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wulfram |
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Post subject: Meeting of the Mages - Crowley pays a visit to Gurdjieff
 Posted: Aug 20, 2007 - 03:24 PM
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I am researching Crowley's meeting with Gurdjieff, and was wondering if anyone has any insights into this Meeting of the Mages, if you will.
This is Nott's observations of the meeting:
“One day in Paris I met an acquaintance from New York who spoke about the possibilities of publishing modern literature. As I showed some interest, he offered to introduce me to a friend of his who was thinking of going into publishing, and we arranged to meet the following day at the Select in Montparnasse. His friend arrived;it was Aleister Crowley. Drinks were ordered, for which of course I paid, and we began to talk. Crowley had magnetism, and the kind of charm which many charlatans have; he also had a dead weight that was somewhat impressive. His attitude was fatherly and benign, and a few years earlier I might have fallen for it. Now I saw and sensed that I could have nothing to do with him. He talked in general terms about publishing, and then drifted into his black-magic jargon.
“To make a success of anything,” he said, “including publishing, you must have a certain combination. Here you have a Master, here a Bear, there the Dragon- a triangle which will bring results…” and so on and so on. When he fell silent I said, “Yes, but one must have money. Am I right in supposing that you have the necessary capital?”. “I?” he asked, “No not a franc.” “Neither have I.” I said.
Knowing that I was at the Prieure he asked me if I would get him an invitation there. But I did not wish to be responsible for introducing such a man. However, to my surprise, he appeared there a few days later and was given tea in the salon. The children were there, and he said to one of the boys something about his son who he was teaching to be a devil. Gurdjieff got up and spoke to the boy, who thereupon took no further notice of Crowley. There was some talk between Crowley and Gurdjieff, who kept a sharp watch on him all the time. I got the strong impression of two magicians, the white and the black- the one strong, powerful, full of light; the other also powerful but heavy, dull and ignorant. Though “black”" was too strong a word for Crowley; he never understood the meaning of real black magic, yet hundreds of people came under his “spell”. He was clever. But as Gurdjieff says: “He is stupid who is clever.” |
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Aum418 |
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Post subject:
Posted: Aug 20, 2007 - 05:49 PM
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| A clash of the teacher-egos. Gurdjieff will tell it like he is a supreme master, making Crowley wimper away with his tail between his legs, and Crowley will make it seem like Gurdjieff is an annoying crank. I find both of them to be devious rascals, each with their own insights, but I prefer Crowley (arent we on the A.C. Society website?) I can imagine what Gurdjieff whispered in that kids ear. |
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Post subject:
Posted: Aug 22, 2007 - 08:37 PM
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93
I have often wondered about this incident. We have Nott's second hand account - and he presents it in the manner to be expected of an 'acolyte'. The negative attitude in the passage towards Crowley comes entirely from Nott's own projections. The hard facts that Nott presents are simply Crowley went to tea one time at Gurdjieff's Prieure. It would have been fascinating to have the incident related by one of the actual protagonists (either Crowley or Gurdjieff), but Nott's presentation is so long on projection and short on facts that it is worthless.
For all we know Gurdjieff may simply have asked the boy to stop bothering a guest, for example.
93 93/93
John |
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Tiger |
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Post subject:
Posted: Nov 10, 2007 - 10:19 PM
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I believe I've read of their meeting that they smelt each other like dogs.
In another more interesting scenario I believe a student of Gurdjieff claims A.C. came and spent a week at one of Gurdjieff 's retreats. I am surprised there is no diary or comments of this from A.C. Anyway the Student goes on to say Gurdjieff told A.C. that he stunk and not to come back.
It's hard enough to find awakened people I would think they would have gotten on somewhat. |
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gurugeorge |
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Post subject:
Posted: Nov 11, 2007 - 08:47 PM
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| IIRC in the Confessions AC mentions this meeting, and says he thought Gurdjieff was ok, not brilliant, but a man who definitely had something. |
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lashtal |
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Post subject:
Posted: Nov 12, 2007 - 12:20 AM
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gurugeorge wrote: › IIRC in the Confessions AC mentions this meeting, and says he thought Gurdjieff was ok, not brilliant, but a man who definitely had something.
I'm unaware of anything published by Crowley about Gurdjieff. If you can track down a reference, I'd be very interested... |
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gurugeorge |
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Post subject:
Posted: Nov 12, 2007 - 08:39 PM
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lashtal wrote: › gurugeorge wrote: › IIRC in the Confessions AC mentions this meeting, and says he thought Gurdjieff was ok, not brilliant, but a man who definitely had something.
I'm unaware of anything published by Crowley about Gurdjieff. If you can track down a reference, I'd be very interested...
Dammit that's annoying. I vaguely remembered it from Confessions but on checking through I can't find it there. But I must have read it somewhere because I knew about the meeting, yet I'd never heard of the Nott quote before this thread.
Maybe it's in one of Colin Wilson's books. I'm pretty sure that wherever it is, it cites AC's view of the meeting. I'll keep an eye out for this. |
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lashtal |
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Post subject:
Posted: Nov 12, 2007 - 08:51 PM
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gurugeorge wrote: › Maybe it's in one of Colin Wilson's books. I'm pretty sure that wherever it is, it cites AC's view of the meeting. I'll keep an eye out for this.
Most of the biographies refer to the meeting. The quote alluded to by Tiger above - the bit about the two men "sniffing around one another like dogs" - is apparently from Yorke, quoted in turn in Suster's Legacy.
There's a good account in Kaczynski's Perdurabo, page 322. |
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MichaelStaley |
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Posted: Nov 12, 2007 - 11:06 PM
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I have in front of me a typescript from the 1970s which refers to this incident:
"There is a persistent legend to the effect that they once met and engaged in some kind of magical contest, but this is almost certainly apocryphal. What is certain is, that during the 1920s, Crowley paid an unsolicited visit to G.'s school at Fountainbleu on Avon, but G. was either not there or refused to see him, and Crowley was shown around by Major Pindar. Of this visit, Crowley wrote in his Magical Record:
'Gurdjieff, their prophet, seems a tip-top man. Heard more sense and insight than I've done for years. Pindar dines at 7.30. Oracle for my visit was "There are few men: there are enough". Later, a really wonderful evening with Pindar. Gurdjieff clearly a very advanced adept. My chief quarrels are over sex (I doubt whether Pindar understands G.'s true position) and their punishments, e.g. depriving the offender of a meal or making him stand half an hour with his arms out. Childish and morally valueless'.
"We have not heard of these 'punishments' from other sources and it is more than possible that Pindar was taking a leaf out of G.'s book and pulling Crowley's leg."
That's all I can say; hope it helps. |
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lashtal |
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Posted: Nov 12, 2007 - 11:40 PM
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| It certainly does! Many thanks... |
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MichaelStaley |
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Post subject:
Posted: Nov 15, 2007 - 02:12 PM
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The passage from Crowley's diary which I quoted above is in The Great Beast by John Symonds, in Chapter 19, "Cakes of Light for Mary Butts" - page 303 of the paperback of the 1971 edition which I happened upon this morning in  curious circumstances. Symonds dates the visit to February 1924. |
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lashtal |
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Post subject:
Posted: Nov 15, 2007 - 03:22 PM
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MichaelStaley wrote: › The passage from Crowley's diary which I quoted above is in The Great Beast by John Symonds.
Thanks Mick - I found the reference in Symonds' book. That's what I found intriguing - especially as the final edition of Symonds' work - The Beast 666 - was published by Pindar Press. |
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Tiger |
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Post subject:
Posted: Nov 18, 2007 - 12:14 AM
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"We have not heard of these 'punishments' from other sources and it is more than possible that Pindar was taking a leaf out of G.'s book and pulling Crowley's leg."
