1
1
Contemporary ‘Gnosticism’ as a Discursive Field:
an analysis of individual and institutional authority in twentieth century ‘gnostic’ movements
by
David G. Robertson
S0569755
Submitted towards the degree
MSc (by research) in Religious Studies,
School of Divinity, University of Edinburgh.
27/8/2010.
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2
3 Table of Contents
Abstract iii
Acknowledgements iv
1. Introduction: The Problem of Modern "Gnosticism" for the Study of Religion 1
2. Etics: Scholarly Conceptualisations of Contemporary “Gnosticism” 14
3. Emics: The Discursive Field of Contemporary “Gnosticism” 29
4. Case Study: Ecclesia Gnostica – the Issue of Succession 40
5. Case Study: Ecclesia Gnostica Catholica – Contemporary “Gnosticism”
and Christianity 51
6. Case Study: Universal Christian Gnostic Movement – Institutional and
Individual Authority 62
7. Conclusion: Contemporary “Gnosticism” as Institutionalised Individualism 71
Bibliography 82
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5 Abstract
This thesis argues that the field of contemporary “gnosticism” has long been misconstrued. Rather than a revival of a world-denying “anticosmic” weltanschauung, this paper argues that the term “gnosticism” in the contemporary religious field is a signifier of religious formations that combine various fin de siècle “esoteric” teachings with external Catholic symbolism and structures. Despite making appeals to the putative movement of the 2nd - 4th centuries C.E., they rather offer a particularly contemporary religious formation, interpreting symbolism psychologically and stressing individual experience over “faith”. Using methodologies drawn from Foucault and Bourdieu, I use issues of authority to map out the field of contemporary “gnosticism”: in the first section, through the tension between etic and emic conceptions, and in the second, through issues of authority within and between contemporary “gnostic” groups, and tensions between Christian and “esoteric” discourses. In conclusion, I attempt to place contemporary “gnosticism” within the broader religious field by suggesting that it represents not a fully individualised religious formation based on self-validation of faith, but one based on mutual validation of faith, an “institutionalised individualism” which allows for individualised, experiential religiosity to operate within a traditional institutional context.
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7 Acknowledgements
My sincere gratitude goes out to my supervisor, Dr. Steven Sutcliffe. He was tireless in his support for this project, and his suggestions and criticisms were consistently engaged and apt. He challenged me to write a better work than I thought myself capable of. I hope I have not disappointed him.
I would also like to thank those who provided support and advice along the way; Professor April DeConick and Dr Paul Foster for sources on “gnosticism”, Arild Stromsvag, Melissa Harrington and others at the Academic Study of Magic group for help with Ecclesia Gnostica Catholica, Crystal Lubinsky and Professor James Cox for reading my drafts and Professor Carole Cusack for providing references.
Finally, my eternal gratitude to Aileen, without whom none of this would have been possible.
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10 Introduction: The Problem of Modern "Gnosticism" for the Study of Religion
“If cultures define themselves not at their calm centres, but at their peripheral conflicts of inclusion and exclusion, then Gnosticism, whatever we mean by it, is more than an antiquarian curiosity.”
(Smith 1988, 549)
This thesis is an attempt to establish what the category “gnosticism”, and its related taxons “gnostic” and “gnosis”, signify in the religious field of the 21st century. 2009 saw the presence of “gnostics” for the first time at the world’s largest interfaith gathering, the Parliament of World Religions in Melbourne, Australia; yet the question of what “gnosticism” signifies in the contemporary religious field has yet to receive serious academic attention. Most existing studies consist of a short concluding section in a work otherwise concerned with “gnosticism” in the classical period, and fail to adequately consider the methodological or categorical issues particular to the contemporary field (Smith 1988; Holroyd 1994; Markschies 2003; Pearson 2007). Indeed, many scholars of “gnosticism” simply reject the validity of any usage of the term in a modern religious context, dismissing it as better contained under the already-problematical rubric of “New Age” (Markschies 2003, 13).
A handful of works do specifically address contemporary “gnosticism”; of these, probably those of Hanegraaff ([with van den Broek] 1998; 1995; 1994) and his circle (von Stuckrad 2005; Van den Broek 1998), Merkur (1993), and Segal (1995 [ed.]; 1987) have had the greatest influence. These works are generally theoretical, however, and the only academic comparison of contemporary “gnostic” groups I have been able to find is Smith’s essay “The Revival of Ancient Gnosis” (1995), which, while rich in detail, is thin on analysis. So far as I am aware, then, this thesis is the first attempt at a systematic study of “gnostic” groups in the contemporary religious field.
It is structured in two parts. The first argues that contemporary “gnosticism” has been largely misconstrued by scholars. Chapter 2 examines the various approaches that scholars have used to conceptualise contemporary “gnosticism”; chapter 3, in comparing them to emic accounts, establishes that these etic accounts have become detached from the accounts of practitioners. Rather than a world-denying weltanschauung, the term “gnosticism” in the contemporary religious field is a signifier of religious formations that combine “esoteric” traditions with symbolism and structures drawn from Roman Catholicism, and which tend to interpret symbolism psychologically and to give individual experience superiority over “faith”. By returning to the accounts of practitioners, we are able to re-conceptualise contemporary “gnosticism” as a field of discourse, rather than a unit idea or perennial tradition, as discussed below.
The second part, chapters 4 through 7, uses issues of power and authority to map out this contemporary “gnostic” field in greater detail. This section is centred on three case studies, which aim to describe as broad a spectrum of contemporary “gnostic” groups as possible, and examine several lines of tension of authority within the field. Chapter 4 examines the Ecclesia Gnostica, an ostensibly strongly Christian “gnostic” movement based in the southern US, placing particular import in the issue of “apostolic succession”. The Ecclesia Gnostica Catholica is the focus of chapter 5, a group with overt links to European Freemasonry and “esotericism”, and the ideas of 19th century British magician, Aleister Crowley. Finally, we shall consider the Universal Christian Gnostic Movement, a loose assemblage of groups dedicated to the dissemination of the teachings of Samael Aun Weor, with a broad appeal in Latin America. Given the brevity of this thesis, these chapters are largely concerned with picking out conflicts and commonalties between these groups and the broader “gnostic” field. They are structured so that each examines a problematic discourse of the field: between and within contemporary “gnostic” groups (chapter 4), between Christian and “esoteric” traditions (chapter 5) and between institutional and individual authorities (chapter 6).
My conclusion suggests that contemporary “gnosticism” represents a religious formation based on mutual validation of faith, an institutionalised individualism which allows for individualised, experiential religiosity to operate within an institutional context. The authority of the individual takes precedence, but the individual experience is validated mutually through collective ritual practise. Thus the critique of Christianity is specifically that it fails to adequately incorporate the individualism demanded by a rationalised, detraditionalised modernity.
Finally, I outline a few avenues of future research that this thesis has uncovered. Firstly, the need for more focused study of this field, including a greater degree of fieldwork than I have been able to pursue, and the gathering of qualitative and quantitative data. Secondly, the methodological approach I outline below may prove useful when applied to other problematic categories. Finally, the model of institutionalised individualism outlined in the conclusion demands further unpacking, and consideration to its broader applicability in the contemporary Western religious field, and beyond.
The remainder of this introductory chapter consists of a discussion of the terminology I shall be employing, and an outline of the historical background of “gnostic” studies. Our contemporary focus notwithstanding, I feel this is necessary in order to put what follows into context. I shall be necessarily brief, and there will be much that scholars of classical “gnosticism” might challenge. This thesis is not aimed at those scholars, however, but at scholars of twentieth century religion, and so I shall proceed with impunity.[1]
Methodology
Typically, studies of contemporary “gnosticism” have been situated within the “history of ideas” paradigm (Ahern 2009; Van den Broek & Hanegraaff 1998; Merkur 1993). Lovejoy suggested that philosophical systems tend to be “original or distinctive rather in their patterns than their components” (1936: 3). These patterns are made up of “unit ideas” which may be shared by many systems from different fields, and can manifest in different ways in different times and fields (1948; 1936). The history of ideas methodology seeks to locate (or impose) a single narrative onto a category; thus a tendency towards reification is an intrinsic weakness. Lovejoy seems to have become aware of these weaknesses, and later modified his theory to take account of the fact that the meaning of “idea units” can change depending on temporal and cultural context (1948, xiv-xvii).
In the case of “gnosticism”, the application of this methodology has been particularly problematic, as in the desire to create a narrative including classical or contemporary “gnosticism”, they have failed to engage adequately with either. As we shall see, this has led to scholarly conceptualisations that are truly representative of neither classical nor contemporary “gnosticism”. A more productive approach might therefore be to adopt Foucault’s idea of an “archaeology of knowledge”, which rather than seeking a continuous narrative which smoothes out roughness and inconsistencies, actively seeks out discontinuities and disagreements. As in an archaeological dig, where each strata uncovered reveals new structures built upon the old, so we see each strata of the idea as a new development, adaptation, appropriation or embellishment:
The history of an idea is not wholly and entirely that of its progressive refining, its continuosly increasing rationality, its abstraction gradient, but that of its various fields of constitution and validity, that of its successive rules of use, that of the many theoretical contexts in which it developed and matured. (1972 [1969], 4)
This thesis is not yet another attempt to locate some posited “gnosticism” as an implicit epistemological structure in modern society. Such an approach has led to a plethora of conceptualisations based on partial, diachronic parallels, and is to a considerable degree responsible for the semantic confusion surrounding the category (Galbreath 1981, 21-2). Rather than assume that there is a core “gnosticism” to be uncovered and defined, we are more concerned with how the term has been taken up and adapted in different groups and periods. The archaeological method accepts multiple narratives, multiple “gnosticisms”; not what “gnosticism” is, but how the term is appropriated. Henry Green suggests this approach to “gnosticism”:
it appears, in our opinion, that we have only a variety of statements made with words by a variety of different writers with a variety of different intentions and as such, there is no history of an idea to be written, but only a history of various people who used the idea and of their varying social situations. (1977, 133)
These various people in various situations, moreover, are competing within the field for their interpretation to be seen as authoritative. These skirmishes are taking place on several fronts: between scholars and practitioners, between and within contemporary “gnostic” groups, and between Christian and “esoteric” discourses. The task of the scholar, therefore, is not to assess the relative validity of these interpretations, but to map out the field, disputes and all:
Rather than seeking the permanece of themes, images and opinions through time, rather than retracing the dialectic of their conflicts in order to individualise groups of statements, could one not rather mark out the dispersion of the points of choice, and define prior to any opinion, to any thematic preference, a field of strategic possibilities? (Foucault 1972 [1969], 37)
The conception of intellectual “fields” comes from sociologist Pierre Bourdieu, who presented them as an alternative to the Marxist analytical tools of class and ideology, which he considered did not adequately take account of cultural factors such as education (1985). A field is a relatively autonomous area of culture in which agents operate (e.g. legal, academic, religious), and in which cultural capital acquires its specific value. Cultural capital can be understood as cultural knowledge and/or skills that confer power: for example, being able to eloquently discuss art would be a form of cultural capital that could confer status in middle-class groups (Barker 2004, 37). Agents within a specific field compete for power through possession of its cultural capital, consciously or unconsciously internalising its rules and “playing the game” of the field. Fields may overlap (Bourdieu 1985): for example, in the present case, the field of contemporary “gnosticism” overlaps with both the Christian and “esoteric” fields. They are also hierarchical: for example, the contemporary “gnostic” field is within the contemporary religious field, which is itself within the contemporary cultural field, etc.
Recently, von Stuckrad has suggested combining a Foucaultian focus on power relations with Bourdieu’s ideas into an approach focused upon the analysis of fields of discourse (2005, 85). In analysing any field, we cannot ignore the ‘other’ that is constantly produced by the ‘own’; “in constructing the ‘other’, both parties form a discursive unit” (Ibid, 87). These discourses are the social organisation of the meaning of the cultural capital of the field (Foucault 1971), in our case the religious traditions, symbols, and the interpretation thereof. According to von Stukrad, these discursive units allow the transfer of meaning between “own” and “other”: common areas of concern are revealed as meaning is negotiated and transformed (Ibid, 84-5). Discourses can also be understood as instruments of power: agents do not only compete for cultural capital within a discursive field, but compete for the authority to decide where the boundaries of the field lie.
I suggest that this model provides the most accurate way to conceptualise the field of contemporary “gnosticism”. In conceptualising it as a discursive field rather than an identifiable historical, policital or philosophical current, we do not ask what contemporary “gnosticism” “is”: rather, by exploring the dynamics of its production, we seek to better understand the dynamics of the broader contemporary religious field.
Emics & Etics
In the following analysis, I shall be separating out scholarly definitions from those of practitioners. This is not to suggest, however, that I give greater weight to one over the other; rather, I separate them here because the data (as presented below) suggests that such a separation in usage exists in the field.
The use of etic and emic, originally derived from linguistics terms (phonemic signifying a system of sound units within a particular language, while pnonetic signifies a higher-order comparative system of sound units), is now relatively well established in the field of Religious Studies. As originally defined by Kenneth Pike, an emic unit is an “item or system treated by insiders as relevant to their system of behaviour” (1990, 28). These include concepts or objects which are recognised as an emic unit through naming, such as “computer” or “suicide” (Ibid, 28-9). They can also be complexes made up of other emic units, such as “games” or “religions”. Etics, on the other hand, represent an attempt by an outsider to interpret those emic units by juxtaposing them against his own emic system, in Pike’s understanding. Harris, in developing Pike's terms for broader application in the social sciences, presented a different understanding of etics (1990, 48). To Harris, etic statements are those of the scientific community, of “trained observer familiar with several canons of scholarly and scientific inquiry”, and thus emics and etics represent “two fundamentally different kinds of data languages” (Ibid, 49). Harris thus also introduces the notion of falsifiability: emic statements can be falsified if they contradict the cognitive system they occur in, whereas the validity of etic statements need not be restricted to said cognitive system (Ibid, 48). Yet etic statements are falsifiable in the sense that they are assumed to adhere to scientific rationality, not necessarily the case with emic statements.
In this thesis I employ etic and emic in this sense of “data languages”; those conceptualisations I demarcate etic are assumed to be using categories and methodologies that seek cross-cultural, reflexive and scientific validity; those I demarcate emic are, rather, accounts of those who seek validity in terms of the cultural capital of the field. They are dynamic heuristic constructs, neither mutually exclusive nor reified polarities (Lett 1990, 131): as Sutcliffe suggests, epistemological rather than ontological positions (2000).
Demarcating the Field
Careful clarification is required in regards to how I shall use the three inter-related and frequently interchangeable terms “gnosis”, “gnostic” and “gnosticism”. Although the classical sources refer to groups who call themselves “gnostics”, “gnosticism” is a more recent academic construct, coined by English theologian Henry More in the late 17th century (Markschies 2003, 14). Academics have differed in how they use the terms, adding another layer of semantic confusion to the category. In the European religionsgeschichte school, “gnosis” and “gnosticism” were used interchangeably, following Bultmann, whereas English-speaking academia tended to use “gnosticism” to signify the putative religious system of the 2nd to 4th centuries C.E. and “gnosis” for any other more or less similar phenomena (Rudolf 1983, 22-3). This was the general direction followed by the influential Messina congress in 1966, although the details of the definitions proposed were highly problematic (see chapter 2). More recently, Merkur suggested differentiating between (lower-case) “gnosis”, signifying the experience, and (upper-case) “Gnosis” for the religious system (1993, 116).
In this thesis, I use the terms somewhat idiosyncratically, for structural reasons. As I am not concerned with the authenticity or otherwise of various conceptions of “gnosticism”, I have no need for a hierarchical set of terms. “Gnosticism” here signifies any system of beliefs and/or practises that is understood by the emic or etic voice in question to be “gnosticism”. Similarly, the term “gnostic” refers to an individual, group or text that subscribes or pertains to said systems.
“Gnosis”, on the other hand, is understood phenomenologically, to refer to a putative type of religious experience and its consequences upon the individual psyche. Chapter 2 reviews scholarly attempts to define “gnosis” substantively, and chapter 3 compares these models to emic accounts. As Galbreath has suggested, however, “gnosis” turns out to be an ambiguous term that resists clear categorical delineation (1981). In my conclusion, I suggest that “gnosis” is better understood not as signifying a particular type of experience, but rather a particular combination of individualised religious experience and its institutional validation.
In order to avoid repeating the somewhat clumsy descriptor of “'gnosticism', the putative type of religious systems of the 2nd to 4th century C.E.”, I shall refer to “classical ‘gnosticism’”. This thesis will not examine classical “gnosticism”, however, nor any putative historical line of transmission between “gnosticism” ancient and modern.[2] When I refer to “contemporary ‘gnosticism’”, I am referring to the latter half of the 20th century and the first ten years of the 21st. The reason for this periodisation is that this is the period in which the vast majority of those self-identifying as “gnostics” have been active, the reasons for which are explored in Chapters 2 and 3. In some cases, scholars predate this period (Jung; Blavatsky; Jonas): however, their conceptualisations of “gnosticism” have been particularly influential on contemporary conceptualisations, as we shall see, and therefore had to be included.
Furthermore, I will only be considering “gnosticism” as a specifically religious phenomenon. As will be seen, many scholars have, consciously or unconsciously, blurred this distinction, moving without concern from religious to secular philosophical conceptions of “gnosticism” (Jung; Jonas; Bloom; see chapter 2). While an intriguing possibility, explicitly secular conceptions of “gnosticism” are not my concern here. Moreover, conflating religious and secular conceptions of “gnosticism” can only increase the (already considerable) semantic ambiguity that surrounds this category.
This has meant a focus on North America, particularly in the case studies presented in chapters 4 through 6. Although not my original intent, “gnosticism” as a modern religious movement seems to be focused on the US, Latin America, and to a lesser degree Canada and Australasia. Only a few scattered European groups exist, and are generally smaller in number. A possible reason for this non-European locality of modern “gnosticism” is suggested in the concluding chapter. Being based in the UK, contact with the individuals or representatives of the organisations involved was therefore restricted to email. Restrictions on time and finances prevented travel at this point, and in the case of the Aun Weor groups, language was also a barrier. I therefore decided to restrict the research that informs the case-studies to written sources.
