Magic – real magic, as understood by occultists across history – is far more than

the stuff of fairy tales. It has been called an art, a science, a philosophy, even
a way of life. Aleister Crowley, one of the 20th century’s most infamous magicians,
famously defined “Magick” as “the Science and Art of causing Change to occur in
conformity with Will” . In other words, to real practitioners, magic is about
harnessing unseen forces (or deep inner powers) to effect change in the world or
oneself – not pulling rabbits out of hats. Crowley even added that anything
achievable by natural means, from blowing one’s nose to juggling, could be
considered magic if done with intent! He and other occultists spell it as magick
(with a k) to distinguish it from stage illusions . Another occult author, Dion
Fortune, offered a gently different spin: “Magic is the art of changing
consciousness at will.” Whether the goal is altering the outside world or one’s
own awareness, magic in these traditions is serious business – yet it’s often
approached with a sense of wonder and a touch of playfulness.

Real-world magic comes in many forms. It has been practiced in elaborate rituals by
robed ceremonial magicians, whispered in humble folk prayers by village healers,
mapped in the stars by astrologers, and sought in ecstatic trances by shamans. It
spans continents and centuries, encompassing the occult philosophies of European
courts and the sacred rites of indigenous peoples. In this script, we’ll embark on
a journey through the major types of magic as recognized by occult practitioners
themselves. We’ll visit the candle-lit halls of ceremonial magic, where scholars
summon angels and demons; wander into the cottage of folk witches and cunning folk
brewing herbal charms; consult ancient divination systems like tarot cards and the
I Ching; explore Eastern esoteric systems from Taoist alchemy to Hindu Tantra and
Tibetan Bon; observe the spirit journeys of shamanic traditions; and take stock of
modern movements like Wicca, chaos magic, and the New Age. Along the way, we’ll
touch on the theories – the how and why – behind magic: concepts like
correspondences between cosmos and earth, the four elements, planetary influences,
and more. Prominent figures (think of names like Crowley, Agrippa, John Dee, Dion
Fortune) and famous texts (such as The Kybalion, Ars Goetia, The Book of the Law)
will guide our narrative . The tone will be factual and respectful – treating each
tradition on its own terms – but with a dash of whimsy to keep things lively. After
all, what’s a journey into the occult without a sense of enchantment?

So, brew a cup of tea (or a potion, if you prefer), sit back, and let’s travel
through the rich tapestry of the world’s magical practices. From high ritual to
homespun spellcraft, the realms of occult magic await.

Imagine a dim study in Victorian London: walls lined with dusty tomes, incense
curling in the air, and a robed magician tracing a circle on the floor with a
sword. This is the world of ceremonial magic – sometimes called high magic or
ritual magic. It’s an approach to the occult characterized by elaborate rites,
formal invocations, and often a lot of symbolic tools and stagecraft. Ceremonial
magicians treat magic almost like a sacred science. Their practices are typically
drawn from Western esoteric philosophy – think Hermeticism, Kabbalah, alchemy, and
classical mythology – synthesized into ritual systems. In fact, the very term
ceremonial magic denotes that ceremony and precise procedure are at the heart of
this style . Robes, wands, chalices, pentagrams on the altar, complex diagrams on
the floor – all these “accessories” are considered requisites to help focus the
practitioner’s will and invoke cosmic forces .

One of the great wellsprings of ceremonial magic was the Hermetic tradition, a
philosophical system said to derive from Hermes Trismegistus, a legendary ancient
sage. Hermeticism teaches the interconnectedness of all things – encapsulated in
the famous maxim, “As above, so below.” This idea of correspondences (that earthly
things relate to celestial things) became a pillar of magical theory. For example,
a ceremonial magician might invoke planetary forces by using specific herbs,
metals, and symbols associated with a planet. The Hermetic Order of the Golden
Dawn, founded in 1887 in England, was a secret society that blended Hermetic
Kabbalah, astrology, tarot, and alchemy into a comprehensive magical system . Under
the Golden Dawn’s influence, ceremonial magic blossomed into a highly organized
practice. Members memorized divine names, practiced complex rituals for invoking
angels or banishing negativity, and meditated on the Tree of Life – a Kabbalistic
diagram mapping the levels of reality . Notably, Dion Fortune – whom we’ll meet
again later – was trained in this Golden Dawn style of magic and helped bridge it
into more modern witchcraft traditions (she has even been called a “proto-Pagan”
for her role in inspiring Wicca).

No discussion of ceremonial magic is complete without Aleister Crowley. Crowley

(1875–1947) started in the Golden Dawn but soon blazed his own (often
controversial) trail. He proclaimed a new religious-magical philosophy called
Thelema, centered on the principle “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the
Law.” In 1904, Crowley claimed to receive a channeled text from a higher entity –
this text became “The Book of the Law,” the holy book of Thelema . In it and other
works, Crowley emphasized discovering one’s True Will (destiny or purpose) and
aligning with it through magical practice . He revived the archaic spelling
“magick” (with a k), both to evoke the Renaissance and to differentiate real
sorcery from parlor tricks . Crowley’s definition of magic, cited earlier,
highlights will and change – the magician’s will, when properly focused, can cause
real change in accordance with natural laws . Under Crowley’s pen, ceremonial magic
also took on a transgressive, theatrical flair: he performed rituals in exotic
robes, identified himself with figures like the Biblical Beast 666, and wasn’t shy
about using sex and drugs as part of his spiritual quest. Thelema’s rituals (like
the dramatic Gnostic Mass) and organizations (the A∴A∴ and Ordo Templi Orientis)
carried ceremonial magic into the 20th century, and Crowley’s influence on
virtually every occult movement after him is immense.

Historically, ceremonial magic traces back even further – to the Renaissance and
medieval grimoires. A grimoire is basically a magician’s handbook, full of spells,
sigils (magical symbols), and instructions to summon spirits. One famous example is
the “Key of Solomon,” a grimoire attributed (apocryphally) to the biblical King
Solomon. From this sprang the Lemegeton or “Lesser Key of Solomon,” whose first
section is the Ars Goetia – a catalog of 72 demons said to be bound by Solomon. The
Ars Goetia provides detailed instructions for summoning and commanding these
spirits – including their names, ranks, seals (symbols), and the rituals needed to
conjure them . It even warns of the dangers of dealing with such entities (these
are no Disney genies, but rather unruly infernal beings a magician must constrain
with divine names and circles!). Solomonic magic, as this style is often called, is
a quintessential form of ceremonial magic: the practitioner typically fasts and
purifies himself, dons protective robes, inscribes magic circles and triangles on
the floor, burns incense, recites long invocations in archaic language – all to
respectfully invoke an angel or evoke a spirit. The goals might range from
obtaining hidden knowledge, to finding treasure, to healing illnesses. Renaissance
occultists like Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa (1486–1535) documented these practices.
Agrippa’s “Three Books of Occult Philosophy” (1533) tried to systematize all of
magic and “mapped the entire network of forces that passed from angels and demons,
stars and planets, downward into the world of matter.” In Agrippa’s view,
everything in creation was connected in a great chain of being: he catalogued how
parts of the human body, various animals, plants, stones, planets, and angelic
hierarchies all corresponded with each other . By knowing these correspondences, a
magician could purportedly leverage the higher realms to affect the lower – “as
above, so below,” indeed . (Agrippa himself, a devout Christian, actually warned
against conjuring demons – he deemed goetia or demonic magic impious – but
ironically his book became a cornerstone for later magicians, including the
ceremonial ones.)

Another notable Renaissance figure is John Dee (1527–1608), advisor to Queen

Elizabeth I and a mathematician, alchemist, and astrologer. Dee, together with his
medium Edward Kelley, developed what is now called Enochian magic. They will be
looked at more in depth but for now we will explore the basics. Through scrying
(gazing into crystals or mirrors), they claimed to converse with angels, who
revealed to them an entire angelic language and cosmology. Enochian magic is a
complex system of calls, lettered tables, and rituals meant to summon angelic
beings. It was “recorded in the private journals of John Dee and his colleague
Edward Kelley in late 16th-century England” , and Dee believed the Biblical
patriarch Enoch was the last human to know this angelic tongue before it was
revealed to him . The Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn later incorporated Enochian
material into its own rituals , ensuring that John Dee’s spirit-calling techniques
lived on in modern ceremonial magic. To this day, occult practitioners study Dee’s
Enochian Keys and angelic alphabets, hoping to contact the same intelligences.

Ceremonial magic often overlaps with mysticism and religion. Many ceremonial
magicians see their art as a spiritual path first and foremost – a way to achieve
union with the divine or the higher self. Crowley wrote that the highest purpose of
magic ritual is “to achieve Union with God through the uniting of the Microcosm
with the Macrocosm.” In plainer terms, that means aligning the little self
(microcosm) with the great universe (macrocosm). These magicians undertake rigorous
spiritual disciplines: fasting, prayer, mastering Qabalistic diagrams, meditation,
and invocation of higher powers (archangels, gods) to purify and exalt their
consciousness. The rituals can be seen as a kind of sacred drama – every gesture,
implement, and word is loaded with symbolic meaning, meant to resonate with deep
parts of the psyche and the cosmos. In a typical ritual, you might see the magician
perform a banishing (clearing the area of unwanted influences), followed by an
invocation (calling a deity or angel into oneself) or evocation (summoning a spirit
to appear externally), then perhaps a communion (offering food or drink in a
Eucharist-like manner) and finally a closing. Crowley laid out many such techniques
in his writings – from vibrating divine names in a resonant voice, to
consecrating talismans, to elaborate visionary journeys.

To the outsider, ceremonial magic may look like an odd mix of pomp and superstition
– a bit Monty Python perhaps – but to its devotees, each step is a precise
technology of the sacred. It’s a synthesis of ancient wisdom and personal
experimentation. And it has proven remarkably influential. Ceremonial magic ideas
and symbols seeped into the modern revival of witchcraft (Wicca) and contemporary
occult practices. The very image of a “magician” in popular imagination – robe,
circle, wand, invoking occult forces – comes straight from this tradition. So when
you picture Merlin or Doctor Strange, know that behind them stand real generations
of ceremonial magi, from the dusty alchemists of the Renaissance to the eccentric
occultists of the early 1900s, all striving to unlock the secrets of the universe
through ritual and willpower.

