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As with most things before the internet brought about the Great Democratisation of Life (and the attendant lowering of quality/increase of quantity), the occultisms of the late 20th and early 21st centuries were more stable than they are today—and certainly more stable than where things are heading. If a candidate wished to enter a magical path, it was, for most of the world, a question of what might be found locally. Even in the choice-obsessed Anglosphere, choice was largely limited to what could be found on the shelf of a bookshop. Outside of the largest cities, a working group would be a tremendous boon. A high-quality working group? Gold dust.
I just about remember all of this, though I was too young to get involved. By the time I came of age, in the late 00s, the splintering was well underway. Still, I inherited a coherent, thought-through idea of what the Right-Hand Path and the Left-Hand Path were. One was the domain of Wicca, AMORC, Buddhism, Christian mysticism. The other, the domain of LaVey, the Temple of Set, Odinism and, if you really were very hungry, the original ONA. In their particulars, these movements radically differed, but one point of shared unity was that their architects and proponents—whether Thích Nhất Hạnh, Fr. Seraphim Rose, Michael Aquino—were respectable minds. They had deeply drank of life's pleasures and hardships, were well-read, had been tested by others and could communicate their ideas. Generally, they were writing to a much better-educated, more widely experienced readership, rather than attention-split netizens. Inheriting a coherent understanding of the two paths from such teachers was important, because it meant there was an integrity to what one was doing—whatever that might have been. Now, things have changed radically...
They have changed so radically that I have come to the conclusion that the terms "Right-Hand Path" and "Left-Hand Path" no longer make sense. They did in a time when the symbols of one were associated with dissolution and the symbols of the other with individuation. To invoke the Devil then was an act of radical individuation. Now, and this is crucial, it is largely an aesthetic and, as such, it has lost meaning. The internet has so curated identity, so democratised having a “brand”, that forms of occultism have become aesthetic accessories to that brand. This is especially true of the Left-Hand Path. Granted, the seeds of this were in LaVey, yet, even for him, the core principle of differentiation was always supreme. I can think of few things more psychologically inconsistent than claiming the symbols of differentiation while making one’s persona Instagrammable, calling oneself an adversary while being a good, placid energy consumer. The Right-Hand Path hasn’t fared much better: endless talk about Christ and Allah, but few who truly believe, who truly “go into their room, shut the door, and pray.” We are in an age of radical shallowness, where everything is made to be seen, but when the crimsons or pastels are stripped away, everyone looks the same. This sense recently led me to consider the preservation of “the occult” and the two paths—even as they are mined for looks—with the certainty that, for the foreseeable, the shallowness is here to stay.
Aside from the poseurs, what truly divides those in pursuit of the numinous in 2025 is not whether they wear white or black, but where they believe power originates. There are two real paths—not “Right” and “Left”, but the path of exteriority and the path of interiority. The exterior path is the more common, and it is largely inherited from a metaphysics based on Aristotle. The exterior path reaches outward, towards something “out there”, believing it to exist independently of the psyche. Whether one bows in a church, draws sigils in a circle, or makes offerings under the full moon, the orientation remains the same: something other intervenes. This path can have “Right” or “Left” imagery. One can be reaching out to Geburah or Golachab. The aesthetic is irrelevant. What defines it is its dependence on the external. Provided that it leads to integration, I do not knock this path. Many great minds have advocated it, and I too have had low moments when I desperately wanted to hand over the wheel. Perhaps I’d have had an easier time if I’d believed that I could.
The interior path is rarer and more perilous. Worship, dialogue, hope, these things mean nothing to it. How could they? Those processes exteriorise. Instead, it purifies. It transforms Life itself into the alchemical furnace which causes change. It is the via negativa, the silent burning-away of illusion, until all that remains is the indestructible flame—the pure consciousness, the Essence of the Essence, that was always watching behind surface thought. There are no spirits here in the traditional sense, no bargains, no masks. Just the unveiling of what one already was. I used to call this the “Left-Hand Path”, though it was entirely incompatible with the demonolatry now such a noisy part of discourse online. Over the years, I’ve discovered that behind the “exterior” appearance of their teachings, there were figures I would once have instantly called “Right-Hand Path” who advocated this kind of interiority. Zoroaster, Ibn Arabi, Rumi, Pico, and Ficino are all examples.
The exterior path seeks enfoldment. The interior path seeks essence.
And here lies the dissolving of old divisions. Many—but not all—who call themselves Left-Handed are still exterior: immersed in images, symbols, projections. Their magic reaches outward, even as it claims to affirm the self. And many walking what once I called the Right-Hand Path do so inwardly, quietly refining themselves. Granted, there are many on the Right-Hand Path seeking the exterior too. The quiet fulcrum, hidden behind the noise of label and aesthetic, is the question of whether transformation is a gift from the outside or whether it arises from the purification of consciousness itself. All other questions are clothing.