My initial survey of primary sources was intended to give as broad an impression of the field as possible, and of the principle groups involved. These were typically publications written by the leaders of these groups, aimed at the public (e.g. Hoeller 2002; Weor 2001 [1963]). I also followed a number of blogs (notably that of Jordan Stratford of the Apostolic Johannite Church[3]), yet these proved to be of limited use, as it was often difficult to ascertain that these individuals belonged to or identified with one of the “gnostic” groups the study was focused upon. From this initial survey, I selected my three case studies, the Ecclesia Gnostica, the Ecclesia Gnostica Catholica and the groups following the teachings of Samael Aun Weor. My case for focusing on these is, firstly, that they are among the most prominent contemporary “gnostic” groups, both in terms of membership (see case studies) and profile (publishing books, running websites and engaging with the popular press). Secondly, they have been selected to present as broad a picture of the field as possible. So, while the Apostolic Johannite Church, for example, may be as large an organisation as the Ecclesia Gnostica, their conception of “gnosticism” is essentially identical, and so space decrees that both cannot be examined in detail here. From this point, my research was focused to a greater degree on internal documents (Crowley 1997 [1918]; anonymous 1986), and those written by dissenters (e.g. König 1994).
The number of secondary sources on contemporary “gnostic” groups is, I discovered, surprisingly limited. In one respect, this is a strength, as it means that I have been able to chart my own course into their analysis without influence from previous scholars’ interpretations. In another sense, however, it is a weakness, as it has necessitated the broad use of primary sources, which in turn brings the risk of merely reiterating emic accounts. In the case studies, I have attempted to make it clear when I am using emic sources, and have avoided presenting them without critique. Again, in the case of Aun Weor, language was a major barrier, as most research has been pursued in Spanish and, perhaps surprisingly, Italian (e.g. Zoccatelli 2005).
These facts have underlined that, as I suggest in the conclusion, there is a keen need for solid fieldwork-based research in this area. The theoretical framework and phenomenological description laid out by this thesis is necessary for such fieldwork to be profitably pursued, but it has also underlined how under-explored this field is.
Finally, this paper will remain methodologically agnostic; I have no concern with the validity or otherwise of the truth-claims of any of the groups or individuals here considered. I am not, nor have ever been, a “gnostic”, a Christian, nor member of any other religious tradition.
Category Formation
As will be seen, the categorical validity of “gnosticism”, both classical and modern, has been keenly fought over, particularly in recent years. To some degree, these issues tie in with the wider debates about category formation in Religious Studies and the social sciences more generally (Fitzgerald 2000; Saler 1993; Baird 1971). Some categories of spiritual phenomena, for example “New Age” (Sutcliffe 2003, 9-13; Hanegraaff 1996, 1-20) or “esotericism” (Faivre 1998, 119-20; Hanegraaff 1996, 385-6) seem particularly problematic, perhaps as a result of their decentralised structures and lack of formal credo and prescribed praxis.
In the case of “gnosticism”, however, a unique set of historical circumstances has certainly played a part. Unlike “New Age” or “esotericism”, “gnosticism” was largely constructed from a handful of texts and unreliable heresiological accounts from the 2nd to 4th centuries (see chapter 2). Uniquely, a large body of original “gnostic” texts was unearthed in 1945, and a more accurate picture of what “gnostics” believed and practised was pieced together from them. Yet other conceptions had already been produced; conceptions not necessarily harmonious with the new discoveries. Thus multiple narratives of “gnosticism” were in competition even before the data existed from which any categorical commonality could be discerned in the groups from whom the name was taken!
Brief historical overview
The history of the study of “gnosticism” can be divided into two phases; pre- and post-1945, when the Nag Hammadi corpus was unearthed. Prior to this, what little was known of the “gnostics” came primarily from references in the writings of the church fathers. The earliest and best-known of these is found in Irenaeus of Lyon's 2nd century five-volume work On the Detection and Overthrow of the So-Called Gnosis, more commonly known by the title of a later Latin translation, Adversus Haereses. The first volume is a catalogue of heretical schools, and in it Irenaeus uses the term hoi gnostikoi (“the gnostics”), although it is unclear whether the term refers to a specific group or teaching, or to heresy more generally (Williams 1993, 33). Irenaeus' position as a church father means that his testimony is of questionable reliability, but nevertheless, later heresiological works were to draw heavily from Adversus Haereses, notably Hippolytus of Rome's 3rd century Refutatio Omnium Haeresium and Epiphanius of Salamis' 4th century Panarion (Ibid, 37-9).
A few “gnostic” texts came to light in the 19th century. The Bruce codex, containing the first and second books of Jeu and several untitled Coptic fragments, was published in 1892, over a century after its discovery in Egypt. The Askew codex, containing a version of Pistis Sophia somewhat different from that later discovered at Nag Hammadi, was discovered in a London bookshop in 1773. Finally, in 1896, a German bought a manuscript, now known as the Berlin codex, in Cairo, which was found to contain The Gospel of Mary, the Apocryphon of John and two other texts (Pagels 1979, xxiv). These amounted to the totality of primary “gnostic” sources until the discoveries at Nag Hammadi in 1945. It is worth noting, however, that many of the books we will be considering in this thesis were written during this period, notably Jung (1916) and Jonas (1934).
In December 1945, brothers Khalifah and Muhammad 'Ali uncovered a jar buried at the base of a protruding rock in the Nile valley near the city of Nag Hammadi. It contained thirteen leather-bound codices, plus several loose sheets of papyrus, which Mohammad took home. They came to light when Muhammad asked a local Coptic priest to store them for him, as the police were regularly searching his home following a revenge killing. The priest's brother-in-law, recognising the potential import (or monetary value) of one of the codices, took it to Cairo, where it was sold to the Coptic Museum in 1946. In attempting to locate the remainder of the collection, however, it was discovered that Ali's wife considered the codices to be bad luck, and had burnt two and given the rest away to neighbours, who were now each aiming to make a great profit from their windfall. Part of it ended up in the Jung Institute in Zurich, the so-called “Jung Codex”, where Quispel was to translate it. Most of the remainder was seized by the Egyptian Department of Antiquities, and eventually nationalised when Nasser came to power in 1956 (Robinson 1977, 22-5).
The Nag Hammadi corpus consists of eleven complete codices and fragments of two others, totalling more than 1000 pages (Markschies 2003, 49), some 52 more or less complete texts (Pagels 1979, xxxv). These texts, most previously unknown, include gospels, doctrinal treatises (Hypostasis of the Archons, On the Origin of the World), liturgical texts (The Prayer of Thanksgiving), and an oddly translated section of Plato's Republic. They are written in Coptic, the local lingua franca of the day transcribed using the Greek alphabet, and date from around 400 C.E, although in most cases the texts were composed far earlier (Williams 1993, 235). Translations were completed and published in 1977, and as we shall see, it is no exaggeration to say that scholarship is only now coming to terms with its implications.
Firstly, the majority of the texts can be divided into two doctrinal groupings, which scholars have identified as Sethian and Valentinian. This thesis strengthened by the fact that several of the texts are duplicated, suggesting that this was a library made up of several smaller collections. Although scholars disagree as to which texts should be considered Sethian and which Valentinian - and even which should be considered “gnostic” - what is clear is that there was a great deal of diversity among “gnostic” groups of the first few centuries C. E. (Williams 1993, 47-8). In fact, recently some scholars (Williams 1993; King 2003) have challenged the use of “gnosticism” as a category altogether.
Secondly, textual analysis has cast doubt on the conception of “gnosticism” as a Christian heresy. The codices show the influence of Jewish, Hermetic, Platonic and even Zoroastrian ideas (Robinson 1977, 10). Indeed, several texts indicated as Christian by the heresiologist Church Fathers are revealed to be lacking in any Christian imagery or language whatsoever (Ibid, 7). Rather, the codices seem to be evidence of a syncretic upsurge of religious fervour and innovation in the few centuries on either side of the birth of Jesus, an upsurge that may also have produced Christianity, Rabbinic Judaism and the Essenes, and which took place in what Lim has called the “common sectarian matrix” of prophecies and texts (Lim 2005, 111-6).
The years following the discovery also saw “gnostic” and “gnosticism” being used with increasing frequency by the wider public beyond the field of religious scholarship, which must be to a considerable degree the result of the publicity afforded the discoveries of Nag Hammadi and the Dead Sea Scrolls (Hanegraaff 1998, 374). Claims of a revival of “gnosis” in the modern world have come from both scholarly and popular writers, and it is the task of this thesis to examine these claims.
Having established my methodology, focus and background, I shall now turn my attention to examining the ways in which the term “gnosticism” has been applied or appropriated in the modern period.
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13 Etics: Scholarly Conceptualisations of Contemporary “Gnosticism”
“This world of yours - and perhaps of mine too, for that matter - doesn't give me the slightest impression of being a dream, or an illusion, or anything of that sort. I know it's really here at this moment, and it's exactly as we're seeing it, you and I. Yet it's false... Side by side with it another world exists, and that other world is the true one, and this one is all false and deceitful, to the very core... And so it occurs to me that reality and falseness are two words for the same thing”
David Lindsay (1992 [1920]) A Voyage to Arcturus, 169.
“Most of my patients are not suffering from any clinically definable neurosis but from the senselessness and aimlessness of their lives. I should not object if this were to be called the general neurosis of our age.”
Jung (1966) The Practice of Psychotherapy, 41.
This chapter presents a literature review of academic conceptions of contemporary “gnosticism”. It is commonplace to note that the term has been so widely and divergently employed that it has become practically meaningless: by signifying almost anything, it ultimately signifies nothing. In this chapter, I suggest that by limiting ourselves to the contemporary period, and by disregarding definitions that do not refer to the religious field, a smaller number of distinct approaches can be discerned in these apparently divergent conceptualisations. Furthermore, when coupled with our archaeological methodology, we are able to relate these specific approaches to the intellectual, historical and cultural context of those employing them. It is hoped that such an analysis can go some way to reducing the semantic confusion surrounding the category.
I have included here only those definitions that refer wholly or in part explicitly to “gnosticism” in a modern context. Where scholars have chosen to differentiate between classical and modern “gnosticism” terminologically, I have used only the definition applicable to modern “gnosticism”, and then only when they have been explicit that this was how they were using the terminology.
A number of scholars deny the validity of any application of the category to the contemporary period, insisting that “gnosticism” be understood exclusively as a religious system of the 2nd to 4th centuries. Yet “gnosticism” was only specifically defined in this way as recently as 1966, at the “Gnosis Congress” at Messina, Sicily. This conference was convened by the International Association for the History of Religions (IAHR), and included papers by scholars of religion, theologians, historians and philosophers, notably Gilles Quispel, Hans Bultmann, Kurt Aland, Hans Jonas, James M. Robinson and Kurt Rudolph (Bianchi 1967, xi-xv). Scholarship was just beginning to grapple with the implications of the Nag Hammadi corpus (Williams 1996, 213), and in an attempt to reduce the confusion surrounding the category, a set of definitions was proposed and approved which were to dominate the academic field until the 1990s (Markschies 2003, 13).
“Gnosticism” was defined as referring to “a particular group of systems of the second century after Christ” (Op. cit.). These groups were marked by possession of:
A coherent series of characteristics that can be summarized in the idea of a divine spark in man, deriving from the divine realm, fallen into this world of fate, birth and death, and needing to be awakened by the divine counterpart of the self in order to be finally reintegrated. (Williams 1996, 27)
This style of multi-factoral “family resemblance” definition continues to be the standard in popular and academic works on “gnosticism” (Rudolph 1998; Markschies 2003; Pearson 2007). These type of definitions can include many clauses (Markschies, for example, lists eight), and because they do not require all of their typological features to be demonstrable, they allow a broad spectrum of phenomena to be brought together terminologically. While acceptable in a popular context, the vagueness of this type of definition is problematic in academic use. “Family resemblance” definitions may perpetuate and even exacerbate the problems in category formation in the field of religious studies, because they allow the continuing usage of categories which have not (or cannot) be clearly defined (Fitzgerald 2000, 73).
But to what extent can such a “coherent series of characteristics” be delineated? In recent years, scholars have challenged this assumption (King 2003; Williams 1996; Culianu 1992). Williams’ Rethinking “Gnosticism” (1996) argues that the groups historically designated “gnostic” by scholarship do not in fact share a common set of “gnostic” features, which leads him to call for the rejection of the category in scholarship altogether.
There are several possible criticisms of Williams’ conclusions. He fails to address a number of potential commonalities, specifically the presence of demiurgical cosmologies and experiential “gnosis”. Furthermore, having forcefully critiqued academia’s reliance upon the data set inherited from Irenaeus, his insistence that the category be abandoned because it does not match that data set seems somewhat circular. Rather than an abandonment of the category, a redefining of the boundaries of the category would seem more helpful. Nevertheless, Williams’ critique of the traditional academic conception of classical “gnosticism” is well-founded, and important to this thesis inasmuch as it reminds us that the category “gnosticism” was formed before an adequate body of data existed.
The Messina Congress definitions also served to exclude a tradition of research that employed the terminology in the study of early Jewish mysticism. Gershom Scholem wrote in 1987:
There is a tendency to exclude phenomena that until 1930 were designated gnostic by everyone. To me it does not matter whether phenomena previously called gnostic are now designated as 'esoteric', and I for one cannot see the use or value of the newly introduced distinctions. (1987, 21, n. 24)
The value for the self-selected group of classical scholars and Christian theologians that made up the Messina Congress was that they were able to limit the term to their own fields. Their ring fencing of the term served to deny the validity of any other interpretation at the moment when popular awareness of the term was increasing rapidly (Hanegraaff 1998, 374). We return to this question in the following chapter.
“Gnosticism” as a tradition of heterodoxy
As Williams understands, the commonality between the groups that Irenaeus considers was not phenomenological, but theological; “false teaching” in general, rather than any specific doctrine (1996, 14). Indeed, this was likely Irenaeus' intent, as a “Church Father” writing at the time that Christianity was beginning to coalesce into an organised system. The “gnostics” that Ireneus delineates could not have understood themselves to be heretics, as it was not until the efforts of Ireneus and the other Patriarchs that such an orthodoxy existed. Nevertheless, Christianity came to favour tradition over revelation, and “gnosticism” became a synonym for heresy (Smith 1988, 549). It is in this sense that Henry More used the term, to signify all heretical Christian groups (Markschies 2003, 14).
The attempt to construct a tradition of “gnostic” heterodoxy “running through all the centuries of our era” has been present since at least Gottfried Arnold's 1691 history of heresies (Faivre 1998, 121). Attempts to create such grand narratives are, of course, typical of the disciplines of history and comparative religion, at least up until the mid-20th century when a reflexive critique of the biases inherent in such a methodology began to emerge. In this discourse, self-identification as “gnostic” is a badge of heterodoxy, a signal that the group or individual distances themselves from the religious mainstream. Smith claims that this motif of “otherness” is imperative in every case of what he terms “interpretive appropriations” of “gnosticism” (1988, 549).
The problem with understanding “gnosticism” as “heterodoxy” is that what counts as “heterodox” depends upon cultural context. As the considerable presence of theologians at the Messina congress demonstrates, debates about “gnosticism” have taken place to a large degree within the terms of a Christian discourse, despite a great deal of doubt as to the extent to which even the putative “gnostics” of antiquity should be considered part of Christianity at all (Pearson 2007, 19).
“Gnosticism” as “Esotericism”
A related approach is to subsume contemporary “gnosticism” within the field of “esotericism”. King's The Gnostics and their Remains (1887), one of the earliest scholarly works on “gnosticism”, assumed it to have an Asian origin and conceived of it as a bridge between Vedic teachings and Christianity. King understood this synthesis to have continued into Freemasonry and Rosicrucianism, an idea that H. P. Blavatsky absorbed into her exhaustively syncretic system, Theosophy (Smith 1988, 537-8):
But if the Gnostics were destroyed, the Gnosis, based on the secret science of sciences, still lives... the Gnosis or traditional secret knowledge, was never without its representatives in any age or country. (Blavatsky 1997, 140)
In this interpretation, the “gnostics” were the forerunners of the Theosophical Society, and the occult revival of the late 19th/early 20th centuries more generally.[4] Another prominent Theosophist, G. R. S. Mead, penned the influential Fragments of a Faith Forgotten (1960 [1904]) and other works, which promoted this idea:
But as for us who are hearers of the Gnosis, of Theosophy, wherever it is to be found... whether we call it the Gnosis of the Mind with the followers of Thrice-greatest Hermes, or the Gnosis of the Truth as Marcus does, or by many another name given it by the Gnostics of that day, it matters little; the great fact is that there is Gnosis, and that men have touched her sacred robe and been healed of the vices of their souls. (1960 [1904], 41)
By presenting the Theosophical Society as the latest representatives of an ancient tradition with distinguished forebears, they sought to give the movement validity. Such tactics are typical of movements or groups which portray themselves as a revival of an ancient tradition (Hervieu-Léger 2000). Furthermore, the claims of Blavatsky and her circle came at a time when such simplified “grand narratives” were prevalent in academic and popular discourse; for example, the diachronic “armchair” anthropology of Tylor and Frazer, or the reductionist theories of Marx and Freud.
Blavatsky's conception of the “gnostics” as the forerunners of “esotericism” was continued, consciously or unconsciously, by later occultists, despite post-Nag Hammadi scholarship seemingly having undermined most of Blavatsky's assumptions, demonstrating, for example, a Jewish or Hellenistic origin for "gnosticism", rather than an Eastern one (Williams 2003, 231-3; Robinson 1977, 6-7). Surprisingly, however, this connection continues to be made by scholars (von Stuckrad 2005; van den Broek 1998; Hanegraaff 1995). Merkur has produced the most complete genealogical study of this conception of “gnosis” (1993). However, these accounts avoid the issue of “gnosticism” per se, and concentrate upon “gnosis”, which they conceive of as a perennial tradition and a feature of the “esoteric” field (Hanegraaff & van der Broek 1998).
The field of “esoteric” studies has developed rapidly over recent years, and while no definition of “esotericism” is universally accepted, the most influential is that of Faivre (1998). He defined Western “esotericism” as a “pattern of thought”, consisting of four essential elements, and two additional contingent factors. These are, 1) the belief that a vast complex of correspondences underpin reality, 2) belief that all life constitutes a single organism, 3) belief that the imagination can through ritual, meditation or symbolism access extra-mundane levels of being, and 4) that individuals, as well as nature as a whole, can undergo ontological transformations, or “gnosis” (1998, 119-20).[5]
Points 1) and 2) conceive of “esotericism” as possessing of a holistic view of the cosmos, in which networks of correspondences link all existence into one great being. Hanegraaff agrees, writing that “esotericism is a product of the ‘discovery of nature’, and has, from the very beginning, displayed a strong interest in understanding the secrets of the natural world” (Hanegraaff 1996, 387-8). Van den Broek states, “nowhere in the Hermetic texts do we find the idea that the cosmos is bad, or that it had been created by an evil demiurge. On the contrary, the cosmos is God's beautiful creation” (1998, 10).