Leaving behind the candle-lit lodges of ceremonial magicians, we now step into a
very different magical realm – that of folk magic and witchcraft. If ceremonial
magic is “high magic” with its lofty philosophy, folk magic is often called “low
magic” – not to demean it, but to emphasize its down-to-earth, practical nature .
This is the magic of the countryside, of small villages and family traditions,
handed down by cunning folk, healers, wise women, and yes, “witches” (in the older,
village-healer sense). It’s pragmatic and personal: spells to heal illness, protect
one’s home, find lost objects, attract love, or ward off evil. Think of a
grandmother muttering a prayer over a sick child with a bowl of herb-infused broth
– that’s folk magic. It’s often entwined with religion rather than opposed to it.
In Christian communities, folk magicians might use Bible verses or saints’ names in
their charms; in other cultures, they invoke local spirits or ancestors. The tone
is usually protective or remedial – helping ordinary people with ordinary problems,
using a mix of home remedies, superstition, and faith.

Throughout Europe (and wherever European traditions spread), practitioners known as

cunning folk offered their services. “The cunning folk were professional or semi-
professional practitioners of magic in Europe from the medieval period through the
early 20th century.” They went by many names in different regions – wise men, wise
women, pellars, spaewives, conjurers, etc. Unlike ceremonial magicians (who usually
operated in secret societies or scholarly circles), cunning folk were community
figures. A village might quietly tolerate or even prize its local cunning man or
woman, who could be consulted to bless a newborn, cure an illness (often with
herbal medicine and a murmured charm), or “unbewitch” someone believed to suffer
from a curse. In fact, one of their common tasks was countering maleficium –
harmful witchcraft. If a farmer’s cows suddenly got sick, he might suspect a
witch’s curse and hire a cunning person to lift it. As one historian notes, folk-
magical practice “included both the laying and removal of curses, finding items
that had been lost, and other everyday problems” . Cunning folk also crafted charms
and talismans – perhaps a small bag of protective herbs (a “mojo bag” in later
American parlance), or an inscribed piece of parchment to hang in the home. They
might give instructions like placing iron nails above the door to keep evil out, or
teach a client a short rhyming spell to say each night for blessings. Their magic
was “unorganized” in the sense of not having a single doctrine – each practitioner
had their own mix of techniques, often learned through apprenticeship or family
tradition, and freely borrowing from any available source (folk Christianity, local
pagan lore, bits of ceremonial magic from cheap grimoires, etc.).

A famous English example of a grimoire used in folk magic is “The Long Lost
Friend,” a 19th-century Pennsylvania Dutch book of charms and remedies (itself
drawn from European folk spells). In Britain, cunning folk were known to use the
Psalms from the Bible as powerful spoken charms. We see this pattern vividly in
Appalachian folk magic in the United States. The people of Appalachia – many
descended from Scots-Irish and English settlers – maintained a tradition often
called “granny magic” or “granny witchcraft.” As these settlers arrived in the
1700s, they brought Old World folk magic and healing practices, which they then
blended with the knowledge of Native American neighbors about local plants and the
land . The result was a rich, syncretic folk healing art. The “granny witches” (so-
called because many were elder women in the community) used herbal medicine, home
remedies, and faith-based spells to treat their neighbors’ ills . A granny witch
might prescribe a tea of wild foraged herbs for a fever, together with a prayer or
the recitation of a specific Psalm for nine nights in a row. In fact, many
Appalachians were devout Christians, so they didn’t see their magic as pagan – to
them, using a Bible verse to stop bleeding or cure a burn was perfectly in line
with faith. “The women in her family used the book of Psalms like a spell book,
combined with an intimate knowledge of the land,” one modern Appalachian hereditary
witch recalls . For instance, Psalm 23 might be recited over someone for
protection, or Psalm 30 for healing, etc., while also applying an herbal poultice.
These Christian incantations were often whispered in the same breath as old
folklore about the signs of the moon or the virtues of plants. In Appalachian folk
magic you see beautifully how European folklore (four-leaf clovers, horseshoes for
luck, “water witching” to find springs) merged with Indigenous wisdom (like using
sassafras or ginseng medicinally) and even African influences (brought via African
American communities and their Hoodoo practices – more on that soon). It was
practical – “the only source of aid for people in remote, isolated regions”
historically – and now, these traditions are enjoying a renaissance as people in
the region reclaim their heritage .

Speaking of Hoodoo, let’s turn to that. Hoodoo – also known as conjure or rootwork
– is African American folk magic that originated in the Southern United States. It
arose among enslaved Africans and their descendants, who blended their West and
Central African spiritual practices with elements of Christianity and Native
American botany. “Hoodoo, Conjure, Rootwork…refer to the practice of African
American folk magic.” It’s a prime example of a syncretic tradition: African
concepts of spirit work, ancestor reverence, and magical use of roots and bones
mixed with the Psalms and Bible imagery from Christianity, plus new plants (like
High John the Conqueror root or angelica root) learned from Indigenous sources .
One scholar defines Hoodoo as “a large body of African folkloric practices and
beliefs with a considerable admixture of American Indian botanical knowledge and
European folklore.” For instance, the use of graveyard dust or crossroads magic in
Hoodoo harks to African practices, the use of sulfur or mercury comes from European
folk magic, and many of the most important Hoodoo herbs (sassafras, jimson weed,
etc.) were learned from Native Americans. Hoodoo practitioners, often called root
doctors or conjure men/women, provided for their communities much like the cunning
folk did – offering cures, protection, luck, and sometimes curses if hired to lay a
trick on someone. A Hoodoo doctor might craft a mojo bag filled with roots,
minerals, and personal items to bring a client good luck, or might lay down red
brick dust at a doorway to keep out evil. They might burn special glass-encased
candles (the kind labeled with purposes like “Fast Luck” or “Love Drawing” ) while
reciting prayers for a client. Notably, the Bible (especially the Book of Psalms)
is a core conjuring text in Hoodoo – verses are spoken as powerful spells. Hoodoo
also has a rich heritage of magical oils, powders, and baths: for example, “van van
oil” (a lemongrass-based oil) to cleanse and bring success, or goofer dust (a
concoction of grave dirt and other ingredients) to jinx an enemy. During the 20th
century, Hoodoo shops and mail-order catalogues sprang up, selling spiritual
supplies to Black communities . Figures like Black Herman (Benjamin Rucker, 1892–
1934), a famous African-American stage magician and rootworker, straddled the line
between entertainment and real conjure – he would do magic shows and also sell
herbal tonics and read cards for clients across the country . Hoodoo, being a folk
practice, was not an organized religion (distinct from related religions like
Voodoo or Santería), but it was the folk soul of spirituality for many African
Americans – a way to take spiritual power into their own hands for survival and
justice. Even today, Hoodoo has seen a resurgence, and its practices adapt to
current needs (for example, Hoodoo practitioners providing protection charms and
healing rituals in movements against racial violence ).

European witchcraft deserves mention here too. The word witch historically meant
different things – sometimes a malevolent sorcerer causing harm (in which case the
village cunning folk would combat them), but also sometimes simply the local healer
or wise woman. During the witch hysteria of early modern Europe (15th–17th
centuries), many people (mostly women) were accused of witchcraft – some may have
been practicing folk magic or pagan remnants, while many were likely innocent.
However, in the folk context, a “witch” was often understood as someone who could
both hex and heal. Take the Pendle Witches of 1612 in Lancashire, England: among
them was Old Demdike (Elizabeth Southerns), reputed as a cunning woman who provided
charms for healing and curse-breaking . She was caught up in a witch trial largely
due to local rivalries and fear. This illustrates how the cunning craft could be
respected by some neighbors and feared by others. Folk magicians often had to
navigate a fine line – they might be sought after in secret but publicly denounced
if things went awry.

In parts of Europe, we also see specific folk magical specialties: Italian folk
magic (Benedicaria and Stregheria) mixing Catholic saints with old Roman lore;
Scandinavian “Trolldom” with its runic spells and nature spirits; Slavic magic with
its sorcerers (vedmak) and herbalists; Pennsylvania Dutch “Pow-wow” (from the
German Braucherei) which is a Christian folk healing tradition using scripts from
books like The Long Lost Friend. Despite regional differences, these practices all
use simple rituals, spoken charms, and readily available materials (herbs, kitchen
ingredients, personal tokens). They are typically low-tech compared to ceremonial
magic’s fancy equipment – a folk practitioner’s altar might be a kitchen table with
a bowl of water, a family Bible or other holy book, some candles and herbs.
An important feature of folk magic is that it’s often informal and adaptable.
Spells aren’t usually written in stone; they’re handed down orally or via
handwritten notebooks, changing a bit with each generation. If grandma’s charm to
stop bleeding uses a certain rhyme and you forget a word, you might plug in
something that sounds right – and it’ll still “work” if done with belief. Many folk
spells rely on rhyming couplets or simple sympathetic magic (the idea that like
affects like). For instance, a wart can be “charmed” away by rubbing it with a cut
potato and then burying the potato – as it rots in the ground, the wart supposedly
shrinks (this uses the law of similarity and contagion). Or to protect a house, one
might nail a horseshoe above the door (horseshoes, being iron, were believed to
repel fairies or witches, and the crescent shape symbolized the moon/fertility).
These kinds of customs abound in folk magic.

In modern times, Witchcraft with a capital W has re-emerged as a self-identified

spiritual path (Wicca and related neopagan witchcraft traditions – which we’ll
discuss in a later section on contemporary magic). But it’s worth noting that this
modern witchcraft revival deliberately drew on the imagery of folk witchcraft and
cunning craft. Early Wiccan figures like Gerald Gardner claimed (a bit fancifully)
to have been initiated by a surviving New Forest coven of English witches –
essentially asserting continuity with ye olde village witches. Whether or not such
a coven truly existed, Gardner’s Wicca incorporated many folkish practices: herbal
lore, simple spells, and even “the power of the circle” which is found in folk
charms (for example, circling a flame around a person to cure certain ailments,
etc.). Wicca also absorbed ceremonial magic influences, but it presented itself as
“the Old Religion” of the common folk (again, a romantic notion). In truth, real
folk magic never died out – it quietly lived in kitchens, barns, and backyards.
Only recently has academia even begun to acknowledge how widespread and enduring
these practices were, often under the radar of official religion. Today, if you
knock on the right door in a rural town (or increasingly, look in the right social
media group), you might find someone who still knows how to cure thrush by blowing
in a baby’s mouth three times while reciting a charm, or how to make a protective
witch bottle filled with pins and urine to bury under the doorstep.

