In Praise of the Scarlet Women 1: Leila Waddell

Leila Waddell prepares to perform  

The Rites of Eleusis in 1910

 

 O ma Lady Babalon / O ma beauté, ma divine ... 

 

 

I. Opening Remarks

 

Writing in a late essay on pornography and obscenity, D. H. Lawrence famously asserts: 

 

"If a woman hasn't got a tiny streak of a harlot in her, she's a dry stick as a rule." [1] 

 

And so no surprise that we should find him singing the praises of the Scarlet Woman in his reading of Revelation, that final mad book of the Bible [2]:

 

"Only the great whore of Babylon rises rather splendid, sitting in her purple and scarlet upon her scarlet beast. She is the Magna Mater in malefic aspect, clothed in the colours of the angry sun, and throned upon the great red dragon of the angry cosmic power. Splendid she sits, and splendid is her Babylon." [3] 

 

Warming to his subject, Lawrence praises those precious metals, stones, and spices that belong to this harlot-goddess who offers those men with the courage to do so the chance to drink  from "her golden cup of wine of sensual pleasure" [4] held triumphantly aloft in her right hand.  

 

It's a passage that might bring a smile to the face of the Great Beast himself ...

 

 

II. To Mega Therion 

 

English occultist Aleister Crowley - author of The Book of the Law (1904) and founder of Thelema [5] - gained widespread notoriety during his lifetime as the wickedest man in the world and he has remained a highly influential figure within western esotericism and the counterculture.

 

Although Crowley enjoyed sexual relationships with men in his youth - and advocated complete sexual freedom for both men and women in defiance of both public opinion and religious prejudice [6] - he mostly had an eye for the ladies. 

 

This was particularly the case if they were exotic looking and willing to become a Scarlet Woman; an honorific title he gave to several young women who played a significant role not just in his love life, but in his esoteric and creative work also [7].    

 

Of all these women, there are two who particularly interest: Leila Waddell and Leah Hirsig. Here, I shall speak of the former; in part two of this post, I'll discuss the case of the latter. 

  

 

III. Laylah

 

Leila Waddell (1880-1932) was a girl from Down Under who, as one commentator says, "entered the world stage as an acclaimed violinist - and left it having influenced magical practice into the 21st century" [8]. 

 

In 1908, fate took her to London as part of a touring orchestra and here - for better or for worse - she met Crowley [9] and this opened the door into another world; one of drink, drugs, and sex magick. Charmed by his intelligence and supernatural charisma - just as he was deeply impressed by her musical ability - they soon became lovers. 

 

Of course, Waddell was also obliged to join Crowley's new magical order - the Astrum Argenteum (est. 1905) - in which she would be known by other members as Sister Agatha, although Crowley called her Laylah and designated her as his Scarlet Woman; "a sort of anti-Virgin Mary who transgressed the boundaries of feminine virtue by wallowing in excess" [10].    

Waddell and Crowley made a fascinating couple and were soon thinking of ways in which they could incorporate music, poetry, and dance into magical rituals. This resulted in the Rites of Eleusis; a series of seven public rites written by Crowley, with original music composed by Waddell, and performed in semi-darkness at Caxton Hall, London, in the autumn of 1910. 

 

Not quite theatre, not quite an occult ceremony, the Rites of Eleusis nicely blurred such distinctions -though whether it roused the audience into a state of spiritual ecstasy is debatable; music lovers were delighted with Waddell's virtuosity, though critics not quite so moved by Crowley's "turgid paeans to the god Pan" [11]. 

 

Others were outraged by what they considered an immoral display that was both blasphemous in nature and obscene in suggestion. Reflecting afterwards, Crowley concluded that the mixed reception given to the Rites of Eleusis - particularly his contribution - was due to the audience's inability to effectively channel the magical forces unleashed on the night. 

 

Whilst continuing her occult studies and musical engagements in both Europe and the United States, Waddell also became involved with Irish nationalism (born of Irish famine refugees she was naturally sympathetic to the republican cause). This culminated in the staging of what some might see as an absurd stunt and others as a kind of proto-Situationist event that even Malcolm Mclaren would have admired [12]. 

 

On 3 July 1915, Waddell, Crowley, and a group of Irish revolutionaries "sailed down the Hudson River to the Statue of Liberty, with the intention of declaring Irish independence and war on England" [13]. Unfortunately, the guards wouldn't let them land on Liberty Island, but, like the Sex Pistols' river boat adventure on the Thames 62 years later, it was an amusing idea.   

 

Whilst Crowley headed off after this to California on his own, Waddell continued to perform and to make new literary friends, including Rebecca West and Frank Harris. She also greatly enjoyed playing lunch time concerts in factories for the (mostly male migrant) workers who would sometimes sing along and present her with wildflower posies after the show; indeed, she considered these shows the highlight of her career (and not the performance at Caxton Hall). 

 

In 1924, and now in her mid-40s, Waddell decided it was time to return Down Under: for one thing, her father was seriously ill and needed care; and for another, Crowley had set up a magical abbey in Sicily accompanied by a new Scarlet Woman, Leah Hirsig.  

 

Alice Gorman provides an excellent note on which to conclude, that I agree with entirely: 

 

"Waddell is often relegated to a character in Crowley’s life. But if we assess her life on its own terms, we see a brilliant musician, a philosopher of magic, and a rebel who was unafraid to take risks and be true to herself." [14] 

 

This is in stark contrast to Crowley's characteristically dismissive remark made of his former muse, lover, and creative collaborator, referring to Waddell as no more than a fifth-rate fiddler. 

 

Waddell died, from uterine cancer, aged 52, in 1932 and was buried next to her parents in Sydney. 

 

 

Laylah as seen in Aleister Crowley's 

The Book of Lies (1913) [15]

 

Notes

 

[1] D. H. Lawrence, 'Pornography and Obscenity', in Late Essays and Articles, ed. James T. Boulton (Cambridge University Press, 2004), p. 236. 

 

[2] The Book of Revelation - or the Apocalypse as it is also known - is traditionally attributed to John the Apostle, but the identity of the author remains disputed. See chapter 17 in which judgement is passed on Babylon the Great; Mother of Harlots and Abominations. Readers can click here to access the King James Version (KJV) online. 