Yet as we shall see, most etic conceptions of “gnosticism” are “anticosmic”: physical existence is understood as malevolent, or at least intrinsically flawed. This is not to say that “gnosticism” cannot therefore be considered part of the “esoteric” tradition; rather, it suggests that “esoteric” and “anticosmic” conceptions should be considered incompatible.
The degree to which there is agreement between “gnosticism” and “esotericism” on point three is less clear. Although the classical sources are concerned with extra-mundane levels of being, there is little concern with such explorations in a contemporary context. A dualistic cosmology may represent extra-mundane levels of being, although it is qualitatively different in postulating only one extra-mundane level of being. “Gnosis”, as discussed below, is usually conceived of as a single, transformational event, not something that can be accessed deliberately and repeatedly through ritual. Furthermore, I would question the degree to which extra-mundane levels of being can be considered exclusive to “esotericism”; almost every religious system involves some kind of extra-mundane reality, be that spirit-world, afterlife or heavenly realm. The fourth point, however, is where “gnosticism” and “esotericism” do intersect: “gnosis”, a supra-rational knowledge that causes ontological change. We shall return to this point later in the chapter.
“Gnosticism” as Existentialism
The German philosopher Martin Heidegger is a towering figure in 20th century philosophy. His early work, particularly Being and Time (1927), challenged what he understood to be the overriding track of Western philosophy from Aristotle to contemporary Christian orthodoxy: the idea that Mankind occupied an identifiable place within a meaningful universe (Levy 2002, 13).
Hans Jonas was a student of both Heidegger and biblical scholar Rudolf Bultmann. When Bultmann suggested that the classical “gnostic” texts might prove fertile ground for his doctoral thesis, Jonas found in them much in common in the anti-cosmic philosophy of his doctorvater Heidegger (1963, 334). Pursuing the parallels, Jonas began to conceive of “gnosticism” as a sort of spiritual existentialism, “the original form in which the rational intelligibility of the cosmos was... first radically challenged” (Levy 2002, 16). For Jonas, “gnostics” are fundamentally alienated, alone and acutely aware of the gulf between their individual existence and the rest of the universe. They seek to bridge this gulf, to reconnect their individual being with that of the true God, or in existential terms, to “exist authentically” (Ibid, 330). Contemporary existentialism was, for Jonas, simply an expression of this perennial anticosmic “gnosticism”. Anticosmic (or anti-cosmic) has been in common usage as a descriptor amongst scholars of “gnosticism” since Jonas (Williams 1993, 96-115; Filoramo 1990, 55; Rudolph 1987, 60). As Van den Broek succinctly puts it, anticosmism is the belief that “the cosmos is the bad product of an evil creator” (1998, 9). It is frequently accompanied by descriptions of material reality in terms of “falseness” (see the quote from Lindsay (1992 [1920]) above).
Jonas is aware that his anticosmic “gnosticism” challenges the classical Greek weltanschauung to a greater degree than Christian orthodoxy. Christian thought and Jonas’ “gnosticism” can be understood as parallel up to a point, inasmuch as both seek to explain why mundane existence is all pain and unreason. Christianity explains this as being a result of human imperfection and sin, while anticosmic “gnosticism” posits some cosmic catastrophe that split the universe which humans inhabit off from the rest of creation (Levy 2002, 21-23). The Greek mind, however, conceived of the universe as “cosmos” – literally, “order” – and imbued it with religious dignity. The cosmos was the exemplar of order, and thus of beauty and of the ethical principle, a very different cosmology from that of Jonas' flawed or malign creation (2002, 19-21).
“Gnosis”, while present in Jonas’ examination of classical “gnosticism”, all but disappears when he turns to arguing for his existential contemporary “gnosticism”. In failing to address the experiential aspect of “gnosis” itself, I feel, his conception of contemporary “gnosticism” is incomplete.
“Gnosis” as Reintegration
Carl Gustav Jung's understanding of “gnosticism” can also be considered existential, although fundamentally, he interpreted “gnosticism” as he interpreted everything: psychologically. For Jung, “gnostics” seek to rediscover the self through the reunification of the ego and the unconscious, the process he called individuation (Segal 1987, 301).
While writing a commentary on a 10th Century Chinese alchemical text, Jung became convinced of the existence of a spiritual tradition that ran from ancient times to the modern age (Ibid, 283). Alchemy was the link between his analytical psychology and the “gnostics”, the ancient forebears of a tradition of expressing psychological narratives through symbolism (Ibid, 287). “Gnostics”, he wrote, were “beyond a doubt… nothing other than psychologists” (quoted in Segal 1987, 303).
Moreover, Jung was attracted to “gnosticism” because it fitted neatly into his model of the history of the psyche. The history of the development of human consciousness is a process of increasing awareness of the “self” as object, separate from the rest of the world, and from the unconscious of the subject from which it emerges. He divided this development into four stages, which also represent four psychological types: primitive, ancient, modern and contemporary. The conscious mind is not differentiated from the unconscious of the primitive, and thus they do not differentiate their unconscious from the physical world. The unconscious is instead encountered as personalities at work within the world - gods - but as the primitive does not perceive any subjective “self”, they identify with both those projected gods, and the other physical beings they encounter, like an infant or herd animal. Ancients have more sense of “self”, yet still project the unconsciousness onto the world in the form of gods. The difference is that they no longer identify with those gods. Ancient man means religious man, and includes the societies of the Greeks, Romans, Jews and Christians. Moderns possess a fully developed ego, and reject the subconscious as non-rational. This type considers themselves entirely rational, rejects religion as pre scientific, and identifies solely with the ego, completely separate from the world. Finally, contemporaries also reject religion, yet are aware of their non-rational, unconscious side. Seeking the fulfilment that religion once provided, they seek non-projective expressions for the unconscious to replace the projective ones inherited from it (Segal 1987, 304-8).
Jung considered most people of the 20th century to be moderns, who by repressing the non-rational, experience their unconscious as neurosis as it bursts into consciousness unannounced. A minority of contemporaries, however, accept the non-rational despite lacking ways to express it, and so experience not neuroses, but malaise (Segal 1992, 15-7). Jung saw classical “gnostics” as the counterparts of these present-day contemporaries, seeking to overcome their sense of alienation (Segal 1987, 308). “Gnosticism” then, for Jung, becomes one version of the ubiquitous phenomenon of awareness of alienation from one's unconscious.
Segal, probably the leading authority on Jung's interpretation of “gnosticism”, believes that he misconstrues it, and I agree. Jung equates the divine with the unconscious, and matter with the conscious ego (Segal 1987, 317-8). Jungian therapy aims to elevate the unconscious into the conscious mind, to balance the two, for the individual to become more whole (Ibid, 314-5). Yet the goal of the “gnostic” as put forth in the classical texts is not to unite the divine and the material world, but to identify entirely with the divine, rejecting the material completely. So the aim of the “gnostic”, given Jung's schema, is not integrated wholeness, but a rejection of the ego and a return to undifferentiated unconsciousness. This would be, in fact, a more unbalanced psychological state than to begin with, and the individual would not risk malaise, but psychosis (Ibid, 314).
Nevertheless, Jung's psychologised misrepresentation of “gnosticism” has had enormous influence on subsequent scholarly and popular usage of the term. Its influence can be seen in the Messina Congress definition, which refers to the “divine spark” in an individual “needing to be awakened by the divine counterpart of the self in order to be finally reintegrated” (Williams 1996, 27). Quispel, who was present at the conference, went on to be the most prominent scholarly promoter of Jung’s conception of “gnosticism” (1988).
“Gnosticism” as dualism
Statements that “Gnosticism” embodies some sort of dualism or other are de rigour in the “family resemblance” types of definitions discussed above. Pearson identifies two dualities: that of the the supra-rational true God and the demiurge, or creator god, usually identified with Jehovah; and of the base material bodily human being, and the divine spark within them (2007, 12-13). Markschies refers only to “a tendency towards dualism in different types which can express itself in the concept of God, in the opposition of spirit and matter, and in anthropology” (2003, 17).
Such a statement is problematic in an academic work because of its off-hand lack of definition. More generally problematic, however, is the assumption that dualism is an intrinsic defining feature of “gnosticism” more so than any other religious system. Why is the duality between god and demiurge, for example, seen as more of a defining feature than that between the Christian God and devil, or Heaven and Earth? The cosmos - as perceived by human beings, at least - is riddled with potential dualisms; up/down, hot/cold, body/mind, right/wrong, thinking/feeling, ad infinitum. Perhaps, as beings mirrored down one axis, it is human nature to understand the world dualistically; this, however, is a point for cognitive scientists to pursue.
I suggest that this insistence upon seeing “gnosticism” as inherently dualistic may be due to the tradition of including Manicheism in the catalogue of groups that scholars broadly consider “gnostic” (e.g. Pearson 2007; Markschies 2003; Rudolph 1987). Yet Manicheism differs widely from classical “gnosticism”, in that it was a formalised religious system, composed by one individual, and which existed in a specific place and time, and while it draws from some “gnostic” texts, it draws as much from Zoroastrian and other traditions (Williams 1996, 94).
Culiano, noting wisely that “covert assumptions are prior and hierarchically superior to overt ones”, suggests that the covert aim of the German school of history of religion was to demonstrate an Eastern - or Aryan - origin for Western institutions and ideas (1992, 52-3). Iranian Zoroastrianism was posited as the source of “gnosticism”, and thus the dualism of that system was perceived in the writings of the classical “gnostics”, and this connection still lingers today. He does not suggest that any of the scholars discussed here (Bultmann and Jonas are named specifically) shared völkische views, but it is certainly true that these assumptions were the received wisdom of the institutions and individuals from whom they gained their academic training[6].
Culiano's own The Tree of Gnosis (1992) represents the strongest attempt to understand “gnosticism” dualistically. He presents a taxonomy of religious dualism, organised according to two criteria: 1), the degree to which the universe can be considered good or intelligent, and 2) the degree of commensurability between the universe and human beings (Op. cit., xv). Christianity, Judaism and Platonism affirm both criteria, he argues, Manicheism affirms the first but denies the second, while “Gnosticism” denies both. This is basically to say that what distinguishes “Gnostic” dualism from that of other religious systems is its anticosmism (1998, 60).[7] Not dualism per se, then, but one particular type of dualism. What is uniquely “gnostic”, Couliano contends, is the equation of “matter” with “evil”; thus “gnostic” dualism is anticosmic.
Dualistic and existential conceptions of “gnosticism”, then, are fundamentally interrelated. Indeed, Jonas wrote of “gnosticism” as a “radical dualism that governs the relation of God and the world, and correspondingly that of man and world” (1963, 42). Jung, too, refers to this “the belief in a radical dualism in man, the cosmos, and god; the primordial unity of all immateriality; the yearning to restore that unity” (Segal 1987, 309).
“Gnosticism” as “Gnosis”
The English word “gnosis” is derived from the Greek γνώσεως, usually translated as “knowledge”. This translation is inexact, however; γνώσεως refers to a particular type of knowledge which is experiential, rather than theoretical. Theoretical knowledge is signified in Greek by ἐπιστήμη, the root of the English “epistemological”. Unlike “gnosticism”, “gnosis” was employed by the heresiologists and probably even some of the classical “gnostic” groups (Williams 1993, 33), as well as many early Christians and Platonists (Merkur 1993, 112-3). By the mid-19th century, “gnosis” had taken on a distinctly theological meaning, conceived of as direct, personal knowledge of the divine. This knowledge is transformative and salvational:
The pneuma is thus immersed in soul and flesh is unconscious of itself, benumbed, asleep or intoxicated by the poison of the world; in brief, it is ‘ignorant’. Its awakening and liberation is effected through ‘knowledge’. (Jonas 1963, 44)
The definition of “gnosis” presented by the Messina congress also concerned knowledge, specifically “knowledge of divine mysteries for an elite” (Markschies 2003, 13). This definition is unsatisfactory for three reasons. Firstly, it is tautological: the knowledge is defined as that possessed by an elite, yet that elite are defined by possession of that same knowledge. Secondly, it is so vague and broad that it could conceivably include any religious form that involves the revelation of “divine mysteries”, from Roman Mithraism to Siberian shamanism. Thirdly, it fails to place sufficient emphasis on the centrality of experiential, rather than epistemological, knowledge.
A useful approach might therefore be to seek to locate “gnosis” within a typology of mystical experiences. Merkur draws an enlightening distinction between visions and unitive experiences. He proposes a scale running from secular, “intrapsychic” visions at one end, such as daydreams or drug-induced hallucinations where the visionary is aware that what they are seeing is no more than the contents of their imagination, through the visions of shamans or Christian mystics which in so much as they refer to a collective symbolic language are taken as possessing some kind of objective reality. At the far end of this scale are unitive experiences, where the visionary experiences identification with the vision, which is therefore understood as transcendent reality (1993, 14-20).
Merkur goes on to describe three varieties of unitive experience. Firstly, “introspective” union is typified by a serene sense of timeless and boundless oneness. Subject/object distinctions disappear, and as such, this type of unitive experience is familiar from Buddhist teachings, the dissolution of the individual into Atman. Secondly, “extrovertive” union is typified by a transformation of the perceptible world. In these types of experience, divinity is discovered to be in all things, and that all things are somehow spiritually one; we might expect to find this type of experience in an “holistic” weltanschauung. Thirdly, “communion” is identified by an individual bonding with the divine. The individual alone, not everyone, is united with the divine, but there is no loss of individual identity. Merkur proposes that this specific type of mystical experience, “communion”, is identical to “gnosis”. Interestingly, given his comments, quoted earlier, about the Messina definitions ignoring a long tradition of use of the term “gnosis”, “communion” is employed by Gershom Scholem to describe Jewish kabbalists' state of devekut (Merkur 1993, 16-7). This is a worthwhile attempt at a substantive definition of “gnosis”; however, our case studies will demonstrate some doubt as to its applicability, as the descriptions of contemporary “gnostics” do not always match Merkur’s definition.
Hanegraaff suggests an alternative conceptualisation of “gnosis”: as one of three “theoretically conceivable avenues to the attainment of truth”, and thus as a third component in European cultural history (1996, 519). It is a kind of truth that comes through personal, inner revelation, not through faith or through the laws of scientific rationalism.
|Reason |Faith |Gnosis |
|Truth through rational and sensory | |Truth through inner personal revelation. |
|faculties of humans. Accessible and |Truth revealed from transcendental sphere.|Not generally accessible. Ultimate |
|discussable by all. |Accessible but requires belief. Ultimate |authority lies with inner experience. |
| |authority lies with a God, mediated | |
| |through institutions. | |
These are intended as heuristic ideal types, Hanegraaff stresses, rather than historical movements, yet in conceiving of “gnosis” as a marginalised third current in a Western culture otherwise dominated by Faith and Reason, Hanegraaff is seeking to validate “esotericism” as being a suppressed but equal partner. However, it is probably incorrect to strictly separate “esotericism” from faith-based religion, and indeed there is a long history of “esotericism” understanding itself as “true” Christianity (von Stuckrad 2005, 83). All three of these concepts make claims of “higher knowledge”; what separates them is not the nature of that knowledge itself, but its accessibility and how it is validated.
Conclusions
The survey of scholarly conceptions of contemporary “gnosticism” contained in this chapter has demonstrated that, despite apparent diversity, close examination reveals that two basic understandings of the category may be discerned. The existential and dualistic conceptions encountered most frequently posit an anticosmic contemporary “gnosticism”, where the material world, and the relationship of the individual to it, are viewed in negative terms. This is very much in keeping with scholarly conceptions of classical “gnosticism”. In a smaller number of conceptions, however, contemporary “gnosticism” is equated with “esotericism”, and in these cases the material world is understood in generally positive terms. The simple fact of the mutual incompatibility of these conceptions suggests the need for a redescription of contemporary “gnosticism”, and following the methodology laid out in the preceding chapter, I suggest that this is most profitably based upon the accounts of practitioners. The chapter which follows pursues such an agenda.
A comparison of these emic conceptualisations to those encountered in etic self-representations reveals that anticosmic conceptions seem to be largely unrepresentative of emic accounts. Contemporary “gnostic” groups share a weltanschauung in which the material world is understood in positive terms, which I shall refer to as procosmic. Rather than world-denying, these groups are, in fact, thoroughly materialist, as will be demonstrated in our case studies: anticosmic metaphysics are reduced to psychological metaphors (Eclessia Gnostica, chapter 4), scientific validity is sought (Ecclesia Gnostica Catholica, chapter 5) and the body is sacralised through the use of sex magic (Universal Christian Gnostic Movement, chapter 6).
The majority of both procosmic and anticosmic etic definitions place “gnosis” at the core of “gnosticism”. It remains unclear, however, what exactly is being signified by “gnosis”: integrated wholeness of the psyche (Jung), a particular type of mystical experience (Merkur), or a type of truth claim (Hanegraaff). In the following chapter, it will be shown that emic self-definitions also stress the importance of “gnosis”, yet in other respects differ greatly from traditional academic conceptions.
14 3
15 Emics: The Discursive Field of Contemporary
16 “Gnosticism”
“a definition of Gnosticism in terms of a matter-rejecting dualism results in a different history than a definition in terms of visionary practices. If we follow the trail of dualism, we perpetuate the skewed perspective of Christian heresiology.”
(Merkur 1993, 114).
Our analysis of scholarship on contemporary “gnosticism” contained in the preceding chapter demonstrated that etic conceptions broadly favour dualistic/existential anticosmic formulations. There has also been a tendency to see “gnosticism” as part of a broader “esoteric” current, which has recently led to attempts to define “gnosis” substantively (Merkur 1993; Hanegraaff 1994). This chapter, however, seeks to demonstrate that scholarship has largely misconstrued contemporary “gnosticism”. Through an analysis of the conceptualisations of practitioners, it is seen that emic accounts favour “procosmic” conceptualisations that understand the cosmos in positive terms. Strong stress is laid upon individual experience, and there is a general tendency to understand “gnosis” in psychologised, Jungian terms. In other words, the etics of contemporary “gnosticism” presented by scholars are largely “false etics”, and do not in fact adequately represent the phenomena encountered in the field. This chapter argues that, by returning to emic conceptualisations, we can reformulate the category of contemporary “gnosticism” free from much of the conceptual fog that has surrounded it.
An Overview of Contemporary “Gnostic” Groups
This section is intended to give the reader an overview of the “gnostic” groups operational in the contemporary religious field. This overview will be briefer than that of the preceding chapter covering academic definitions, as will the discussion of emic conceptualisations of “gnosticism” that follows it. Its purpose is to point out the major differences between etic and emic conceptualisations; the details of these emic accounts are presented more fully in the case-studies presented in chapters 4 to 6.