In summary, folk magic and witchcraft represent the grassroots of magical practice.
They are intimate, usually one-on-one (a healer and a client), and grounded in
immediate needs. They lack the philosophical sophistication of ceremonial magic – a
village witch might not care why saying a certain rhyme over a wound stops the
bleeding, just that it works. Yet, in their own way, folk traditions carry deep
wisdom. They show a worldview where the natural and supernatural blend seamlessly:
health, luck, love, weather – all these can be influenced by working with the
unseen forces, whether those are interpreted as God’s help, the aid of kindly
spirits, or the innate power within herbs and stones. And crucially, folk magic is
often performed with warmth and homey familiarity. There’s a certain charm (pun
intended) in imagining a kindly “granny witch” stirring her cauldron of soup – part
medicine, part magic – or a cunning man quietly reading the Lord’s Prayer backwards
to break a curse. It reminds us that magic isn’t only found in grand temples, but
also in the living room, the garden, and the very fabric of everyday life.

Throughout history, one of the primary motives for practicing magic has been
knowledge. Humans long to peek behind the veil of time and space – to know what the
future holds, to understand hidden causes of events, or to gain insight into the
will of the gods. This yearning gave rise to divination – the art of obtaining
information through supernatural or esoteric means. Divination can be thought of as
magic turned toward knowledge rather than direct action. Instead of causing change,
the diviner uses symbolic techniques to read the patterns of fate or the messages
of the unseen. Virtually every culture has developed its own systems of divination,
from the flights of birds and entrails readings in the ancient world to the
horoscope apps and tarot readings of today! Let’s explore a few major divinatory
systems, especially those often used in occult practice: astrology, tarot, the I
Ching, and geomancy (and we’ll touch on others along the way).

“As above, so below,” say the Hermetic philosophers – and astrology takes that
literally. Astrology is the belief (and practice) that the positions and movements
of celestial bodies (stars, planets, the Sun and Moon) are correlated with events
on earth, especially human personality and destiny. It’s arguably the most ancient
and globally widespread form of divination. The roots of Western astrology lie in
Babylonian astrology, which was already a complex system by the 2nd millennium
BCE . The Babylonians observed the heavens meticulously, seeing omens in planetary
movements and lunar eclipses. They were the first to map the zodiac (the band of
constellations through which planets appear to move) and to assign meanings to the
positions of planets within those signs . The practice then passed to the Greeks
(Hellenistic astrology), who systematized it into the form that largely endures
today: the horoscope. By Roman times, people were casting natal charts – a map of
the sky at the moment of a person’s birth – to interpret character and fate.

Astrology in occultism is not just “fortune-telling” for individuals; it’s a grand

cosmic worldview. Occult astrologers see the universe as a single living organism,
with the heavenly bodies as its organs or gears. When Mars is in Aries or Jupiter
aligns with Venus, those cosmic events resonate with affairs on Earth. A common
refrain is “the stars impel, they do not compel” – meaning astrological influences
set tendencies or energies, but don’t rob humans of free will. Nevertheless, by
understanding these influences, a magician or diviner can choose optimal times for
action (this is called electional astrology – picking the right astrological timing
for an event, such as a wedding or a ritual), or understand the spiritual lesson of
a challenging period (horary astrology answers specific questions, natal astrology
deals with birth charts, etc.).

In ceremonial magic traditions, astrology often plays a supporting role: magicians

might time their rituals according to planetary hours (e.g. performing a love spell
in the hour of Venus on a Friday, Venus’s day) , or create talismans when certain
planets are strong. In the Renaissance, astrologer-mages like Marsilio Ficino and
Cornelius Agrippa taught how to attract planetary virtues by using corresponding
herbs and stones at the right time . Agrippa wrote about it extensively, marrying
astrology to magic . Even John Dee, when attempting to speak with angels,
meticulously recorded the astrological conditions of his séances.

For the average person, though, astrology’s most familiar use is casting one’s
birth chart and using it for self-understanding and prediction. The birth chart is
a wheel divided into 12 houses, showing where the 10 or so planets (including Sun
and Moon) fell among the 12 zodiac signs at that moment. An occult astrologer will
analyze aspects (angles between planets) to interpret potentials: for instance, a
tight Mars-Saturn square might indicate struggles with aggression and restriction,
whereas a Venus-Jupiter trine could mean luck in love and money. Those daily
horoscopes you read in the newspaper are a much-simplified offshoot of this ancient
art – real astrology is far more complex and personalized.

Astrology exemplifies the magical theory of correspondence and cosmic sympathy. It

basically says: the macrocosm (the heavens) and the microcosm (our lives) reflect
one another. It’s not that Mars physically causes you to be quarrelsome when it’s
in a certain sign, but rather Mars the planet and “martial” energies (assertion,
conflict) are part of one unified system; reading the planet’s position can reveal
the state of that energy in the world. Many occultists also believe in a more
mystical connection – that planets beam down certain vibrations or spiritual rays.
Astrologers speak of Saturn periods (times of tests and difficulties that
ultimately lead to wisdom) or Jupiter periods (times of expansion and reward) and
so on. By recognizing these cycles, you effectively divine meaning in what might
otherwise seem like random ups and downs of life.

A hush falls in a candlelit room. Across a small table draped in cloth, a seeker
shuffles a peculiar deck of cards – one with mysterious images like a jester
stepping off a cliff, a stern emperor on his throne, a skeleton with a scythe. The
cards are laid out in a pattern. The tarot reader studies them and begins to tell a
story… This is the world of Tarot.

The Tarot deck is a set of 78 cards, rich in symbolic imagery, which has become one
of the most popular divination tools in the West. Interestingly, tarot cards did
not start out as magical at all – they originated as a card game in 15th-century
Italy (the game of tarocchi). The deck consisted of the usual four suits (like
modern playing cards) plus a fifth suit of 22 pictorial triumphs or trumps (The
Fool, The Magician, The Lovers, Death, etc.). For a few centuries, tarot was just a
game. The occult history of tarot began in the late 18th century, when French
Freemason Antoine Court de Gébelin saw the tarot images and was convinced they held
esoteric wisdom from ancient Egypt . In 1781 he published an essay speculating that
the Tarot’s trumps were remnants of Egyptian priestly teachings – particularly the
Book of Thoth. Not long after, occultists like Etteilla (Jean-Baptiste Alliette)
created the first fortune-telling tarot decks, assigning divinatory meanings to
each card. From that point on, Tarot became entwined with Western esotericism.

By the 19th century, occultists such as Éliphas Lévi connected the tarot’s 22
trumps to the 22 letters of the Hebrew alphabet and the pathways on the Kabbalistic
Tree of Life, cementing tarot’s role as a key to hidden knowledge. The Hermetic
Order of the Golden Dawn in the 1890s developed elaborate tarot correspondences
(with astrology, elements, etc.) and two of its members – Arthur Edward Waite and
artist Pamela Colman Smith – created the famous Rider-Waite Tarot deck in 1909,
which is still the most iconic deck used today. This deck was innovative because
every single card (including the 56 minor arcana cards) has a scenic illustration,
making them easier to read intuitively. For example, the 5 of Cups shows a cloaked
figure lamenting over spilled cups – immediately suggesting sorrow or regret, which
is indeed the card’s meaning.

So how is tarot used? Typically, the reader shuffles and cuts the deck while
focusing on a question or asking the divine/unconscious for guidance. Then cards
are drawn and laid out in a spread – a predetermined pattern (like the Celtic Cross
spread) where each card’s position represents something (e.g. past influence,
present obstacle, future outcome, etc.). The reader then interprets the cards in
context. For instance, drawing The Tower (a card of sudden disruption) in the
“future” position might warn the querent of an upcoming shake-up in their life,
especially if supported by other challenging cards. On the other hand, The Star
card appearing could signal hope and inspiration. Tarot interpretation is as much
art as system – it relies on the reader’s intuitive synthesis of the symbols, the
positions, and the question at hand.

From an occult perspective, tarot is often seen as a tool to access the collective
unconscious or tap into psychic intuition. Some view the cards as guided by
spiritual forces (like one’s spirit guides or the egregore of tarot itself) such
that the draw is not random but meaningfully coincident (a concept akin to Jung’s
synchronicity). Even for those not inclined to supernatural explanations, tarot
works as a powerful projective device – the images trigger insights and help
organize one’s thoughts. A seasoned occultist might meditate on a single tarot card
for self-discovery (this is a practice called pathworking on the Tree of Life,
where each trump is a path between sephiroth).
While many use tarot for personal guidance (“What do I need to know about this
relationship?”), it has also been used for magical work. For example, an occultist
might place certain tarot cards on an altar during a ritual to represent energies
they want to invoke. The Tarot Trump “The Magician” might be used in a spell to
enhance one’s willpower and skill; The Sun card might be displayed to attract
success and joy. Thus, tarot intersects with actual spellcraft too, not just
divination – it bridges the gap between knowing and doing.

One beautiful aspect of tarot is how it encapsulates a journey of the soul in its
trump cards (also called the Major Arcana). From 0 The Fool (the naive seeker
stepping into the unknown) through encounters with archetypes like The Lovers
(choices, relationships), Death (transformation), and The Devil (temptation,
material bondage), all the way to The World (completion and integration), the tarot
is often read as an allegory of spiritual development. When used in readings, these
archetypes speak to the stage or challenge the querent might be experiencing.
Little wonder then that artists and mystics have been entranced by tarot – it’s
like holding a mirror up to the psyche that is also a window into the cosmos.

Traveling eastward, we find one of the oldest oracles still in use: the I Ching, or
Book of Changes. The I Ching is an ancient Chinese divination text and
philosophical treatise that dates back over 3,000 years; it is “among the oldest of
the Chinese classics.” At its core, the I Ching is a system that uses 64 hexagrams
– figures composed of six lines, each line being either broken (yin, receptive) or
unbroken (yang, active). By casting coins, yarrow stalks, or other randomizing
methods, one generates a hexagram which corresponds to a specific text in the I
Ching, full of poetic advice and imagery about the current situation and how it
might change.