 

[3] D. H. Lawrence, Apocalypse and the Writings on Revelation, ed. Mara Kalnins (Cambridge University Press, 1980), p. 121.  

 

[4] Ibid. I have discussed Lawrence's reading of Revelation 17 before on Torpedo the Ark; see the post entitled 'The Goddess, the Whore, and the Policewoman' (31 July 2020): click here.  

 

[5] Liber AL vel Legis - commonly known as The Book of the Law - is the central sacred text of Thelema (see below). Crowley wrote it in 1904, claiming that the book was dictated to him by a spirit, Aiwass, whom he later referred to as his own Holy Guardian Angel. 

      For Crowley, publication of the work marked the dawning of a new stage in the spiritual evolution of humanity, to be known as the Æon of Horus. The primary teaching of this new age (as found in The Book of the Law) is: Do what thou wilt and thus the discovery and following of what constituted one's True Will - i.e. a divine individual purpose that transcends ordinary desires - was at the heart of his new religion and occult philosophy, Thelema. 

      Crowley termed this setting out on a path towards self-becoming the Great Work and whilst he certainly subscribed to an order of rank (i.e., a natural hierarchy) when it came to assessing the value of individuals, he also maintained Every man and every woman is a star (see The Book of the Law I. 3). Magick - which Crowley liked to spell with the letter k added, just as he liked to spell Babylon with an a in place of the y - is a central practice in Thelema, along with certain other physical, mental, and spiritual exercises. 

      Various figures and followers of Crowley have sought to develop Thelema by introducing new ideas, practices, and interpretations. This includes, for example, Jack Parsons, who, in 1946, conducted the Babalon Working in order to invoke the goddess Babalon (later believing his wife-to-be Marjorie Cameron to be the human incarnation of such, and thus a Scarlet Woman). Parsons - working in collaboration with his pal at the time L. Ron Hubbard - based the Babalon Working on Crowley's description of a similar undertaking in his novel Moonchild (1917). Afterwards, Parsons wrote a brief text - Liber 49 - which was intended as an additional fourth chapter for The Book of the Law. 

      Readers who are interested in knowing a bit more about Parsons - and his wife - might like to see the recent post entitled 'Cameron: the Woman Who Did' (15 June 2025): click here. And for my post written in memory of Crowley - 'The Great Beast is Dead' (1 December 2021) - click here.    

 

[6] Like many radicals, Crowley was of the view that spiritual enlightenment and individual freedom arises through transgressing socio-sexual norms. We now know this is naive, simplistic, and mistaken.  

 

[7] Whilst Crowley thought that he and he alone was human manifestation of the Great Beast 666, he believed that the Scarlet Woman - i.e., the true mistress of the Beast - could physically manifest as any number of women that he happened to take a shine to - which is convenient, to say the least; for Crowley was a man who fell in love passionately, but also frequently, and soon got bored within a monogamous relationship. Thus, as he notes in his commentary on The Book of the Law, the Scarlet Woman is replaceable as need arises. 

      Some of the women that Crowley at one time or other considered to be Scarlet Women include Rose Edith Kelly; Mary d'Este Sturges; Jeanne Robert Foster; Roddie Minor; Marie Rohling; Bertha Almira Prykrl; Leah Hirsig and Leila Waddell.  

 

[8] Alice Gorman, 'Hidden women of history: Leila Waddell, Australian violinist, philosopher of magic and fearless rebel', The Conversation (23 September, 2019): click here. 

      Waddell was an extremely talented musician; not only did she teach violin at some of Sydney's most prestigious schools, but her concert performances earned her a devoted following and she quickly established a reputation as one of Australia's leading violinists.   

 

[9] Most likely they would have met at the Café Royal, which was then the favourite haunt of writers, artists, musicians, and occultists - even D. H. Lawrence once held a dinner party there for a group of old friends, though it didn't end well when the port he'd been drinking made him vomit over the table before passing out.  

 

[10] Alice Gorman ... op. cit.  

 

[11] Ibid. 

 

[12] In Situationist theory a situation is a deliberately constructed event aimed at disrupting the boredom and alienation of every day existence and a model of reality mediated via images and commodities. Such an event blurs the lines between performance art and political protest and aims to create the possibility of authentic experience. 

      Malcolm McLaren - in collaboration with Vivienne Westwood, Jamie Reid, and a group of disaffected teenagers - applied this theory to a project known as the Sex Pistols in the mid-late 1970s.

     

[13] Alice Gorman ... op. cit.   

[14] Ibid. 

 

[15] Apart from this iconic photograph there are several references to Leila Waddell (Laylah) throughout The Book of Lies. 

   

 

Readers who want to know more about Miss Waddell might like to order a copy of a new biography by Darren Francis - Laylah: The Life of Leila Waddell (Hadean Press, 2025) - which is being published on the 26th of this month.   

 

Cameron: the Woman Who Did

Cameron (1922 - 1995)

 

'I shall plunge down into the abysmal horror of madness and death -

 or I shall walk upon the dawn.' 

 

 

I. 

 

I'd no sooner published the post on the Kings Cross witch Rosaleen Norton [1], than someone wrote to say that if I liked her, then I was gonna love Marjorie Cameron ... the American artist, actress, and occultist - known simply by her surname - who, along with her handsome rocket scientist husband, Jack Parsons, was a dedicated follower of Aleister Crowley's new religion (Thelema), central to which is the idea of discovering and following one's True Will (i.e., a divine and individual purpose that transcends ordinary desires).  

 

 

II.      

 

Born in Iowa in the spring of 1922, Cameron characterised herself as a rebellious child prone to thoughts of suicide. Nevertheless, she did okay at school; excelling in art, English, and drama, even if failing in algebra and Latin (which can be forgiven, I think).   

 

As an adolescent, she had sexual relationships with various men and endured at least one illegal home abortion performed by her mother. After leaving high school, she worked as a display assistant in a local department store, before volunteering for a role in the navy when the US (finally) entered the Second World War [2].    

 

After this independent-minded young woman was court martialed for going AWOL and discharged from the military in 1945, she decided it was time to head west and so moved to California, which is where her story really begins ...  

 

 

III. 