One major section of contemporary “gnostic” groups are “gnostic” churches, sometimes referring to themselves as the “Gnostic Sacramental Movement” (Stratford 1997; Hoeller 1989a). They are most populous in the US and Canada, with a token presence in Europe and Australasia (see Figure 1), and include the Apostolic Johannite Church (hereafter AJC), Ecclesia Gnostica, Ecclesia Gnostica Mysteriorum and a large number of smaller organisations. Many of these “gnostic” churches are represented by the North American College of Gnostic Bishops, a body founded by the AJC specifically to create a unified presence for the “Apostolic Gnostic movement”, and who sent representatives to the 2009 Parliament of World Religions.[8] As the name suggests, these “gnostic” churches are ostensibly Christian bodies, and although they differ in their adherence to mainstream Christian dogma, all model their ecclesiastical structure and ritual practises on Roman Catholicism, and claim legitimate apostolic succession (examined in chapter 4).[9] Although they tend to downplay the connection, a large number also have close links with the Theosophical Society.
[pic]
Figure 1 - Map of Gnostic Churches in North America[10].
Typically, these groups conceive of “gnosis” as direct religious experience, and the personal quest for said experience as being the true form of Christianity, long since suppressed by the Roman Catholic Church. Thus, they share the critique that mainstream Christianity has become over-reliant upon “faith” and the institutional validation thereof.
Other contemporary “gnostic” groups are generally considered as part of the broader “esoteric” field. The Ecclesia Catholica Gnostica [hereafter ECG] has its roots in the French “gnostic” churches and German sex magic group Ordo Templi Orientis [hereafter OTO], but is today devoted to Aleister Crowley's Law of Thelema. Chapter 6 presents an examination of their history and conception of “gnosticism”. Also figuring predominantly amongst these groups are the Universal Christian Gnostic Movement and its related organisations, which follow the ideas of Samael Aun Weor, and can perhaps claim several million members in Latin America, the US, Japan and other countries (Smith 1995, 210). Master Samael's "gnostic philosophy" is remarkable in that teaches a doctrine of seminal retention (ibid, 212). This group is examined in detail in chapter 7.
However, despite the fin de seiclé “esoteric” teachings of these groups, both place them in a liturgical context that borrows heavily from Roman Catholicism. Indeed, this is the most immediately striking similarity between these groups and the “gnostic” churches discussed above. All of the groups mentioned in this chapter have Bishops and perform Mass, and all call themselves a church (eclessia, igreja). As already noted, the “gnostic” churches also have strong connections to fin de seiclé “esotericism”, and this ambivalence between “esoteric” and Christian traditions forms one of the major discourses within the field of contemporary “gnosticism”. It is more fully discussed in chapter 5.
The major difference between these “esoteric” groups and the gnostic “churches” lies in the connections to sexual magic, directly in the case of the Aun Weor groups, and for the EGC indirectly through the OTO. When I refer to sexual magic, I am not employing the term in its popular and loose sense of sexual intercourse being viewed as a sacred or spiritual act (Ibid, 3); rather, I use it specifically to refer to the use of sexual acts as a means of producing magical results. I do not wish to step into the considerable debate about the definition of “magic” at this point (see Hanegraaff 2006 for an overview). Rather, I shall employ my own simple working definition of magic as a set of posited techniques for producing effects in the material world by means which do not possess scientific validity. Although there is a long history of the connection of sex and the occult (for example, in the witch hunts of medieval Europe), an organised system of sexual magic first emerged with the American Spiritualist Paschal Beverly Randolph in the mid-19th century[11], later being considerably elaborated upon by his European followers such as Aleister Crowley. The central idea is that at the moment of orgasm, the individual is at their greatest degree of openness and connection to the “divine”, and therefore at their most magically powerful (J. Pearson 2007, 78). As shall be seen in chapters 5 and 6, the sexual acts employed vary widely, as do their aims: Aun Weor’s followers practise seminal retention in order to achieve union with the absolute, whereas Crowley’s followers employ a wide range of heterosexual, homosexual and masturbatory acts towards the apotheosis of the individual will.
However, I here wish to clarify that, despite the frequency with which it is referred to in this study, I do not consider sexual magic to be a central issue in contemporary “gnosticism”. Indeed, it is largely confined to two of the groups considered in my case-studies, which were selected according to other criteria, and thus this thesis risks amplifying the role of sexual magic in contemporary “gnosticism”. Nevertheless, it is important to my argument, as it represents an example of how contemporary “gnosticism” is both procosmic and materialist. This will be discussed fully in chapter 6.
Procosmic “Gnosticism”
Emic 20th century “gnosticism” is predominantly procosmic, that is to say, it affirms, rather than deny, material reality. Procosmic has less of a history of scholarly use than anticosmic, having originated relatively recently with more nuanced, post-Nag Hammadi debates on the origins and doctrines of “gnosticism”. It is most frequently employed as a term to differentiate “gnosticism” from the procosmic mainstream Abrahamic religions (Bianchi 2009, 47; Culianu 1992). Recently, though, the term has gained currency as challenges to the anticosmic conception of “gnosticism” have gained ground (Pearson 1984, 70; Rudolph 1987, 60). This thesis perhaps applies them more strongly than other scholars have tended to, as the polarity between anticosmic academic conceptions and the procosmic conceptions of practitioners is central to my argument.
A few examples will demonstrate that most contemporary “gnostics” are keen to disavow the anticosmism of most scholarly conceptions. The web pages of the Ecclesia Gnostica Mysteriorum declare: “We enjoy life and all it has to offer... We rejoice in nature... These Gnostics are not pessimistic, but see life as a great adventure.”[12]
The Apostolic Johannite Church present a similar appreciation for the natural world, arguing that the “gnostic” is not opposed to the natural world, but rather the world of human systems:
“The system is not the world; the daily waking reality of economics and politics and bureaucracy, of cruelty and injustice, was not created by the Divine, but by the forces of ignorance and greed. We don't reject rocks and trees and flowers and sex, we reject an unjust system imposed upon these things. This system forces us to feel separated from God, when the reality is that this separation is just an illusion. The system doesn't like to be understood in this way; it thinks it should be in charge, and our divinity and our humanity should take a back seat to "the way of the world". In this way the system is adversarial to the Gnostic. We see others "worshipping" this system, as though it were the true God.” [13]
Similarly, Stephan Hoeller of the Ecclesia Gnostica argues that the Greek κοςμοσ is better translated as “systems”, as opposed to γἠ (gaia) which signified the planet Earth, and which the “gnostics” regarded as “neutral, if not outright good” (1982, 15). To achieve “gnosis”, he writes, “we must disentangle ourselves from the false cosmos created by our conditioned minds” (1982, 15):
To state that Gnosticism is anticosmic... is a gross oversimplification. What the Gnostic struggles against is not so much the cosmos as the alienation of consciousness from the ultimate reality underlying the cosmos, which in monotheistic language is called 'God'. (2002, 16)
As we saw in chapter 2, this is a position that many scholars would disagree with; however, it tallies well with the procosmic weltanschauung of contemporary “gnosticism” as outlined in chapter 3.
Although the EGC rejection of anticosmism is not explicit as is the EG's, this is largely because their conception of “gnosticism” is largely of a pre-Nag Hammadi form, and does not concern itself with the classical texts nor contemporary scholarship. However, its strong identification of “gnosticism” with “esoteric” traditions, which as we saw in chapter 2 are by their nature “procosmic”, is a tacit rejection of anticosmic conceptions of “gnosticism”.
“Gnosis” Revisited
In the preceding chapter, we noted the prominence of “gnosis” in etic conceptualisations of contemporary “gnosticism”. Merkur attempted to define it substantially as unitive mystical experience (1993); Hanegraaff et al conceptualised “gnosis” as a third type of knowledge claim in Western culture, based on experience rather than faith or reason. “Gnosis” is also central to emic definitions, though as we shall see here, these understandings do not tend to fit well with either Merkur or Hanegraaff’s models.
Many contemporary accounts of "gnostic" experiences describe the experience in terms of information. To Stephan Hoeller, presiding Bishop of the Ecclesia Gnostica, "gnosis" is not rational knowledge, but "knowledge that arises in the heart in an intuitive and mysterious manner" (1983, 202). Similarly, for Jordan Stratford of the Apostolic Johannite Church, “gnosis” is “a specific kind of intimate knowledge, the way lovers know one another... gnosis is deep understanding of the Divine and our relationship to it... quite simply, gnosis is insight.”[14]
For all that it is said to arrive, as it were, "out of the blue", "gnosis" may not be entirely unbidden. In most cases, the aspirant will have placed themselves in a context where such transmissions happen, and indeed, are sought. For example, underground cartoonist Robert Crumb, who has himself "come out" as a "gnostic" during the writing of this thesis, does not claim to have had any "gnostic" experience. Rather, he stresses his belief "in the existence of some higher, greater force behind our universe, but I don't presume to fully understand what that force is, or how it works. But I want to know. I want unity with that force. I seek knowledge of that greater being."[15] For me, this challenges Hanegraaff's proposal of "gnosis" as separate from both "faith" and "reason". What is Crumb's statement other than a statement of faith in something he has not himself experienced? Similarly, Hoeller describes "gnosticism" as "the conviction that direct personal and absolute knowledge of the authentic truths of existence are accessible to human beings" (Smith 1995, 207; emphasis mine).
In other cases, “gnosis” is described in terms which suggest the influence of Eastern philosophies. Rosamonde Miller of the Ecclesia Gnostica Mysterium describes experiencing "gnosis" after being imprisoned and brutally raped. "Gnosis", for her, came after hearing one of her attackers speaking fondly about giving a puppy to his young daughter, and the realisation that all human beings were an admixture of the spiritual and the animalistic. In fact, for Miller, "gnosis" is something that she had always possessed, but was unaware of until it disappeared during her incarceration (1995, 199). This interpretation, somewhat reminiscent of Buddhist teachings, continues when she describes "stages of gnosis" culminating in the dissolution of the individual into a "numinous Presence", and finally a return to day-to-day existence carrying that presence with them, "poised between two worlds, the physical and the Eternal" (1995, 201-2). Dawson similarly suggests the influence of Buddhist or Vedic traditions in Weor’s system, as the end result of his system of sexual magic is also described as “ego-death” (Dawson 2007, 59).
It seems, then, that as with "gnosticism", multiple authorities are presenting competing understandings of “gnosis”. These understandings do not, furthermore, agree with the substantive definitions presented by Hanegraaff and Merkur. Galbreath, in noting the essential ambiguity of the experiential category “gnosis”, suggests that it is not so much a type of knowledge, but a “metaphor of the contingent human condition” (1981, 36). This thesis suggests, therefore, that “gnosis” should be understood not as a particular type of experience, but rather, how that experience is validated.
Comparison of etic and emic conceptualisations
Academic conceptions strongly favour definitions that combine “gnosis” with an existentialist/dualistic anticosmic weltanschauung, as put forward by Jonas, Jung and others. This high instance of anticosmic definitions is very much in keeping with scholarly conceptions of classical “gnosticism”; consider William's proposed alternative category, “biblical demiurgical traditions” (1993, 51-3). A second approach is to subsume “gnosticism” within “esoteric” traditions, as pursued by Hanegraaff, Merkur et al. As we have seen, these approaches seem mutually exclusive through their positive and negative conceptions of material reality.
The problem, however, is that these anticosmic definitions do not accurately describe the phenomena encountered in the contemporary field. The definitions of practitioners overwhelmingly favour a procosmic weltanschauung. Although there are differences in the degree to which contemporary “gnostic” groups consider themselves Christian bodies, both share a critique of the institutionalised, faith-based authority of mainstream Christian churches.
Anticosmic contemporary “gnosticism”, then, turns out to be something of a “red herring”, at least within the religious field. Indeed, many of those scholars representing anticosmic conceptions do not restrict their conceptualisations to the religious field. For Jonas, modern “gnosticism” is largely a philosophical position; for Jung, psychological; for Voegelin, socio-political. Furthermore, many of the popular works frequently cited as “gnostic” (e.g. The Matrix, Voyage to Arcturus, or almost any of the works of Philip K. Dick) express this idea of what is apparently reality being in fact false. This possibility of an anticosmic secular contemporary “gnosticism” is intriguing, and is an idea to which I intend to return; this thesis, however, shall remain within the religious sphere.
Why, then, do anticosmic definitions remain so widespread in contemporary scholarship? To a large degree, this is due to the Messina Congress’s ring-fencing of the terms. Gershom Scholem accused the Congress of entirely excluding from scholarship a tradition which employed the terms “gnostic” and “gnosticism” differently (1987, 21, n. 24). Merkur agrees:
If we follow the trail of dualism, we perpetuate the skewed perspective of Christian heresiology... If we instead trace the aspects of Gnosticism that were most important not to Christian heresy-hunters but to the history of religion in the West, we may ignore the rejection of matter as an occasional extravagance. (Merkur 1993, 114)
There is furthermore the possibility of an implicit Christian bias. Merkur suggests that for Christian scholars, the rejection of Jehovah, and in some cases, Jesus, was the most appalling aspect of “gnosticism”, and thus was given undue centrality (1993, 112). However, our analysis of the data above reveals that few of the etic definitions discussed above conceive of heresy as central to “gnosticism”.
Moreover, we simply cannot ignore that Nag Hammadi was discovered a mere six months after the liberation of the Nazi concentration camps. Consider Birger Pearson's interpretation of the Nag Hammadi text Testimony of Truth:
One can hear in this text echoes of existential despair arising in circles of the people of the Covenant faced a crisis of history, with the apparent failure of the God of history: 'What kind of God is this?' (48:1); 'These things he has said (and done, failed to do) to those he believe in him and serve him!' (48, 13ff.). Such expressions are not without parallels in our own generation of history 'after Auschwitz'. (1990 , 93. Emphasis mine.)
Williams is absolutely correct when he points out that any reference to historicity in the passage itself is due to Birger's own added parentheses: “(and done, failed to do)” (1996, 78). Yet I cannot agree with Merkur when he writes that for Jewish scholars such as Jonas, this rejection of Jehovah may even have been understood as doctrinal anti-Semitism (1993, 112). It seems exceedingly unlikely that under such circumstances, a group of prominent European and predominantly Christian or Jewish scholars would adopt a definition which painted an (as was thought then) early Christian group anti-Semitic. Rather, I support Junginger’s suggestion that the failure of the Nazi ideology led to a resurgence of Christianity in the political and academic fields in Germany in the post-war years, as many of those who had supported paganism and the Nazi Party were removed from their posts (2008, 4).
The Discursive Field of Contemporary “Gnosticism”
Emic 20th century “gnosticism”, then, is predominantly procosmic, that is to say, it affirms, rather than deny, material reality. These groups have a tendency to interpret demiurgical doctrines psychologically, following the pattern established by Jung and Quispel, as outlined in the previous chapter. “Gnosis” is conceived of as being the perennial central truth of religion, a truth that has been marginalised or suppressed by mainstream religious traditions: individual, direct religious experience. But within these common parameters, contemporary procosmic “gnosticism” forms a discursive field in which a number of different positions can be pointed to. The discourses are, on the one hand, between ostensibly Christian and ostensibly “esoteric” understandings of the category, and between institutional and individual authorities on the other.
The second part of the thesis seeks to elaborate upon this analytical model of the discursive field of contemporary “gnosticism” through three case studies. Chapter 4 examines the Ecclesia Gnostica, representing the sacramental “gnostic” movement at the most overtly Christian location in the field. Chapter 5 and 6 consider more “esoteric” formations, the Ecclesia Gnostica Catholica and the groups following the teachings of Samael Aun Weor respectively. These groups exemplify the motifs outlined above: the setting of “esoteric” teachings within a Roman Catholic liturgical setting, the influence of Jung’s psychological conception, and the tension between institutional and individual authorities.
Due to word-count limitations, these case studies necessarily focus upon those aspects that are of greatest pertinence to my argument. They are structured so that each problematises one aspect of the issues of authority and power operational in the field. Chapter 4 considers the question of authority through the issue of “apostolic succession”; chapter 5 questions the problematic discourse between contemporary “gnostic” groups and Christianity; and chapter 6 examines the problematic discourse between individualism and institutionalism. In doing so, they serve to set up the concluding chapter, which suggests that contemporary “gnosticism” represents an example of “institutionalized individualism” in the contemporary religious field.
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19 Case Study: Ecclesia Gnostica – the Issue of Succession
“Hail, Sophia, filled with light, the Christ is with Thee. Blessed art thou among the Aeons, and blessed is the liberator of Thy light, Jesus. Holy Sophia, Mother of all gods, pray to the light for us, Thy children, now and in the hour of our death, Amen.”
(Hoeller, quoted in Hill 2005)
The Ecclesia Gnostica [hereafter EG], led by Bishop Stephan Hoeller, is based in Los Angeles, with parishes in Portland, Oregon, Salt Lake City, Utah, Seattle, Washington, and Oslo, Norway. As they require no initiation or formal membership, it is difficult to ascertain how many adherents the EG can claim, or how long or how deeply these attendees are involved with EG activities. Nevertheless, Hoeller himself has a high public profile, and his ideas reach a wider audience than just his parishioners; at time of writing, his book Gnosticism: New Light on the Ancient Tradition of Inner Knowing (2002) ranks at #10 for the category “gnosticism” on .[16]
Given the appeals to apostolic succession and Catholic sacramentalism, the EG appear to occupy a position at one extreme of the discursive field of contemporary “gnosticism”. Yet as we shall see, despite the Christian trappings, the EG have greater doctrinal similarity and historical connection to “esoteric” traditions, and the Theosophical Society in particular, than to Roman Catholicism. This case study suggests that, in fact, Hoeller’s appeals to apostolic succession are an attempt to establish authority to control the cultural capital of the discursive field of contemporary “gnosticism”. This is further demonstrated by his disagreements with other contemporary “gnostic” groups, and even with the man he received apostolic succession from.
Practices and Structure
Formed in 1977, the EG claims to be the oldest “gnostic” sacramental body in the US[17], a claim at odds with those of the Ecclesia Gnostica Catholica (see following chapter). Hoeller, its founder, is the presiding “regionary” bishop, and oversees the activities of the Los Angeles parish as well as the EG as a whole. Each parish has its own bishops, deacons and other minor orders, structurally modelled on Roman Catholicism, excepting that the offices are open to both men and women.
