Book Review: "Maat Magick: A Guide to Self-Initiation" by Nema
Balancing on the Edge of a Feather
Nema. Maat Magick. Weiser Books, 1995.
I’ve been looking forward to adding this book to my Book Reviews section. My recent writing has heavily emphasized a Left Hand Path frame of reference, and so have all of my book reviews ever since I made the decision to emphasize reviews of books that I view as being applicable to the Word of Hermekate. In the most recent review, I covered The Satanic Bible by Anton Szandor LaVey and mentioned that one major aspect of the Word of Hermekate is to serve as a counter-balance to the teachings of LaVey, and this is largely in keeping with the very spirit of the principle of Ma’at. I have often described the Word of Hermekate as bridging the Aeon of Set with that of Ma’at, so it’s about time I started highlighting the Ma’atian side of that balance a bit more. However—as counter-intuitive as it might seem in light of the perspective described above—the aspect of Hermekate that bridges the two Aeons comes with the consequence that, every bit as much as Hermekate serves as a counter-balance to LaVey’s Word of Indulgence, it also serves in some ways to counter-balance Nema’s Word of Ipsos and various aspects of her teachings. Standing as it does in the “Twilight Zone” of liminality between Set and Ma’at as neteru, the impulse of the Word of Hermekate is to reconcile their respective Aeons by bringing both of them closer to one another and highlighting how each principle actually implies and thus upholds the other by way of their contrasting, yet fundamentally complimentary natures. Hopefully, in the fullness of this book review, I’ll better explain this intricate relationship and how it plays out (although a more elaborate and detailed exposition is something that would be better saved for future planned writings).
Although I finally read this book for the first time this year, I’ve known who Nema is for close to a decade and have had a very vague awareness of the Ma’at current of magic(k) for quite a while—just about 23 years now. My first exposure to the concept came at a time when I was hanging out in Otherkin chatrooms, via a set of writings about Indigo Children by Sunfell (specifically, this page: Crystal or Octarine?. I totally thought I was an Indigo for a while, and those in the know can probably clearly see the thematic overlap between the concepts of Indigo Children and Otherkin. Most of this was catalyzed by my earlier spirit work, covered in When They Talk Back and Following the Fire Part III: Don’t Worry, I’ve Already Had My Messianic Delusion, complete with implications that I’m “not from around here”). Ever since that early introduction, despite the fact that I hadn’t formally made contact with the Ma’atian magic(k)al current, I’ve nonetheless felt a deep connection with Ma’at for many years, having long held my own understanding of it as a guiding principle.
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Clearly, it has long been pretty much inevitable that I would work my way to this book eventually. In many ways, it has been indirectly influencing me for years. This is one of the reasons I deeply appreciate the true power of the written word, and that understanding lies beneath everything I’ve written here. A simple, humble website hosting woo-woo essays had a powerful influence on my path which is only coming to culmination now—and thus I have every confidence that even if I don’t push too hard to insert Dark Twins into wide circulation, it may likewise have a strong formative influence on someone else. The value of unobtrusive little online outposts such as this is overlooked in our highly-quantitative, consumer-driven society. I have lived this truth for myself. If this site has a similar impact on even one person, it will be worth all the work I have put into it.
At any rate, enough of my yapping...let’s get on to the actual book review, shall we?
On the One Hand
This book was an absolute joy to read. Nema’s approach in writing it was the very essence of the principle behind it—that of ma’at itself. However, also in keeping with that principle, her approach embodies paradox.
The book’s simultaneous strength and weakness is in the relative simplicity of its presentation.
After the traditional opening formalities of Acknowledgements, the Introduction, and the Foreword, the main work of the book commences with Part I: Theory.
This section is essentially an overview of the path of initiation from Nema’s point of view. Consisting of 11 discrete stages, the basic structure Nema uses to illustrate the path cleaves to the tradition of modern Western esotericism, popularized by The Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, of a basis in the 10 Sephiroth of the Qabbalistic Tree of Life (plus the Abyss). Nema’s own initiation had strong roots in Thelema and it shows in this structure. That being said, even insofar as she honors those roots in this book, she also deviates from them in the way she de-mystifies her presentation of the stages, largely dispensing with the heady and oft-pretentious claptrap that typically surrounds them in most esoteric teachings. She goes a very long way toward rendering her thoughts regarding each stage in plain, accessible language, even going so far as to name each successive stage simply “Level 10,” “Level 9,” etc.