I believe I've read Gurjieff did this sort of thing. I see it as a Marpa teaching Milarepa to leave the familiar ground of empirical determinations and an identity with a goal oriented mind.
funny Crowley would be concerned with moral value
Gujieff also seems to have been interested in unearthing the Sumerian Tradition. |
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Post subject:
Posted: Nov 18, 2007 - 09:00 PM
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93
Nice to hear Crowley's account of his visit.
Thanks for that.
To hope that Gurdjieff kept a diary would be too much 
93 93/93
John |
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Mahakala77 |
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Posted: Jul 25, 2009 - 01:58 AM
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Greetings all -- I'm currently writing and researching a book on Crowley, Gurdjieff, and Osho (the controversial Indian guru also known as Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh); the working title is "The Three Dangerous Magi". A chapter in the book is about the relationship dynamics between spiritual gurus, using the alleged encounter between Crowley and Gurdjieff as a focal point. I found this thread and thought this might be an appropriate place to submit it. Feedback welcome. Excuse the length. (The title of the chapter is a play off of the title of Gurdjieff's famous book "Meetings With Remarkable Men", published in 1960, and made into a film by the same name, directed by Peter Brooks, in 1979).
Why Remarkable Men Only Rarely Meet
The Beast meets Monsieur G.—or did he?
A relatively common—and somewhat frustrating—fact of life is that renowned spiritual teachers only rarely meet each other, and even more rarely teach together. This is due to many factors, not least of which is that they are usually busy people. More subtly, there is often the case of the teacher’s ego, or more specifically, what is known as the “teacher-attachment” trait, the tendency for teachers to harden in their role as a teacher and minimize or ignore their own needs to socially and spiritually connect with peers. More insidiously, their followers or students often collude in various ways with the teacher-attachment tendency, projecting the image of the ideal parent onto the teacher, and contributing toward the teacher’s isolation. The followers, not wanting to share their “ideal parent” with others, in effect prevent the teacher from active relationships with other teachers, much like clamouring children can absorb most of the time and energy of their parents.
Crowley, however, was not always so busy, and unlike Gurdjieff and certainly Osho, he was not hemmed in by his own disciples, doubtless in part because he didn’t set himself up in anything remotely like a parental role. He is reported to have briefly met Gurdjieff in 1926 at the latter’s Prieure in Fontainebleau. At the time Crowley would have been 50 years old and Gurdjieff in his mid-50s. Crowley had been fond of Fontainebleau, having been there many times, as early as 1911, a decade before Gurdjieff arrived. A number of pages in his Confessions mention his periodic visits to this town.
Stanley Nott, a student of Gurdjieff who authored two excellent books on his master, claims to have met Crowley, and went on to describe the meeting of the two magi themselves:
One day in Paris I met an acquaintance from New York who spoke about the possibilities of publishing modern literature. As I showed some interest, he offered to introduce me to a friend of his who was thinking of going into publishing, and we arranged to meet the following day at the Select in Montparnasse. His friend arrived; it was Aleister Crowley. Drinks were ordered, for which of course I paid, and we began to talk. Crowley had magnetism, and the kind of charm which many charlatans have; he also had a dead weight that was somewhat impressive. His attitude was fatherly and benign, and a few years earlier I might have fallen for it. Now I saw and sensed that I could have nothing to do with him. He talked in general terms about publishing, and then drifted into his black-magic jargon.
“To make a success of anything,” he said, “including publishing, you must have a certain combination. Here you have a Master, here a Bear, there the Dragon- a triangle which will bring results…” and so on and so on. When he fell silent I said, “Yes, but one must have money. Am I right in supposing that you have the necessary capital?”. “I?” he asked, “No not a franc.” “Neither have I.” I said.
Knowing that I was at the Prieure he asked me if I would get him an invitation there. But I did not wish to be responsible for introducing such a man. However, to my surprise, he appeared there a few days later and was given tea in the salon. The children were there, and he said to one of the boys something about his son who he was teaching to be a devil. Gurdjieff got up and spoke to the boy, who thereupon took no further notice of Crowley. There was some talk between Crowley and Gurdjieff, who kept a sharp watch on him all the time. I got the strong impression of two magicians, the white and the black- the one strong, powerful, full of light; the other also powerful but heavy, dull and ignorant. Though “black” was too strong a word for Crowley; he never understood the meaning of real black magic, yet hundreds of people came under his “spell”. He was clever. But as Gurdjieff says: “He is stupid who is clever.”(Nott, 1961)
A few observations can be made of Nott’s remarks. The time he met Crowley was not a high point in Crowley’s trajectory—he was past his prime and struggling with drug addictions. In that sense, Nott’s repulsion with Crowley’s presence is not difficult to understand. Nott was a man who was working on himself, and thus would have some degree of sensitivity. Crowley’s life experience and intellectual depth would have been readily apparent (hence the “magnetism” and “impressive dead weight” presence) but his suspect health, financial weakness, and relative isolation at that time would have also been apparent on subtle levels.
The bit about Nott “sensing” that he could have “nothing to do with” Crowley is interesting, and in a sense valid, because it suggests that Nott has achieved some sort of grounding within himself that would allow him to take such a position against an obviously charismatic and persuasive personality (something Nott himself admits about Crowley). It takes a certain trust in oneself to stand up to a strong personality. However, Nott’s reasons for adopting this position seem vague, unreasoned, and probably based partly on Crowley’s public reputation, which was never particularly good.
And this is where Nott’s relative clarity appears to end. He is quick to pass judgment on Crowley’s lack of comprehension of “black magic”, yet offers no suggestion that he has actually read any of Crowley’s writings. Perhaps even more telling, he seems to imply that Crowley actually was some sort of black magician. Anyone acquainted with Crowley’s life work knows this is basically nonsense. It is true that Crowley performed on occasion rites of ceremonial magic that involved the evocation of spirits from the “Goetia” grimoires—some of what are conventionally known as “demons” (though from an anthropological perspective they are almost certainly just the "gods" of older, vanquished civilizations)—and that on at least one occasion while in his early 20s, he attempted to conjure some of these in some sort of misguided astral battle with his erstwhile mentor Samuel Mathers. But in the epic sweep of Crowley’s life that one incident has an almost comic interlude quality.
More to the point, Crowley himself had a very sophisticated grasp of different levels of magic, and clearly understood that evocation magic like that involving the Goetic energies, or the Abramelin Working, is at core a psychological process in which the magician encounters deep elements of his own unconscious mind—essentially a type of shamanic journeying. Crowley also provided a very specific and uncompromising definition of black magic, a view consistent with the highest aspirations of the true mystic:
The Single Supreme Ritual is the attainment of the Knowledge and Conversation of the Holy Guardian Angel. It is the raising of the complete man in a vertical straight line. Any deviation from this line tends to become black magic. Any other operation is black magic. (Magick in Theory and Practice, Chapter 21).
Interestingly, Crowley’s view there is entirely aligned with Zen Buddhism, and its concept of makyo, a Japanese term that means “the devil in phenomena”. It refers to the idea that a seeker of enlightenment, sitting in deep meditation, will commonly encounter visions from his unconscious, some of which may be quite convincing and spectacular. No matter what, however, he is counselled by the Zen master to ignore these visions—all of which are regarded as makyo—and persist only in the one-pointed witnessing of all that arises in his field of consciousness, without attaching himself to anything. The point being, that any phenomena that arises in the mind as an image or symbol is a distraction from ultimate truth. What Crowley calls the Holy Guardian Angel is what Zen calls the buddha-mind (mind of ultimate truth). Nothing but that is a worthy goal for the true seeker. Crowley is in agreement with the Zen masters on that accord.
Gurdjieff himself did talk at least on one occasion about black magic, in a rambling monologue quoted (or more accurately, reconstructed) by Ouspensky in In Search of the Miraculous. The gist of the talk is that Gurdjieff’s view of black magic is that its prime quality is that it manipulates people into being dependent—what he called the “producing in people of infatuation”. But that is of course a very broad definition and commonplace. In the same talk Gurdjieff stressed the mechanical nature of the average person, and how they always think they are doing “in the interests of good” as they understand it. Even Adolf Hitler believed that what he was doing was ultimately for some sort of "good". As always, for Gurdjieff the issue of being awake vs. being asleep trumps morality and any significance of “white” vs. “black” magic.