Hoeller was born in 1931 in Budapest, Hungary, but relocated in the US with his family in 1952 (Smith 1995, 206). He was raised a devout Catholic, and even studied for the priesthood in Rome itself (Hill 2005). He was also an initiated Freemason (Guffey 2003), a Theosophist, and had an active interest in Jung's psychological theories (Smith, op., cit.); thus, as we shall see, the concerns of the EG are already fully present in the interests of the young Hoeller. In Los Angeles, he joined Arthur Fronius’s discussion group, the Gnostic Society (Smith, op., cit.), and mixed with Liberal Catholics, a group who blended Theosophy with Roman Catholic sacramentalism, and from whom he received the priesthood in 1958 (Hill, op., cit.).
Now 78, Hoeller still presides over Mass most Sundays, and gives frequent lectures on subjects including Carl Jung, alchemy, ceremonial magic and tarot cards (Smith 1995, 207). The Gnostic Society, founded by James Morgan Pryse in 1928, is incorporated into the EG as a “lay organisation”, for the purpose of studying “gnosticism” and “esotericism” without religious beliefs or practices. For many years, the EG church was a small, low-ceilinged rectangular room behind a storefront on Hollywood Boulevard (Hill 2005). Following a fire in 2004, the EG moved to larger premises in the comparatively well-to-do Glendale Boulevard (Hill 2005).
The bulk of the EG’s sacramental activity consists of the Gnostic Mass, which in the Los Angeles parish is performed twice weekly,[18] with a typical congregation numbering around thirty (Hill 2005). The Mass is modelled closely on the Roman Catholic Mass, replete with incense, candles and vestments, but the text is adapted to suit Hoeller's particular conception of “gnosticism”. Despite these external similarities, however, their intention is rather different; they are understood as initiatory grades as encountered in Freemasonry and its offshoots (Hoeller 1989, 202-16; Smith 1995, 210). Indeed, Hoeller seems to conflate the terms “gnostic” and “occult” on occasion;
Why should occult or gnostic persons... practice the sacraments of the Roman Catholic Church? The answer is not difficult. Gnostic movements of various kinds that survived secretly in Europe were all originally part of the Roman Catholic Church. Although they differed with their relative and were frequently persecuted by her, they still regarded her as the model of ecclesiastical life. They may have considered the content of their religion as quite at variance with the teachings of Rome, but the form of their worship was still the one that ancient and universal Christendom had always practised. (Hoeller 1989b, 6)
I suggest that, rather than being a part of some “ancient and universal” tradition, the EG’s adoption of Roman Catholic sacramentalism actually represents an attempt to gain control of the capital of the field of contemporary “gnosticism”.
History
Hoeller's own account of the origins of the EG (1989a) is fundamentally an attempt to establish his own legitimacy as the authoritative voice of contemporary “gnosticism”. He seeks to do this through the issue of apostolic succession, the doctrine that sacramental and ecclesiastical authority is passed down in an unbroken lineage that originates in the original apostles, and thus ultimately conferred by Christ himself.
In 1724, an isolated group of Catholics in Utrecht in staunchly Calvinist Holland broke with Rome over the issue of Jansenism (a theological movement in which only certain individuals are predestined to be saved), and became known as the Dutch Old Catholic Church (Anson 1961, 29). This church, Catholic but independent from Rome, consecrated a number of episcopi vagantes, independent clergy who did not represent a diocese. It is from the lines founded by these “wandering bishops” that Hoeller claims apostolic succession (Hoeller 1989a).
His account makes a number of attempts to establish the position of the EG as the gathering together of these lines of succession. Firstly, he recounts the creation of the Liberal Catholic Church by senior Theosophist C. W. Leadbeater and James Wedgwood, scion of the Bone China family. Many Theosophists were attracted by ritual, with Annie Besant, for example, promoting Co-Masonry in the UK, but C. W. Leadbeater wanted to give ritual a more central role (Campbell 1980, 125), perhaps due to his having been an ordained Anglican priest (J. Pearson 2007, 33). Leadbetter had been impressed by Anna Kingsford's The Perfect Way (1882), which laid out a synthesis of Christianity and Theosophy; the Liberal Catholic Church was seen as a vehicle for this synthesis (Godwin 1994, 339-46). With the founding of this new order, Hoeller enthusiastically (and inaccurately) recounts, “was born a new occult mysticism that was to have influence and consequences far exceeding the numerical strength of the new church or even of its senior ally, the Theosophical Society” (1989a, 4).
His second appeal is an attempt to connect the EG to the French “Gnostic Revival” churches of the latter decades of the 19th and early 20th centuries (to which we shall return in the following chapter). He jumps from one to the other, distracting the reader from several problematic gaps in the account. Although his narrative suggests that the EG is descended from both the Liberal Catholic Church and the French “gnostic revival” churches, it is not. Nevertheless, the suggestion certainly encourages the impression that the EG has a long and distinguished line of descent, and hence a stronger claim to the cultural capital of the field.
The only line of apostolic succession to which the EG can rightfully lay claim comes through Richard Jean Chretien, Duc de Palatine, Australian wandering bishop and founder of the Pre-Nicene Gnostic Catholic Church (J. Pearson 2007, 34). A possible reason that Hoeller glosses over the details of this line of transmission is the bitter feud between himself and de Palatine, which lasted until de Palatine's death in 1977 (Smith 2005, 206). A stronger reason, however, is that de Palatine’s apostolic credentials are dubious in the extreme, a fact that weakens Hoeller's claim to apostolic succession, and therefore the authority of the EG as he understands it.[19]
In fact, Hoeller has far stronger connections to the Theosophical Society [hereafter TS] than to the Catholic Church. Hoeller's books are published by the Theosophical Publishing House through their Quest Books imprint (2002; 1989b; 1982), he frequently gives lectures to TS groups and is a regular contributor to their journal, American Theosophist (Smith 1995, 206). De Palatine was himself a Theosophist as well as an independent Bishop (Op. cit.). Although he describes the Theosophical Society as the end-point of what he calls the “pansophic tradition”, the purported line of transmission of “gnosticism” through “esoteric” teachings (1982, 31), his writings remain largely silent about his own connections to the TS. It seems that Hoeller is concerned that his portrayal of the EG as a legitimate Christian church might be weakened if his connections to the TS were more widely known.
Conception of “Gnosticism”
Despite this, Hoeller’s conception of “gnosticism” critiques a number of aspects of traditional, institutionalised religion, exemplified by Roman Catholicism. Firstly, he charges that traditional religious institutions cannot adequately provide the individual with direct religious experience. This was a a critique also levied by Jung (Reiff 1966), and as noted in chapter 3, Hoeller is deeply committed to Jung’s psychological conception of “gnosticism”, with two of his major works being concerned with his ideas (1982; 1989). He describes his first encounter with Jung's Septum Sermones ad Mortuos (written in 1916 but unpublished until 1961) as a life-changing moment:
Life was not, could not be the same after that magical moment...Like a volume of sacred scripture or a codex of transformative formulae of power, the transcribed words of the mysterious little book changed a life. The safe harbour of orthodoxy lost all its attractiveness, and with it the establishments of time-honoured belief and tradition. (1982, xxvii)
In this narrative, “gnostics” are “seers who brought forth original, primal creations from the mystery which he called the unconscious” (1982, 11); “gnosis” is an awareness of the indwelling god, identified with Jung's collective unconscious (Ibid, 118).
I critiqued Jung's conception of “gnosticism” in chapter 2: it is, as Segal argues, a misconstrual, deliberate or accidental, of the writings of the classical “gnostics” in order to create a narrative in which depth psychology is a perennial feature of marginal religious or spiritual systems. For Hoeller, however, Jung is one of two “modern reviver[s] of the Gnosticism of the first centuries of the Christian era” (1982, 22). The other, the attentive reader may have already guessed, is Blavatsky. These two approaches are, he argues,
both the expression at their particular levels of existential reality of a Gnosis, a knowledge of the heart directed towards the inmost core of the human psyche and having as its objective the essential transformation of the psyche. (1982, 33)
Jung made no claims for any external truth of “gnosticism”, locating it entirely within the psyche. Hoeller, however, claims that “gnostic” myths may be both internal and external, with both psychological and metaphysical interpretations which need not be considered mutually exclusive (2002, x). The complex cosmologies put forward by classical “gnostics” were not imaginary, but are “attempts to formulate, express, and shape the inexpressible”, an inexpressible that nevertheless is real (Op. Cit.). However, the uncertainty whether Hoeller’s interpretation should be understood literally or allegorically mirrors the uncertainty in Jung’s own writing regarding the collective unconsciousness; while sometimes presented as a culturally universal unconscious language of symbols, at other times it is presented as independent of human consciousness.
Another critique of mainstream Catholicism is for its perceived lack of tolerance. Unlike the patriarchal Roman Catholic church, which does not allow female clergy, women have a prominent position in the EG; Hill notes that some two-thirds of the congregation at a 2005 meeting are female (2005), and the priesthood is open equally to women and men. Hoeller claims that the feminine has also been suppressed doctrinally; the EG portray Sophia, prominent in classical “gnostic” texts, as the feminine aspect of god (2002, 37-53), and Mary Magdalene is similarly prominent in the church's liturgical calendar.[20] Hoeller frequently refers to Pagels' The Gnostic Gospels, which argues that the classical “gnostic” texts represent a suppressed form of Christianity with a greater role for women (Hoeller 2002, 225; 1981?; Pagels 1979).
Yet while Hoeller may be keen on promoting the feminine aspect of divinity, he rails against the adoption of Sophia by “feminists and feminist sympathisers”, insisting that the spiritual Sophia is quite unrelated to the “sexualised and politicised images of 'the goddess’” that appear in pagan and “New Age” sources (2002, 52-3). It seems therefore that Hoeller's reintroduction of these female figures into an otherwise more-or-less traditional Catholic liturgy represents another manifestation of his commitment to Jung; the balancing of the forces within a person (or in this case, a church), of male and female, conscious and unconscious, earthly and spiritual.
Relationship with other Gnostic groups
Hoeller is keen to portray the EG as central to a wider “gnostic revival” movement (2002, 178). His wide-ranging narrative of the origins of the EG is in part an attempt to create this impression. He claims to avoid making judgements about the validity of the claims of others to be “gnostics”: “such judgements”, he writes, “are made on the basis of orthodoxies that were never relevant to Gnostics or Gnosticism” (2002, 189). In fact, Hoeller has been very clear about those whose claims to be “gnostics” he disapproves of.
The EG claims a “state of concordat” with the Midwest Diocese of the Eglise Gnostique Catholique Apostolique, and has close ties to the Ecclesia Gnostica Mysteriorum of Rosamonde Miller, but of all other “gnostic” groups, Hoeller advises “all inquirers to subject them to thorough scrutiny before accepting their claims to being Gnostic.”[21]
This seemingly includes the North American College of Gnostic Bishops [hereafter NACGB], the body founded by the Appostolic Johannite Church [hereafter AJC] specifically to create a unified presence for the “Apostolic Gnostic movement”. The EG and the AJC have a great deal in common doctrinally, including claims of apostolic succession, strongly Catholic-styled liturgy and frequent appeal to the classical “gnostic” groups. Furthermore, the NACGB have considerable currency within the contemporary “gnostic” field, being the group representing “gnosticism” at the 2009 Parliament of World Religions. Yet they are completely absent from comment in Hoeller's output, to an extent which, given his desire to portray a broad “gnostic” revival, can only be deliberate.
An clearer example is a paper entitled Position Paper Concerning the Thelemite or Crowleyan Gnostic Churches, which was distributed to the EG's clergy in the early 1980s. In it, Hoeller writes:
we are also aware of our obligation to the specific Gnostic traditions of which we are the consecrated custodians. This makes it incumbent upon us to declare in clear and unambiguous terms where our practice and teaching differs from others who for reasons of their own have rightly or wrongly adopted the name “Gnostic” to describe their activities. While Gnosticism cannot be rigidly defined, this does not mean that everything is Gnosticism; neither does it mean that our Ecclesia ought to blandly and indifferently accede to every teaching and activity that adopts the Gnostic name. (1981?, in König 1998, 194)
Hoeller seems to be saying that he although no universal definition of “gnosticism” can exist, he has the authority to decide what is “gnostic” on account of apostolic succession. Indeed, the lack of what Hoeller considers a valid line of apostolic succession is his major challenge to the claims of the Ecclesia Gnostica Catholica [hereafter EGC] of being “gnostic”. He is correct to question the historical accuracy of the claim that Crowley received a valid consecration; however, this claim was never universally accepted in the EGC, and is now admitted to be historically inaccurate, and furthermore irrelevant to a body unconcerned with disseminating Christian doctrine (Apiryon 1995). Moreover, Hoeller is on dangerous ground with his critiques of the EGC’s apostolic credentials, because as we have seen, the questions he raises might very well be applied to his own claims of succession, and with potentially more damaging results.
His second challenge is that the EGC are not Christian. On this point, the EGC would probably readily agree (see chapter 5). “It cannot be thus said to be either a Mass or Catholic,” Hoeller writes indignantly, apparently assuming that the word “Catholica” refers to the Catholic Church; it is, in fact, a Latin translation of “universal”, in the sense of being open to anyone (Pearson 2007, 47). Nevertheless, given that the EG draws much of its authority from association with Roman Catholicism, Hoeller could not be expected to support a conception of “gnosticism” that is not Christian, as the EGC’s seems to be. Rather, Hoeller supports Elaine Pagels' thesis (1979) that “gnosticism” represents a legitimate early form of Christianity that was actively suppressed by what would become Roman Catholic orthodoxy (it is the only academic work referenced in the paper). Similarly, he casually dismisses the various incarnations of the Universal Christian Gnostic Movement (of whom a detailed discussion follows in chapter 6) for being “esotericists”, and having “only a tangential knowledge of the Classical Gnostic scriptures and traditions” (König 1998, 194).
He concludes with a request:
that they might call themselves some other names which would more truthfully describe their orientation, such as Kabbalists, Magicians and so forth and leave the name Gnostic to those whose teaching and practise resembles the original model more closely. Meanwhile we fell dutybound to uphold our own Gnostic traditions and as far as we may be able to do so to prevent them being confounded with what they are not.” (1981?, in König 1998, 194)
To what extent is it true to say that the teaching and practices of the EG resemble most closely those of the ancient “gnostics”? Despite the challenges of Williams (1996) and King (2003), most scholars would agree that classical “gnostics” tended towards a more pessimistic anticosmic world-view than the holistic, procosmic cosmology presented by Hoeller. Sacramentalism may provide a parallel with some classical “gnostic” groups in terms of practices; Valentinus and his followers were among the earliest Christians to create a sacramental system, and the Gospel of Philip from Nag Hammadi mentions sacraments (Smith 1995, 209). Yet the idea of these sacraments taking place within a valid apostolic succession is not one that the classical “gnostics” would have understood. Indeed, apostolic succession was likely institutionalised by the early Church specifically to combat “gnosticism” and other heresies (Smith 1995, 210). As Tertullian wrote in Prescription against Heretics, the “church received their doctrine from the apostles, the apostles from Christ and Christ from God... all other doctrine is ipso facto false” (1980, 252).
This is not to say that I consider the EG’s use of the term “gnosticism” less valid because it does not resemble classical “gnosticism”; as discussed in Chapter 1, my methodology is concerned with the context in which the term is used, rather than truth claims. I point this out only because Hoeller seeks to use this purported resemblance to discredit other “gnostic” groups.
Authority
The EG present a critique of mainstream religion, as typified by Roman Catholicism, yet they also seek to legitimise themselves through appeals to those very liturgical and apostolic traditions. Hoeller, it seems, seeks for the EG to be seen as a legitimate Christian church, and thus for “gnosticism” to be seen as a legitimate, “proper” religion, downplaying their connections to the TS. Yet as we have seen, the EG have more in common with “esoteric” epistemology than Christian; therefore, their firm stance against other “esoteric” and “kabbalist” “gnostic” groups seems, on the face of it, puzzling.
It makes sense only when viewed through the issue of authority. Hoeller seeks to discredit the EGC and Universal Christian Gnostic Movement in order to strengthen his own claim upon the capital of the contemporary “gnostic” field. Indeed, Michael Bertiaux, patriarch of an offshoot of the OTO, claims that a review of one of his books by Hoeller was “viciously intended... to harm our influence” (König 1998, 222). Lincoln distinguishes two types of authority that may be possessed by individuals: epistemic authority, derived from their knowledge of the cultural capital of the field, and executive authority, obtained intrinsically through offices that individual holds (1994, 3-4). For example, the policeman’s badge and uniform, or the judge’s wig and gavel, announce the authority of that office within that specific discourse (Ibid 7). Hoeller, as the head of a group of which he himself is the founder, possesses only epistemic authority, based upon his personal grasp of the cultural capital of the field, however valid that might be, rather than intrinsically from the office which he holds. By connecting the EG to the Catholic Church, however, Hoeller seeks to convert his epistemic authority into executive authority by co-opting their executive authority.
The Position of the EG within the Discursive Field of Contemporary “Gnosticism”
In closing this chapter, let us attempt to position the EG in our discursive field of contemporary “gnosticism”. They stress “gnosis” as the core of “gnosticism”, and although they align themselves with a Christian conception of “gnosticism”, they in fact are more typical of an “esoteric” interpretation. Hoeller's conception of a “new Gnosis” interprets the “esoteric” conception as exemplified by Theosophy through Jung’s psychological conception (1982, 33). Coupled with their firm rejection of anticosmism, the definition of the EG exemplifies procosmic “gnosticism” as outlined in chapter 3.
Yet by framing their “esoteric” understanding of “gnosticism” in a Catholic discourse, they problematise the relationship between conceptions of contemporary “gnosticism” that see it as intrinsically Christian and those conceptions which see it as part of “esoteric” traditions. In the chapter that follows, we shall analyse this relationship through an examination of one of the groups dismissed by Hoeller, the Ecclesia Gnostica Catholica, who rather than mimic Roman Catholicism, seemingly attempt to deliberately subvert it.
22 5
23 Case Study: Ecclesia Gnostica Catholica – Contemporary “Gnosticism” and Christianity
24
“Our Order posesses the KEY which opens up all Masonic and Hermetic secrets, namely, the teaching of sexual magic, and this teaching explains, without exception, all the secrets of Freemasonry and all systems of religion”
(Reuss, quoted in King 1973, 25).
Ecclesia Gnostica Catholica [hereafter EGC], sometimes referred to with the English translation, the Gnostic Catholic Church, is a name that belies an organisation with few practices or beliefs that mainstream churches would accept as Christian. Indeed, its liturgy and symbolism seem like a deliberate attempt to subvert Roman Catholic doctrine. Its present form owes most to the controversial British occultist Aleister Crowley, and functions today as the principle organ of his philosophical/ religious system, Thelema. Although its origins lie in the French Gnostic Church tradition, it has stronger links with the Ordo Templi Orientis [hereafter OTO], a quasi-Masonic initiatory order that practice various forms of sexual magic.