I appreciate and commend her for doing this because so much of the old, Hermetic-Qabbalistic song and dance really only serves to over-complicate and obfuscate the essence of initiation, doing far more to keep people out of initiatory work than to usher them into it. It’s a refreshing contrast from some authors (Dion Fortune comes to mind) who have traditionally insisted on being vague or cryptic, referring to everything by its secret symbolic name, hinting that “true Initiates will know the hidden meaning of this deep arcanum” (like, okay, Dion, but obviously if I’m looking to books like yours to learn more about this stuff, I’m not one of those people, so if you’re not going to be clear, why did you even bother writing the book?). This habit of occulture has served various purposes. There have been times in history when it hasn’t necessarily been safe to speak in plain language about this stuff for fear of social ostracism or persecution, and that’s fair. There’s also the fact that the path of initiation does have its dangers, but this is something Nema herself manages to competently address even as she simplifies her teaching so it can be understood in fairly common terms.
In truth, however, one of the main unspoken reasons for all this dramatic and dressed-up secrecy has been simple: It serves as a form of gatekeeping that helps members of exclusive ingroups to maintain a modicum of hierarchical power and prestige by generating a kind of scarcity where it need not exist. In other words, although initiation is inherently elitist to some degree (not everyone is cut out for it and that’s just how it is), a great deal of that elitism has traditionally been artificially constructed and maintained via such superfluous hoops through which prospective initiates have been forced to jump—many of which have served little other purpose than to uphold patriarchal privilege and bolster the kinds of fragile egos that are all-too-often drawn to the occult.
On this point, Nema’s approach makes great strides toward cutting through the bullshit and helping to level the initiatory playing field; she had no illusions about the real rigors of initiation that still apply to all comers, and she makes such hurdles clear—she emphasizes repeatedly that one must still do the work for oneself and that success is by no means guaranteed to everyone—but with that being understood, she does her level best to impart a fighting chance to anyone who wants one by refusing to indulge in unnecessary smoke and mirrors. To the credit of those who came before her, there’s a bit of a Catch-22 in that such a simplified presentation likely would not have been as feasible in Crowley’s or Fortune’s heydays as it was by the time Nema put pen to paper. As she herself acknowledges in the book, she stood on the shoulders of giants. The only reason there’s room in a more common vernacular to describe these realities is because that vernacular had already been deeply influenced by the work of people like Crowley who so popularized wider knowledge of the occult. As a result, there are many concepts that are currently prominent in the popular zeitgeist which ultimately have their roots in esoteric teachings whether or not this is commonly recognized. Still, the simple fact that this is the case has not stopped many occult authors from continuing to cleave to outmoded ways of expressing these teachings, and Nema deserves a lot of credit for recognizing that the status quo had shifted and for taking such overt and evolutionary steps as to make this kind of simplification an especial point of her work. Kudos to her!
She pulled this off so well that despite her marked efforts to make these ideas so accessible, I still managed to learn quite a bit from this book even after walking the initiatory path for close to 30 years.
Part II: The Preshadowing of the Feather is centered on Liber Pennae Praenumbra—Nema’s inspired initiatory text that follows somewhat in the spirit of Aleister Crowley’s Liber AL vel Legis and came to this world on the heels of Michael Aquino’s Book of Coming Forth By Night. This section includes a brief summary of the circumstances surrounding the writing of the text, followed by the inspired text itself, and closing with Nema’s personal commentary on the work. Though it is by far the shortest section of the book in terms of word count, it is also likely the richest section in terms of sheer symbolic meaning. Like any true inspired text, Liber Pennae Praenumbra indubitably comes from a place of relative spiritual elevation and rarity, encoded with transcendent meaning not directly accessible to the rational intellect alone. It holds the kind of meaning that only unfolds over time, with extended reflection and consideration, and many separate readings. Such is the mark of true “inspiration” in the most authentic initiatory terms. Its symbolism is deep and archetypal, with some of its most profound secrets hidden in plain sight, embedded in what seem to be the most innocuous turns of phrase. These are themes that emanate from what would be known Qabbalistically as the Supernal realm, or Platonically as the World of Forms or of Being. This is where, despite my snarky comments above, some of the tendencies of writers like Dion Fortune to allude in almost spooky ways to the deep, hidden layers of esoteric symbolism are fully justified, as this is a real phenomenon (or perhaps more accurately, noumenon), and a mark of certain levels of initiation; the meanings of certain symbols are timeless, eternal, but opaque to the uninitiated mind, and this holds true beyond layers of artificial keys constructed merely by human ingenuity. To put it in terms anyone on the internet can understand: IYKYK.