The philosophy behind the I Ching is deeply rooted in Taoist and early Chinese
cosmology. The changing interplay of Yin and Yang energies is seen as the engine of
all transformations in the universe. Each hexagram is a snapshot of those forces at
play. For example, Hexagram 11 (Tai – “Peace”) shows three yin lines above three
yang lines, symbolizing heaven and earth in open communication – an omen of harmony
and prosperity. In contrast, Hexagram 12 (Pi – “Stagnation”) has the reverse:
heaven and earth not connecting, indicating obstruction. Thus, the I Ching doesn’t
give simple yes/no answers; it gives nuanced wisdom, often in the form of
metaphors: e.g., “the superior man acts thus and so…,” or “it furthers one to cross
the great water.” The questioner must reflect on how that applies. The book has
layers of commentary (the core hexagram statements, plus appended judgments and
line-by-line explanations, many attributed to Confucius or King Wen, etc.).

From an occult perspective, the I Ching can be seen as both divination and
spiritual teaching. Consulting it is a bit like consulting a sage. You ask, say,
“What if I take this new job?” and you might receive Hexagram 63 (After Completion,
which can mean things are in order but caution is needed to avoid a new chaos)
changing to Hexagram 56 (The Wanderer, suggesting you’ll be in a transient or
traveling phase). This might be interpreted as: the job change will initially bring
completion of an old chapter, but you must remain adaptable as you’ll be in
somewhat unfamiliar territory. The changes are part of I Ching magic – lines can
change from yin to yang or vice versa if certain values are cast, indicating an
evolving situation and giving a second hexagram.

Interestingly, the mathematics and binary nature of the I Ching’s 64 hexagrams had
a role in modern science: the binary code that runs our computers is conceptually
similar to the yin-yang broken/unbroken lines. (Leibniz, the mathematician, was
inspired by the I Ching’s structure.) Many Western occultists, especially those
interested in Chaos Magic or those influenced by Jung, have gravitated to the I
Ching for its combination of randomness and meaning (Jung wrote a foreword to
Wilhelm’s translation of the I Ching and used it to illustrate synchronicity –
meaningful coincidence).

In practice, to use the I Ching, one might take three coins, assign one side as 3
and the other as 2, shake and toss them six times to build the hexagram from bottom
line to top. Each trio of coins gives a number (6, 7, 8, or 9); 6 and 9 are
“moving” (changing) yin or yang lines, while 7 is stable yang, 8 is stable yin. The
moving lines change into their opposites to form the second hexagram. The text is
then read for both the initial and the resulting hexagram, with special attention
to any moving line texts. This sounds complex but becomes a ritual of focus – a bit
like shuffling tarot, but more methodical. The resulting counsel is often
surprising in its aptness.

For example, suppose someone asks about a potential business partnership and gets
Hexagram 8 (Bi – “Holding Together / Unity”) with a changing line. Hexagram 8 is
about loyalty and union – promising if you have a clear common goal, but its moving
line might warn, “If you are unsure, seek clarity – if you hesitate too long, you
miss the chance.” The changed hexagram might be 20 (Contemplation), suggesting
stepping back to observe. So the oracle basically advises the person to unify with
the partner but only after careful deliberation. The beauty of the I Ching is it
doesn’t dictate – it suggests patterns. You still engage your intuition to apply
the advice.

The I Ching in occult circles also gets used for more than personal questions. Some
use it to time rituals (looking for auspicious hexagrams), or to generate random
wisdom in meditative practice. It has a reputation for a kind of stoic yet
compassionate voice. Unlike tarot, whose tone can be very pictorial and
psychological, the I Ching’s tone is a bit like an older mentor: sometimes stern,
often encouraging moral integrity, reminding you of the bigger picture of balance
and change. Many find it uncannily sage.

Now, let’s introduce an old divination method from medieval times that was hugely
popular in the West but is less known today: Geomancy. Not to be confused with feng
shui (also sometimes called geomancy), this is a system that arose in the Arabic
world (likely in the early Islamic era) and came to Europe by the 12th century.
Geomancy is essentially divination by earth (hence the name, from Greek geo- earth
and manteia divination). Traditionally, a geomancer would make a series of random
marks or toss pebbles on the ground, then count them in pairs to get a pattern of
odd/even. This process is done 16 times to generate 16 lines of dots. These are
grouped into four dots per figure, resulting in 16 geomantic figures, each composed
of four rows of one or two dots (odd = one dot, even = two dots). Each figure has a
name and character – e.g., Via (the Way) is a figure of all single dots symbolizing
a long road, movement, change; Fortuna Major is (two dots, two dots, one dot, one
dot) indicating great fortune, success. Once you have 16 initial figures (via those
random marks), you then do some additions (combining figures in pairs) to produce 4
“Daughter” figures, then 2 “Niece” figures, and so on, until you end up with a
final Judge figure which is the answer, often paired with a Witness and Sentence.
It’s a bit like doing a math problem with binary logic.

If that sounds complicated – well, it is a bit! But geomancy was beloved because it
could give very concrete answers. Each of the 16 figures has specific meanings and
is associated with astrological elements (signs, planets). For example, the figure
Acquisitio (Gain) means increase, profit, is ruled by Jupiter and associated with
fire signs, whereas Rubeus (the Red) means destruction or passion out of control,
ruled by Mars. A geomancer would cast a chart (called a shield chart or a house
chart) and interpret the pattern somewhat like reading an astrological chart, with
houses corresponding to aspects of the question (1st house = querent, 7th house =
partner, etc.). It became so prevalent that by the Renaissance, books on geomancy
were everywhere. Even agrippa in his Occult Philosophy mentions it as a legitimate
form of divination (though some clergy frowned on it as they did on all
divination).

Geomancy was essentially the poor man’s astrological oracle. It required no complex
instruments – just some dirt and the ability to count – yet it gave answers that
mirrored an astrological format. It has the concept of the 12 houses of life and
planetary assignments without needing to look at the sky. In fact, one medieval
nickname for geomancy was “astronomia inferior” – the lower astronomy, i.e., doing
on earth what astrologers do in the heavens. Because it was so accessible, it
spread fast. Even after it waned in Europe during the Enlightenment, it remained
strong in folk practices in North Africa and the Middle East. In West African
divination, there’s a very similar system called Ifá or Fa (though that has its own
independent origin and uses shells or nuts to create patterns).

In a magical sense, geomancy ties to the element of earth and intuition. Some
occultists view the 16 geomantic figures almost like living symbols or spirits. For
example, in the Enochian magic diaries of Dr. John Dee, it’s noted that the angel
Ave gave Dee a geomantic reading at one point, which is a fun crossover of systems.
In the Golden Dawn and Thelema circles of the 19th–20th centuries, geomancy saw a
revival. Aleister Crowley wrote about it and even designed geomancy tools. To a
ceremonial magician, the appeal was that geomancy’s figures correspond to planets
and zodiac signs, so one could incorporate them into talismans or scrying.

Let’s illustrate geomancy with a simple imaginary reading: Suppose someone asks,
“Will I find a new job soon?” The geomancer goes through the routine and gets a
final Judge figure of Fortuna Major – which is a very positive figure, meaning
“Greater Fortune” – and perhaps it appeared in a favorable house like the 10th
house (career). The interpretation would be, yes, strong success is indicated in
career matters. If the figure had been Tristitia (“Sorrow”), the answer might be
not soon, and you may face some hardships first. Geomancy often gives
straightforward yes/no vibes depending on whether the resulting figure is
considered good or bad and whether it’s in a favorable house.

Modern practitioners of geomancy appreciate its clarity. In tarot or I Ching, you

often get rather poetic answers that need reflection. Geomancy, by contrast, might
outright say “Gain” or “Loss” in response, or “Joy” or “Sorrow.” It’s blunt. At the
same time, a full geomantic chart can yield rich details – including what factors
help or hinder the querent, by looking at which figures landed in which houses.

In summary, divination systems like astrology, tarot, I Ching, geomancy (and we

could add runes, pendulum dowsing, scrying with crystal balls or mirrors, tea leaf
reading, etc.) all aim to pierce the veil of the unknown. Each uses symbols: stars
and planets, archetypal images, yin-yang lines, dots in patterns – as a language
for the hidden knowledge. To the believer, these methods work by tapping into a
higher order or the subconscious mind. Skeptics might say they work as
psychological prompts. Either way, they have served humanity’s desire for guidance
for millennia. In occult practice, divination is often the first step before doing
other magic – you consult the oracle to ensure the timing is right or the outcome
favorable. Or it’s done after, to verify if a spell has taken effect on the inner
planes. And importantly, divination can be a spiritual exercise in itself: a way to
commune with the divine or one’s own intuition.

So, whether it’s casting your natal chart, drawing tarot cards, tossing coins for
the I Ching, or marking dots in the earth, the message is: ask, and the universe
answers. You just have to learn its language.
Our journey now takes us to the East, where ancient civilizations developed their
own rich magical and esoteric traditions. While Western occultism often emphasizes
ceremonial magic and monotheistic or astrological frameworks, Eastern systems
encompass a blend of mysticism, religion, and magic that can look quite different –
yet they share the same goals of empowerment, enlightenment, healing, and
influencing reality through unseen forces. We’ll focus on a few examples: Taoist
magic and alchemy in China, Hindu Tantra in India (and its offshoots in Buddhism,
e.g., Tibetan practices), and the indigenous Bon tradition of Tibet. Each of these
is complex enough for a lifetime of study, but let’s dip our toes in and see how
magic manifests in these contexts.

In imperial China, scholars sought the elixir of life and the secrets of the cosmos
not only in laboratories but also in meditation halls. Taoism, the indigenous
spiritual tradition of China, has an inherently magical side. From its earliest
days, Taoism included pursuit of longevity, healing, and spiritual powers through
harmony with the Tao (the Way). Two broad approaches emerged: Outer Alchemy and
Inner Alchemy (in Chinese, Waidan and Neidan).