 

It was in Pasadena - a city northeast of downtown LA - that Cameron met Parsons and, after a brief (but intense) romance, they were married in 1946. Their relationship was often strained, as they say, but it was Parsons who initiated Cameron into the world of Thelema, believing her to be the elemental woman that he had invoked in a series of sex magick rituals called the Babalon Working [3].     

 

The naturally sceptical Cameron at first had no real interest in Thelema, or any other religion, but she was eventually won over by (at least some of) Crowley's ideas and became increasingly interested in occult practices such as tarot reading. 

 

Essentially, however, it's hard not to think of her as an artist first and foremost - happier to produce illustrations for fashion magazines and to party in the company of singers, beat poets, filmmakers, and other artists, rather than hang around with (often boring) occultists. 

 

Unfortunately, Parsons was killed in an explosion in the summer of 1952 (don't ask) and this seems to have left Cameron a little unhinged; she came to believe that her husband had been assassinated and began blood rituals - which involved her cutting her wrists - to communicate with his spirit. When these didn't work, she experimented with out-of-body techniques or astral projection.  

 

Cameron also established an occult circle which dedicated itself to sex magick rituals with the intent of producing mixed-race moon children who would be devoted to the god Horus, a central deity within Thelema, which is certainly one method of overcoming grief during a period of mourning. 

 

This group was soon dissolved, however; not least because members found Cameron too outré even for their tastes  [4]. And so she moved to LA and established herself within the city's avant-garde artistic community, befriending filmmakers Kenneth Anger - who cast her as the Scarlet Woman in his Inauguration of the Pleasure Dome (1954) - and Curtis Harrington, with whom she made The Wormwood Star (1956) [5]. 

  

Her relationship with Anger certainly had its ups and down; at one point he even launched a campaign against Cameron, labelling her the Typhoid Mary of the occult world - which isn't a very nice thing for a friend to say. They later reconciled, however, and he introduced her to a delighted Anton LaVey, founder of the Church of Satan and a big fan of hers.  

 

IV.

 

Sadly, Cameron's later life was pretty much marked by ill health and she ended up living in a small bungalow (with her daughter) in an impoverished area of Hollywood known for its levels of crime, sex shops, and adult movie theatres. 

 

When not smoking dope, walking the dog, or looking after the grandkids, Cameron practiced Tai chi and played the harp. Her faith in Thelema remained strong, however, and as well as entertaining old friends who came to visit, she enjoyed meeting with younger occultists influenced by Crowley - these included (rather amusingly) Genesis P-Orridge [6].    

 

Cameron also co-edited a collection of Parsons' occult and libertarian writings, which were published as Freedom is a Two-Edged Sword in 1989, the same year that an exhibition of her work was held at the Los Angeles Municipal Art Gallery, at which she performed a candle-lit reading of her poetry.

 

Cameron died, from lung cancer, in 1995, aged 73. A high priestess of the Ordo Templi Orientis [7] carried out Thelemic last rites.    

 

 

V.

 

So, what then are we to make of this obviously talented - if rather unstable (and arguably damaged) - individual, described by some as charismatic and alluring, but by others as domineering, dangerous, and an out-and-out witch ...?

 

Writing in a review of Spencer Kansa's biography - Wormwood Star: The Magickal Life of Marjorie Cameron (2010) - Tim Pendry describes her as a "minor but iconic figure" who would not "merit enormous interest in herself [...] if she were not at a very interesting place at an interesting time" [8].  

 

I think that's a little unfair and selling Cameron and her beautifully composed art work [9] - which is far superior in my view to that of Rosaleen Norton (to whom she is sometimes compared) - short. For unlike Leonard Zelig, she was not merely a passive nobody attempting to fit in as best she could, whenever and wherever she could. 

 

On the contrary, I think she expected the world accommodate itself to her and I rather admire Cameron for that and don't particularly find her "intrinsic nuttiness, irresponsibility and narcissism" [10] objectionable; for the nice and intelligent women that Pendry privileges only take you so far ...        

 

  Our Lady Babalon

 

 

Notes

 

[1] 'Meet Rosaleen Norton: Australia's Witch Queen' (13 June 2025): click here.  

 

[2] Just to be clear, this didn't mean Cameron was fighting overseas on board a ship; rather, after training, she was posted to Washington, D.C., where she served as a cartographer for the Joint Chiefs of Staff, before being reassigned to the Naval Photographic Unit where she worked as a wardrobe mistress for propaganda documentaries and had the opportunity to meet various Hollywood stars. 

 

[3] The Babalon Working was a series of magickal rituals performed from January to March 1946 by Parsons in collaboration with his pal L. Ron Hubbard (who would go on to become the founder Scientology). 

      It was designed to manifest an individual incarnation of Babalon (or the Scarlet Woman) and was based on the ideas found in Crowley's novel Moonchild (1917). Parsons, keen to believe that his lover and soon to be wife should have a cosmic role to play, declared Cameron to be this Thelemite goddess made flesh and gave her the name Candida (shortened to Candy). Crowley, who corresponded with Parsons and essentially acted as his mentor, was less than convinced and would often deride the latter's magickal efforts to his close associates.  

 

[4] Many of Cameron's followers known as The Children distanced themselves from her because of the increasingly apocalyptic nature of her pronouncements; she claimed, for example, that Mexico was about to invade the United States, that a race war was about to break out in the Europe, and that a comet was heading towards the Earth (although, fortunately, she was able to reassure her followers that a flying saucer was on the way to transport them to safety on Mars). 

      It might not surprise readers to discover that Cameron was taking large quantities of numerous drugs at this time, including peyote and magic mushrooms. 

 

[5] Inauguration of the Pleasure Dome (1954) is a 38-minute avant-garde short film by Kenneth Anger, who later made two other cuts of the film (one in 1966 and one in the late 1970s). Inspired by the teachings of Aleister Crowley, it has acquired cult status amongst followers of Thelema and those who are drawn to this kind of thing. Click here to watch on YouTube with a newly added soundtrack by StoneMila. 

      The Wormwood Star (1956), is a spooky (even shorter) film shot by Curtis Harrington at the home of multi-millionaire art collector Edward James, which features images of Cameron's paintings and recitations of her poems: click here.  

      In 1960, Cameron appeared alongside Dennis Hopper in Harrington's first full-length film, Night Tide, which was a critical success and, like Inauguration of the Pleasure Dome, quickly became something of a cult classic.