However, the difference between the way writers like Fortune or Paul Foster Case dangle such esoteric gems before a begging, yearning audience and the way Nema skillfully and elegantly wove such gems into the rich tapesty of Liber Pennae Praenumbra is like the difference between night and day. Put simply: There’s a time and a place for wise and honorable dispensation of such gems, and to create such a space devoted exclusively to this kind of divine speech is the sublime and simple purpose of genuine inspired writing. In this way, Liber Pennae Praenumbra is a treasure trove.
Last but not least, there’s Part III: Practice. Some books in the occult genre veer overmuch in one direction or the other, either wandering in flights of theoretical fancy with nothing clear and simple to anchor their speculations in the mundane world, or filled with simple instructions without any real explication. However, in eminently Ma’atian fashion, this book expertly balances the two. More than a mere collection of assorted rituals based loosely on the theoretical themes of the author’s esoteric propositions, this section constitutes a fairly comprehensive manual of magic(k) that begins—as almost all traditional teaching about magic(k) does—with a specialized banishing ritual for the Ma’at current and a chapter advising the aspirant as to the construction and consecration of one’s magic(k)al weapons. There are also rituals meant to attune the magician to the Ma’at current, and finally a set of practices designed specifically to usher them through the most important of initiatory milestones.
In short, this section of the book does the courtesy of assuming the reader may never have practiced magic(k) in their life, and offers a workable set of tools to get anyone started. At the same time, Nema includes alongside these rituals three separate chapters devoted to the highest levels of Initiation, which is something one very rarely finds in esoteric writing. Very matter-of-factly, Nema addresses some of the ups and downs surrounding initiatory stages corresponding with the grades of Magister Templi, Magus, and Ipsissimus. These were among the most valuable chapters for me. All of this means that, depending on the desires, needs, and proclivities of the magician, this book could conceivably aid the aspiring Ma’atian initiate at all points on their path. This is a rare feat in occult literature. Again, all of this is done in a way that doesn’t make efforts to be especially obtuse, does not engage in the arrogance of unnecessary sophistication. It’s all very matter-of-fact and unassuming, perfectly approachable and not at all “full of itself.”
And yet, all the same, I absolutely savored Nema’s poetic and erudite prose. Her writing style is truly elegant in its simplicity while somehow conveying a royal dignity nonetheless.
In all of the senses described above, this work is balanced, through-and-through.
On the Other Hand
As happy as I am to sing the many praises of this book, alas—we dwell in the World of Becoming, ever-tainted with the imperfection that necessitates our very participation in The Great Work. As such, there are inevitable drawbacks to the sublime approach Nema took in writing this book. This mirrors in a serious way the magic(k)al situation which calls forth the procession of the various Aeons, as well as the need for all Magi, one way or another, to give expression to their Words. The universe and the consciousness that indwells it are both ever-evolving, requiring constant adjustment to our ways of communicating their respective Mysteries.
As such, any criticisms that I do make of this book should be viewed solely in that light, and not taken as overt criticisms of Nema herself or her system as a whole. Truly, such criticisms are really minor nitpicks in the grand scheme of things, and the main reason I belabor them at all is because such is the imperative of my own Word: Hermekate.
The one downside to Nema’s emphasis on directness and simplicity of communication is the fact that in some cases, initiatory teachings very much do quickly reach nearly fathomless depths. As such, while a book such as this one does an excellent job of opening some of the major doors for new initiates in a way that avoids being unnecessarily discouraging, I also think it can be misleading in some ways by hiding the real intricacy of some of the lofty halls to which these major doorways can lead. In other words, it’s very likely that a student will need to do considerable additional study to clarify some of the finer points of the initiatory path if this book is their starting point. As I read the book, I noted that, ironically, one of the main reasons I was able to really appreciate the elegance of Nema’s approach to the book was the fact that I was already very familiar with the territory Nema was mapping out from decades of my own study and practice. Given the familiar structure of her initiatory grades, as I began each chapter, I licked my lips in anticipation of seeing how she was going to tackle various matters related to each “Level” or Sephirah. As such, there were likely subtler, tongue-in-cheek comments along the way that, perhaps, a neophyte might not readily appreciate. In some ways, I wish I could somehow jump back in time and see what this book might look like through the eyes of someone to whom the theory of esoteric initiation was brand-new.
Of course, even this so-called “shortcoming” is, indeed, a strength of sorts—because it gives this book considerable “replay value.” It’s well worth an initiate’s time to review the chapters of this book as one advances along the path.
Lastly, there was another very respectable reason Nema took the approach that she did which had nothing at all to do with the initiates reading the book—a motive to which I can relate because I’ve made a similar consideration with regard to my own, future writings:
Expedience.