Outer Alchemy was the literal mixing of ingredients – herbs, minerals, sometimes
exotic (and toxic) substances like mercury or arsenic – to create an “elixir of
immortality.” Ancient Chinese alchemists, often patronized by emperors eager to
live forever, experimented with compounding cinnabar (mercury sulfide) and other
substances. The idea was that by ingesting refined essences, one could prolong life
or even transcend death. The character for alchemy, (liàn dān shù), literally means
“method of refining cinnabar.” However, consuming these elixirs often led to
mercury poisoning – so irony had it that some seekers of immortality met an early
grave! But the efforts weren’t in vain culturally – they led to advances in
chemistry, medicine, and a rich symbolism in Taoist practice.

Inner Alchemy, on the other hand, is more akin to yoga or meditation. It views the
human body and spirit as the laboratory. The adept uses breath, visualization,
movement (like qigong exercises), and concentration on energy centers to transmute
the “base materials” of the self (raw emotions, sexual energy, ordinary
consciousness) into refined spiritual gold – achieving an “internal elixir” of
enlightenment or an immortal spiritual body. According to classic Taoist texts like
the Cantong Qi, “the body is understood as the focus of cosmological processes
summarized in the five agents (Wu Xing) of change… observation and cultivation of
which leads the practitioner into alignment and harmony with the Tao.” In simpler
terms, the Taoist internal alchemist aligns the microcosm of the body with the
macrocosm of nature’s five elements (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) to gain
health, longevity, and spiritual wisdom. Traditional Chinese belief holds that
alchemy (especially inner alchemy) aims at “purification of one’s spirit, mind and
body, providing health, longevity and wisdom” .

In practice, a Taoist magician-alchemist might do things like meditate on energy

centers (dantian fields in the body), circulate the breath in a practice called the
Microcosmic Orbit, or perform rituals to summon beneficent deities for protection.
Taoist magic also involves talismans (called fu)– pieces of paper with sacred
symbols or texts written on them, which are activated by incantations and then used
for various effects, such as healing or exorcism. A Taoist priest might draw a
talisman in red ink, burn it, and mix the ashes in water for a patient to drink as
medicine. This might seem like superstition, but it parallels the idea of
sanctifying something material with spiritual power.

Another aspect is Feng Shui, the art of geomancy and placement, which originally
was tied to Taoist notions of energy (Qi) flow in the land. While not “magic” in
the conjuring sense, Feng Shui is about influencing luck and harmony by aligning
with natural forces – essentially practical magic for the home and city planning.

Taoist sorcery and exorcism are also renowned. In some branches (like Mao Shan
Taoism), priests engage in rituals to summon spirits or command demons. They might
use swords (often of peach wood) to slash invisible entities, or verbally direct
wayward ghosts to depart. The line between religion and magic in Taoism is quite
blurred: calling on the Thundering Lords to bring rain, or performing a Talismanic
Healing ritual for a sick person, are pious acts and magical acts simultaneously.

In Chinese folklore more broadly, we have shamanic figures like the Wu (spirit
mediums) dating back to ancient times, performing rain dances, trance oracles, and
healing ceremonies. Taoism absorbed and codified many of these practices.

Chinese alchemy, especially external alchemy, certainly had mystical underpinnings

beyond gulping mercury. Alchemical metaphors permeate Taoist texts – they talk
about transmuting the “lead” of ignorance into the “gold” of enlightenment, or
refining “internal cinnabar” with the fire of meditation. Just as Western
alchemists did, Chinese alchemists used coded language (the literature is full of
poetic riddles describing the process of creating the elixir, which also read as
instructions for meditation).

A key difference is that Chinese magic is very much tied to health and longevity.
Whereas a Western ceremonial magician might perform magic to gain knowledge or
command spirits, a Chinese adept might primarily practice to become a xian – an
immortal or transcendent being, basically a perfected person who has aligned with
the Tao and maybe can live indefinitely or at least far longer than normal. Many
Taoist hagiographies (stories of saints) tell of masters who achieved immortality
or ascended to the heavens in broad daylight. Whether taken literally or not, these
reflect the aim of overcoming normal human limitations via spiritual practice.

Let’s mention the concept of Qi (Chi) – the life energy. In Chinese thought,
everything is suffused with Qi. Qigong (energy exercise), acupuncture, herbal
magic, etc., all deal with balancing Qi. A Taoist magician could be seen as someone
who can manipulate Qi through will and ritual. For example, writing a talisman is
said to concentrate one’s Qi and the authority of divine law into a symbol that
then radiates that power. Incantations and mudras (hand seals) are used to direct
invisible energies.

One unique Taoist practice is Fu Ji – planchette writing, a form of spirit

communication where a suspended sieve or tray inscribed with a pointer is used to
write messages from gods on sand or ashes. This shows that mediumship and oracular
magic were present in Eastern contexts too.

In summary, Chinese Taoist magic is a blend: alchemy (external and internal),

ritual magic (with deities of the Taoist pantheon, talismans, and incantations),
medicine (herbal lore and energy healing), and cosmology (living in harmony with
natural forces). All of it ultimately ties back to Taoist philosophy of flowing
with the Tao and balancing Yin and Yang. The result is a holistic system where
spiritual enlightenment and practical magic go hand in hand – it’s not just about
spiritual liberation (like in Buddhism), nor just about practical effects (like
folk sorcery), but a mix.

Next, we move to the Indian subcontinent. Tantra is a broad term that actually
spans Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism, and it evokes images of mystical rituals,
sacred sexuality, and fearsome deities. The word “Tantra” means a loom or weave –
implying a system that weaves together many threads of spiritual practice.
Historically, Tantra emerged in India around the 5th–6th century CE (though with
earlier elements) as an esoteric movement that cut across sectarian lines. There
are Shaiva Tantras (worshiping Shiva), Shakta Tantras (worshiping the Goddess
Shakti), Vaishnava Tantras, and Buddhist Tantras (the basis of Vajrayana Buddhism
in Tibet, etc.).

What makes something “Tantric”? Key features include: ritual invocation of deities
(especially goddesses), use of mantras (sacred syllables) and mandalas (geometric
diagrams as spiritual maps), a view of the body as containing a subtle anatomy of
channels and chakras, and often a transgressive or unconventional approach to
breaking through to enlightenment. As one scholar put it, Tantra can involve
“worship (especially of Goddesses); magic, sorcery, and divination; esoteric
physiology (mapping the subtle body); the awakening of the mysterious serpent power
(kundalini-shakti); techniques of bodily and mental purification; … and sacred
sexuality.” . So yes, magic is explicitly part of Tantra’s domain – traditionally
known as siddhis, meaning paranormal powers or accomplishments.

In Hindu lore, advanced yogis or Tantrikas are often said to attain siddhis like
clairvoyance, levitation, the ability to become tiny or huge, to attract any
desired object, even to resurrect the dead or inhabit another body. The goal of
Tantra is not these powers per se – the ultimate aim is spiritual freedom (moksha)
– but the philosophy acknowledges that as one’s shakti (spiritual power) grows,
these abilities may naturally arise. A famous line from the Yoga Sutras of
Patanjali (not a Tantric text, but often cited) says: “These powers are obstacles
to enlightenment, but they are accomplishments in the worldly state.” In other
words, don’t get too distracted by magic when aiming for God – but yes, magic
happens.

Left-Hand Path Tantra is the aspect that has captured much imagination (and fear).
Known in Sanskrit as Vamachara (left-handed practice), it involves deliberately
defying orthodox norms to shock the consciousness into a higher state. “The ritual
of the left-hand Tantrists was one in which all of the taboos of conventional
Hinduism were conscientiously violated.” . This includes the infamous “Five M’s”
(pancha-makara) which in coded form are: madya (wine), mamsa (meat), matsya (fish),
mudra (parched grain, but also interpreted as ritual gestures or a euphemism for
toxic herbs), and maithuna (sexual union) . In a left-hand Tantric rite, initiates
might gather at night, sit in a circle, and ritually consume wine and meat (both
forbidden in high-caste Hinduism), then engage in maithuna, a sacred sexual act,
viewing the woman as an embodiment of the Goddess and the man as embodying Shiva.
Even menstrual blood, considered highly impure normally, “was also used in Tantric
rites”, especially as it embodies the female Shakti energy . The idea is to
confront and transcend dualities – pure/impure, sacred/profane – thereby realizing
the one Reality beyond all. It is a dangerous road (both morally and in terms of
actual risks like intoxication or scandal), so sources note such extreme rites
“were not regularly performed except by a small group of highly trained adepts; the
usual Tantric ceremony was purely symbolic and even more fastidious than normal
temple worship” . In other words, most of the time, Tantra’s edgy elements are
internalized or done in imagination, not as literal debauchery.

Beyond the lurid aspects, Tantra is full of magical practices. Tantric texts teach
how to create yantras (mystic diagrams) and imbue them with power, how to chant
mantras so as to bring the presence of deities or accomplish specific aims (there
are mantras for wealth, for attracting lovers, for subduing enemies, etc.), and how
to perform homa (fire offerings) to enlist elemental forces. One famous group of
texts is about the Kuberatantra, focusing on Kubera, god of wealth, including
spells for prosperity . There are Tantras focusing on astral travel and the
construction of an illusory body that can roam the universe (this concept appears
in Tibetan Dzogchen as well).
A central concept is kundalini – often depicted as a coiled serpent power at the
base of the spine. Tantric (and yogic) practice aims to awaken Kundalini and guide
it up through the chakras (energy centers along the spine) to the crown of the
head, uniting with Shiva consciousness. This is a mystical process but also
described in magical-energetic terms: when Kundalini rises, psychic powers might
activate, one’s perception changes dramatically, and ultimately one attains union
with the divine. Tantric and Yogic literature is replete with both metaphysical
descriptions of this and actual physiological effects (heat, trance, ecstasy). In
Buddhist Tantra, the system is analogous, with channels and “drops” of energy being
refined to reach enlightenment in one lifetime.

Tantra also gave rise to Hatha Yoga – initially as a means to physically and
energetically prepare the body for high states (all those postures and breathing
exercises were originally part of the magical toolkit, not mere exercise). By
mastering the body through yoga, one could live longer (to have more time to reach
enlightenment and/or attain siddhis).

