chaos magic | The Blog of Baphomet

I was at a museum private view recently when a colleague from a partner organisation told me that she’s been looking me up on-line. ‘I didn’t realise you were a chaos magician,’ she remarked, and then ‘is it quite dark?’

I’m pretty lucky in that I’m out (as a Pagan and occultist) at work and am employed within a sector in which religious or philopshical beliefs (that don’t conflict with our policies about equality of opportunity, anti-racism, an LGBT-postive agenda and so on) shouldn’t be a problem. In fact in an area such as Northern Devon (where over 95% of the population identify as ‘white British’ of which the vast majority describe themselves as ‘Christian’) my own beliefs perhaps add somewhat to creating a more diverse culture.

In my brief explaination of chaos magic (CM) to my colleague I touched on ideas such as fractals and chaos mathematics (self similarity at different scales and the analogous observation that different spiritual traditions exhibit similar techniques of praxis even where their exoteric credo may appear very different). I mentioned the idea of Khaos in the ancient Greek sense of the term; the unknowable void from which arise the many formed manifestations of the universe.

Santa Maria Chaos

CM can also be described in terms of its historical development, a particular approach of style of spiritual endeavour. One that developed from a confluence of late 20th century ideas; ceremonal magic, neo-paganism, Discordianism and more. As a style it was influenced by the punk, do-it-yourself approach; an intensely personal quest to discover magic for ourselves rather than having it filtered through the theology of Thelema or Wicca or whatever.

The use of the term ‘chaos’ does (in its modern sense) suggest, as my colleague had surmised, a certain darkness. But what in practice does this mean? One way of understanding this might be to consider CM as having a particular flavour, a style in the sense that there are styles of clothing, of music or martial arts.

As humans there are different trends that appeal more or less to each of us at certain points in our lives. As a younger man I experimented with dressing in punk, chapish, goth and other styles of clothing (and these days I’ve added museum professional, Freemason and crossdresser to the list). So while chaos magicians (in terms of their practice) might draw on different paradigms or expressions of spirituality (or other methods of esoteric investigation) there is, never the less, a certain style or flavour to something we designate as ‘chaos’ magic.

Of course humans being humans it’s pretty common to find some people (mostly those who are rather new to occultism in my experience) asserting the primacy of their own preferred style ‘CM is just superficial punkery’ or ‘Wicca is just fluffy faggotry’ or ‘Thelema is only for Crowley fan-boys’ etc etc. Yet more experienced practitioners tend to realise that while there are differences in forms of occultism these are outweighed by their similarities. Even apparently über-radical-traditionalist styles of magic (such as the rites described by groups such as the Order of Nine Angles or various forms of Traditional Witchcraft), when one drills down into the guts of the practice, one finds methods for changing consciousness, magic circles, spooky barbarous words and songs etc etc. As they say in the Orient: Same same but different.

Another way of thinking about the relationship between esoteric styles is that of music. Music comes in different genres. It typically consists of sounds (and the absence of sounds) placed into relationships and while it may be challenging to specify exactly what music is we can all recognise the various forms in which it appears (ie what it does).

All those are just labels we know that music is music

As a former graphic designer one of my favourite ways to consider the relationship of different magicultures is as styles of lettering. A chosen font tells us something about the aspirations and sense of self of any given tradition. It also tells us how that tradition (especially in these days of self-publishing) would like to present iteself to the world. Thus the word ‘chaos’ in the example below is a bit alien/futurist/goth – this is a youthful font, wild and certainly ‘dark’. Then we have ‘Druid’; folkish and friendly. ‘Shaman’ is strong, ‘ethnic’, perhaps carved, delighing in the simplicity of only upper case. ‘Thelema’ is classic, authoritative; perfect for a religion with a sacred book and reams of texts catalogued into classes A, B, C etc. ‘Witch’ suggests a wildness (the letters don’t sit evenly on the line), perhaps a slightly retro feel with those serifs, and a human-scale sense that this writing may have been produced by hand.

Many faced magic

Taking this method of analysis a little deeper we can focus our attention on just one sector of occulture and see how fonts reflect the various flavours which that style contains.

Mysterious writes

The first font (and yes it is actually called ‘Wiccan’) again suggests something very much at the human-scale, hand Crafted and simple (and the moon like ‘C’s may subtly allude to the the nocturnal aspect of witchcraft). The next reversed out text is more authoritative but maintains an olde worlde feel (the ‘W’ and ligature of the ‘f’ and ‘t’ put one in mind of early modern type). The more elaborate grey text on black goes for that spooky vibe. Based on an imagined late medieval Gothic illuminated lettering, this text has an additional sprinkling of fairy-dust scroll work. The lines ‘The quick brown fox’ is the kind of font one finds in the seminal book Witches by Erica Jong (illustrated by Joseph A. Smith) and similar texts. Again human-scale, romantic and with a suggestion of days of yore. Meanwhile the red lettering reprises the above observations, providing a font that is old skool, hand-written and gothy. By taking examples of fonts like this we can discern the things that appeal to people who like witchcraft.