This exemplifies one problematic discourse within the field of contemporary “gnosticism” which this chapter aims to address, that between Christian and “esoteric” traditions. As will be seen, our three case studies all represent admixtures of Christian and “esoteric” symbolism, praxis, epistemology and soteriology. Each describes themselves as a church, has bishops and performs Mass, yet each also has connections to fin-de-seicle “occult revival” groups including the Theosophical Society, the Golden Dawn or the OTO. The EGC, however, exemplify the tension between Christian and “esoteric” discourses most strongly.
Origins
Prior to the involvement of Crowley, however, two traditions informed the creation of the EGC. The first is the French “Gnostic Revival” churches of the late-19th century, principally the Église Gnostique, founded in 1890 by Jules-Benoît Doniel after a series of visions. His bishops, beginning with Gérard Encausse, better known as Papus, took names prefixed with the title Tau, representing the Egyptian cross, a symbol important to Freemasonry, a practice which continues in some “gnostic” churches to the present day (J. Pearson 2007, 46). A breakaway order, the Église Gnostique Universelle, was founded by Jean Bricaud and Papus in 1907, and the following year the two consecrated Rosicrucian and Freemason Theodor Reuss, in order to found a German branch of the church (Ibid, 46-7).
The second tradition that informs the EGC is the OTO, of which Reuss was head. Founded in 1896 by Carl Kellner, a wealthy German Freemason who claimed to have been initiated by Arab and Hindu adepts (King 1973, 22), the order did little, if anything, until 1905, when Kellner died and leadership passed to Reuss (Ibid, 25). The teachings of the OTO are a mixture of Freemasonry, the teachings of P. B. Randolph and the accounts of Tantra beginning to emerge from India (Urban 2006, 96-7).
Freemasonry developed from medieval guilds of stonemasons in 17th century Britain into an initiatory body using the symbols of stonemasonry to expound moral principles (Bogdan 2007, 69-70). This “Craft” masonry had three degrees, or levels of initiation, each accompanied by its particular ritual, teachings and symbolism (Ibid, 67-94). Beginning in the 18th century, a number of Masonic groups (for example, the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite) began to offer additional degrees that elaborated upon the Craft degrees: many of these included “esoteric” teachings, and these groups became important transmitters of these traditions (Ibid,. 120). In the 19th century, masons involved in these “esoteric” Masonic orders went on to found initiatory orders that drew heavily from Masonic symbolism and structures: the OTO and the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, of which Crowley was a member, are examples (Op. cit.). What separated the OTO from other quasi-Masonic groups was its interest in sexual magic techniques.
At this stage, the OTO teachings consisted of ten degrees. The first seven were based around the opening of the chakras, seemingly drawn from classical Tantric sources. Only the 8th and 9th grades consisted of sex-magic techniques, most likely semen retention and possibly some homosexual mutual “adoration of the phalli”. The 10th degree was merely titular, being conferred upon the leader of the OTO in each country (König 1998, 12).
In 1913, Bricaud was consecrated into the succession of Old Catholic Bishop Joseph René Vilatte, granting the EGU valid apostolic succession (Pearson 2007, 47). He, in turn, consecrated Reuss in 1919 (Op. cit.).
Crowley’s Developments
Due perhaps to a general lack of focus upon “esotericism” from the academic community, or perhaps due to a perceived stigma attached to the study of certain aspects of his biography (drug addiction, sexual magic, etc.), Aleister Crowley (1875 – 1947) has only recently begun to receive serious scholarly attention. Yet this belittles his status as one of the most prominent figures in the 20th “esoteric” field, which his considerable influence upon the contemporary religious field demonstrates.[22] I shall here attempt only the briefest of accounts of his life, in order to put what follows into context, focusing on those aspects most pertinent to my argument.
Aleister was born Edward Alexander Crowley into a family deeply committed to the Plymouth Brethren, a conservative evangelical Christian movement. Upon his father's death when he was aged eleven, Crowley inherited a considerable fortune, leaving him free to indulge his passions: mountaineering, self-publishing his poetry and having as many sexual partners as possible. Following his initiation into the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn in 1898, however, he immersed himself completely in the study of occultism, rising quickly up the order's degrees (Owen 2004, 187-92).
In 1904, Crowley's pregnant wife Rose became delusional, repeatedly announcing, “They are coming”. During a visit to the Museum of Cairo, she pointed out a seventh century BCE mortuary stele as the source of the messages, which portrayed the god Horus. Crowley was struck that the exhibit's number was 666, the “number of the beast” from the New Testament book of Revelation, “the Beast” having been Crowley's nickname since childhood. He began to perform invocations to the god, and after a number of days he alleged to have been contacted by the god's messenger, a being called Aiwass. Over the following three days, Crowley sat for an hour, writing down what Aiwass dictated. The document thus produced was titled Liber AL vel Legis, commonly known as The Book of the Law. Although he did not immediately consider it to be of particular import, it was eventually to become the cornerstone of his whole philosophical and religious system, Thelema. The text is cryptic, but in Crowley's interpretation (bolstered by Kabbalistic gematria) is that a new “Aeon” was being founded, based upon the “Equinox of the Gods” - the succession of Osiris by his son, Horus. The text contains lines which Crowley would repeat over and again in his work, including the Gnostic Mass: “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law”, “Love is the law, love under will”, and “Every man and every woman is a star”.
These statements are at the heart of Thelema, which teaches that each individual has a True Will, and that their purpose in life is to work towards the discovery and fulfilment of it. The True Will is not the individual will, but a higher purpose in accord with that of the universe. Crowley's creed is not, therefore, simply hedonistic anarchism (although that is not to claim that Crowley always acted in accordance with his creed). It seems that this discovery of the True Will is, in fact, what Crowley understood “gnosis” to consist of.
Crowley joined the OTO around 1910. He was visited by Reuss in 1912, and accused of revealing the order's secrets. Crowley pleaded ignorance. Reuss opened a copy of Crowley's recently-published Book of Lies and pointed to a passage that began, “Let the Adept be armed with his Magic Rood and provided with his Mystic Rose” (36, “The Star Sapphire”, in Crowley 1981 [1913], 36-7). Crowley suddenly realised the nature of the OTO's secret - it was, of course, sex magic - and it was agreed that he should lead the British section of the order, being appointed “Grand Master for Ireland, Iona and all the Britains” (J. Pearson 2007, 47; King 1973, 28).
Whilst in Moscow in 1913, Crowley composed the Gnostic Mass, and conceived of the name “Ecclesia Gnostica Catholica” (J. Pearson 2007, 47). The ritual was published in English and German in 1918, and the following year, having gained apostolic succession, Reuss renamed the Église Gnostique Universelle the EGC and devoted it to Crowley's Law of Thelema, adopting the Gnostic Mass as its central rite (Ibid, 47).
Upon Reuss' death in 1922, leadership of the OTO and the EGC passed to Crowley himself. Crowley expanded and developed the ritual structure of the OTO, elaborating the range of sexual practices involved. Under his revisions, the 8th degree involved masturbating upon a magical talisman, the 9th the consumption of the “elixir” (mingled sexual fluids) after intercourse, and the 11th identification of oneself with an ejaculating penis (König 1998, 13), all explicitly transgressive acts within the dominant moral code of the day (J. Pearson 2007, 77).
In 1933, an OTO group in Los Angeles, California, calling themselves the Agape Lodge, began to perform the Gnostic Mass weekly, a practice that lasted until 1942. Despite the fact that Crowley had established his own magical order, the A:.A:. or Astrum Argentum, the OTO was to become the major vehicle for Thelema, and the latter years of his life were devoted to it. Following Crowley's death in 1947, he was succeeded by his German benefactor, Karl Germer; however, he died in 1962 without naming a successor, and the OTO fell into dormancy. In 1969, Grady McMurtry (A.K.A. Hymenaeus Alpha) assumed the office of Caliph of the OTO, but the Gnostic Mass was not performed again until 1977 (Apiryon 1995a).
The relationship between the OTO and the EGC has varied over time. Under Reuss, Crowley and Germer, the EGC was considered the ecclesiastical arm of the OTO. In 1979, however, McMurty incorporated the EGC as a religious corporation separate from the OTO. This newly independent EGC developed a hierarchy of bishops, priests and deacons, and a litany of rituals for baptism, conformation and ordination, all based on Roman Catholicism. In 1987, his successor brought the EGC back into the OTO, and officers were once again required to hold specific OTO grades, although a number of groups continued independently (Op. cit.).
Beliefs and Practices
The central rite of the EGC is the Gnostic Mass, conceived by Crowley as “the central ceremony of its public and private celebration, corresponding to the Mass of the Roman Catholic Church”:
Human nature demands (in the case of most people) the satisfaction of the religious instinct, and, to very many, this may best be done by ceremonial means. I wished therefore to construct a ritual through which people might enter into ecstasy as they have always done under the influence of appropriate ritual... I resolved that my ritual should celebrate the sublimity of the operation of universal forces without introducing disputable metaphysical theories. (Crowley 1979, 713)
In other words, Crowley attempted to create a ritual that borrowed the ceremonial efficacy of the Roman Catholic Mass, but stripped of its metaphysical dogma. In the words of one EGC bishop, the Mass contains “the intricate and beautiful patterns of a profound symbolic tradition, glimmering beneath the layered crust of scholastic religious dogma”, a symbolic tradition he believes to predate the use of the ritual by Christians (Apiryon 1995c).
Crowley’s conception of the efficacy of ritual was entirely materialistic. The motto of Crowley’s journal, The Equinox, was “The Method of Science: The Aim of Religion” (Regardie 1988, xi). That aim, specifically, was direct religious experience: “gnosis”. Concerning the Gnostic Mass, he wrote:
In recent years, there has been an increasing failure to attain this object [religious experience], because the established cults shock their intellectual convictions and outrage their common sense. Thus their minds criticise their enthusiasm; they are unable to consummate the union of their individual souls with the universal soul... I resolved that my ritual should celebrate the sublimity of the operation of universal forces without introducing disputable metaphysical theories. I would neither make nor imply any statement about nature which would not be endorsed by the most materialistic man of science.” (Crowley 1979, 713)
In many respects, the Gnostic Mass seems at first glance to differ greatly from the Roman Catholic model. It employs Masonic symbolism, taking place in a room described as a “temple”, with furnishings including black and white steps, an altar constructed from two cubes, and a tomb from which the priest is raised (Bogdan 2007, 50-2 & 134-5). Also present are a copy of The Book of the Law, and the text is full of quotations and allusions to it. The ritual also contains a good deal of sexual imagery. For example, the priest's raised lance is rubbed by the open hands of the Priestess, and when the host is placed on its tip, the priest announces (in Greek) “This is my seed (ΣΠΕΡΜΑ)” (Crowley 1997 [1918], 596). A close examination of the structure, however, reveals many clear parallels between the Gnostic Mass and its Roman Catholic equivalent.
To open the Mass, the deacon quotes The Book of the Law: “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law”, and the congregation recites what has become known as the Gnostic Creed. The following comparison of extracts from the Gnostic Creed and the Roman Catholic Nicene Creed demonstrate that the former is clearly modelled upon the latter.
|Gnostic Creed |Nicene Creed |
|I believe in one secret and ineffable LORD; and in one Star in the |We believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty, of all that is, seen |
|Company of Stars of whose fire we are created, and to which we shall |and unseen... |
|return... | |
|And I believe in one Earth, the Mother of us all, and in one Womb |We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the only Son of God, eternally |
|wherein all men are begotten, and wherein they shall rest, Mystery of |begotten of the Father, God from God, Light from Light, true God from |
|Mystery, in Her name BABALON. |true God, begotten, not made, of one Being with the Father. Through him |
| |all things were made… |
|And I believe in one Gnostic and Catholic Church of Light, Life, Love |We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church. We acknowledge one|
|and Liberty, the Word of whose Law is THELEMA... |baptism for the forgiveness of sins. |
|And I confess my life one, individual, and eternal that was, and is, and|We look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to |
|is to come. |come. |
|AUMGN. AUMGN. AUMGN.[23] |Amen. |
The divine figures of Roman Catholic doctrine are replaced with their equivalents from the Book of the Law. The repeated “AUGMN” evokes both the Christian “Amen” and the Buddhist “Om”. The EGC is described as being “gnostic”, rather than “apostolic” as in the Roman Catholic text, a direct challenge to the doctrine of apostolic succession and the transfer of institutional authority as practised by Roman Catholicism. This is further underlined by Crowley’s shifting of the text from the third person into the first person (“I believe...”, etc).
The priest, having been raised from the tomb, enthrones the priestess upon the altar, and closes the veil. After a series of orations by the various officers, including the calendar from the deacon, the priest parts the veil with the lance. This is followed by “The Collects”, a series of prayers addressed to the Sun, Moon, Earth, Lord, Lady, Principles, Birth, Marriage, Death, and The End. During these, the deacon lists the names of the Saints of the EGC, described as those “that transmitted the Light of the Gnosis to us their successors and heirs” (Crowley 1997 [1918], 591).
At the conclusion of the ritual, the Eucharist is performed, during which wine and hosts are consumed. The priest declares, “The Father is the Son through the Holy Spirit”: although he probably refers to Osiris and Horus, the evocation of Christian imagery is self-evident.
Discourse with Christianity
In the preceding case study, we saw that the EG seeks authority by appealing to aspects of Roman Catholic tradition, in particular the issue of apostolic succession, despite a greater epistemological and soteriological affinity with “esoteric” traditions. Although the particulars differ in each case, this problematic discourse between Christian and “esoteric” traditions is found throughout the contemporary “gnostic” field.
The EGC system is, on the surface, entirely antithetical to Roman Catholicism. They have largely abandoned appeals to Catholic apostolic succession:
When the EGC converted from Christianity to Thelema, it ceased to be an institution dedicated to the administration of Christian sacraments... for a church which purports to represent the Thelemic religion, an “apostolic” or sacerdotal succession from the Prophet of Thelema is far more relevant, in a purely spiritual and theological sense, than a succession from the apostles of the “Pale Galilean”. (Apiryon, 1995a)
The Saints listed during the Collects are an eclectic group of religious figures, poets, mythical characters, figures from the history of magic and alchemy, including Crowley himself, twice. Also listed is Friedrich Nietzsche, who famously declared “God is dead”. Nevertheless, figures from religious traditions do appear, including Moses, Mohammed, Krishna, although exclusively Christian figures are conspicuous by their absence. Notably, the only exceptions are Simon Magus, often considered the archetypal Christian heretic (Haar 2003, 2) and Pope Alexander XI, whose surname, Borgia, became a byword for corrupt and debased papacies. Crowley, then, in his choices was clearly creating a critique not of all religious traditions, but of Christianity in particular.
The EGCs greatest departure from Roman Catholicism lies with its connections to the OTO. Roman Catholic orthodoxy could never accept that a group self-avowedly practising sexual magic was authentically Catholic. Indeed, these were specific charges levied upon the classical “gnostics” by the heresiologists. Despite the sexual imagery of some of the "gnostic" texts, however, there is no direct evidence that the classical "gnostics" performed sexual rituals (Urban 2006, 36 note 68). The EGC, rather than deny these charges, have adopted them wholeheartedly, and as such set themselves up in conscious opposition to Roman Catholicism. Such a deliberate mirroring, a conscious subversion, places them within the terms of a peculiarly Christian discourse. Sexual impropriety and use of magic are typical accusations levied by orthodoxy upon marginal groups they wish to denigrate; by adopting these practices, the EGC consciously become that “other”, and by placing them into a kind of Christ-less Christianity, they attempt to subvert that orthodoxy. But the constructed “other” portrayed by the orthodox is no more imaginary than the constructed “other” of the “heretics” themselves: the tyrannical monolithic orthodox Church (J. Pearson 2007, 113). The fact is that Christianity is far less interested in heresy than these groups seek to portray it, and a diverse range of practices and doctrines are included under its rubric.
This problematised relationship is prefigured in Crowley's ambiguous relationship to Christianity. Perhaps due to his strict upbringing in the Plymouth Brethren, Crowley was on the surface venomously anti-Christian, going so far as to adopt the names 666 and the Great Beast, styling himself the beast of the apocalypse from the Book of Revelation. Yet he was knowledgeable about the Bible, and could argue scriptural interpretation with skill (e.g. Crowley, The Gospel According to St. Bernard Shaw, in King 1974). His father's proselytising, combined with his unbounded ego, influenced him to see himself as a prophet from early adolescence, and he went on to make several attempts to found religions.
The symbolism from the Book of the Law of the age of the slain god Osiris being succeeded by that of the triumphant god Horus can also seen to be analogous to Crowley's feelings about Christianity. Indeed, for all the pantheist trappings of the Gnostic Mass, Crowley identifies IAO, the deity frequently alluded to therein, as “the supreme One of the Gnostics, the true God” (1974 [1913], 617). The EGC, then, are monotheistic at their core, thus mirroring Christian theology.
The contemporary “gnostic” field partakes of both Christian and “esoteric” fields. Christianity, like the parent in Freud’s psychological theorising, is both rejected and revered. Despite their apparent critique, the structures, offices and rituals of the EGC are drawn from Roman Catholicism, and although “catholica” in the name of the church supposedly does not refer directly to the Church of Rome, it certainly echoes it. The Gnostic Mass, as we have seen, is a blatant and self-avowed attempt to ape certain aspects of the Roman Catholic Mass, both structurally and functionally. This ambivalence is often repeated in the history of alternative spiritual practices in the 20th century (Partridge ref?). While groups such as the EGC might consider their relationship to Christianity to be antithetical, in truth, both inevitably take place in cultural context infused with Christian ideas and symbolism. To set up as antithetical to Christianity in particular is an endeavour that necessarily takes place within a field of Christian discourse.
The tension between on the one hand, the critique of mainline religion as exemplified by Christianity, and on the other its converse, the continuing influence of Christian symbolism, epistemology and ritual within new religious movements in the West, is resolved when both are seen as parts of a narrative of a return to a “purer” form of religion. Crowley himself understood the Church to have misconstrued Jesus’ teachings:
If the New Testament be the composite document which it is here maintained to be in this essay, I am the truest of all Christians. I agree with practically every word of the Yogi Jesus, and nearly every word of the essene. (King 1974, 195-6)
Contemporary “gnosticism”, then, does not challenge Christianity itself; rather, it challenges how the churches have sought to monopolise the capital of the religious field. We shall return to this issue in the concluding chapter.