      

[6] For those who are unfamiliar with the name, Genesis P-Orridge was an artist and occultist who rose to notoriety as the founder of the radical arts collective COUM Transmissions and lead vocalist of seminal industrial band Throbbing Gristle. 

[7] The O.T.O. is an occult secret society and hermetic magical order founded at the beginning of the 20th century and at one time headed by Aleister Crowley, who significantly changed its guiding philosophy (i.e., brought it into line with his own thinking).  

 

[8] Tim Pendry, review of Spencer Kansa's biography - Wormwood Star: The Magickal Life of Marjorie Cameron (Mandrake, 2010) on Goodreads: click here.  

 

[9] Examples of Cameron's often exquisite art work can be found here on the website of the Cameron Parsons Foundation, which was established in 2006 in order to bring attention to and conserve the work of Cameron and her first husband, Jack Parsons. 

 

[10] Tim Pendry ... op. cit.  

 

Bonus: Cinderella of the Wastelands - a short film posted on YouTube which includes a nice sampling of Cameron's art and has commentary provided by her friends; the sculptor George Herms and the filmmakers Kenneth Anger and Curtis Harrington: click here. 

On the Rise and Fall of Because

Image adapted from the sleeve to the Killing Joke album 

What's THIS for ...! (E.G. / Polydor Records, 1981) [1]

 

"He shall fall down into the pit called Because,

and there he shall perish with the dogs of Reason." [2]

 

 

I. 

 

Although the Age of Reason didn't really establish itself until a few hundred years later, it was already assembling its vocabulary in the late 14th-century, including that crucial term because, which enters into English at this date modelled on the French phrase par cause. 

 

It's one of those words that people who love the abstract concept of causality - i.e., the capacity of a to determine b - often use to close down further discussion: There's no point arguing because the facts clearly demonstrate ... 

 

Because is thus the ultimate explanation - the metaphysical answer to the equally metaphysical question why? - and it has become implicit in the logic and structure of everyday language. Indeed, one might even, like Nietzsche, suggest that it betrays the presence of God within language ... [3]

 

 

II.

 

However, those of us who have long been anticipating the fall of because - by which we mean the overcoming of metaphysics, rather than the abolition of reason - are amused by a recent development in the English speaking world that has got some grammar nazis upset ... 

 

For it seems that because is now being used in an ironic manner by the young to convey a certain vagueness about the exact reasons for anything. Thus, whereas traditionally, because is a subordinating conjunction which connects two parts of a sentence in which one (the subordinate) explains the other, now it's being used as a preposition (i.e. placed before nouns, verbs, adjectives, and interjections). 

 

And this new usage, not yet widespread but increasingly common - because social media - in some sense subverts the word's old grammatical function and authority, exposing the fact that we realise there's nothing we can really refer back to as a causal agent or fixed and final explanation of the world's chaos and mystery; i.e., that we know our rationale is often - like God - just a linguistic fiction that we hold on to because convenient and because comforting [4].   

 

As Megan Garber writes in The Atlantic, the word because hasn't fallen so much as exploded; it can now be used however the speaker chooses to use it, limited only by the confines of their own imagination: "So we get [...] people using 'because' not just to explain, but also to criticize, and sensationalize, and ironize [...]" [5]

 

 

 

III.     

 

So, what does all this signify exactly? That we're living in a post-Nietzschean (and post-Derridean) universe? Or that the Aeon of Horus has arrived as Aleister Crowley announced? 

Possibly. 

 

Or it could just mean that a generation who have grown up texting and tweeting are so lazy (and self-absorbed) that they can't be bothered to finish their thoughts and sentences, or waste time providing long and complex explanations: because emoji and the will to abbreviate ...?   

 

Notes

 

[1] The Killing Joke album What's THIS for ...! (1981) is one of the great post-punk albums and the opening track of Side A - 'The Fall of Because' - is a personal favourite. I'm assuming they took the title of the song from a line by Aleister Crowley (see note 2 below). Click here to listen to the 2005 digitally remastered version provided to YouTube by Universal Music Group.    

 

[2] Aleister Crowley, The Book of the Law (1909), II. 27. See also III. 20, where Crowley actually uses the phrase 'fall of because'.

      For those who don't know, this work - often referred to by enthusiasts with the Classical Latin title Liber AL vel Legis - is the central sacred text of Crowley's new religion (Thelema). According to Crowley, it was dictated to him by a supernatural being who called himself Aiwass, speaking through his new wife, Rose Edith Kelly, during their honeymoon in Egypt, in 1904. 

      With publication of this text, Crowley announced the arrival of a new phase in the spiritual evolution of mankind, to be known as the Aeon of Horus. The key teaching of the book - and this new age - is: Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law, meaning that adherents of Thelema should seek out and follow their own singular path in life (like a star). 

      As for what Crowley means by the fall of because, I suspect he's simply indicating that the Age of Horus is post-Enlightenment and thus open to the possibility that there are more things in heaven and earth than are understood within the framework of modern science, or Western reason.       

 

[3] See Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols, where he famously writes in the chapter entitled 'Reason in Philosophy' (5): "I fear we are not getting rid of God because we still believe in grammar ..."

       For Nietzsche, our faith in causal relationships (as a form of agency) is based upon a number of mistaken beliefs and correcting these four great errors will play a significant part in what he terms the revaluation of all values. 

      The reason, says Nietzsche, that we like to think events have causes (and actions have actors behind them), is because it's reassuring. Further, to trace something unknown (and thus threatening) back to something we can explain and make familiar is empowering. Essentially, we look to find ourselves in everything (even in God). See the chapter entitled 'The Four Great Errors', in Twilight of the Idols.   

   

[4] See note 3 above.

 

[5] Megan Garber, 'English Has a New Preposition, Because Internet', The Atlantic (19 Nov 2013): click here to read online. Readers interested in this topic might also like the post entitled 'Because and effect' (21 July 2014) by Patricia T. O'Conner and Stewart Kellerman on their Grammarphobia blog: click here.

 

 

Reflections on the Verb to Be

To stamp Becoming with the character of Being - 

that is the supreme will to power ... Nietzsche

 

 

I've seen it said that fascism begins with the verb to be. And, in fact, I may even have used the phrase myself in order to conclude a past post with a polemical punch line [1]. Whether it's true or not is, of course, debatable.  