Given his teacher’s views, it’s not clear what special understanding of black magic Nott was referring to. At any rate, Nott’s observations are taken from his first book, Teachings of Gurdjieff: A Pupil’s Journal, which was published in 1961. Nott himself was born in 1887, which would have made him probably in his late 60s when he was putting this book together. Accordingly, one can question the accuracy of the memory of his perceptions (even if based on diary notes) drawing on events that occurred thirty years before.
Nott followed up his account with an amusing anecdote apparently related by A. R. Orage, who was a close student of Gurdjieff’s and an established literary figure in England in the early 20th century. The story took place at an earlier time:
Orage said about this: “Alas, poor Crowley, I knew him well. We used to meet at the Society for Psychical Research when I was acting secretary. Once, when we were talking, he asked: ‘By the way, what number are you?’ Not knowing in the least what he meant, I said on the spur of the moment, ‘Twelve.’ ‘Good God, are you really?’ he replied, ‘I’m only seven.’” (Nott, 1961)
It’s a funny exchange, but little can be gleaned from it. Crowley may have just as easily been playing with Orage, as the other way around—or both men, equally renowned for their wit, may have been pulling each other’s leg at the same time.
When initially researching this encounter of the magi I was unclear as to when it took place, with some sources mentioning 1924, others 1926, but I soon realized that both dates were significant. This is because although Crowley met Gurdjieff only once, he in fact visited Gurdjieff’s school in Fontainebleau not once, but twice. One of Gurdjieff’s chief biographers, James Moore, has this to say about Crowley’s first visit, which took place in early 1924, when Gurdjieff was in America introducing his work in several major east coast cities:
In Paris Major Pinder met Gurdjieff with news that was, none of it, particularly good. A gaggle of undesirable voyeurs had visited the Prieure, including D.H. Lawrence (who thought it a “rotten, false, self-conscious place of people playing a sickly stunt”), and Aleister Crowley, the Beast 666 (who supposed Gurdjieff was a “tip-top man...a very advanced adept”). (Moore, 1991)
This is confirmed by Crowley’s biographer Lawrence Sutin, who noted that Crowley visited the Prieure on February 10th, 1924, and was received by Gurdjieff’s close student Major Frank Pinder. Gurdjieff was in America from January to June of that year. Of his impressions of Gurdjieff and his work, Crowley had this to say in his diary, following his meeting with Pinder:
Gurdjieff, their prophet, seems a tip-top man. Heard more sense and insight than I've done for years. Pinder dines at 7.30. Oracle for my visit was “There are few men: there are enough”. Later, a really wonderful evening with Pinder. Gurdjieff clearly a very advanced adept. My chief quarrels are over sex (I doubt whether Pinder understands G’s true position) and their punishments, e.g. depriving the offender of a meal or making him stand half an hour with his arms out. Childish and morally valueless.
These remarks of Crowley are interesting (and also amusing in their own right). The fact that Crowley recognizes Gurdjieff’s quality is significant, and is equally a testament to Major Pinder’s ability to explain his teacher’s work as it is to Crowley’s intelligence. The issue about sex is to be expected; Crowley’s attitude toward sex was a foreshadowing of the approach adopted later by the counterculture revolution of the 1960s, and more specifically, the psycho-spiritual atmosphere that later emerged from it, best represented by Osho’s work. However Gurdjieff approached the matter differently. His views were more classically Eastern, similar to Taoist or Yogic models where sex energy is regarded as a powerful force to be carefully regulated and conserved. Crowley’s view was essentially psychological, concerned mostly with deep exploration and the avoidance of repression at all costs. This is a more “left-hand Tantra” approach that is full of potential for both rapid growth, and rapid self-destruction, depending on how it is used.
Crowley’s judgment that some Gurdjieffian methods are “childish and morally valueless” seems at first glance remarkably ironic—Crowley making pronouncements about morality? Crowley was also not averse to strict training methods, including self-administered “punishments” for mental laziness, so his criticism here seems questionable.
As mentioned above, at the time of this meeting with Pinder, Crowley was already in his decline whereas Gurdjieff, despite being several years older, was near about at the peak of his powers. At the time of his early 1924 visit to Gurdjieff’s center Crowley was struggling with both heroin addiction and asthma attacks. His finances were depleted and he had little support. Gurdjieff, however, was energized by a lively spiritual ashram that he was deeply engaged in running, had a supportive following, and had just set sail along with thirty-five dedicated students to America to give his first public demonstrations of his sacred dances in major urban centers like New York City, Boston, and Philadelphia (a series of events that proved to be quite successful).
But all this was soon to change. It was immediately after returning to France in the summer of 1924—and just a few months after Crowley’s meeting with Pinder—that Gurdjieff had his famous car crash, in which he was seriously injured and very nearly died. (He was not an experienced driver, having only learned to drive the year before). He spent several weeks recuperating and when he emerged from his healing, something in him had changed. He dismissed many of his students and began to focus more on his writing projects.
It was exactly two years later, in the summer of 1926, when Crowley met with Stanley Nott (as recounted above) and made his second visit to the Prieure. His reasons for returning are unclear, but it is significant that he returned at all. Clearly, there must have been something in Gurdjieff’s school or teaching that interested him. Crowley had missed Gurdjieff during his 1924 visit, the latter being in America at the time, but in July of 1926, the two magi met.
Of this second visit, in addition to Nott’s account, there is this more dramatized version of the meeting, offered by esoteric historian James Webb, taken from his book The Harmonious Circle: The Lives and Work of G. I. Gurdjieff, P.D. Ouspensky, and Their Followers:
Crowley arrived for a whole weekend and spent the time like any other visitor to the Prieure; being shown the grounds and the activities in progress, listening to Gurdjieff’s music and his oracular conversation. Apart from some circumspection, Gurdjieff treated him like any other guest until the evening of his departure. After dinner on Sunday night, Gurdjieff led the way out of the dining room with Crowley, followed by the body of the pupils who had also been at the meal. Crowley made his way toward the door and turned to take his leave of Gurdjieff, who by this time was some way up the stairs to the second floor. “Mister, you go?” Gurdjieff inquired. Crowley assented. “You have been guest?” – a fact which the visitor could hardly deny. “Now you go, you are no longer guest?” Crowley – no doubt wondering whether his host had lost his grip on reality and was wandering in a semantic wilderness – humored his mood by indicating that he was on his way back to Paris. But Gurdjieff, having made the point that he was not violating the canons of hospitality, changed on the instant into the embodiment of righteous anger. “You filthy,” he stormed, “you dirty inside! Never again you set foot in my house!” . . . White faced and shaking, the Great Beast crept back to Paris with his tail between his legs. (Webb, 1980)
This account by Webb was published in 1980, and cites no sources. Stanley Nott, who unlike Webb was a direct student of Gurdjieff’s and was present during Crowley’s visit, makes no mention of such an outburst from Gurdjieff. Lawrence Sutin questions whether such an event took place:
Webb portrays Gurdjieff’s triumph—and Crowley’s putative inner thoughts—with a heavy-handed novelistic touch. If this brutal banishment did occur, then it is remarkable that Crowley, who harbored animus toward so many rival teachers, never did so toward Gurdjieff. (Sutin, 2000)
While it is clear from Nott’s record that this meeting did in fact occur, as far as Webb’s version goes one is inclined to agree with Sutin that it is unlikely that Crowley would make no mention of such rough treatment in his Confessions, given how outspoken he was about so many. Webb’s account is difficult to dismiss entirely, however, because it is in keeping with Gurdjieff’s behavior and even his teaching methods. Also, it should be noted that between 1924 and 1926 Gurdjieff had gone through many taxing events—his car crash in the summer of 1924, followed by the death of his mother in the summer of 1925, and the difficult death of his young wife Julia Ostrowska in June of 1926 (he had tried hard to cure her of her cancer). In fact, Gurdjieff’s wife passed away a mere couple of weeks before Crowley’s second visit to the Prieure and meeting with Gurdjieff. That fact alone would provide a possible explanation for Gurdjieff’s volatile behavior, if Webb’s account is by chance accurate.