As Nema confided herself in the book’s final chapter:
As I look at the stack of manuscript pages, I’m sure that this book will be thinner than its neighbors on the shelf labeled “Magick.” The reason for this is that Maat Magick is a simple system of initiation that doesn’t need voluminous explanation.
It stands on the shoulders of giants, Mages whose contributions to the Initiated Tradition cover miles of territory. These contributions are original works and reconsiderations of older literature and teachings. I see no point in repeating their work in these pages, since it’s available under their names in their books.
p. 217
In other words: Why reinvent the wheel?
And honestly, it doesn’t get much more honorable and practical than that. Nema had no egotistical need to commandeer someone else’s teachings and put her own stamp on them for the sake of self-promotion…though this leads me into my next section covering the only other main point of…”contrast”…that I have to raise.
All in all, though, this recalls a certain lyric based on a Zen Buddhist tale:
“First there is a mountain, then there isn’t a mountain, then there is.”
Such is the way of Initiation.
My only other qualm is this—and while it’s a point of subtlety that I certainly plan to address more comprehensively in future writings of my own where it will be much more pertinent, it’s worth at least mentioning here considering some of the things I’ve already written about at Dark Twins:
There are some basic, core assumptions about the later stages of initiation (specifically, the Crossing of the Abyss and everything that comes after) made by Nema and presented as plain fact that aren’t necessarily as “absolute” as Nema suggests, and the way she presents them can be misleading. These assumptions have to do with the concept of “ego dissolution.” One major reason I think this is worth discussing and overtly challenging is because such assumptions (and other assumptions like them) have been among the most stubborn and disabling obstacles on my own path, and I’d like to spare others the trouble I went through over such points. Such is one of the major cornerstones of the Word of any Magus: We leave our Word behind, ideally, so as to elevate the initiatory Art to a new level, and one way we do this is by clearing up misconceptions of the past and building roads so that those who come after us can exceed us instead of re-treading old ground themselves.
Before the time of Aleister Crowley, it was widely thought that every grade from Magister Templi to Ipsissimus was literally unreachable by incarnate humans. These grades were held to be so lofty that only one who had transcended the physical plane entirely could truly fulfill and experience them. At one time, the very audacity of Crowley to dare to claim the grade of Magister Templi was an utter apostasy. Not only would it have been regarded as completely laughable—such an “upper ceiling” was taken so much for granted that the sheer chutzpah required to say such a thing out loud was considerable enough on its own. I honestly think this, more than anything else, was far worse in the eyes of his initiatory comrades than many of his other infamous exploits. It flew in the face of the very goals toward which most initiates were working. It made a mockery of many of their claims because of how essential the supposed spiritual rarity of these grades was to the entire initiatory worldview. It shook some serious foundations.
Nowadays, we acknowledge the possibility of such attainments as a matter of course…although, depending on who you ask, such attainments are still considered to be so rare that many students are advised to summarily scoff at anyone who openly claims them at all.
I truly, deeply, and wholeheartedly believe the reason for this tendency centers upon some other claims regarding “post-Abyssal” states of initiation: Namely, the persistent belief that “ego dissolution” is a defining feature of such states. This tends to be one of the main yardsticks most esoteric practitioners and students use to evaluate such claims:
“How selfless is this person? They seem too human. I don’t trust it.”
Nope. Nope. Nope.
I cry “foul!” And I’m not alone. Truly, one of the major “hooks” that initially drew me deeply into the serious consideration of teachings such as those espoused on the Left Hand Path by teachers like Michael Aquino, Don Webb, and Stephen Flowers was a similar recognition of how inherently contradictory such a belief is.
Put simply: If we truly believe Aleister Crowley actually reached the upper grades of Magister Templi, Magus, and Ipsissimus, then there’s a fundamental contradiction to any claim that such an initiate must “lose their ego.” Crowley didn’t become a complete ascetic, like the legendary Siddhartha Gautama, upon his attainment. He retained his dirty sense of humor, his love of wry and pointed wit. He died nearly penniless under circumstances no one would willingly emulate. In short, as refined as his sense of esoteric philosophy may have been and as transcendent as his spiritual perspective clearly was, he was still very much a normal, down-to-earth human in many ways.
How could all of this be true at once? How could ego-loss be a basic core requirement for these upper grades when virtually everyone in recent times who is said to have reached such states clearly retained many aspects of their earthly personalities?
If one must lose one’s ego to reach these states—then what do we even mean by the term “ego” in this context?