 

However, it's certainly the case that false (and often pernicious) beliefs derive from mistaken values that are rooted in language rather than any underlying reality; something that Nietzsche demonstrates in his writings on metaphor and grammar (the latter defined as the presence of God within language) [2].   

 

Thus it is that I'm extremely wary of anyone who in wishing to declare their existence or express their identity asserts: I am (X,Y, or Z) in an ontologically sincere manner (i.e., unaware of the game they're playing). 

 

And I really loathe that Broadway musical number composed by Jerry Herman and famously recorded by Gloria Gaynor - I Am What I Am [3] - and which has since become a global gay anthem, regrettably reinforcing (the paradox and irony of) queer essentialism and the even more regrettable consequences that follow from the belief that sexual identities are innate and come with certain immutable characteristics or necessary attributes.

 

I can't help thinking that such idealism gives rise to all kinds of reductive, reified, discriminatory, and extremist ideologies - which returns us to where we began: fascism begins with the verb to be. Which is unfortunate, particularly if D. H. Lawrence is right and Hamlet's question is still the one that preoccupies us and the ache for being remains the ultimate hunger [4].  

 

Still, as every good ascetic will tell you, there's no need to heed every ache and pain and surrender to every yearning; I seem to recall that Aleister Crowley once adopted the admirable practice of cutting his arm with a razor every time he said 'I' and took false pride in this word [5]. 

 

 

Notes 

 

[1] Actually, it was the recently published post of 1 August 2022 - 'Dead Dreams Fly Flags' - click here. 

 

[2] See Twilight of the Idols, where Nietzsche writes: "I am afraid we are not rid of God because we still have faith in grammar." Walter Kaufmann's translation of this text can be found in The Portable Nietzsche, ed. Walter Kaufmann, (Penguin, 1982), p. 483. 

 

[3] 'I Am What I Am' was a song featured in Jerry Herman's Broadway musical La Cage aux Folles (1983). It was recorded by disco queen Gloria Gaynor and released as single in the same year, quickly becoming one of her biggest hits. The song also appears on the 1984 album I Am Gloria Gaynor (Silver Blue Records). Click here to watch Ms Gaynor perform a live version of the song at an awards ceremony in Germany in December 1984.

 

[4] See D. H. Lawrence, 'Manifesto', in The Poems, Vol. I, ed. Christopher Pollnitz, (Cambridge University Press, 2013), p. 218. 

[5] In 1920, Crowley and followers moved to Sicily and founded a community that would operate on the principles set out in The Book of the Law. The Abbey of Thelema, as it was known, was basically a restored farmhouse, not far from the beach and next to the ruins of an ancient Roman temple. Here, daily rituals were performed and all social conventions abandoned. Any one who used the word 'I' was obliged, like the Great Beast himself, to self-administer a cut on their forearm with a razor blade. It's possible that this practice was inspired by Crowley's reading of Nietzsche and that his hope was that Thelemites might resurrect the greater intelligence of the body, which does not speak its selfhood, but, rather, physically enacts or performs it. 

      See 'Of the Despisers of the Body', in Part One of Thus Spoke Zarathustra.  

Rawdon Lilly: Notes Towards a Character Study

Adapted from the cover of Henry Miller's  

Notes on 'Aaron's Rod', ed. Seamus Cooney, 

(Black Sparrow Press, 1980)

 

 

I. 

 

"It is remarkable", writes D. H. Lawrence, "how many odd or extraordinary people there are in England." [a]

 

And I suppose we might number Rawdon Lilly amongst this queer set; Lilly being the character in Aaron's Rod (1922) who, like Rupert Birkin before him (in Women in Love) and Richard Somers after him (in Kangaroo), serves as a kind of avatar for the author, often expressing his philosophical views, although he is not the novel's protagonist and doesn't enter the story until chapter five when the action moves from Eastwood to London ...

 

 

II. 

 

Lilly is an artist of the literary variety who hangs around with posh bohemian types; dark and ugly of feature as well as (arguably) of character. He thinks he's terribly witty, but he's no Oscar Wilde; he thinks he's terribly clever, but he's no Nietzsche. A strange mix of sarcasm, snobbishness, and self-regard, it's no wonder he often provokes others to violence [b] and irritaes the hell out of Tanny, his blonde-haired, half-Norwegian wife.

That said, he seems to like Aaron Sisson, the flute playing ex-miner - and the latter seems to like him; they glance at one another "with a look of recognition" [61], which is always a good sign in Lawrence's world. Unlike the look of love, because love, says Lilly, is a vice. Like alcohol. Having met and been introduced (at the opera) - and having exchanged their look of recognition - Lilly invites Aaron to visit him and Tanny for lunch one day, at their house in Hampstead (an invitation that was never taken up, as far as I recall).     

 

Despite living in Hampstead - and also owning a "labourer's cottage in Hampshire" [73] - we are asked to accept that Rawdon and Tanny were poor [c]. Perhaps this adds to Lilly's self-image as a saviour. But it doesn't explain his (racist) dislike of the Japanese, whom he thinks demonic; a quality that one might have thought he'd find attractive, since he despises Christianity and moral humanism [d].

 

He also dislikes those who can't - or won't - stand upright on their own two feet; those, like Jim Bricknell, who stagger and stumble like a drunk; "or worse, like a man with locomotor ataxia" [81], as if lacking all power in their legs. According to Lilly, it's an obscene desire to be loved which makes the knees go all weak and rickety - that and a sloppy relaxation of will. 

 

For Deleuze, "the spinal column is nothing but a sword beneath the skin, slipped into the body of an innocent sleeper by an executioner" [e]. But for Lilly (as for Lawence), the backbone is crucial and should be stiffened from an early age, so that one can affirm oneself into singular being and kick one's way into the future [f].  

 

When Tanny goes off to visit her family in Norway, Lilly stays in London, on the grounds that it's "'better for married people to be separated sometimes'" [90] and that couples who are "'stuck together like two jujube lozenges'" [91] are hateful.

 

He takes a clean and pleasant room, with a piano, in Covent Garden; above the market place, looking down on the stalls and the carts, etc. Mostly he liked to watch the great draught-horses delivering produce: "Funny half-human creatures they seemed, so massive and fleshy, yet so cockney" [86]; an amusingly absurd description. 