At any rate Webb at the time of writing his book was dealing with an encounter that took place over fifty years before; one wonders who his source was. Of James Webb himself, a few interesting things can be noted: he was educated at the same place Crowley was (Trinity College of Cambridge), was only 34 years old when he published his The Harmonious Circle, and he committed suicide that same year (he had struggled with mental health issues). Webb was a brilliant young scholar who had written previous books on occultism, writings which included a discussion of the “rejected knowledge” syndrome, the idea that knowledge spurned by the rise of science ends up being the focus of esoteric, literary, or artistic circles, functioning as a kind of tool for rebellion against the Establishment. He titled his first book Flight from Reason, in which he argued that much of the esoteric revival of the late 19th and early 20th century was based on a revolt against insignificance, a need to re-assert the primacy of Man that had been dealt a serious blow by the scientific method. Webb’s largest work (The Harmonious Circle) was his last, in which he spent eight years researching and writing about Gurdjieff and the Work. He made many contacts in the worldwide Gurdjieff community, and became deeply involved in the matter of his subject. That said, he remained fundamentally an outsider, an investigative journalist—not one who was actually doing the inner work.
It is difficult to conclude much about his account of the meeting of the magi. Because he did not mention his sources for it and because his account differs so much from Nott’s, and because he was yet a sincere researcher, I suspect that he actually did hear a story with some basis in reality that had been passed down, but one that after fifty years had suffered considerable distortion. What he likely reported was that “fish story”.
Unfortunately Webb’s version has been passed around apparently without much reflection by some who should probably know better. William Patrick Patterson, who has written several books on Gurdjieff’s life, simply repeats verbatim the Webb version of the meeting of the magi in his otherwise excellent video documentary Gurdjieff’s Legacy (Arete Communications, 2003), even referring to Crowley as “the black magician”, and ascribing a sinister motive to Crowley's second visit to the Prieure, suggesting that he chose such a time, just a few weeks after Gurdjieff’s wife’s death, as he “may have sensed a psychological weakness” in Gurdjieff at that time.
Finally, an even more outlandish version (complete with the requisite bizarre Crowley legend) of the famous meeting was recorded by Fritz Peters:
Many years ago, Aleister Crowley, who had made a name for himself in England as “magician” and who boasted, among other things, of having hung his pregnant wife by the thumbs in the attempt to give birth to a monstrous being, presented himself at Fontainebleau without being invited. Crowley was clearly convinced that Gurdjieff was a “black magician” and the evident purpose of his visit was to challenge him to a sort of duel of magic. The meeting turned out to be a disappointment since Gurdjieff, although he did not deny knowledge of certain powers that could be called “magical”, refused to make any such demonstration. At his turn, Mr. Crowley also refused to “reveal” his powers; therefore, to the great disappointment of those present, they were not able to witness a supernatural feat. What’s more, Mr. Crowley went away with the impression that Gurdjieff was a charlatan or a mediocre sorcerer. (Gurdjieff Remembered, Samuel Weiser, 1971).
Peters is primarily known for his book Boyhood With Gurdjieff, which describes five years he spent with Gurdjieff at the Prieure from 1924 to 1929. Peters was born in 1913, so these years encompassed his boyhood period of age 11 to 16. He would have been 13 when Crowley met Gurdjieff. As a result, his view of the Crowley-Gurdjieff encounter is understandably childlike, doubtless distorted by banal gossip. For one thing, the notion that Crowley thought Gurdjieff a “charlatan” is completely refuted by Crowley’s own words from his diary, referring to Gurdjieff as an “advanced adept”.
Gurus at War
The meeting of Crowley and Gurdjieff fascinates for many reasons that go far beyond the comically mundane nature of the alleged encounter and the various (often absurd) psychological projections of those describing it, not least of which is that it makes one consider the actual similarities of the two men. Both were noted for their appearance (shaven heads during a time when shaven heads were not fashionable, and penetrating gaze); both had been world travelers and intense seekers; both had magnetic personalities and the ability to hold the attention of others; and both ultimately formulated their own very unique system, based on not just the accumulated wisdom of the traditions they’d studied in, but also their own carefully thought out attempt to guide humanity to its next level of evolution.
If this is so, then why do not such teachers join forces—or at the very least, demonstrate recognition or at the least curiosity—of each other’s teachings? The natural answer, in addition to the usual considerations that they have limited time, are meant to work only with specific conceptual models, practical methods, and particular souls, etc., is that they themselves do not want to. To their closest admirers both these men were held to be nothing short of supernatural—Crowley the “prophet” of a “new Aeon” selected by advanced intelligences, and Gurdjieff a “planetary or solar being” (Gurdjieffian lingo for a “higher dimensional” spirit who was sent to Earth to fulfill a specific mission). Of course if true, then it can be imagined that the “advanced spirits” who sent/chose these men to do their work were themselves not in agreement, given the points of difference between Thelema and Gurdjieff’s Work.
But there is something bigger at stake here in our considerations, and it has to do with the dynamics of spiritual power. As an interesting case study, we can briefly consider here the saga of the Indian Advaita master Harilal Poonja, and his one-time American student Andrew Cohen.
Cohen, an American from New York, met Poonja in 1986 in Lucknow, India. At the time Cohen was around 30 years old, a former musician, and a sincere spiritual seeker. As an adolescent he’d had a peak spiritual experience in which he’d tasted non-duality, or the essential Oneness of life, in a manner that was potent enough to remain with him as a profound memory for many years, always to remind him of the possibilities inherent in human life. He pursued interests such as martial arts and music, but remained fundamentally dissatisfied. While in India, he sought out and found Poonja, who at the time was in his mid-70s and although very respected as an awakened master by those who knew him, was basically low profile and unheard of in the West.
Cohen spent a short time with Poonja, a few weeks, and while with him underwent a powerful satori (the Zen term for “sudden awakening”) in which he clearly realized non-duality, most notably between Poonja and himself. This was underscored in his first book published not long after, simply titled My Master is Myself.
That very description—my master is myself—lies at the heart of the ancient Eastern tradition of “guru yoga”, something found in both Hindu and Tibetan Buddhist traditions. The essential idea behind it is to see that the spiritual teacher is, in principle, a reflection of the awakened self within the seeker. To regard one’s teacher as the “buddha-mind” as they say in some Buddhist traditions, is a generally trustworthy way to accelerate one’s spiritual progress, because it gives a good opportunity to subdue the ego, which by nature does not trust in higher values and seeks to maintain separation and ego-identity at all costs.
Of course, it is a given that such an approach carries a risk factor, because to regard one’s teacher as a reflection of one’s awakened self assumes that the teacher is a worthy representative of such. But a subtler point behind guru-yoga is that it has the power to override “imperfections” in the guru. Put simply, it is possible to attain significant spiritual realization in the company of a flawed teacher. Likewise, it is also possible to experience considerable disillusionment and pain when associating with a teacher who turns out to have greater character flaws than one might have initially imagined.
Cohen eventually had a falling out with his master, documented in his unusually honest (and somewhat harsh) book Autobiography of an Awakening. Poonja died in 1997 at the age of 86; ironically, in the last decade of his life he became very well known and attracted hundreds of devoted Western students, largely because of the publicity generated for him by Andrew Cohen. (Many, if not most, of these students were former disciples of Osho, who sought out a “living master” after Osho’s death in 1990). The jury remains out on the quality of character of both Poonja and Cohen, but anyone who studies their respective teachings will be struck by a simple fact: both were excellent teachers, and both have inspired (and awakened, to some extent) many.