Nema addresses this by proposing that while this thing called the “ego” definitely and unequivocally undergoes a very real and irrevocable death in the Abyss (which was largely a parroting of Crowley’s opinions on the matter), the initiate maintains a continued existence in and of the mundane world by adopting mere “masks” even as they recognize on some deeper level that their selfhood is an “illusion.” And for those who truly insist that the object of initiation is indeed the obliteration of the ego and the relatively final dissolution of the thing called “self,” such an explanation or theory is about the only way to wrap one’s head around the problem in a way that leaves the higher grades even halfway attainable in the imagination.
Since comparably few people are supposed to be able to reach this state, it’s understandable that this belief persists. It’s the kind of solution that deters questioning because supposedly, only a small percentage of people would ever even find themselves in the position to question or challenge it with any considerable—forgive the clumsy expression—”personal” authority. Anyone seeking to upset this balance—much like anyone before Crowley seeking to upset the previous consensus that these upper grades weren’t even possibilities for fleshly humans at all—can be summarily dismissed, because if you would dare to threaten this sacred cow, you must still be obstinately rooted in egoism, inclined toward a belligerent defiance that could never be countenanced by someone without an ego. In short, so the theory goes, if you’re looking to upset this particular apple cart, that very notion implies you’re not the Magister Templi that you claim to be. If this belief were proven false, it suggests that there may be many who have indeed reached this state, but don’t believe they have, because they haven’t experienced the kind of complete ego loss that is purported to be an essential feature of this state of consciousness.
Of course, there’s another possibility: The possibility that, just as the general consensus about these grades being fully beyond human reach was wrong, so the current consensus setting the “requirement” of ego-dissolution is also incorrect.
I would posit—and I know that many others on the Left Hand Path who have reached these levels would concur—that to believe that ego dissolution is the truest benchmark of these states is unnecessary and inherently fallacious. We would maintain that a certain definite and profound self-transformation does indeed guard the precipice of The Abyss, but that “ego-dissolution” simply isn’t the most accurate way of describing or comprehending it.
The kind of transformation that takes place in the Abyss does, however, very much depend upon the state of the psyche that meets with it. The ordeals that await initiates in Da’ath are all tailor-made; the Choronzon that we face is a beast uniquely horrifying and threatening to our very own soul in particular, and as such, the form that our own transformation ends up taking will be similarly unique.
What this means is that if you are of a mindset and inclination that holds selflessness and altruism as foundational imperatives, then you will indeed take that “seed” into the infinite darkness with you, and your lived experience will surely reflect that.
But this is not the only possible outcome, and as such, it is categorically not the most definitive way of describing these grades. It is completely unnecessary to hang our proverbial hats upon such a hook.
This is where the distinction between the Right Hand Path and the Left Hand Path becomes eminently important, and highlights one of the major reasons I am so passionate about defending and championing the Left Hand Path: Because while it still holds a fairly seedy and tarnished reputation, the reality is that true and comprehensive initiation requires one to walk the territory demarcated as “the Left Hand Path”—whether or not one actually recognizes it by that name.
While Aleister Crowley had his own definition of the Left Hand Path, or “The Brothers of the Shadow,” as evil and utterly reprehensible—one which even Nema herself basically upholds in this book—the irony is that Nema is someone I consider to essentially partake of the Left Hand Path. The only difference is one of dissonant definitions resulting in the relative absurd situation wherein she herself would deny that the term applied to her in this way.
I covered most of the points supporting this view in my review for Dr. Stephen Flower’s Lords of the Left-Hand Path, but in short: By the strict terms used by self-described Left-Hand Path Initiates, people like Aleister Crowley and even Madame Blavatsky would themselves fall under the heading of “Left-Hand Path” even as they would spit upon the very title with disgust.
It’s a great irony that is cleared up in certain writings such as the above—but one which, owing to the relative reclusiveness of most Left Hand Path schools, doesn’t get anywhere near as much recognition as it deserves.
I seek to change that, because promoting such an understanding so as to better establish the same as a matter of common initiatory knowledge would be of great benefit to the esoteric community, and indeed to the world at large…
…if only they could be convinced.
But that, as I’ve said, is a matter for later writings.
Despite this personal “pet peeve” of mine, I still think that Nema’s book, Maat Magick, should be required reading for anyone seeking a truly balanced and comprehensive education in initiation. With the above caveats kept in mind, a person with sufficient diligence of study and practice wouldn’t really even need to hear my Word of Hermekate. They could connect the same dots that I did.
The difference is that I’ve spent 30 years connecting them, and if the Word of Hermekate succeeds…they won’t have to.