Take a browse round the library, the bookshop or on-line and one can easily see how the fonts we choose reflect our identity and the spells we hope to cast (through writing) on the world.

So when people ask me ‘what is chaos magic?’, especially if they know something about occulture, the letter style analogy is one I often use. What we are all doing, in our different ways is ‘magic’, the wrapper we choose for our practice, like the selection of typefaces, is about the style we find most evocative and inspirational (at any given time) as we make our journey into the Mystery.

While some aspects of esoteric endeavour can be highly personal and private there are others that are profoundly relevant to other people, including those who aren’t necessarily into all that other spooky occult stuff. The work of the celebrant or priest(ess) is one such example of this.

Over the years I’ve been asked to perform numerous handfastings, namings, house blessings and, so far, one requiem. Many of my magical colleagues have also done rites of this type. Sometimes we are asked by people who are card-carrying pagans, while at other times I’ve been asked by ‘friends of friends’; people who might want a ceremony that sits outside of the Anglican Christian framework which remains (though in a greatly attenuated form) as the default style for rites of passage among many folk in the British Isles.

The work of the celebrant provides some measure of the significant social role played by shamans in indigenous cultures. While it’s actually not that easy (or respectful or ethnographically meaningful) to generalise about shamanism and it’s social meaning in different societies, it is perhaps fair to point out that the shaman’s role, in many cultures, is seen as being socially relevant. For all our trappings of magic circles, demonic seals, mystical titles, temple bling and the rest – to many ‘outsiders’ much of occulture looks little different from slightly-bonkers live action role play. However, by being asked by our broader community to help provide rites of transition, we are performing the key role played by esoteric specialists (be they shamans, priests or others) in many cultures both past and present.

Creating a good ritual is important. I was recently asked to provide a marriage ceremony for two friends who were getting wed on the island of Sicily. The rite I created (in close consultation with the happy couple) had to make sense, and be emotionally moving for them plus 10 British guest and 40 Sicilians (from the bride’s family). Fortunately the neo-pagan canon and my own experience meant that I was able to hold the space successfully to create an experience which uplifted everyone there. Simple, almost universally understood acts – exchanging rings, asking people to give a blessing and offer a candle to the couple, a circle of flowers within which they might stand, consecrating their union with earth, with water, air and fire as they held hands, and finally a kiss. This is the language of simple ritual, handily getting round the need for too much translation for either English or Italian speakers. People cried – in a good way – and one chap (who actually turned out to be a member of the Carabinieri) was really taken with the whole thing (‘magificane , bello , spirituale!’), which was nice.

The blessing of air, Sicilian style

As with much group ritual, creating a good handfasting or other ceremony is often a collaborative work. It’s important to be able to listen to the needs of the people involved as much as coming with one’s own preconceptions about how things ‘should’ be done. It’s important to be able to adapt to local circumstances too. For example at a recent wedding that Nikki Wyrd and I did in North Wales, we wanted to incorporate the ‘traditional’ jumping over the broomstick. Rather than do this at the ceremony itself we waited until the morning after (the main rite took place by the sea and carrying a broom down the scramble to the isolated cove we were using wouldn’t have been easy, moreover the dramatic reveal of the broom itself would have been spoiled). Given the style of the people we were acting as celebrants to, rather than a classic besom we instead bound ribbons around their own yard brush. Combining the magical and mundane in a way we judged would both amuse and move them.

Jumping into a new life, together!

The practice of facilitating rites of passage also helps the individual magician to maintain an outward focus for their work, and not to disappear up their own ouroboros backside, into an introspective haze of rarefied magic-isms. Doing social ritual means understanding how people work, what is likely to move them, what ritual techniques will work in different settings, and being able to hold the space in a way that privileges the experience of those undertaking the ritual rather than the authority of the magician themselves. This Work is a service and one that I typically give for free (though I generally accept offers to cover my expenses). As I’ve written before: if we work with spirits the most important spirits we meet on a daily basis are other humans. Finding good ways to work with these spirits, especially when we are entrusted to help them in rites of passage, is for me a great honour. Being asked to do this kind of work is also a confirmation of my status in the minds of others. Not as some super powerful magician (or whatever) but as someone who can blend the authority and skill necessary to hold the ritual space with the sensitivity required to respond to the needs of others.

The test for whether one is actually a shaman or a priest is not how we like to style ourselves but how others refer to us. And while one might be mindful of the sort of ego inflation such titles may engender there is also the need to honestly face the truth. That the magic I do does have a utility and relevance in my wider community, and so I am grateful to the universe that I can perform this Great Work for others.