But Lilly also has his eye on a "particular page-boy in buttons, with a round and perky behind, who nimbly carried a tea-tray from somewere to somewhere, under the arches beside the market" [86]. When reading Lawrence, one can pretty much take it as given that his leading male characters will be what we now term bi-curious (to say the least). 

 

So no big surprise to find that when he gets (a poorly) Aaron up to his room, he soon has the latter undressed and tucked up in bed: 

 

"Lilly pushed Aaron down in the bed, and covered him over. Then he thrust his hands under the bedclotes and felt his feet - still cold. He arranged the water bottle. Then he put another cover on the bed." [90] 

It's kind, of course, of Lilly to nurse the flu-ridden Aaron. But does a respiratory illness usually require an erotically-charged massage with oil - and we're not talking here of a quick chest rub with Vicks VapoRub:

"Quickly he uncovered the blond lower body of his patient, and began to rub the abdomen with oil, using a slow, rhythmic, circulating motion, a sort of massage. For a long time he rubbed finely and steadily, then went over the whole of the lower body, mindless, as if in a sort of incantation. He rubbed every speck of the man's lower body - the abdomen, the buttocks, the thighs and knees, down to the feet, rubbed it all warm and glowing with camphorated oil, every bit of it, chafing the toes swiftly, till he was almost exhausted." [96] 

 

Anyway, it seems to do the trick: "The spark had come back into the sick eyes, and the faint trace of a smile, faintly luminous, into the face" [96]. But afterwards Lilly wonders why he did it, worried that when Aaron is fully recovered and realises what was done to him it will result in another punch in the wind: "'This Aaron [...] I like him, and he ought to like me. [But] he'll be another Jim [...]'" [97] 

 

Poor Lilly! So full of resentment - including self-resentment. But he no sooner swears to stop caring for others and interfering in their lives, than he starts darning Aaron's black woollen socks, having washed them a few days previously.   

 

When Aaron recovers enough to sit up in bed and eat some toast with his tea, Lilly explains his thoughts on marriage - "'a self-conscious egoistic state'" [99] - and having children: '"I think of them as a burden.'" [99] He fears being suffocated "'either with a baby's napkin or a woman's petticoat'" [101] and dreams of men rediscovering their independent manhood and gathering his own soul "'in patience and in peace'" [104]. 

 

But this isn't some kind of Buddhist desire for an end to all desire: 

 

"'It's what you get to after a lot of fighting and a lot of sensual fulfilment. And it never does away with the fighting and with the sensual passion. It flowers on top of them, and it would never flower save on top of them'" [105] 

 

In other words, it's what Oliver Mellors would term the peace that comes of fucking [g], or Nietzsche a warrior's peace. Whether Aaron understands this idea, is debatable: Lilly irritates him rather. But, having said that, he seems in no hurry to leave, even when well enough to do so: "They had been together alone for a fortnight only: but it was like a small eternity." [106]

 

Thus, the two men share the room in Covent Garden, bickering like Felix and Oscar in The Odd Couple [h] and drinking endless cups of tea. They have, we are told, "an almost uncanny understanding of one another - like brothers" [106], despite the mutual hostility. 

 

Lilly, of course, plays the traditionally feminine role: "He mashed the potatoes, he heated the plates, he warmed the red wine, he whisked eggs into the milk pudding, and served his visitor like a housemaid." [106] And when the food is ready, Lilly draws the curtains and dims the light so they can enjoy a rather romantic-sounding meal for two. Then he does the washing-up. 

 

Of course Lilly and Aaron part on rather bad terms: for the latter, the former is too demanding; he wants something of another man's soul, or so it seems to Aaron. Anyway, Lilly heads off; first to Malta, then to Italy (and out of the novel for several chapters). Eventually, Aaron follows, with no definite purpose but to join his rather peculiar friend ... 

 

 

III. 

 

The two men, Aaron and Lilly, Lilly and Aaron, finally reunite in Florence. 

 

Lilly doesn't seem particularly surprised to see Aaron again; or particularly fussed. For he's come to believe that there's a time to leave off loving and seeking friends; that each man has to learn how to possess himself in stillness and not care about anything or anyone. Essentially, decides Lilly, at his very core, he is alone: "'Eternally alone. And choosing to be alone. Not sentimental or lonely. Alone, choosing to be alone, because by one's nature one is alone.'" [246] 

 

He continues:

 

"'In so much as I am I, and only I am I, and I am only I, [...] I am inevitably and eternally alone, and it is my last blessedness to know it, and to accept it, and to live with this as the core of my self-knowledge.'" [247]

 

Thus, for Lilly, even the heart beats alone in its own silence - and anti-idealism. For above all else, it's anti-idealism that defines Lilly (philosophically and politically):

"'The ideal of love, the ideal that it is better to give than to receive, the ideal of liberty, the ideal of the brotherhood of man, the ideal of the sanctity of human life, the ideal of what we call goodness, charity, benevolence, public spiritedness, the ideal of sacrifice for a cause, the ideal of unity and unanimity - all the lot - all the whole beehive of ideals - has all got the modern bee-disease, and gone putrid, stinking.'" [280-81]

His alternative is - after sufficient extermination - a "'healthy and energetic slavery'" [281] in which there is "'a real commital of the life-issue of inferior beings to the responsibility of a superior being'" [281] and enforced with military power. At least that's what he tells his interlocutor. Until then admitting with a gay, whimsical smile that he would "'say the opposite with just as much fervour'" [282].

Finally, Lilly delivers that which he believes to be the real truth: "'I think every man is a sacred and holy individual, never to be violated." [282] Which is pretty close to Aleister Crowley's great teaching that: Every man and every woman is a star [i]. 

 

 

IV. 

 

So, in closing what then are we to make of Rawdon Lilly? 

 

Aaron comes to the following conclusion:

"He had started by thinking Lilly a peculiar little freak: gone on to think him a wonderful chap, and a bit pathetic: progressed, and found him generous, but overbearing: then cruel and intolerant, allowing no man to have a soul of his own: then terribly arrogant, throwing a fellow aside like an old glove which is in holes at the finger-ends. And all the time, which was most beastly, seeing through one. All the time, freak and outsider as he was, Lilly knew. He knew, and his soul was against the whole world." [289]

 

Still, if forced to choose, Aaron decides he'd choose Lilly over the entire world; if he has to submit and give himself to anyone, then "he would rather give himself to the little, individual man" [290] than to the quicksands of woman or the stinking bog of society. 