Cohen, as the younger of the two men, has met with criticism for what some perceive as a deeply disrespectful attitude toward an elderly teacher, but it can be argued that Cohen has more than compensated for that (if indeed such even needs compensation) by seeking out and engaging in a broad range of dialogue with many established spiritual teachers. For that alone he is to be commended, if only because of the rarity of it. As mentioned at the top of this chapter, spiritual teachers, especially well-established ones with a loyal following (regardless of the size of the following) very rarely spend any significant time with other teachers. Cohen has been a vivid exception to that trend. He has even taken it one step further, by engaging in a series of dialogues and co-teaching seminars with the well-known American writer and theorist of consciousness studies, Ken Wilber.
Cohen’s story, though mired in controversy and discord in his relationship with his root-teacher, is nevertheless a rarity in that he appears to be the first so-called “enlightened teacher” in modern times to actively pursue dialogue with other teachers and even to co-teach with one of them. Psychological interpretations of this would be easy to come by, an obvious one being that Cohen may have been seeking to heal his relationship with the father-archetype, but nothing negates the fact that he has set an interesting and very unusual example.
A less involved and more amusing version of odd teacher-teacher dynamics can be found in the relationship between Osho (Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh) and J. Krishnamurti. The latter was born in 1895, almost two generations before Osho, but during the 1960s and 70s they were probably the two most popular and notorious gurus in India. To use the term “relationship” to describe their dynamic is being generous—the two never met in the flesh. But as extremely high profile gurus they were often exposed to each other’s teachings or disciples, and frequently commented—often harshly—on each other.
Krishnamurti’s life spanned most of the 20th century, and reads like the archetypal tale of a “chosen one” who is fated from a young age to be an outsider. Groomed by the leaders of the Theosophical Society, that highly influential but uneven metaphysical organization founded in 1875 by Helena Blavatsky and Henry Steel Olcott, Krishnamurti was supposed to be an incarnation of a great world teacher, a type of Second Coming (sometimes compared to Maitreya, the “next Buddha” of Buddhist canon). At the last moment Krishnamurti rebelled against this cosmic destiny, rejected the whole plan, and spent the next sixty-plus years wandering the world as a fiery, iconoclastic, and profound teacher of spiritual awakening.
No doubt in part for his rebellious spirit, as well as the obvious quality of his understanding, Krishnamurti earned Osho’s abiding interest and deep respect. When Krishnamurti died in 1985 at the age of 90, Osho remarked:
He has died, and it seems the world goes on its way without even looking back for a single moment that the most intelligent man is no longer there. It will be difficult to find that sharpness and that intelligence again in centuries. But people are such sleep walkers, they have not taken much note. In newspapers, just in small corners where nobody reads, his death is declared. And it seems that a ninety-year-old man who has been continuously speaking for almost seventy years, moving around the world, trying to help people to get unconditioned, trying to help people to become free—nobody seems even to pay a tribute to the man who has worked the hardest in the whole of history for man's freedom, for man's dignity.
Those highly laudatory words were soon followed by less flattering observations from Osho:
Krishnamurti failed because he could not touch the human heart; he could only reach the human head. The heart needs some different approaches. This is where I have differed with him all my life: unless the human heart is reached, you can go on repeating parrot-like, beautiful words—they don't mean anything. Whatever Krishnamurti was saying is true, but he could not manage to relate it to your heart. In other words, what I am saying is that J. Krishnamurti was a great philosopher but he could not become a master. He could not help people, prepare people for a new life, a new orientation.
These comments of Osho are problematic, given the benefit of hindsight. Osho may indeed be accurate in diagnosing Krishnamurti’s weakness, but it’s also apparent that the “less heart-oriented” Krishnamurti did not leave behind a legacy of unsavoury elements like the Ma Sheela-Rajneeshpuram fiasco. The point that can be taken there is that “ability to touch the human heart” can be a double-edged thing, as is generally the case whenever passion is awakened. Krishnamurti was undeniably passionate, but he did not have Osho’s interest in cultivating close relationships with disciples, nor in setting up a large organization. So while Krishnamurti’s approach remained much dryer and less involved interpersonally with followers, he also never had to deal with the immense disappointment and profound sense of failure that accompanies the destruction of a large commune and the dismantling of an entire vision.
The very paradox of the spiritual teacher is never better illustrated than in the interplay between Osho and Krishnamurti, both being seen as deeply enlightened by their followers (as well as by non-followers) and yet both having utterly different means by which to share their insights with humanity. Krishnamurti was dead-set against the type of guru-disciple relationship cultivated by Osho. He preached autonomy of spirit above all else, whereas Osho, particularly between the period of 1970-85, worked in a framework that was very much based on guru-yoga, where a deep level of trust and surrender is required by the disciple. After all, this was a man who not only gave personally crafted initiate names to each of his followers, but also had them wear a locket around their necks containing a photo of himself. Seen by a disinterested outsider such practices must have seemed deeply cultic, reinforcing dependency on the guru and little else. Experienced from the inside, however, the power of the process could never be underestimated. Guru-yoga is a potent and potentially deeply transformative practice, because it allows for a vehicle in which certain elements of ego can be quickly vanquished, like fear, distrust, exaggerated independence, control tendencies—the list of undesirable traits that can be evaporated by an inwardly surrendered relationship with an authentic guru is almost endless.
However, all practitioners of faith-based traditions argue something similar. One need look no further than the tradition of the “born-again” Christian. The point can be made that most faith-based paths differ from guru-yoga with a living master, being based on trust in a dead master, which is arguably much easier. Strong, living gurus are notoriously disruptive, and at best, not always polite. To be near them is to be near a fire, and to be “calcified” as the term from alchemy has it—to be cooked in the heat of clear vision.
History is full of terrible examples of those who have “surrendered” to a spiritual authority, only to turn out to be the latest example of intolerance and narrowness of understanding. Thus, guru-yoga and anything requiring the overriding of critical faculties by “trust” and “surrender” is intensely double-edged, because the point can be made that such a practice is really only intended for a mature seeker, one who can recognize clearly just what they are putting their trust in.
At any rate, the distance between Krishnamurti and Osho was great not just because of dissimilar character, but because their very method and approach to the matter of awakening souls was almost diametrically opposed. And yet it can be easily argued that both shared a common level of understanding. The whole thing illustrates, once again, that enlightenment—the realization of truth—and the teaching of it, by whatever means, bear little relation. And this must be seen as one natural cause behind the typical disconnect between spiritual teachers.
Crowley and Gurdjieff may not have had much of a meeting back in 1926 in Fontainebleau, but the matter is likely academic. Even if their meeting had been more substantial, the odds that they would have agreed on much are very small. Even more likely is that the more they would have talked, the more they would have disagreed—not necessarily about core-level truths, but about the all-important matter of how to implement them, and above all, how to teach them. |
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Noctifer |
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Posted: Jul 25, 2009 - 04:11 AM
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Quote: › "The whole thing illustrates, once again, that enlightenment—the realization of truth—and the teaching of it, by whatever means, bear little relation."
Yes. Brilliant.
This is crucial to "getting" Crowley, it's almost like he deliberately "went there" on purpose to prove the fact - in so doing, he has quite possibly led a lot of people who would otherwise, out of incompatibility with less palatable (to them) schools of spirituality, to opportunities for spiritual awakenings which they would not perhaps otherwise have had. The goody-two-shoes school of attainment is not everyne's cup of tea, now, is it?
Regards,
N. |
_________________
'There is, however, another point. That is you seem to suffer from the delusion that secrets can be communicated to you by other people. This is altogether contrary to the principles of the Order which I represent.' A.C. to D. Curwen, Oct. 19 '44 e.v.
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zardoz |
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Posted: Jul 25, 2009 - 02:52 PM
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| Nott's account of the meeting between Gurdjieff and Crowley hasn't ever been reliably verified. Given his bias against Crowley, I think there's a good chance he fabricated the story. |
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Tiger |
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Posted: Jul 26, 2009 - 05:45 PM
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nice post Mahakala77
welcome |
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Posted: Jul 26, 2009 - 08:57 PM
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Thanks for posting that fascinating excerpt. Osho did mention the Gurdjieff system was closest to his path and recommended his disciples to join the 4th Way after his death.