For me, my journey has been an inversion of what's typical. Not a "looking for answers with moments of self-awareness" but, instead, it has been almost enitrely interior with panicked moments of exterior (these have often come about when I have been looking for something to distract from the weight of interiority). Yet, the path always remanifested after the dust settled and I would pick it up again and again.
Deep in that silent Presence is where I find myself now.
Thank you to those I’ve met along the way.
I just about remember all of this, though I was too young to get involved. By the time I came of age, in the late 00s, the splintering was well underway. Still, I inherited a coherent, thought-through idea of what the Right-Hand Path and the Left-Hand Path were. One was the domain of Wicca, AMORC, Buddhism, Christian mysticism. The other, the domain of LaVey, the Temple of Set, Odinism and, if you really were very hungry, the original ONA. In their particulars, these movements radically differed, but one point of shared unity was that their architects and proponents—whether Thích Nhất Hạnh, Fr. Seraphim Rose, Michael Aquino—were respectable minds. They had deeply drank of life's pleasures and hardships, were well-read, had been tested by others and could communicate their ideas. Generally, they were writing to a much better-educated, more widely experienced readership, rather than attention-split netizens. Inheriting a coherent understanding of the two paths from such teachers was important, because it meant there was an integrity to what one was doing—whatever that might have been. Now, things have changed radically...
They have changed so radically that I have come to the conclusion that the terms "Right-Hand Path" and "Left-Hand Path" no longer make sense. They did in a time when the symbols of one were associated with dissolution and the symbols of the other with individuation. To invoke the Devil then was an act of radical individuation. Now, and this is crucial, it is largely an aesthetic and, as such, it has lost meaning. The internet has so curated identity, so democratised having a “brand”, that forms of occultism have become aesthetic accessories to that brand. This is especially true of the Left-Hand Path. Granted, the seeds of this were in LaVey, yet, even for him, the core principle of differentiation was always supreme. I can think of few things more psychologically inconsistent than claiming the symbols of differentiation while making one’s persona Instagrammable, calling oneself an adversary while being a good, placid energy consumer. The Right-Hand Path hasn’t fared much better: endless talk about Christ and Allah, but few who truly believe, who truly “go into their room, shut the door, and pray.” We are in an age of radical shallowness, where everything is made to be seen, but when the crimsons or pastels are stripped away, everyone looks the same. This sense recently led me to consider the preservation of “the occult” and the two paths—even as they are mined for looks—with the certainty that, for the foreseeable, the shallowness is here to stay.
Aside from the poseurs, what truly divides those in pursuit of the numinous in 2025 is not whether they wear white or black, but where they believe power originates. There are two real paths—not “Right” and “Left”, but the path of exteriority and the path of interiority. The exterior path is the more common, and it is largely inherited from a metaphysics based on Aristotle. The exterior path reaches outward, towards something “out there”, believing it to exist independently of the psyche. Whether one bows in a church, draws sigils in a circle, or makes offerings under the full moon, the orientation remains the same: something other intervenes. This path can have “Right” or “Left” imagery. One can be reaching out to Geburah or Golachab. The aesthetic is irrelevant. What defines it is its dependence on the external. Provided that it leads to integration, I do not knock this path. Many great minds have advocated it, and I too have had low moments when I desperately wanted to hand over the wheel. Perhaps I’d have had an easier time if I’d believed that I could.
The interior path is rarer and more perilous. Worship, dialogue, hope, these things mean nothing to it. How could they? Those processes exteriorise. Instead, it purifies. It transforms Life itself into the alchemical furnace which causes change. It is the via negativa, the silent burning-away of illusion, until all that remains is the indestructible flame—the pure consciousness, the Essence of the Essence, that was always watching behind surface thought. There are no spirits here in the traditional sense, no bargains, no masks. Just the unveiling of what one already was. I used to call this the “Left-Hand Path”, though it was entirely incompatible with the demonolatry now such a noisy part of discourse online. Over the years, I’ve discovered that behind the “exterior” appearance of their teachings, there were figures I would once have instantly called “Right-Hand Path” who advocated this kind of interiority. Zoroaster, Ibn Arabi, Rumi, Pico, and Ficino are all examples.
The exterior path seeks enfoldment. The interior path seeks essence.
And here lies the dissolving of old divisions. Many—but not all—who call themselves Left-Handed are still exterior: immersed in images, symbols, projections. Their magic reaches outward, even as it claims to affirm the self. And many walking what once I called the Right-Hand Path do so inwardly, quietly refining themselves. Granted, there are many on the Right-Hand Path seeking the exterior too. The quiet fulcrum, hidden behind the noise of label and aesthetic, is the question of whether transformation is a gift from the outside or whether it arises from the purification of consciousness itself. All other questions are clothing.
For me, my journey has been an inversion of what's typical. Not a "looking for answers with moments of self-awareness" but, instead, it has been almost enitrely interior with panicked moments of exterior (these have often come about when I have been looking for something to distract from the weight of interiority). Yet, the path always remanifested after the dust settled and I would pick it up again and again.
Deep in that silent Presence is where I find myself now.
Thank you to those I’ve met along the way.
