ganna wedst. --Finnegans Wake   Never fear, gentle readers. “Thelema and Skepticism” will be returning later this summer. Until then, celebrate a feast in your hearts every day and night.

To Summer (and excerpts from Milton: a Poem)

To Summer, by William Blake

 

O thou who passest thro' our valleys in
Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
That flames from their large nostrils! thou, O Summer,
Oft pitched'st here thy golden tent, and oft
Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld
With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.

Beneath our thickest shades we oft have heard
Thy voice, when noon upon his fervid car
Rode o'er the deep of heaven; beside our springs
Sit down, and in our mossy valleys, on

Some bank beside a river clear, throw thy
Silk draperies off, and rush into the stream:
Our valleys love the Summer in his pride.

Our bards are fam'd who strike the silver wire:
Our youth are bolder than the southern swains:
Our maidens fairer in the sprightly dance:
We lack not songs, nor instruments of joy,
Nor echoes sweet, nor waters clear as heaven,
Nor laurel wreaths against the sultry heat.