It’s worth highlighting Tibetan Buddhism’s Tantric practices (Vajrayana), because

they incorporate indigenous Bon and Indian Tantra. Tibetan lamas undertake advanced
rituals called sadhanas where they visualize themselves as a deity (say, fierce
Chakrasamvara or female Vajrayogini), recite 100,000s of mantras, and enter altered
states. They seek not only enlightenment but often to become a siddha – a master
with spiritual powers. Tibetan texts speak of tummo (inner heat yoga, where yogis
generate body heat – documented by Westerners who saw monks drying cold wet sheets
with their body warmth in subzero temperatures), dream yoga (becoming lucid in
dreams to do spiritual work), and pho-wa (projecting consciousness at the moment of
death). The Tibetan master Milarepa is famed for his magic: as a youth he learned
sorcery to cause hailstorms and kill people (naughty Milarepa), later repented and
achieved enlightenment, and eventually could fly or walk through walls according to
legend. Such is the archetype of the sorcerer-turned-saint, which is common in
Tantric lore (using magic as a stepping stone to transcendence).

In Hindu stories, the line between a Tantric sorcerer and a yogi sage is thin too.
For instance, there are tales of Black Tantrics who use their mantra powers for
selfish or harmful ends (summoning yakshas or bhutas – spirits – to attack enemies,
etc.), basically the equivalent of “black magicians.” And the good Tantrics or
yogis sometimes have to counter them. The Atharva Veda (one of Hinduism’s oldest
scriptures) itself contains spells and charms, including those to cause or cure
diseases, attract lovers, or curse enemies – so magical intent is present even in
Vedic times.

Tantra also influenced Ayurveda (traditional Indian medicine) in terms of medicinal

alchemy (rasa shastra – preparation of mineral tonics, mercury elixirs, etc.). Just
as Chinese alchemists sought longevity drugs, Indian alchemists (linked to Tantra)
tried to create “bhasma” – calcined ash of gold or other metals – that if ingested
in minute amounts was said to confer rejuvenation.

An important feature of Tantra is devotion (bhakti) combined with identification. A

Tantric practitioner often picks a personal deity (Ishta-Deva) – say Kali, the
fierce goddess – and through ritual worship and mantra, attempts to merge
consciousness with Her. In advanced practice, one visualizes Her within oneself and
oneself within Her, blurring the line until one feels no separation. In that state,
according to Tantra, you are the deity, and thus you have its powers. This is the
theology behind seemingly miraculous abilities – not so much “commanding spirits”
like a Western mage, but “becoming the god” and doing what it can do. There’s a
famous saying: “yathā devo bhava” – become like the deity. This is both mystical
(self is divine) and magical (assuming divine power to change reality).
As for sexual rites, yes, some Tantrics use controlled ritual sex as a means to
harness the potent creative energy of sexuality. The idea is to transmute that raw
power into spiritual ascent (much like raising Kundalini). When done ritually, it’s
far from hedonistic; it can be physically demanding and psychologically intense.
The couple may remain in a meditative union without climax for hours, reciting
mantras, focusing on chakras, etc. The energy generated is imagined to shoot up the
spine. If successful, they might experience visions or profound altered states.
Western observers sometimes reduce Tantra to “sacred sex” workshops, but in
traditional context it’s just one tool among many and often kept very secret.

To sum up Hindu Tantra: It’s an esoteric path that embraces the totality of human
experience – body, emotions, and all – as tools for liberation. In doing so, it
preserves and systematizes a huge range of magical practices: spells (mantras),
astrology, deity work, yoga, alchemy, and yes, sometimes mind-bending rituals. It
had a massive influence on Eastern spirituality (e.g., most Tibetan Buddhist
practices are Tantric; Hatha Yoga comes from Tantra; even some say the idea of
chakras known in New Age came via Tantric texts). It also gave a framework to talk
about siddhis openly – listing up to 8 or more major powers (like anima =
shrinking, mahima = growing giant, laghima = becoming light as feather, etc., and
subtle ones like knowing past lives or telepathy). While mainstream Hinduism often
cautions against chasing siddhis (they can lead to ego inflation or distraction),
their acknowledged existence underscores that for Tantrics, magic is real and part
of the spiritual journey.

Bon and Tibetan Indigenous Magic

Before Buddhism entered Tibet (circa 7th century CE), the Tibetan plateau had its
own shamanic-animistic religion commonly referred to as Bön (or Bon). Even after
Buddhism took hold, Bon persisted and integrated with it, such that today we have
Bon as both a distinct tradition and an influence on Tibetan Buddhism. Bön (in its
broad sense) is “an ancient, indigenous religion of Tibet, deeply intertwined with
the region’s cultural and spiritual identity”, rooted in nature worship, animistic
rituals, and shamanic practices . Essentially, it’s the spiritual heritage of the
Tibetan people with a strong magical flavor.

In Bon (and Tibetan folk practice generally), everything is alive with spirits.
Mountains, rivers, the sky – all are inhabited by powerful deities or local spirits
. The role of the shaman (called shen or bonpo in Bon ) is to communicate with
these unseen beings, propitiate them, and enlist their help or appease their anger
to ensure community well-being. Bonpos performed (and still perform) elaborate
rituals to balance the natural world and human society. For example, if there’s a
drought, they might conduct rituals to the nagas (serpent water spirits) or
mountain gods to ask for rain. If someone is ill, a shaman might journey in trance
to retrieve the person’s lost soul or bargain with a spirit that has caused the
illness. This is classic shamanism: the practitioner enters altered states (through
drumming, chanting, sometimes psychotropic herbs) to travel in the spirit realms –
upper world of gods, lower world of spirits, etc. – and brings back knowledge or
healing.

One hallmark of Bon and Tibetan practices are exorcisms and protections. The
Tibetan plateau was thought to be filled with wild spirits – many potentially
harmful. Early Buddhist missionaries in Tibet had to “tame” these indigenous
spirits, often by tantric magical means (subjugating them with mantras and making
them sworn protectors of Buddhism). The Bonpos similarly have rituals to pacify
demons or drive out “dru” (negative energies) from a person or place. They use
effigies, thread crosses (web-like yarn constructions) to trap spirits, and loud
noises or fire to expel them – methods analogous to other shamanic cultures.

A distinct aspect of Tibetan magic is the use of ritual objects: dagger-like phurba
for exorcism (to pin down demons), prayer flags and windhorse papers to spread
blessings on the wind, astrological calculations (Tibetan astrology is a blend of
Indian and Chinese systems) to choose auspicious days for ceremonies or to diagnose
spirit influence in illness.

The Nine Ways of Bon (a traditional classification of Bon teachings) include what
we might call magical specialties. For instance, one of the ways is the Way of the
Shen of Prediction, focusing on divination practices. Bonpos and lamas do mirror-
gazing or dice divination and astrological horoscopes to guide decisions – a
continuation of their ancient shamanic oracle heritage.

Healing in Bon often involves invoking Lha (gods) or Lu (naga spirits) and aligning
the patient’s life force with them. Illness can be seen as loss of soul (called la)
or an affliction by an offended spirit of nature. So, a healer might perform a soul
retrieval or an appeasement offering. For example, if someone’s sick due to
disturbing a spring without making offerings to its deity, the cure is to offer
incense, food, or effigies to that spirit and beg forgiveness.

The integration of Buddhist Tantra with Bon created a unique Tibetan flavor. Many
Bon deities resemble Buddhist ones but with a twist. They have fierce wrathful
protector deities just like Tibetan Buddhists (for instance, a deity called Sipai
Gyalmo in Bon is similar to Kali or Palden Lhamo, a raven-faced goddess who
protects followers). These fierce gods and goddesses are essentially magical
guardians – invoked to destroy spiritual threats or enemies.

Weather magic is a part of Tibetan lore too – monks and Bonpos were famed for
controlling hail or rain by engaging in meditative rituals or using tantric tormas
(dough offerings shaped and empowered, then thrown to symbolically feed/warn
spirits). In fact, the Dalai Lamas historically appointed official weather
controllers for state ceremonies.

Tibetan Buddhist sorcery is a thing as well: there are accounts of lamas casting
“magic darts” (invisible attacks) to protect their territory or foil enemies. The
famous rivalry between some lamas involved “sending” spirits or demons to vex the
other, and then the other repelling or subduing them – essentially psychic battles
through ritual.

A specific practice in Tibetan magic is tulpa creation – generating thought-forms.

Advanced practitioners might create an illusory companion or servant through
intense visualization, which then can act semi-autonomously. This concept got
popularized in Western occult circles as well (Alexandra David-Neel, a traveler in
Tibet, wrote about creating a tulpa of a jolly monk that later got out of hand –
who knows how literally to take it, but it’s fascinating).

Bon also had practices for the afterlife – guiding souls of the dead, or even
interfering with an enemy’s reincarnation by magical means. The Tibetan Book of the
Dead is technically a Buddhist text, but Bon has analogous rituals.

Overall, Bon and Tibetan magic underscore harmony with the spirit world. They
emphasize that humans, nature, and spirits must coexist. When there’s imbalance
(disease, disaster), it’s often attributed to spiritual displeasure or disharmony,
and the remedy is ceremonial magic to restore balance . Bonpo shamans historically
performed crucial social functions – healers, psychologists, weather forecasters,
and keepers of stories. Western anthropologists came to call such practices
“shamanism,” with the Siberian steppe shamans as archetypes, but truly it’s a
global phenomenon and Bon is one shining example.

In modern times, Bon is recognized as a religion in Tibet alongside Buddhism. Bon

lamas do many of the same rituals as Buddhist lamas: consecrating prayer flags,
making sand mandalas, giving blessings, etc., but their liturgies may invoke a
different lineage of divine names. Despite centuries of Buddhist dominance, Bon
survived by blending in – even adopting the term “Tonpa Shenrab” as the founder
figure of Bon who mirrors Buddha.

To highlight one Bon magical ritual: The Soul Calling Ceremony. If someone is
listless or ill, a Bon shaman might perform a rite to call back their wandering
soul from wherever it strayed (maybe fear caused a piece of soul to flee). They’ll
burn juniper, chant, perhaps use a drum or bell, and literally call out into the
wilderness for the soul to return, coaxing it with compassionate words or even
little figures and food offerings – “See, we have your favorite foods, come back to
your body!” Once the soul returns, the person is expected to recover vitality.