Conclusion
Let us conclude again by relating the EGC to our typology of contemporary “gnosticism”. As with our other case studies, they partake of both Christian and “esoteric” discourses; unlike the EGC, however, their conception of “gnosticism” is one which is consciously “heretical”, and externally antithetical to Catholicism. Although the EG make great play of their Christian credentials, stressing their apostolic succession, for example, the groups have more in common than is immediately obvious, despite the antipathy between them detailed in the preceding chapter. As we have seen, a closer investigation of the texts, practices and background of Hoeller and the EG reveals an initiatory, “esoteric” group, closer to Freemasonry or fin-de-seiclé “occult revival” groups, specifically the Theosophical Society, than any Catholic Church. The EGC’s relationship to Christian traditions is more complex and ambiguous, yet both groups utilise rituals, offices and vestments that deliberately mimic those of Roman Catholicism. Furthermore, as discussed above, by setting itself up as the antithesis of Christianity, the EGC partakes of an intrinsically Christian discourse. We shall see this pattern repeated again in our final case study, which examines the problematic discourse between the institutional authority of Roman Catholicism, and the individual authority suggested by “gnosis”.
26 6
27 Case Study: Universal Christian Gnostic Movement – Institutional and Individual Authority
“The result of these serious ponderings of theirs was that the conviction first arose in them that this self-perfection could probably be actualized by itself, by abstaining from the ejection from oneself in the customary manner of these substances formed in them called sperm, and certain of them decided to unite and exit together in order to convince themselves in practice whether such abstinence could indeed give the supposed results.”
(Gurdjieff 1976: II, 399)
Although it is difficult to ascertain precise figures, the groups we considered in the preceding case-studies likely number their adherents in the thousands. Estimates of the membership of the groups that were founded by Samael Aun Weor and his acolytes, however, vary from the tens of thousands (Introvigne 2006) to eight million (Smith 1995, 210). The vast majority of those adhering to the work of Weor are in Latin America (Dawson 2007) and in the US, where “Gnostic Centres” can be found in cities with a large Hispanic population, such as New York, Houston, Miami, San Francisco, Omaha and Los Angeles, which has over a dozen (Smith 1995, 210). There are also communities in Japan, France, Canada and other countries (op. cit.).
Although the OTO practice sexual magic, it is not ostensibly a feature of EGC practice. Sexual magic is central, however, to Weor’s teaching. This puts the Universal Christian Gnostic Movement at the furthest position from mainstream Christianity in the field represented by our case studies. As we discuss below, magical formations represent individual rather than institutional regimes of validation of faith, while sexual magic in particular, with its doctrine of the body as instrument of transcendence, is representative of the “inward turn” of contemporary religious formations towards forms of self-spirituality. Nevertheless, many of the groups founded by Weor and his disciples borrow structures, terminology and even liturgy from Roman Catholicism.
Why the continuing appeals to traditional religious formations with hierarchical structures of institutional authority when contemporary “gnosticism”, with its appeals to individual, experiential “gnosis”, is a fundamentally individualised formation? How do these groups reconcile these two regimes of validation of faith? This chapter seeks to addresses this problematic discourse between individualism and institutionalism in contemporary “gnosticism”.
Structure
The movement is highly compartmentalised, and uses various names and organisations to disseminate its teachings, which can be highly confusing. For the sake of clarity, we shall adopt the convention of referring to the overall umbrella organisation as the Universal Christian Gnostic Movement [hereafter UCGM]. At the highest organisational level is the umbrella organisation founded by Weor himself, the Movimiento Gnóstica Christiano Universel [hereafter MGCU]; below that is the Universal Christian Gnostic Church or Iglesia Gnóstica Christiana Universal [hereafter IGCU], which functions as the ecclesiastic arm of the movement (Dawson 2007, 56). There are also a number of related secular organisations, including the Gnostic Association of Scientific, Cultural and Anthropological Studies, and the Latin American Christian Workers' Party, and it is through these organisations that instruction is most widely disseminated (Op. cit.). An increasing number of people are discovering these teachings through the internet; for example, in Brazil, the Course in New Gnosis averages some 3000 students a year (Ibid, 60).
There furthermore exist a number of independent organisations tasked with the promotion of Weor's teachings. In Brazil, FUNDASAW, or Fundação Samael Aun Weor and their associated ecclesiastical operation, Igreja Gnóstica do Brasil, are the largest body teaching “The Gnosis” (Op. cit.). FUNDASAW was not created in competition with any official UGCM group, but rather to promote the teaching after an official UGCM group had collapsed, having failed to win support (Op. cit.). This is not the case with our preceding case studies; in the EG and the EGC, it seems that every consecration leads to a new schism. In the UGCM, however, independent and official groups seem generally to coexist without significant conflict.
A possible reason for this is that Weor, as the sole originator of the movement and their conception of “gnosticism”, possesses absolute authority over the organisation. Unlike the EG or the EGC, Weor presented his system into a culture where Theosophy and Western “esotericism” were not dominant or even prominent traditions, but relative newcomers with little claim to cultural capital. There are connections to the traditions informing our other case studies, as we shall see, but upon the death of Krumm-Heller, Weor becomes essentially the only line of succession of these traditions in Latin America. Whereas there are those who challenge Hoeller’s succession from de Palatine (Smith 1995, 218-9, n. 2) and those who challenge Crowley’s succession from Reuss (König 1994), all schisms in the UGCM post-date Weor’s death, and all retain a deep veneration for the man and his teachings (Zoccatelli 2005). Some emic descriptions of his youth describe him being able to teleport or take on animal forms, which reinforce the image of Weor as a prophet or holy man, rather than simply a leader (Dawson 2007, 54).
Samael Aun Weor
Victor Manuel Gómez Rodríguez was born in Bogotá, Columbia, in 1917. As a young man, he was involved with the Theosophical Society, the Freemasons and various spiritualist groups, and had an interest in the teachings of the Russian mystic G. I. Gurdjieff (Smith 1995, 211). In the mid-1940s, Rodríguez encountered Arnoldo Krumm-Heller, who became his mentor (Dawson 2007, 54-5). Krumm-Heller was German, but moved to Mexico in 1910. He began to travel around South America in search of acolytes, eventually settling in Colombia, where he founded a group called the Fraternidad de Rosacruz Antiqua and adopted the name Frater Huiracocha (Dawson 2007, 55). Shortly afterward, he began to publish journals, including Rosa-Cruz and Gnose, which included articles dedicated to Jean Bricaud and translations of early Église Gnostique material, including the Gnostic Creed (König 1998, 131-148), as well as books on various subjects medical, historical and esoteric (Smith 1995, 211). While in Germany, he had been a member of the OTO under Reuss (König 1998, 23, note 31), and may have held a high rank in the organisation.[24] The teachings of the (pre-Crowley) OTO were therefore likely to have had a considerable influence upon the young Rodriguez, and thus upon the later GA.
Upon Krumm-Heller's death in 1949, Rodriguez claimed to have been contacted by the “Venerable White Lodge”, and charged with a sacred, threefold mission; “forming a new culture”, “forging a new civilisation” and “creating the Gnostic Movement” (Dawson 2004, 345). The basis of this new civilisation was a system he referred to as “The Gnostic Philosophy”, or simply “The Gnosis”, “the Synthesis of all Religions, Schools and Sects” (Smith 1995, 211). Taking the name Venerable Master of the Bodhisattva Samael Aun Weor, he began to promote his ideas to esoteric and spiritualist groups; all roundly rejected him, however, and he was for a while incarcerated by the Columbian authorities for “quackery” (Dawson 2007, 55).
Weor's system was presented in his first and most popular book, El Matrimonio Perfecto (The Perfect Matrimony) (1950; revised edition, 2009[1963]), and in numerous other publications up until his death in 1977, the majority of which have yet to be translated into English. Moving to Mexico, where his mentor had failed to find acolytes, Weor legally founded the MGCU, and after proclaiming the commencement of the Age of Aquarius on the 4th of February, 1962, declared himself the avatar of the Christ spirit for the New Age (Dawson 2007, 56). He “disincarnated” in 1977, supposedly becoming a member of the secret world government that rules the world from a hidden city in Tibet (Dawson 2004, 345).
“The Gnosis” - The Teachings of Master Samael
The IGCU is the primary agent of the ritual practices of the GA. The liturgy is based on a body of Masonic and Rosicrucian rituals inherited from Krumm-Heller, subsequently adapted by Weor (Dawson 2007, 61). The liturgy, made up of seven rituals including a pre-Crowley Gnostic Mass, is collected in Gnosis: Conocimiento Universal (1986). However, the majority of those who come into contact with Weor’s teachings – generally called “The Gnostic Philosophy” or simply “The Gnosis” – do so through a branch of their lay sister organisation, the Gnostic Association of Anthropological Studies (Smith 1995, 210-1).
“The Gnosis” is presented in three levels. In the first, the “exoteric level or first chamber”, students are taught guided meditation, along with lectures on a range of “familiar occult lore” (Smith 1995, 211). The topics, including “astral travel”, “the Age of Aquarius” and “root-races and sub-races”, are clearly reliant on Blavatsky's Theosophical writings (Op. cit.). Elsewhere, the influence of Gurdjieff can be detected, with both Gurdjieff and Weor writing of a multiplicity of “I”s acting within each the individual (Smith 1995, 212). Indeed, Zoccatelli has argued robustly that Gurdjieff’s influence upon Weor’s “inner alchemy” is greater than generally accepted, including the tripartite structure of the teachings, and may even suggest a generally ignored sexual aspect to Gurdjieff’s teachings (Zoccatelli 2005).
Only with the “mesoteric second chamber” and “esoteric third chamber” does the practice move from the theoretical to the practical (Op. cit., 211-2). At the core of his teachings lies a single secret, which he claims has been transmitted by various initiatory groups and their symbolism: “He who wants to become a God, should not ejaculate the semen” (2001 [1963], xviii). Weor’s interpretation of sexual magic, or “alchemy”, as he sometimes terms it, is incumbent on the practice of sexual congress without ejaculation (Dawson 2007, 55). By retaining the semen, he claims that the energies it contains are made available to drive the spiritual development of the individual (Ibid, 59). The influence of Tantra can be detected in his references to Kundalini (2001 [1963], 230) and chakras (Ibid, 197). A further link to Indian Buddhist or Vedic traditions is detected in the aim of ego-death, which is the end result of sexual magic in Weor’s system (Dawson 2007, 59; Weor 2001 [1963], 147). Weor’s understanding of “gnosis” is not, then, a communal unitive experience where individual identity is retained in union with the transcendent, as Merkur proposes, but an introspective unitive experience in which the individual’s identity is dissolved (see chapter 2). The putative end result of the UGCM’s teachings is not the reintegration of the self, as per Jung’s interpretation, but its sublimation.
Like the EG, Aun Weor portrays the classical “gnostics” as the original form of Christianity (1963, 63). His writing, however, shows little knowledge of either classical “gnosticism” or early Christianity. For example, he includes Irenaeus and other heresiologists in a list of those who he considers to have been members of this “Primitive Catholic Christian Gnostic Church” (Weor 1961, 71-2; Smith 1995, 219-20, note 7). While his cosmology, which conceives of the cosmos as “emanating” from the Absolute in planes, described as the “pleroma” (Dawson 2007, 100), is found in classical “gnostic” systems, it is not unique to them, being found in the Hermetic corpus and Jewish mysticism, for example. The fundamental aspect of Weor's appeal to “gnosticism”, however, is sexual magic. It is likely that Crowley saw the mixture of sex and Catholic liturgy as a direct challenge to Christian doctrine, a deliberate heresy. Weor, on the other hand, conceived of his sexual teachings rather as a restoration of primitive Christian doctrine.
The connection between “gnostics” and sexual impropriety has a long history, and ultimately comes to us, once again, through their detractors. Thus, it is hard to ascertain how much truth, if any, the accounts may hold. Epiphanius describes orgies of gluttony and fornication (Foerster 1972, 319); a typical enough with which to construct groups as dangerously “other”, and so probably not to be taken seriously. A less hysterical and therefore potentially more truthful account comes from Hyppolytus, who describes the Naassenes as viewing the semen as numinous, and associating it with the Logos (Smith 1995, 215). While there is some sexual imagery in the Nag Hammadi texts, there is no direct evidence that the classical “gnostics” performed sexual rituals; nor is the practice of coitus reservatus attested (Urban 2006, 36 note 68).
Coitus reservatus is, in fact, a specifically Tantric practice (Smith 1995, 217). Although the theory that “gnosticism” came from the Middle East is largely discredited today (see chapters 1 and 2), for Krumm-Heller and his peers, the possibility of contact between “gnosticism” and Indian Tantra would not have seemed unlikely, and indeed would have positively increased the mystique of “gnosticism”. Such a possibility would thus have been likely to influence Weor's conception of “gnosticism”, and as the Nag Hammadi library was not available until shortly before Weor's death, the writings of the hereisiologists, and therefore their accusations of sexual impropriety, were likely to have been given undue authority.
The truth or otherwise of these claims is not our concern here, however; rather, we seek to understand what the presence of sexual magic in contemporary “gnostic” groups tells us about the contemporary “gnostic” field. As Urban notes, the presence of sexual magic in the contemporary religious field has to do with issues of authority and power. In both its focus on the body, and its narrative of the transcendence of the individual will, sexual magic represents an expression of the “inward turn”, the sacralisation of the self, which typifies the contemporary religious field (Urban 2007, 258-62).
Individual and Institutionalised Authorities
In each of our case studies, these contemporary “gnostic” groups have favoured individual over institutional authority, by teaching that “gnosis” must be directly accessed, rather than accessed by institutionally sanctioned practitioners. Yet each is also recognisably a part of a traditionally Christian discourse, possessing Bishops and practising Mass. The relationship between Christian and “esoteric” discourses is different in each case, but in all there exists a dialogue between institutional authority (represented by sacramentalism and issues of succession) and individual authority (represented by sexual magic, Freudian psychological reductionism and experiential “gnosis”).
This dialogue may account for the “two-tier” structures that can be observed in each of our case studies, by allowing different degrees of individual and institutional authority to co-exist within the same religious formation. In each case, there is a relatively small core of initiated adherents who are responsible for performing ritual and maintaining the traditions of the group, around which a larger circle of less committed adherents are involved more tangentially. For example, FUNDASAW's increasing reliance upon the internet for dissemination allows them to downplay its formal liturgical activities, and allow the student to take only what they want from the teaching without the need for (or reinforcement from) ritual activity (Dawson 2007, 62-4). The Gnostic Mass of the EGC is always a public performance, and the ritual is an accessible gateway into the teachings of the OTO and of Crowley, who himself commands a readership far greater than membership of the EGC or OTO. Similarly, the UGCM’s relatively small congregations consist to some degree of casual visitors, but some of them will inevitably develop a deeper commitment and become initiated clergy. Hoeller's books and website similarly command a wider readership than only those who make up EG congregations, and the Gnostic Society allow him to present his conception of “gnosticism” in a secular context.
These three case studies, then, represent a critique of certain elements of Christianity, as we saw in the previous chapters, specifically of the failure to incorporate individualised authority, and its anti-feminist position. In so doing, however, they present the critique within an institution that is firmly within a Christian discourse, borrowing structures and liturgy from the very body they seek to criticise. We can assume, then, that their adherents feel the same; while they reject mainstream Christian formations, there is nevertheless something about the liturgy that they find appealing. These “two-tier” structures allow a way into ritual practise for those who have rejected traditional Christian institutions for the aforementioned reasons. They represent religious formations in which institutional and individual authorities co-exist in different degrees depending on the level of individual involvement, from highly individualised in the larger, less committed practitioners, to a greater degree of institutional authority in the smaller core group. I explore this model further in my concluding chapter.
Conclusion: The Position of the UGCM within the Discursive Field of Contemporary “Gnosticism”
Although chosen to present as broad a spectrum of contemporary emic “gnostic” groups as possible, these case-studies demonstrated a considerable number of similar features and doctrines, and as we have seen, Weor’s UGCM has much in common with both the EG and the EGC. Each consists of “esoteric” teaching set within a Roman Catholic liturgical context, and each consists of a two-tier structure of an inner core of initiands and an looser outer congregation of the less committed. Each, for instance, presented a materialist-rationalist view of religion, in most cases employing Jung’s psychologised conception of “gnosticism”. Each, finally, places “gnosis” – direct spiritual experience – at the centre of “gnosticism”.
Yet within these commonalities lie considerable tensions. The principal dissimilarity between the three is the practise of sexual magic: while it is practised by the OTO (and therefore at least by the clergy of the EGC), it is not practised by the EG or any other “gnostic” churches at all. This is related to the issue of the degree to which contemporary “gnosticism” is to be understood part of a Christian tradition, and to what degree an “esoteric” one? The EG would argue for the Christian to take precedence, and the EGC for the latter, although the truth, as we have seen, is somewhat more ambiguous.
In our introduction, we suggested that discursive fields allow for transfers of meaning, where areas of shared concern can be identified as meaning is negotiated between agents. In the concluding chapter, I shall suggest that the shared concern in the discursive field of contemporary “gnosticism” is the need for an increased role for individual authority in religious institutions. Thus, despite doctrinal differences, contemporary “gnosticism” signifies an individualised institutionalism, where individual experience is validated through collective ritual practise.
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30 Conclusion: Contemporary ’Gnosticism’ as Institutionalised Individualism
“There seems much to challenge the view, therefore... that the 'subjective turn', at least in its full efflorence, is really about the 'disenchantment' of the world... The shift from the age-long preoccupation with eternal principles (Zeus, Brahman, etc.) to the phenomenon of empirical experience corresponds to the rise of an attitude that is properly scientific, according to which experience becomes the sole criterion of truth.”
(Goode 2010, 121.)
We began this thesis by setting out a methodological position that would allow the category of contemporary “gnosticism” to be reconsidered. Studies of contemporary “gnosticism” have ubiquitously been situated within a “history of ideas” methodology, which has sought to establish a bounded and historically consistent phenomenological category. It has also meant a desire to connect contemporary “gnosticism” historically to its classical namesake, an issue which came to the fore with the Messina Congress following the discoveries at Nag Hammadi.
As chapter 2 sought to demonstrate, these factors have led scholars into a continuing misconstrual of the category. Etic conceptualisions of contemporary “gnosticism” posit either an anticosmic, existential weltanschauung, more philosophical than religious, or, contradictorily, a synonym for certain “esoteric” traditions. Yet this conclusion does not adequately take into account how the category is understood amongst practitioners in the religious field. As shown in chapter 3, contemporary “gnosticism” is rather found to be a procosmic religious formation which sets aspects of “esoteric” traditions into a Roman Catholic liturgical setting. The result has been that etics of contemporary “gnosticism” have become detached from the emics.