One lengthy comment:
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Orage said about this: “Alas, poor Crowley, I knew him well. We used to meet at the Society for Psychical Research when I was acting secretary. Once, when we were talking, he asked: ‘By the way, what number are you?’ Not knowing in the least what he meant, I said on the spur of the moment, ‘Twelve.’ ‘Good God, are you really?’ he replied, ‘I’m only seven.’” (Nott, 1961)
It’s a funny exchange, but little can be gleaned from it. Crowley may have just as easily been playing with Orage, as the other way around—or both men, equally renowned for their wit, may have been pulling each other’s leg at the same time.
...............
Everything can be gleaned from this anecdote - in fact your entire book.
Crowley refers to Gurdjieff's seven levels of consciousness (cf. In Search of the Miraculous, pp 71 - 72) of which seven is the "full development possible to man" and five is already "an unattainable standard for man, for it is a man who has reached unity". Crowley undoubtedly grasped Gurdjieff's system from his own angle and his causal question was a joust that threw Orage off-guard. His reply of twelve must have sounded silly indeed.
What is missing from this anecdote is the history behind Crowley's claim of "I'm only a seven".
The points:
1. Long before meeting Orage, Crowley identified himself with the Great Beast 666. The Great Beast is taken from Revelations and, as Jim Eshelman brilliantly noted, symbolizes mankind as a single Being, Adam Kadmon, or what Hobbes refers to as Leviathan. As such the Great Beast is both the One and the Many.
2. The Bou Saada Working in 1909 was an apocalyptic experience for Crowley in that it unveiled Revelations to him - reconciling the duality in St. John's vision and hurling him across the Abyss. Out of it emerges his vision of Babalon, the Great Whore, with the numerous references to seven associated with her, as he stabilized at the grade of Magister Templi.
3. Number seven repeats over and over in Revelations.
4. The symbolism of seven is fairly obvious when considering the role of the Beast and Scarlet Woman. Less obvious is the awakening of the Beast, mankind itself, slowly being raised to full stature.
Gurdjieff and Crowley were interested in the question of freedom, but disagreed on the means by which to attain it. The main bone of contention was the question of kundalini, which Gurdjieff called "the accursed organ kundabuffer", and his comments on it worth reading in detail as a study in contrast to the system established by Crowley.
The 4th Way regards sexual energy as some of the finest and subtle energies in mankind and therefore should be conserved for the inner work, to undo mechanical conditioning and transform the energies to generate a resurrection body. Gurdjieff called his system the true Christianity of the early church fathers. In contrast, Crowley's law of Thelema, the Scarlet Woman and Beast, Babalon and Chaos, all aimed at sexual liberation and undoing social conditioning by any means necessary (few people appreciate why Crowley and Neuberg had to be in a desert). In retrospect, its clear that Crowley grasped modernity far better than Gurdjieff - the appeal of the cult of the child, poetry, magick, sex, drugs, enlightenment etc. - and the 60s counterculture as a dominant cultural force would seem to validate his role as prophet of the New Aeon.
(Incidentally, Crowley's vision could have only arisen from a declining British Empire, still feeding off the spectre of orientalism, affording him the privileged status to travel to the colonies and foreign countries, to meet interesting people, to learn new ideas and systems etc. His figure stands in counterpoint to John Dee as the genius behind the creation of the British Empire, two men standing apart and greeting each other over a span of 400 years. Though never stated, being a citizen of the British Empire no doubt influenced the universal dimensions behind Crowley's concept of the Great Beast and Thelema. Even today cities all over Europe are terrorized by packs of drunken beastly men descending on the local populace, doing as they wilt, before heading back to the UK. But I digress...)
Both men travelled to many places but where Crowley enjoyed himself more, experimented with lots of things, spent his inheritance, and left a trail of damage in his wake, Gurdjieff was more conservative, frugal, hardworking and started a school at Fountainebleau. His system aimed to 1) awaken one's being and 2) to self-remember - the latter concept probably taken from Plato's concept of anamnesis: history as a gradually remembering of who we are. This key concept played a role in Plato's model of education. For Plato, a teacher should not teach the student anything new. Rather he uses Socratic irony, showing what something is not, to open the space for the student to recognize/remember something from the realm of the Ideal. What is certain is the sources of Gurdjieff's ideas, culled from his extensive travels, have always been an enigma. J.G. Bennett writes:
In this way, we reach the conclusion that the knowledge that Gurdjieff afterwards taught as his "Ideas" came from putting together two halves of a single truth. One half is found in the Wester - chiefly Platonic - tradition and the other half is in the Eastern - chiefly Naqshband - tradition. This fusion of two halves is strongly hinted by Gurdjieff in the story of Boolmarshano in Chapter 44 of Beelzebub.
If this is right, this means that at some fairly early date - before the coming of Christianity - there existed a great knowledge of the construction of the natural order and that this knowledge divided in some way; part of it coming to the West - almost certainly through Pythagoras as Plato suggests in Timaeus - and partly remaining ias when the East among the Chaldean Magi and moving up Northward when there was the break-up of the Achimenean Empire after Alexander's invasion. Some things Gurdjieff spoke about, as when he said, "This that I am telling you is very old, 4500 years old", one may judge to be hyperbolical, but I believe that it was most likely he was referring to the start of all this, when the Sumerian culture passed over into the beginning of what subsequently became the Chaldean culture.
(Gurdjieff: A Very Great Enigma, pp. 54 - 55)
Part of Gurdjieff's system would appear to trace back to the Chaldean culture, which worshipped the goddess Ishtar. Here the two paths of Crowley and Gurdjieff meet again at the feet of the Great Mother, whose symbol is the seven-pointed Star. |
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MichaelStaley |
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Posted: Jul 26, 2009 - 09:15 PM
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tai,
That is extremely interesting indeed, and very enlightening; many thanks.
Best wishes,
Michael. |
_________________
"It's all in the egg".
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Mahakala77 |
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Posted: Jul 27, 2009 - 12:22 AM
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Noctifer --
Quote: › This is crucial to "getting" Crowley, it's almost like he deliberately "went there" on purpose to prove the fact - in so doing, he has quite possibly led a lot of people who would otherwise, out of incompatibility with less palatable (to them) schools of spirituality, to opportunities for spiritual awakenings which they would not perhaps otherwise have had. The goody-two-shoes school of attainment is not everyne's cup of tea, now, is it?
Agreed, and that is also an interesting element of both Gurdjieff and Osho's legacy. What all three of these guys demonstrated -- in common with many so-called "crazy-wisdom" masters or "bad boys" of spirituality -- is that basic human nature, including our more hedonistic impulses, need not be repressed when committing to a path of inner transformation, and that indeed need to be integrated with it.
For the record, my decision to base this manuscript on Crowley, Gurdjieff, and Osho is not to suggest that they were the only ones approaching the work from this angle, but mainly because of my own personal interests and involvement with the work of all three. General treatments of the topic of the "rascal guru" has already been done before, and excellently, I might add, by the scholar Georg Feuerstein, in a book called "Holy Madness: Spirituality, Crazy Wisdom Teachers, and Enlightenment". In the book Feuerstein profiles Gurdjieff, Crowley, Osho, Adi Da Samraj, Lee Lozowick, Satya Sai Baba, Chogyam Trungpa, and Soko Asahara. He was himself a disciple of Adi Da Samraj at one point (a profound and controversial American guru who died last year). The problem with too many biographies of the so-called "dark side gurus" is that they are written by journalists -- hopefully sympathetic, but not by actual practitioners of the work, and so their view is limited by that fact. Probably the best example of that is a book that was published in 1996 by the respect English psychiatrist Anthony Stoor, called "Feet of Clay: A Study of Gurus" in which the author applies his psychiatric insight to the ego-structures of various gurus like Gurdjieff, Osho, Rudolf Steiner, and even Freud and Jung. The result is a very entertaining (and often funny) read that needs to be taken with a grain of salt nonetheless because of the author's second hand understanding.