All these Eastern systems – Taoist magic, Tantra, Bon shamanism – while distinct,
share a holistic worldview: the physical and spiritual are deeply interconnected.
Medicine is mixed with magic, meditation with spellcasting. The ultimate goals
might differ (Taoist immortality, Tantric enlightenment, Bon harmony with spirits),
but in each case, the practitioner cultivates personal power (qi, shakti, lung
energy) and relationships with spiritual forces, to shape reality according to
intent. In essence, that’s what magic has always been about.

(Notable Eastern figures and texts: Laozi and Zhuangzi (Daoist sages, though not
“magicians” per se, their philosophy underpins Taoist alchemy); Ge Hong (a 4th-
century Chinese alchemist who wrote Baopuzi, describing elixirs and flying
immortals); Chang Po-Tuan (author of The Secret of the Golden Flower, a classic
Neidan text); Padmasambhava (8th-century Tantric master who subdued Tibetan demons
and founded Tibetan Buddhism’s Nyingma school, widely considered a great sorcerer-
saint); Machig Labdrön (Tibetan yogini who developed Chöd, a tantric ritual of
offering one’s body to spirits to overcome fear); Milarepa (Tibetan sage, mentioned
as having performed black magic then turned saint); Guru Rinpoche (Padmasambhava)
has texts like The Tibetan Book of the Great Liberation; Hindu Tantras like
Mahanirvana Tantra, Shiva Sutras, Vijñana Bhairava contain both philosophy and
spells. Bon texts are less known in West but one could name “The Nine Ways of Bon”
and various terma (hidden teachings) texts revered in that tradition. Famous
Tantric deities: Kali (fierce mother goddess with magical powers over life and
death), Bhairava (form of Shiva as lord of spirits), Kurukulla (a red Buddhist
goddess of enchantment and magnetizing).)

Long before anyone wrote grimoires or drew hexagrams, there were the shamans: the
medicine men and women, seers, and sorcerers of indigenous societies. In many ways,
shamanism represents humanity’s earliest magical tradition – a bridge between the
everyday human world and the realm of spirits forged in the dawn of culture. The
word “shaman” comes from the Tungusic language of Siberia, but anthropologists have
applied it (somewhat loosely) to similar figures worldwide: from Arctic circle
shamans drumming in fur parkas, to Amazonian ayahuasqueros singing to jungle
spirits, to African witch-doctors dancing around night fires. Each culture’s
practice is unique, and we must respect those differences, but they share certain
core features. As Britannica succinctly puts it, “shamanism [is a] religious
phenomenon centered on the shaman, a person believed to achieve various powers
through trance or ecstatic religious experience”, typically healing the sick,
communicating with the otherworld, and guiding souls of the dead . In short, a
shaman is an intermediary – one who can enter altered states of consciousness
(ecstasy) to travel to hidden realms and interact with spirits, then return to
deliver messages or perform cures.

In a broad sense, many practices we discussed (Bon, some aspects of Tantra, even
certain folk magic) have shamanic elements. But here let’s focus on the archetype
of indigenous shamanism not yet covered, highlighting a variety of examples in a
respectful overview.

In small-scale traditional societies, the shaman often wears many hats: healer,
diviner, psychopomp (soul guide), weather-controller, and custodian of myths and
rituals. They typically undergo a calling – often marked by a personal crisis or
illness, which is interpreted as a sign that spirits are choosing them. Classic
accounts from Siberia or North America describe the prospective shaman falling
seriously ill or mentally disturbed, perhaps seeing visions of being torn apart and
reassembled – symbolically “dismembered” by spirits and given a new, magical body.
If they survive this initiatory ordeal, they emerge with heightened abilities.
Among the Inuit, for instance, a future angakkuq (shaman) might be very sick until
they accept the call and learn from an older shaman how to journey and obtain a
tuurngaq (helping spirit).

Once initiated, the shaman can enter trance at will. Methods vary: drumming and
dancing are widespread (the rhythmic beat of a drum is said to mimic the heartbeat
of Mother Earth and also induce brainwave changes). Singing or chanting is common –
the shaman’s song often both calls helper spirits and narrates their journey. Some
use hallucinogens: e.g., Amazonian shamans drink ayahuasca, a potent brew that
induces vivid visions; Mexican shamans might consume psilocybin mushrooms
(teonanácatl) or peyote cactus. In Siberia, Amanita muscaria mushrooms were
reportedly used by some shamans (leading to speculation about “flying”
experiences). However, not all shamanism uses entheogens – many rely purely on
fasting, sensory deprivation, or intense concentration.

During trance, the shaman’s soul is believed to leave the body (or at least extend
its perception elsewhere). They commonly report going to Upper Worlds (celestial
realms of gods or enlightened ancestors) or Lower Worlds (underground or underwater
realms of animal spirits or the dead). For example, a Mongolian shaman might ascend
a world tree in spirit, climbing its branches through multiple heavens to consult a
Sky-Father deity, or dive into an Underworld sea to retrieve a lost soul taken by a
water spirit. In these otherworlds, they must often face challenges – unruly
entities, puzzles, guardians. They carry spiritual “weapons” or allies: perhaps a
spirit helper in animal form (spirit animal). Almost universally, shamans have
totemic helpers – maybe a wolf, bear, eagle, snake – that accompany and guide them.
These are often acquired during the shaman’s initiation or through a vision quest.

Upon returning from the journey, the shaman communicates what they learned. For
healing, the concept is frequently that illness is caused by a soul loss (some
vital essence of the person is trapped or stolen in the spirit world) or a
spiritual intrusion (a harmful spirit or energy has lodged in the person). The
shaman finds the lost soul-fragment and brings it back, reintegrating the patient
(soul retrieval), and/or sucks or extracts the intrusive bad spirit (sometimes
literally sucking on the body over an afflicted area and spitting out). A dramatic
example is from the Yakut people of Siberia: a shaman might go into trance and
negotiate with the lord of the underworld for a captive soul of a sick person,
offering another object or soul in exchange. Or among the Navajo (Diné) in North
America, while they have separate “singer” healers rather than one ecstatic shaman
figure, the healing ceremonies (like Nightway chant) involve guided visionary
journeys and sandpainting maps to restore harmony – a related concept.

Shamans also often act as psychopomps – guiding the souls of the recently deceased
to the afterlife so they don’t linger and cause problems as ghosts. Many cultures
have rituals where the shaman and community help “send off” the dead with correct
rites, sometimes involving the shaman accompanying the soul partway on its road and
ensuring no evil spirits snatch it. For instance, some Bon practices (and indeed
Tibetan Buddhist as well) involve guiding the soul through the Bardo (intermediate
state after death) by reading prayers (like the Bardo Thodol, popularly “Tibetan
Book of the Dead”).

Let’s glance at a few specific indigenous contexts to appreciate diversity:

• Siberian Shamanism: Often seen as prototypical. A Siberian (like a
Tungus or Yakut) shaman dons elaborate attire: a coat festooned with metal pieces
(symbolizing armor or animal claws), a horned headdress or mirror representing
cosmic center, and carries a drum. The drum is their “horse” to ride to the spirit
world . They might also have a staff or a khuur (horsehead fiddle) to accompany
chants. A fire is lit; they feed it offerings (like juniper or fat) as the fire is
a medium. The shaman sings mythic poetry as they travel: e.g., “I am ascending the
nine skies…” calling out to spirit guides. In the audience’s eyes, the shaman might
speak in strange voices (spirits speaking through them), perform feats like
touching hot coals (protected by trance), or collapse as if dead for a time and
then revive with messages. Shamans were central in hunting societies to placate
animal spirits – e.g., after a hunt, a shaman might “talk” to the soul of the slain
deer, thanking it and ensuring it reincarnates happily, thus no curse on the
hunters . There’s a story of a Goldi (Nanai) shaman reported by ethnographer
Shirokogoroff: the shaman travels to the land of the Lord of Water to retrieve the
soul of a sick girl; on return, he describes the underwater palace and how he
bargained with ancestral spirits for the girl’s life. Such accounts illustrate a
core idea: the shaman goes where others can’t – to the realm of death and back.
• Amazonian Shamanism: Take the Peruvian Amazon. Here, ayahuasqueros
(shamans working with the ayahuasca brew) gather people at night for ceremonies.
The brew, made of vines and leaves containing DMT, induces intense visions. The
shaman sings icaros – special songs that carry intentions and guide the visions.
Participants might see serpents (common imagery, representing healing or the spirit
of the vine), jungles, even alien-like entities. The shaman oversees, making sure
no one is spiritually harmed during the journey. They say the ayahuasca spirit
itself is a teacher; one learns songs from the plant. These shamans also perform
sorcery or counter-sorcery – Amazon communities often talk of brujos (witches) who
shoot magical darts (virotes) to sicken others. An ayahuasquero can detect and
remove these darts in ceremony (vomiting them out or pulling them from the
patient’s aura). Plants are central – the Amazon is a pharmacopoeia and each
healing plant has a spirit master to consult.
• North American Indigenous Traditions: Vastly varied, but consider the
Plains Indians vision quest and medicine people. A young person might go alone to a
hilltop, fasting for four days, seeking a vision. If they’re blessed, an animal or
spirit might appear in a hallucination or dream and grant them a song or a object
(like an eagle feather) as their personal medicine (power). This might not make
them a community shaman per se, but it’s a shamanic element of personal spiritual
power. Among the Lakota, the heyoka or sacred clown might have visionary gifts
(often lightning or thunderbird-related) and manifest them in inverted behavior
that is ritually important. The Sun Dance ceremony of Plains tribes, while more of
a communal rite, has shamanic qualities: dancers piercing their flesh and entering
trance to bring blessings to the tribe. In the Pacific Northwest, shamans performed
spectacular acts like sucking out disease-causing objects (e.g., “I see a black
stone in your body, I’ll remove it”), and they had spirit allies often represented
by carved masks or costumes (like a bear mask to channel bear spirit for healing).
The Navajo Hatałii (singers) aren’t “shamans” in ecstasy, but they memorize complex
chants and sand-paintings that evoke the Holy People to restore hózhó (harmony) in
one who is ill – essentially a magical act of bringing the patient’s life back into
balance with cosmic order .
• African Traditions: Africa has an incredibly rich variety. For example,
Yoruba Babalawos use divination (Ifá – casting palm nuts or cowries and
interpreting verses) to seek guidance from Orunmila, deity of wisdom. The results
often prescribe ebo (offerings) or small rituals to appease Orishas (divine
spirits) to fix problems – that’s a form of magic. In Southern Africa, Sangomas go
into trance, often through drumming and dance, and become possessed by ancestor
spirits. They may perform dramatic healings or locate lost cattle by psychic means.
They throw bones as a divination method, reading the pattern to diagnose spiritual
causes of misfortune. Voodoo (Vodou) in Haiti (which blends African Vodun with
Catholicism) involves priests (houngan) and priestesses (mambo) calling Loa spirits
to temporarily possess them (they “ride their head”), to give counsel or heal
devotees – a practice akin to shamanic mediumship. They also perform ceremonies for
protection or curse-breaking – who hasn’t heard of the famed (and sometimes
misrepresented) voodoo doll? In actuality, sticking pins in a doll (poppet magic)
exists, but Vodou’s real magic is more about offering food, rum, and drumming to
enlist powerful Loa like Papa Legba or Erzulie for help in love, luck, justice,
etc.
• Australian Aboriginal Traditions: While diverse among language groups,
many have medicine men known for feats like “pointing the bone” (an aimed curse
causing death by sheer suggestion or spiritual force) – that’s a feared negative
magic. Conversely, clever-men could heal by picking out objects from the body or
singing special songs. They might travel in dreams or have Maban (magic crystals)
they use to see inside a patient. Stories abound of levitation, or transforming
into animals (shapeshifting) – by projecting their kurunba (soul) perhaps. Their
magical worldview is tied to the Dreamtime – the mythic era. Magic is often about
tapping into that primordial Dreaming energy.