 

Personally, I'm not so sure. For whilst I agree with Lilly that we should finish for ever with words like God, and Love, and Humanity and "'have a shot at a new mode'" [291], I don't think I'd fancy placing my life in his hands. Nor do I share his to thine own self be true credo, which is ultimately just another form of idealism. 

 

As for his insistence on the "'great dark power-urge'" [297], I'd take that a little more seriously if in comparing this to Nietzsche's concept of will to power he didn't misunderstand the latter so completely (equating it, for example, with consciousness). Lazy and erroneous thinking like this causes me to doubt much else that Lilly says. 

 

And, finally, I don't want to submit to the positive power-soul within some hero, thank you very much: I don't have any heroes, they're all useless, as Johnny Rotten once memorably said [j].   

 

 

Notes

 

[a] D. H. Lawrence, Aaron's Rod, ed. Mara Kalnins, (Cambridge University Press, 1988), p. 26. All future page references to this novel will be given directly in the text. 

 

[b] I'm thinking here of the scene in Chapter VIII, when Jim Bricknell gives Lilly a punch in the wind. To be fair, although it's arguable that Lilly provoked the assault - as Tanny believes - there's really no justification for Bricknell giving him "two or three hard blows with his fists, upon the front of the body" [82]. But there you go; those who claim to act in the name of Love - and so desperately want to be loved - are often the most vicious and violent people on earth.  

 

[c] Perhaps the Lilly's were only renting the house in Hampstead - or that it belonged to a friend who had kindly allowed them to live there rent free. Later, Lilly tells Aaron that he only has "'thirty-five pounds in all the world'" [103] and so is far from being a millionaire. (£35 in 1922 would be equivalent to around £1700 today). 

 

[d] And, indeed, Lilly does later praise the Japanese for their ability to be quiet and aloof and indifferent to love: '"They keep themselves taut in their own selves - there, at the bottom of the spine - the devil's own power they've got there.'" [81] Although, shortly after this he dismisses "'folk who teem by the billion, like the Chinese and Japs and orientals altogether'" [97], a quality which makes them vermin in his eyes.

      Readers interested in knowing more about Lawrence's fascination with Japanese male bodies, are advised to see my post from June 2019 on the subject: click here. 

 

[e] Gilles Deleuze, Francis Bacon: the logic of sensation, trans. Daniel W. Smith, (Continuum, 2003), p. 23. 

      Like many of his ideas and phrases, Deleuze is borrowing this from a writer of fiction; in this case, Franz Kafka. See: 'The Sword', in Diaries 1914-1923, ed. Max Brod, trans. Martin Greenberg with Hannah Arendt (Schocken Books, 1949), pp. 109-10. 

 

[f] Readers who are interested in this topic might like to see my post from April last year on encouraging a straight back: click here. Alternatively, see Lawrence writing in Fantasia of the Unconscious (1922).  

[g] See the Grange Farm letter that Mellors writes to Connie at the end of Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928) for an explanation of this phrase. And see the post from December 2021 on the Lawrentian notion of chastity: click here.

[h] The Odd Couple is a 1968 comedy directed by Gene Saks and written by Neil Simon (based on his 1965 play of the same title), starring Jack Lemmon (as fastidious Felix Ungar) and Walter Matthau (as easy-going Oscar Madison), two divorced men who decide to live together, despite being extremely different characters.   

 

[i] See Aleister Crowley, The Book of the Law (1909), 1:3 

 

[j] Rotten said this in an interview with Janet Street Porter for The London Weekend Show, a punk rock special broadcast on London Weekend Television on 28 November 1976 (i.e., three days before the notorious Bill Grundy incident). Click here to watch in full on YouTube. The remark quoted is at 8:13 - 8:16.       

 

 

The Great Beast is Dead (In Memory of Aleister Crowley)

 

Aleister Crowley (1875-1947)

 

"We must conquer life by living it to the full, 

and then we can go to meet death with a certain prestige."

 

 

On this day, December 1st, in the year of our late Lord 1947, the self-styled Great Beast and wickedest man in the world, Aleister Crowley, died, at a guest house in the seaside town of Hastings on the English south coast, of myocardial degeneration (aggravated by pleurisy and chronic bronchitis), aged 72. 

 

One suspects that financial hardship and heroin addiction didn't much help matters, healthwise, either. But there you go: and besides, isn't it better to die poor but still chasing the dragon, than rich and with your feet up, hoping for a peaceful end after a quiet, uneventful life ...?

 

To be honest, Crowley's magickal writings don't particularly excite my interest. But I do admire his outrageous nonconformity and the fact that he subscribed to the view that it is better to be a spectacular failure in this life, than any kind of benign success; and better to be hated than loved.*    

 

Crowley's funeral was held at a Brighton crematorium on the afternoon of Friday, December 5th. Around a dozen people attended, and various excerpts from his works, including The Book of the Law (1909) - the sacred text of Thelema - were read.

 

Naturally, the death of England's most notorious occultist generated press interest and some of the tabloids insisted on describing Crowley as a Satanist and his funeral service (somewhat absurdly) as a Black Mass. 

 

His ashes were sent to his successor, the German occultist Karl Germer, new head of the OTO (Ordo Templi Orientis) in the United States, who buried them, rather quaintly, in his garden in Hampton, New Jersey.  

 

And may he rest in Holy Chaos ...

 

 

* Note: Malcolm McLaren, born a year before Crowley died, would also subscribe to this philosophy of spectacular failure and often mentioned the latter in conversation. McLaren also possessed a silver ring with occult markings that had once been owned by the Great Beast, but threw it into the ocean one day having become convinced that it was bringing him bad luck (or at least that is what he told me when I asked him why he had stopped wearing it). Paul Gorman mentions this ring in his excellent biography, The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren, (Constable, 2020), p. 416.  

From the Archives ... On My Dealings with Channel 4

My application for a job as an Assistant Editor 

(Youth and Entertainments Features) at Channel 4

 

 

I.