Zardoz:
Quote: › Nott's account of the meeting between Gurdjieff and Crowley hasn't ever been reliably verified. Given his bias against Crowley, I think there's a good chance he fabricated the story.
It's possible, but in my opinion very unlikely that Nott made this story up. I was part of the Gurdjieff community over 25 years ago and I know how rigorously they are trained in "telling the truth" (when appropriate). That is of course ironic because G. himself was a great and self-admitted deceiver (when it served his cause). Osho was also highly self-contradictory with his spoken words. In any case, I doubt that Nott would have had sufficient motivation to make up his story. I've read both of his books several times, and a feature of his that stands out is his sincerity. I think his problem with Crowley, in terms of how he interpreted him, was more a case of simple ignorance, not malicious deception.
Tai --
Quote: › Everything can be gleaned from this anecdote - in fact your entire book.
Crowley refers to Gurdjieff's seven levels of consciousness (cf. In Search of the Miraculous, pp 71 - 72) of which seven is the "full development possible to man" and five is already "an unattainable standard for man, for it is a man who has reached unity". Crowley undoubtedly grasped Gurdjieff's system from his own angle and his causal question was a joust that threw Orage off-guard. His reply of twelve must have sounded silly indeed.
Thanks for the thoughtful and interesting response.
If you are suggesting that Crowley was in fact aware of Gurdjieff's system at that time, then the problem, as I see it, rests on the question of timing. That is, when Orage and Crowley were frequenting the Society for Psychical Research. Far as I've been able to make out -- and someone correct me here if you think I'm wrong -- both Crowley and Orage were involved with this Society during the late 1890s (Orage was two years older than Crowley, born in 1873), possibly just before Crowley's entry into the Golden Dawn. Gurdjieff did not appear on the scene until much later, in 1912 in Moscow. And he remained completely under the radar until the early 1920s, when he set up his school in Fontainebleau. Ouspensky, who wrote about his three year apprenticeship with G. in In Search of the Miraculous, was describing the period 1915-18. He separated with his teacher after that for what appears to have been ego-projections and general unwillingness to surrender deeper into the student role.
So it's very possible that Crowley's remark about being a "seven" does not refer to Gurdjieff's system of seven stages of development, for the reason that Crowley may not yet have heard of Gurdjieff at that point. Orage himself did not meet G. until 1922. His first encounter with G's ideas was via Ouspensky in London in 1921. Orage, via Nott, described his meeting with Crowley as having taken place "at an earlier time".
As for what Crowley was referring to with the "seven" business, the dominant mystical paradigm of the late 18th century was Theosophy, and they did make heavy use of the number "7" (as is common in metaphysics of any kind). An example of that can be seen here:
http://www.theosophydownunder.org/ifens ... even-1.htm
However, if you're suggesting a more metaphoric connection between Crowley's "seven" reply and Gurdjieff's ideas, then I concur and many of your metaphysical considerations are indeed interesting.
Incidentally, I note where you mention Bennett's book "Gurdjieff: A Very Great Enigma" -- I have this book also and consider it to be a rare (pamphlet, basically) collection of B's talks. Bennett was my "spiritual grandfather", that is, my original G teacher had been a student of his. You sound like you have a strong grasp of G's work.
There are clear parallels between AC and G., but the parallels between AC and Osho are even more remarkable, which is interesting in that Osho appeared to have been not aware of Crowley. |
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Post subject:
Posted: Jul 27, 2009 - 07:01 PM
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Michael:
Glad you enjoyed that - I recall Starfire is planning to publish a book on Crowley and Gurdjieff so I'm looking forward to that. It's an area that deserves closer scrutiny..
Mahakala77:
I thought Crowley met Orage sometime in the 1920s based on what you posted but on closer reading I see Nott was indeed referring to an earlier unspecified period. If Crowley met Orage in the late 1890s, I would have to agree the two were probably playing around rather than one adept testing the other. However, its important to remember Gurdjieff's idea of seven levels attainable by mankind is not unique to him. From the seven planets, the seven metals, to Shakespeare's Seven Ages of Man speech, the ancient significance of seven finds its most concise expression in the symbol of Azoth - which, incidentally, Crowley associates later in life with the creative/generative force of the Word of the Magus:
http://www.alchemylab.com/azoth.htm
Even Goethe was aware of the significance of seven:
FAUST
Ay truly! even to the loftiest star!
To us, my friend, the ages that are pass’d
A book with seven seals, close-fasten’d, are;
And what the spirit of the times men call,
Is merely their own spirit after all,
Wherein, distorted oft, the times are glass’d.
Then truly, ’tis a sight to grieve the soul!
At the first glance we fly it in dismay;
A very lumber-room, a rubbish-hole;
At best a sort of mock-heroic play,
With saws pragmatical, and maxims sage,
To suit the puppets and their mimic stage.
The number seven has always been associated with the concept of completion and perfection, of mankind attaining full potential. Now I have no idea to what extent young Crowley was aware of any of the above when he met with Orage in late 1890s but there seems to be something highly precocious in his assertion of "I'm only seven", a sense of his future destiny. This become evident when examining his writings later in life. The following passage from MTP refers to the Bou Saada Working:
Thus, in low grades of initiation, dogmatic quarrels are inflamed by astral experience; as when Saint John distinguishes between the Whore Babalon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun, between the Lamb that was slain and the Beast 666 whose deadly wound was healed (MTP, p 494).
Crowley regards the Beast 666 and Lamb to be identical. We know from Revelations that only the Lamb is found worthy to open the seven seals on the book of life (the most recent candidate for this role being David Koresh, who considered himself to be the Messiah, before going out in a blaze of glory at the Waco compound). So the exchange with Orage would suggest, at the very least, Crowley had a sense of his destiny as messiah/prophet from an early stage in life.
FWIW, Gurdjieff associates kundalini with self-induced hypnosis and glamour. I am inclined to believe Gurdjieff never experienced kundalini himself or consciously shunned it or his understanding of it was gathered from unknown sources more ancient and sophisticated than the knowledge we have of it at present. I'm open to all possibilities. |
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Mahakala77 |
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Post subject:
Posted: Aug 03, 2009 - 09:53 PM
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Joined: Jul 24, 2009
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tai --
Gurdjieff's main teaching was that if a man comes into balance -- that is, has "proper functioning" of his mental, emotional, and instinctive/sexual/moving centers, then he stands some chance of achieving self-realization, or what he termed "Objective Reason". His argument around kundalini is similar in some respects to the Zen view of "makyo", a term that refers to the enormous power of the human imagination to distort our understanding of "things as they really are".
Long ago I experimented deeply with kundalini, via extended meditation retreats, and had some horrific experiences brought on by both a lack of guidance at that time and a premature encounter with elements of my psyche that I was unaware of and unprepared to meet. Playing with kundalini is something like fast-track psychotherapy, in that it can suddenly and even violently break down the barriers between the conscious and unconscious minds. A rough equivalent might be an exercise in evocation that successfully conjures an energy that the conjurer is not actually ready to deal with. The only confirmation I found of this matter at the time (nearly 30 years ago) was a book written by Gopi Krishna called "Kundalini: The Evolutionary Energy in Man". In this book Krishna talks about his disastrous experiments with raising kundalini, and the state of semi-psychosis he had to deal with for a number of years before all negative effects cleared. He later did come to terms with the "serpent-force", and described it as being part of an ultimate flowering of his consciousness and in particular his creativity.