Emic conceptualisations were outlined in greater detail in the case studies presented in chapters 4 through 6. These case studies demonstrated a discursive field in which issues of authority were predominant. Despite a strong stress on individual authority (demonstrated by the ubiquity of the concept of “gnosis”, sexual magic, and psychological reductions of religious phenomena), institutional authority remained present through ritual practise and ecclesiastical structures modelled strongly on Roman Catholicism. Furthermore, there was considerable competition for the capital of the field, both between these groups (for example, between the EG and EGC, as detailed in Chapter 4) and within them (for example, Krumm-Heller’s rejection of Crowley’s authority over the EGC, chapter 6).
Nevertheless, despite the details of the admixture of Christian and “esoteric” traditions differing, each group presents a critique of traditional religious institutions, exemplified by Roman Catholicism, which is substantially identical. Faith-based institutional authority is challenged through the importance placed upon individual experience. Metaphysical explanations are challenged through materialistic (EGC) and/or psychological (EG and GA) explanations considered more suitable to modern minds. Perceived institutional intolerance is challenged through women being given an equal role, and in sex being portrayed as positive. Fundamentally, however, these contemporary “gnostic” groups all attempt to establish a highly modern religious formation which places individual experience at the forefront, while simultaneously positing the efficacy of traditional liturgical ritual and community in encouraging and validating said religious experience. This suggests that neither individualised authority nor a materialist scientific weltanschauung are necessarily in opposition to the formation of liturgical religious groups. This chapter examines contemporary “gnosticism” as a form of institutionalised individualism, a highly modern model of religious formation where materialism, individualism and liturgical community can co-exist.
Institutional and Individual Authority
The disparity between procosmic “gnosticism” as conceived in the contemporary religious field and the “false etics” of the largely anticosmic academic conceptions thereof can, to some extent, be understood as a reaction of a particular generation to a particular moment in time. Chapter 3 suggested the possibility of a crisis of faith prompted by the holocaust and other 20th century horrors, in the interpretations of “gnosticism” presented by post-War scholars. Anticosmic conceptions were reinforced by the continuing prominence of certain academic traditions dating from the turn of the century, for example the thesis that “gnosticism” had some connections to Asian religions, as well as an inherent Christian theological frame of reference (Merkur 1993, 112-4).
More pertinent here, however, is the possibility that these anticosmic conceptions represent an attempt to reclaim authority for traditional institutions in the face of a steady erosion of the structure of external authority. Urban-industrial society has seen an “increasing fragility” of categories such as social class, gender and ethnicity, as the ability of these categories to limiting the sphere of action available to the individual have declined (Beck & Beck-Gernsheim 2002, 2-4). The Church and Monarchy have lost their absolute power over the collective values of society, and even the democratic systems that replaced them are subject to public critique on a regular basis. The modern individual is subject to multiple and relative authorities, and typical of the capitalist ideology, is a willing participant in the selection of them. The result is a situation in which, as Beckford argues:
The waning capacity of mainstream organisations to control the definition and use of religious symbols and practices has created opportunities for more extensive experimentation with their use and for corresponding attempts to denigrate or block such usage. (2001, 234)
I suggest that the Messina congress and the tradition of scholarship that it codified contain evidence of an attempt to reclaim religious capital for traditional institutions. This group of scholars, trained by and sponsored by traditional institutions with links to mainstream Christian bodies, and dealing with the aftermath of a period of history in which the benevolent Christian God appeared to be absent, saw in the recently discovered Nag Hammadi documents the chance of renewal. An entirely Christian interpretation of “gnosticism” was a way of reframing Christianity in a way that suited the period; the cosmos really was flawed and evil, but the chance of salvation remained, but individual, rather than embodied in increasingly moribund traditional institutions.
However, the removal of authority from traditional institutions “is not a secure accomplishment, but produces deficits which demand new solutions” (von Stuckrad 2005b, 134). That deficit is specifically the source of meaning:
Rootless, restless, and operating alone, with solace of scarcity, the self has come to stand as the only certainty, the only entity deserving of ultimate exploration when what seemed of enduring significance has been fractured brick by brick. (Flanagan 2007, 5)
The trend for religious formations to become more focused on the individual was described by Heelas and Woodhead as the “subjective turn” (2005, 2-5 and passim). In this narrative, the religious quest turns inward and the individual self becomes the focus of narratives of transcendence. This is demonstrated by the psychologising trajectory of religious modernity, as is its counterpart, the religionisation of psychology, where psychotherapy is understood as fulfilling a role that religion no longer can (Rieff 1966). The “therapeutic market” is a result of modernity's “erosion” of traditional sources of meaning and structure, while the “disembedded” individual faces an ever-greater range of possibilities (Beck & Beck-Gernsheim 2002, 7; Rieff 1966). The decline of traditional religion and the concurrent rise of psychotherapy represent a transition from collectively to individually oriented structures of legitimisation and sources of meaning (Lasch 1979). The frequency that Jung’s interpretation is encountered in contemporary conceptions of “gnosticism” demonstrates that this “inward turn” is a central motif.
At the same time, the psychologising trajectory represents a desire to view religious phenomena in rationalist materialist terms. The psychological interpretation of “gnosticism” (and of religion in general) is materialistic inasmuch as it attempts to reframe it in terms which do not offend the scientific-rational worldview that is the dominant epistemological model in contemporary culture.
the shift from the age-long preoccupation with eternal principles... to the phenomenon of empirical experience... should be seen as a redirection rather than a suppression of the religious instinct. (Goode 2010, 121)
As discussed in chapter 6, the sexual magic promoted by Crowley and Weor’s conceptions of “gnosticism” similarly represent this redirection in both its focus on the body as a vehicle of transcendence, and its narrative of the individual validation of truth claims (Urban 2007, 258-62).
Religious formations are moving from regimes of institutional authority, where the validity of experiences and behaviours are judged by officers of religious institutions, towards regimes with a higher degree of individual validation. The move from institutional to individual authority necessarily constitutes a redirection of religiosity from formations grounded in faith to those grounded in experience (Droogers 2007, 97). The tension in modern religiosity, then, is not religious versus secular, or religious versus spiritual, but religion as institutionally validated versus religion as individually validated.
Empirical evidence for this shift is provided by statistics provided by the Pew Research Centre's most recent study of “Religion and Public Life” in the US (see Fig. 2). This survey, carried out periodically since 1962, asked individuals a series of questions about their religious beliefs and behaviours. One question asked, “Have you ever had a Religious or Mystical Experience?” Perhaps surprisingly, given the narrative of the triumph of scientific materialism in post-Enlightenment modernity, the percentage of individuals claiming such an experience has risen from little over a fifth to just under half over the last fifty or so years, and by 15% in the last decade and a half.[25] Yet these figures make sense if we understand that experienced religiosity is symptomatic of this shift towards individual rather than institutional validation.
[pic]
Figure 2 - Rates of individuals claiming “mystical experiences”
Institutionalised Individualism
The epitome of religion that stress individual experience and authority over collective expression is often considered to be the “New Age movement”, where although they might utilise multiple groups or traditions, each individual becomes their own religious authority. Wood (2007) has characterised such religious formations as ‘nonformative’: although the identities and experiences of individual participants are affected through interaction with authorities, these authorities are unable to affect these formatively, that is, to impose values or beliefs that are accepted by the individual as basic and necessary assumptions. Rather, individuals interact with multiple relativised authorities, none of which have the authority to act formatively. Thus for Wood, what distinguishes “New Age” from traditional religious formations is not a question of the authority of the individual over that of the institution, but of the relative predominance of nonformative rather than formative authorities. As nonformative authorities do not lead individuals into playing “the game of the field” and competing for its capital (157), such religious fields are distinguished by a lack of competition between groups and individuals for that capital.
Yet authorities in contemporary “gnosticism”, as demonstrated by our case studies, are neither multiple nor non-formative, and competition for religious capital is fierce. While contemporary “gnostic” groups present a critique of mainstream religious organisations, by stressing issues of succession, the efficacy of ritual and traditional ecclesiastical structures, they make appeals to those same traditions for authority. The most blatant of these appeals in our case studies was of the EG, with Hoeller employing apostolic succession and Catholic sacramentalism to bolster his personal claims to the cultural capital of the field. The appeals are less central to the EGC and GA; this is, as I suggested in chapter 6, because much of their capital is embodied in the figures of their departed prophets, Crowley and Aun Weor.
Contemporary “gnosticism” is individualised in so far as it is grounded in personal mystical experience; nevertheless, these individual experiences are embedded in a community. Rather than multiple, relativised authorities, our case studies suggest a dialogue between individual authority and that of the community in which the individual is embedded. In such a formation, the institution is constituted towards the fulfilment and ultimately the salvation of the individual, rather than the individual acting for the collective salvation of a religious community. The individual acts within, rather than for, the community. This is what Beck & Beck-Gernsheim, drawing from Talcot Parsons, label as institutionalized individualism:
In developed modernity... human mutability and community rest no longer on solidly established traditions, but, rather, on a paradoxical collectivity of reciprocal individualisation. (2002, xxi)
Beck & Beck-Gernsheim claim this model of institutionalized individualism characterises contemporary society more broadly, and use it to analyse the family relationships, global politics and healthcare (2002). This thesis only attempts to demonstrate that it characterises contemporary “gnosticism”.
The model maps well onto the typology of “forms of validation of faith” presented by Hervieu-Léger (2001). In seeking to understand the implications of increasingly individualised religiosity upon “communalisation”, as Weber termed believers’ means of validating their beliefs through mutual exchange and/or ritual, Hervieu-Léger presents a spectrum of regimes of validation of faith that are to be found in contemporary religious formations (Ibid, 169):
| |I |II |III |IV |
|Regime of Validation |Institutional |Communal |Mutual |Self-validation |
|Referent for Validation |Institutionally |The Group as Such |The Other |The Individual |
| |Qualified Authority | | |him/herself |
|Criterion for Validation|Conformity |Coherence |Authenticity |Subjective Certainty |
I, the regime of institutional validation of faith, is the form typified in the contemporary Western world by Roman Catholicism; institutional authorities, whose efficacy is gained trough continuity of lineage, define the norms and rules for the wider community. At the other end of the spectrum, IV, the regime of self-validation of faith, represents “New Age”, non-formative religious formations, as described by Wood. II and III, regimes of communal and mutual validation respectively, represent formations where institutional and individual authorities are mixed. Regimes of communal validation of faith are typical of small groups of personally converted individuals who share a belief system and a common interpretation of the group’s relationship to the world; these include numerous Christian splinter groups or sects, for example, Seventh Day Adventists or Branch Davidians. It is regimes of mutual validation of faith which are of particular interest to this thesis, however, as they represent an embedded individualism which allows for individualised, experiential religiosity to operate within a more traditional institutional context, which is what we have found in our case studies. Contemporary “gnosticism” represents what Hervieu-Léger calls “the absorption of religious individualism into modern individualism” (Ibid, 169).
Groups embodying institutionalised individualism possess both non-formative and formative authority. Through the application of formative authority they are able to retain focus upon a distinct tradition and to engage in struggles of legitimization and delegitimization with other groups, while allowing greater room for multiple authorities than traditional, denominational religious formations. Wood suggests that such a mixture of formative and non-formative authority tends to manifest as a religious formation with two constituencies of adherents: a core of the committed and a larger group whose affiliation is looser in whatever respect (2007, 73-4). Intriguingly, this is exactly what we find in the groups examined in our case studies. The core constituency experiences the group’s authority formatively, while the outer constituency experiences it non-formatively.
Contemporary “Gnosticism” as Exemplar of Contemporary Religiosity
Despite the many appeals to tradition, then, contemporary “gnosticism” represents a rationalised, post-Enlightenment religious formation which functions as a particular critique of traditional religious forms which stress faith, the ontological authority of a clergy and a collectivist, transcendental soteriology. The roots of contemporary “gnostic” groups reach back to the fin-de-seiclé culture of exploration into alternative forms of religiosity, and their appeals to Eastern religions and “esoteric” traditions which sought practices that could lead the individual to have religious experiences. Contemporary “gnostic” groups, then, are attempting to formulate a religious formation that makes that individual experience central. The EG and the “gnostic sacramental movement” present themselves as a reformation of the contemporary Roman Catholic church; the EGC offer a more radical critique of contemporary religious orthodoxy, yet all three case studies, individual experience takes precedence over faith. This individual experience is termed “gnosis”. As we saw in chapter 2, attempts to define “gnosis” substantively as either a specific kind of mystical experience, or as a third cultural current of epistomological validation, are unsatisfactory. “Gnosis” is simply individually subjective religious experience which is mutually validated through collective ritual practice.
This institutionalised individualism typical of contemporary “gnostic” groups is entirely “consistent with a worldly and subjectivised conception of individual salvation” (Hervieu-Legér 2001, 169), and as such may be more broadly applicable to the religious field. For example, Parsons’ description of the Unification Church as synthesising “the seemingly opposed social forms of personalism and authoritarianism in a distinctively therapeutic religion” seems to represent this type of religious formation. The growth of pentecostalism in the US may similarly demonstrate this institutionalised individualism, given its rejection of rigid hierarchy and anthrocentrism, and its propensity for individual expression of faith (Martin 2005, 141-54). Institutionalised individualism, as exemplified by contemporary “gnosticism”, suggests that liturgical religious communities can contain individualised regimes of validation, and therefore present one possibility for religious institutions to continue into an increasingly individualised future.
Future Avenues of Research
As I pointed out in my introduction, this particular corner of the contemporary Western religious field has been almost entirely neglected by academia. This thesis has, I hope, brought contemporary “gnosticism” into sharper focus, demarcating the field for future researchers.
The first and principle line of future investigation is more detailed investigations into the groups examined above, and others. Although this thesis was necessary to provide a theoretical framework before such research could be carried out, it is in reality only the barest bones of a full understanding of the field. These studies should include more fieldwork that I have been able to carry out, both qualitative (i.e. interviews with “gnostics” of various age, gender, socio-economic position and geographical location, and with differing levels of involvement within these organisations) and quantitative (examinations of the actual number of individuals involved, their involvement in other religious or spiritual communities, and their level and length of involvement).
A second line of inquiry is to pursue the application of these theoretical models - non-linear archaeologies, discursive fields - to other problematic categories. While von Stuckrad, from whom I have adopted the model, has gone far in applying it to “esotericism” (2003; 2005a; 2005b), it may prove enlightening when applied to categories such as “New Age”, “magic” or even, dare I say it, “religion”.
Thirdly, the model of institutionalised individualism deserves to be pursued in more detail, especially if, as suggested above, it represents a major course of response by which religious formations are adapting to modernity. If it can be demonstrated to be broadly present in the contemporary religious field, it has the potential to provoke a reconsideration of the relationship of tradition to the category “religion”. However, this would require an application of the model to religious formations outside of the contemporary US and Latin America.
Finally, there is the intriguing possibility raised in Chapter 3 of a secularised, anticosmic “gnosticism”. Such a conceptualisation raises questions regarding the nature of religion and its relation to culture at large. Is it, for example, valid to apply religious terms to secular phenomena? It is to this possibility that I intend to turn my attention to next.
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[1] More detailed accounts can be found in most introductory books on classical “gnosticism”; for example, Pearson, 2007; Markschies, 2003; Filoramo, 1990; Pagels, 1979; et al.
[2] Such an argument may be pursued in Ahern (2009) and Merker (1993).
[3]
[4] For an account of the development of the Theosophical Society, see Godwin, J. (1994); Washington, P. (1993); and Campbell, B. F. (1980).
[5] The additional factors are that of 5) concordance, that the various teachings share some common fundament, and 6) the tradition is transmitted or initiated through masters.
[6] The völkische movement (meaning “of the common people”, but with connotations of “folklore” and “ethnicity”) was a loose affiliation of populist conservative groups in the German-speaking countries of Europe, beginning in the mid-19th century. They were typified by a mixture of agricultural romanticism, an interest in folklore and a pan-Germanic ethnic nationalism (Goodrick-Clarke 1985, 1-6). According to Junginger, the influence of Christianity decreased sharply in Germany following World War I, and as a result, academic positions were increasingly focused upon non-Christian subjects (2008, 7). As Christian theology was seen as a counter-ideology to National Socialism, a scholar was likely to find work by studying non-Christian religious traditions (Ibid, 13). In fact, those who studied Persia and India were most likely to achieve prominent status, as their research was used to bolster the Nazi ideological claims of a pagan Aryan descent (Ibid, 17-18).
[7] His examples are Zoroastrianism, Platonism and “Indian” dualism, presumably those inherent in certain Buddhist and Vedic philosophies.
[8] . Accessed 27/05/10.
[9] For example, Rosamonde Miller of the Ecclesia Gnostica Mysteriorum claims no less than fifteen lines of apostolic succession, including that of the EG and, through a secret French female order called the Holy Order of Miriam of Magdala, from Mary Magdalene herself. See . Accessed 19/04/2010.
[10] Jordan Stratford. . Accessed 27/05/10.
[11] For more on Randolph and the early history of sexual magic, see Deveny, J. P. (1997).
[12] . Accessed 19/4/2010.
[13] . Accessed 20/8/2010.
[14] . Accessed 20/08/2010.
[15] Email to the author, dated 25/11/09.
[16] . Accessed 18/6/10.
[17] . Accessed 3/6/2010.
[18] . Accessed 27/05/2010.
[19] De Palatine’s line of succession originates from Frenchman Jules Ferrette, who claimed to have been consecrated “Bishop of Iona” by a Patriarch of the Syrian Jacobite Church in 1866. No evidence has ever been produced of his consecration, however, and regardless, his consecration would remain invalid because Syrian Jacobite patriarchs do not have the authority to create autonomous patriarchies (Anson 1964, 35-6).
[20] . Accessed 27/05/2010.
[21] . Accessed 27/05/10.
[22] Useful sources on Crowley include Pasi (2006); Owen (2004), chapter 6, 186-220; Kaczynski (2003); Booth (2000); Sutin (2000).
[23] Crowley [1918] 1997, 585.
[24] König claims that by 1930, Krumm-Heller had became Patriarch of the EGC, although rejecting Crowley's Law of Thelema (König, 1998, 207). It is unclear therefore where the authority to grant this this position came, as Crowley had been in charge of the EGC since Reuss' death in 1922. It seems more likely that Reuss had made Krumm-Heller not Patriarch, but regional Grand-Master of the OTO for South America, similar to the position he had originally granted Crowley in regards to Great Britain. This would allow him to have held such a high position in the organisation without having to accept Crowley's later innovations.
[25] Pew Research Center's Forum on Religion & Public Life, 2009. . Accessed 4/6/2010. Figure 2 is taken from the same source.
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