 

My first dealings with Channel 4 were in the autumn of 1983, less than a year after the station started broadcasting. Rather naively, I believed that they fully intended to stick to their public service remit and provide a genuine alternative to the shit served up by the BBC and ITV. 

 

That is to say, provide 'a broad range of high quality and diverse programming which [...] demonstrates innovation, experiment and creativity in the form and content of programmes; appeals to the tastes and interests of a culturally diverse society; exhibits a distinctive character.'

I was then collaborating with a spiky-haired student of Communications, Arts and Media called Gillian Hall on various projects and, encouraged by Alan Fountain - an independent producer hired by Channel 4 as a commissioning editor and mentor to new filmmakers - we submitted a proposal for a series that would be profoundly anti-Christian in nature and feature music, dance, witchcraft, sex-magick, and Satanic ritual.

 

In other words, we basically assembled ideas and images from all the usual suspects - from Aleister Crowley to Killing Joke (the album Fire Dances had just been released and I was under its spell all summer) - and visualised a kind of postmodern black mass with a post-punk soundtrack. It may well have been catastrophically bad had it ever been made - but it wouldn't have been Songs of Praise.

Alas, whilst initially intrigued by the proposal, Fountain lost his nerve somewhere along the line and Gillian and I were politely informed by letter that our Pagan TV show was not something that Channel 4 would be willing to commission, not least because many of the ideas that the show intended to explore were ones that the vast majority of people would find profoundly offensive.  

 

 

II.

 

Several years later, I again had dealings with Channel 4 - and again suffered the pain and disappointment of rejection (although these feelings were alleviated by the fact that I didn't give a shit).

 

Having failed to land a role as a presenter on the 24-hour cable and satellite TV channel the Music Box (a sort of naff pan-European version of MTV), Malcolm had advised me that I needed to be a 'little less Johnny Rotten and a little more Simon Le Bon'. With that in mind, I decided to apply for a job as an Assistant Editor (Youth and Entertainments Features) at Channel 4, which I had seen advertised in The Guardian. 

 

The ad for the post (reference number BH01) made clear that applicants should have 'definite opinions regarding youth programmes, journalism and the youth entertainment market in general'. 

 

Well, I definitely had opinions regarding these things; unfortunately, they were largely (if not entirely) negative and, Sex Pistol that I remained at heart, I basically just wanted to destroy everything and cause as much chaos as possible. (Of course, I didn't list this under career goals and ambitions on my CV, though I suspect that something of my underlying nihilism shone through the bullshit that I did write.)

Instead of the requested covering letter to accompany the CV, I sent the above poster which clearly illustrated who and what they would be getting if they hired me. The text on the poster, which paraphrased Zarathustra and referenced a favourite song by Bow Wow Wow reads: 

'If culture is, before all things, unity of artistic style in all the expressions of the life of a people, then barbarism is surely a lack of style; or a chaotic jumble of all styles. Thus we postmoderns, we parodists of world history and plunderers of the past, are the new barbarians: we are the TV savages! We are that hybrid breed, without meaning, substance, or style: we are Youth!'

 

I don't remember if anyone ever bothered to reply: if they did, I don't have the letter or recall its contents. 

 

And that, pretty much, was the end of my dealings with Channel 4 - a short (and not particularly spectacular) history of failure and rejection (but no regrets).

 

 

On Magical Names and the Nietzsche-Crowley Connection (A Post for Halloween)

Aleister Crowley aka Frater Perdurabo 

aka the Great Beast 666 

 

 

The practice of adopting a magical name or motto by a newly initiated member of an occult order - including members of the Golden Dawn, probably the best-known of all secret societies - has an amusing quaintness to it. 

 

The names, usually in Latin, Greek, or Hebrew, are intended to express the neophyte's highest ideal towards which they aspire, or perhaps contain some esoteric allusion. Fellow members address them by their new identity so as to create a special bond and to help foster the feeling that they were leaving their old selves behind - even if those old selves were highly accomplished and respected in the everyday world. 

 

W. B. Yeats, for example, one of the foremost figures of twentieth-century poetry and a pillar of the Irish literary establishment, was still obliged to take on a new name when he joined the Golden Dawn by which he would be known; he initially chose the classical adage Festina Lente, though later changed his motto to Demon est Deus inversus. 

 

As for the Hermetic Order's most notorious member, Aleister Crowley - the wickedest man in the world and much despised by Yeats and other members of the Golden Dawn for his libertine lifestyle - he took the name Perdurabo when initiated by MacGregor ('S Rioghail Mo Dhream) Mathers, in November 1898. 

 

It's an interesting choice: and one wonders if Crowley was at all influenced by his reading of Nietzsche, for whom the idea of endurance was central to his Dionysian philosophy: 

 

"To those human beings who are of any concern to me I wish suffering, desolation, sickness, ill-treatment, indignities - I wish that they should not remain unfamiliar with profound self-contempt, the torture of self-mistrust, the wretchedness of the vanquished: I have no pity for them, because I wish them the only thing that can prove today whether one is worth anything or not - that one endures." [1]

 

We know that Crowley thought highly of Nietzsche, describing him as a Gnostic Saint, a prophet of the Aeon of Horus, and an avatar of Thoth, the god of wisdom. Crowley even wrote a short essay on Nietzsche (c. 1914-15), in which he attempted to vindicate the latter's work. 

 

So it's possible that Crowley was influenced by Zarathustra's incitement to become hard and learn how to endure like the diamond. I like to think so, at any rate ...

 

 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Nietzsche, The Will to Power, trans. Walter Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale, ed. Walter Kaufmann, (Vintage Books, 1968), section 910, p. 481. 

 

It should be noted, of course, that this fragment by Nietzsche was published after Crowley joined the Golden Dawn; the first English translation of Der Will zur Macht came out in 1910 as part of the Oscar Levy edition. It's probably impossible to know for sure what books Crowley read by Nietzsche - and if he read them in the original German - but it's likely he was familiar with The Gay Science, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Beyond Good and Evil, and The Anti-Christ. Readers who are interested in knowing more about the Nietzsche-Crowley (or, if you prefer, Crowley-Nietzsche) connection should visit the Thelemic Union website: click here. 

 

This post is for Christina.