Crowley, in his deep study and practice of yoga, was doubtless acquainted with the effects of kundalini, but his work too was preeminently concerned with seeing beyond illusion and the trickery of imagination. There is no question that the entire field of chakra-study, kundalini, and the various "inner bodies" is susceptible to imagination and outright delusion. Anyone who has experimented with the out-of-body state knows how precarious one's "hold" on any semblance of objective reality can be in that state. The Tibetan Book of the Dead, for one, explores this in depth, that is, the power of the imagination to shape reality as we experience it. |
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Post subject:
Posted: Aug 05, 2009 - 09:58 PM
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Joined: Mar 17, 2009
Posts: 482
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I had my own kundalini awakening in the late 80s. Gopi Krishna and Lee Sannella were the two authors that helped me deal with the experience - the physical symptoms (pressure in the back of the head, roof of mouth) lasted well over 2 years. Reading Gopi's story helped put things in perspective.
There is no doubt that Crowley's entire system is permeated by kundalini (HGA, Heart Girt With A Serpent, Babalon), but Gurdjieff's position is a bit of a mystery for me. We know he was not an ascetic and enjoyed a healthy sex life with his wife. A comparison and contrast of these two systems with regard to kundalini and Babalon/Ishtar would be very interesting. |
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Post subject:
Posted: Aug 05, 2009 - 10:01 PM
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Joined: Mar 17, 2009
Posts: 482
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tai wrote: › From the seven planets, the seven metals, to Shakespeare's Seven Ages of Man speech, the ancient significance of seven finds its most concise expression in the symbol of Azoth - which, incidentally, Crowley associates later in life with the creative/generative force of the Word of the Magus
Btw, I would like to clarify the above comments. It has been brought to me attention that I may have misread the above Azoth = Word. I have been trying to track it down recently, but have been unable to source it anywhere. |
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Tiger |
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Post subject:
Posted: Aug 06, 2009 - 12:05 PM
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Joined: Apr 21, 2007
Posts: 223
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Quote: › Ouspensky, ,,, separated with his teacher after that for what appears to have been ego-projections and general unwillingness to surrender deeper into the student role.
It was my understanding that Gurdjieff kicked certain students out so that they would go on to develop their own system.
Quote: › Azoth = Word. I have been trying to track it down recently, but have been unable to source it anywhere.
Azoth Or The Star In The East by Arthur Edward Waite might be a start. |
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Post subject:
Posted: Aug 06, 2009 - 04:59 PM
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Joined: Mar 17, 2009
Posts: 482
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Tiger wrote: › Azoth Or The Star In The East by Arthur Edward Waite might be a start.
I did some more hunting and found the sources for Azoth = Word. Azoth represents the seven stages of the alchemical Great Work and is known as the Universal Mercury. See Daniel Gunther's chapter Christeos Lucifitias and Crowley's comments on the Word = Mercury = Christ in the Paris Working:
http://www.hermetic.com/crowley/confess/chapter74.html
Btw, Gunther's chapter on Christeos Lucifitias is brilliant.. |
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zardoz |
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Post subject:
Posted: Aug 07, 2009 - 06:16 AM
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Joined: Jul 16, 2004
Posts: 551
Location: Grass Valley, CA USA
Status: Offline
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What is considered to be Gurdjieff's views on kundalini are based on comments he made to Ouspensky very early in his public career. IMO these comments were made for a specific reason, to dissuade untrained people outside of a school from dangerous experimentation with kundalini energies. His comments were made as a public warning and do not represent Gurdjieff's understanding of kundalini. He also publicly advised strongly against people doing any kind of pranayama - breathing exercises, saying that it would interfere with the body's natural tempo and rhythms. Privately, he gave students at his school breathing exercises.
IMO the organ kundabuffer is not identified with kundalini but is the malficient organ that blocks and diverts the flow of kundalini. A buffer, in the Gurdjieffian sense is something that blocks the perception of reality.
Gurdjieff Journal wrote: ›
Yet such moments are rare. Why? Because the shock inherent within an objective truth so easily gets deflected, neutralized, by one or another form of buffer—that is, through that unseen predisposition by means of which we are 'protected' from the discomfort of having to deal with what otherwise would be disturbing to our familiar and cozy frame of reference.
The various and sundry forms of these buffers are beyond count ... |
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Post subject:
Posted: Aug 09, 2009 - 12:29 AM
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Joined: Mar 17, 2009
Posts: 482
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I have read most of Gurdjieff's writings and have never come across anything to suggest that he privately encouraged his students to work with kundalini energy. I may be wrong on this point, but if so kindly provide a source for your claim. Everything I read suggests Gurdjieff's coined the term kundabuffer in direct reference to kundalini and that this term expressed his contempt for the powers people believed it conferred. Keep in mind the 4th Way trains its followers to avoid subjective fantasizing, daydreaming, or using the imagination, in order to try to see oneself in an objective manner. Kundalini opens the chakras so that the person is receiving all kinds of subtle impressions, having hyper-real dreams, physical sensations of itching or moving pressure on various parts of the body, sometimes uncontrollable twitching, sensations of extreme heat or cold, the ability to manipulate energy and other siddhi powers to numerous to be listed here. The question is whether Gurdjieff believed this aroused state to be desirable or more subjective delusion.
I think it was Gopi who mentioned how fake Indian gurus used to go around in the 60s and 70s giving the shakti pat to Western spiritual seekers to impress and awe them (e.g. Jane Campion's film Holy Smoke has a scene at the beginning showing Kate Winslet going to an ashram, receiving the shakti pat from a Sai Baba-type and becoming completely hooked).
I cannot emphasize strongly enough the importance of correctly ascertaining Gurdjieff's position on kundalini. We know the serpent energy has a central importance with the system developed by Crowley, but I do not regard the 4th Way and Crowley to be compatible due to this very point. This is a difference that needs to be researched carefully because it has implications. |
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zardoz |
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Post subject:
Posted: Aug 09, 2009 - 01:56 AM
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Joined: Jul 16, 2004
Posts: 551
Location: Grass Valley, CA USA
Status: Offline
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tai wrote: › I have read most of Gurdjieff's writings and have never come across anything to suggest that he privately encouraged his students to work with kundalini energy. I may be wrong on this point, but if so kindly provide a source for your claim.
I didn't make that claim. I said that imo what he told Ouspensky about kundalini didn't communicate his complete understanding, but rather stressed the negative aspects as a warning to the general public. Using the example of breathing exercises, I made the point that he gave different advice in public. I don't know his full views on kundalini and haven't heard from anyone that does.
tai wrote: ›
Everything I read suggests Gurdjieff's coined the term kundabuffer in direct reference to kundalini and that this term expressed his contempt for the powers people believed it conferred.
Yes, in direct reference as an organ that blocks and diverts the proper flow of the kundalini energy, one result being those powers and flights of imagination. I don't think he meant to express contempt but was just calling it like he saw it: kunda-buffer - an organ that gets in the way of transformational energy flow.
tai wrote: ›
Keep in mind the 4th Way trains its followers to avoid subjective fantasizing, daydreaming, or using the imagination, in order to try to see oneself in an objective manner. Kundalini opens the chakras so that the person is receiving all kinds of subtle impressions, having hyper-real dreams, physical sensations of itching or moving pressure on various parts of the body, sometimes uncontrollable twitching, sensations of extreme heat or cold, the ability to manipulate energy and other siddhi powers to numerous to be listed here. The question is whether Gurdjieff believed this aroused state to be desirable or more subjective delusion.
Yes, Kundalini can be very dangerous to people who don't know what they're doing or who go too fast. Maybe one reason why Crowley insisted that beginning work should only focus on the K&C of HGA so as to provide a guide for more dangerous practices. As most of the general public won't get near this, perhaps it's best to recommend they stay the hell away from practices like raising the kundalini. I agree with Gurdjieff's kundalini comments he told Ouspensky and so, I would expect, would Crowley.
. tai wrote: ›
I cannot emphasize strongly enough the importance of correctly ascertaining Gurdjieff's position on kundalini. We know the serpent energy has a central importance with the system developed by Crowley, but I do not regard the 4th Way and Crowley to be compatible due to this very point. This is a difference that needs to be researched carefully because it has implications.
Why is it important to ascertain Gurdjieff's position? |
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