Despite differences, note the common threads: The belief in unseen spirits or
forces behind visible reality; the practitioner’s ability to enter an altered state
to interact with those forces; the use of ritual, song, art, or substances to
facilitate that interaction; and the goal of helping or sometimes harming
(depending on the morality or context) through those interactions. Shamanic magic
is usually community-oriented – the shaman serves their people by maintaining
harmony between the human community and the spirit world . There’s an ecological
aspect: many shamanic cultures stress that humans must treat animals and nature
respectfully, performing rituals after hunts, etc., to ensure sustainability . If
we fail, spirits retaliate (through sickness, poor game, natural disasters). In
this way, shamanism is as much a spiritual ecology as it is “magic.”

Modern interest in shamanism has led to movements like neo-shamanism, where people
(often outside the original cultures) attempt to learn shamanic techniques for
personal growth, sometimes successfully, other times superficially. But core
shamanism (a term by Michael Harner) tries to distill universal methods like
drumming journey without cultural context, which is controversial but shows the
perceived accessibility of these experiences.

Finally, one might ask: do shamans really journey, or is it metaphor? To the

shamans and their communities, it’s absolutely real – the lived reality is that
spirits exist and the shamans interact with them. As an observer, one can see
healing effects: perhaps psychosomatic illnesses are cured because the patient
believes the curse object was removed, etc. Or community stress is relieved because
they trust the shaman dealt with the angry ancestors. In any case, shamanic magic
has proven effective enough that these practices have survived tens of thousands of
years.

As we move into the 20th and 21st centuries, the landscape of magic has evolved and
diversified, especially in the Western world. New movements have emerged that blend
older traditions or break entirely new ground, adapting occult ideas to modern
sensibilities. Let’s explore a few of these contemporary and syncretic traditions:
notably Wicca (modern witchcraft religion), Chaos Magic (a postmodern approach to
magic), and the broad New Age spirituality and practices. Each of these draws upon
the rich heritage we’ve covered but also reacts to the unique cultural currents of
recent times – from the counterculture of the 1960s to the information age of the
2000s.
Under a full moon in a forest clearing, a circle of people – perhaps skyclad (nude)
or wearing robes and garlands – raise their arms in invocation of the Goddess.
Candles flicker on a small altar bearing a chalice of wine, a bowl of water, salt,
and a ritual dagger (athame). They call to the four quarters (Earth, Air, Fire,
Water), then chant and dance, celebrating nature’s cycles and casting spells for
healing or protection. This could be a Wiccan coven gathering, one of countless
that have taken place since the mid-20th century. Wicca is a modern Pagan religion
with a strong focus on magical practice. As Wikipedia neatly defines: “Wicca… is a
modern pagan, syncretic, Earth-centered religion. Considered a new religious
movement by scholars, the path evolved from Western esotericism, developed in
England during the first half of the 20th century, and was introduced to the public
in 1954 by Gerald Gardner” . In other words, Wicca is a deliberate revival (or
reconstruction) of what its founders perceived as ancient witchcraft traditions,
blended with ceremonial magic and romanticized paganism, and structured as a
mystery religion.

Gerald Gardner, an English retired civil servant, claimed to have been initiated in
1939 by a coven of witches in the New Forest region – a group allegedly preserving
pre-Christian pagan witchcraft. While historians doubt the existence of an unbroken
witch-cult as Gardner described (much of it was likely synthesized by Gardner
himself, influenced by occult sources like the Golden Dawn and the writings of
Margaret Murray on the “Witch-Cult hypothesis”), the fact remains Gardner went on
to publish books, Witchcraft Today (1954) and The Meaning of Witchcraft (1959),
thus revealing (and crafting) the Wiccan system. From those seeds, Wicca spread and
diversified into many “traditions” or denominations, and today it’s arguably the
most well-known form of Neopaganism (a term for modern revived pagan religions).

What do Wiccans believe and do? Most Wiccans are duotheistic or polytheistic: they
venerate a Goddess and a God – often envisioned as a Moon Goddess (sometimes called
Diana, Aradia, or just The Lady) and a Horned God of the wilderness (often named
Cernunnos, Pan, or simply The Lord) . These are sometimes seen as encompassing all
gods (monotheistic at a higher level, but expressed as a divine pair). Wiccans
follow the Wheel of the Year, celebrating eight seasonal festivals (Sabbats) – four
minor ones aligned with solstices and equinoxes, and four major cross-quarter days
like Beltane, Samhain, etc., drawn from Celtic and other European folklore. In
their rituals, Wiccans cast a circle (psychic sacred space), call the quarters
(personified as guardians or the classical elements), then typically invoke the God
and Goddess, perhaps enact symbolic plays of myth (like the God’s annual cycle of
birth, death, and rebirth), raise energy (e.g., through a cone of power achieved by
chanting or dancing in circle), work magic spells, share a simple feast (cakes and
wine), and then thank the deities and dismiss the circle. The atmosphere is
reverent but often joyful – remember that whimsical sense? Wiccans definitely
encourage a bit of merriment along with the mysticism.

Wiccan magic is usually a mix of folk magic and ceremonial techniques. For
instance, a spell might involve inscribing a candle with runes, anointing it with
oil, charging it with intent and correspondences (maybe at the proper phase of moon
and day of week – astrology and planetary hours sometimes considered), and then
lighting it in the circle while visualizing the goal. The practice of
correspondences – linking specific herbs, colors, stones, etc., to desired outcomes
– heavily features, much of it inherited from grimoires and occult tables (e.g.,
green for prosperity, rose quartz for love, lavender for healing, etc.). Tools on a
Wiccan altar have analogues in ceremonial magic: the Athame (ritual knife) for
directing energy, the Wand for invocation, the Chalice for the element of Water or
the Goddess’s presence, and the Pentacle (a disc with a pentagram) representing
Earth and used to consecrate items. These four tools consciously echo the suits of
the Tarot (swords, wands, cups, pentacles) – revealing Wicca’s occult lineage .

Initiatory Wicca (like Gardnerian or Alexandrian traditions) has degrees of

initiation and oaths of secrecy regarding certain symbols or words of power. Early
Wicca incorporated Thelemic influences (Crowley’s writings, in fact Gardner was
friendly with Crowley near the end of Crowley’s life) and Masonic lodge structure.
Over time, Wicca’s guarded inner teachings leaked or were reinvented by solitary
practitioners, and many eclectic or “outer-court” Wiccan books have been published,
so nowadays one can self-guide. But some covens maintain lineage and secret rites.

Wicca is strongly syncretic in that it drew from many sources: British folk
customs, Western occultism, Eastern philosophy occasionally (Gardner was in Asia
and possibly picked up ideas there too), and the notion of a prehistoric
matriarchal pagan religion (an idea championed by Margaret Murray and later authors
like Robert Graves – though historically debated). Because it’s syncretic and
decentralized (no single authority or scripture beyond the “Wiccan Rede” maxim and
a few poetic pieces in the Book of Shadows), Wicca has branched out: Celtic Wicca,
Dianic Wicca (with focus on the Goddess and often women-only covens), Eclectic
Wicca (mix and match pantheons), etc.

One hallmark ethic is the Wiccan Rede: “An it harm none, do what ye will.” This is
more a guideline than a strict law, but it encourages practitioners to avoid
harmful magic or actions (in contrast to Crowley’s ethically indifferent “Do what
thou wilt”). Many Wiccans also believe in the Threefold Law – the idea that
whatever energy one puts out returns threefold, encouraging positive magic over
curses. As such, Wiccans typically emphasize healing spells, protection spells,
prosperity for friends, love (though ethical Wiccans try to avoid manipulative love
spells on specific people, focusing more on attracting general love). Banishing
negativity or self-transformation work is also common (e.g. spells to break bad
habits or improve confidence).

Wicca’s rise in the latter 20th century had a huge cultural impact: it made the
figure of the benevolent witch prominent. Public witches like Doreen Valiente
(Gardner’s high priestess and a gifted poet who wrote many beautiful liturgical
pieces) and later Starhawk (a prominent American witch and activist, author of The
Spiral Dance) presented witchcraft as a nature-honoring, feminist, and life-
affirming path, far from the old stereotype of cackling hags. Indeed, Wicca emerged
alongside the environmental movement and feminism, offering a spiritual dimension
that venerates Mother Earth and values the divine feminine. Many women (and men)
found empowerment in identifying as witches – reclaiming a term used to persecute
women historically, now as a badge of pride.

Today, there are formal Wiccan churches (like Church of All Worlds, Covenant of the
Goddess in the US) and a plethora of solitary practitioners. The internet has given
access to spells and communities (and unfortunately some misinformation or overly
commercial “spell kits” – caveat emptor!). But the prevailing vibe remains: Wicca
is accessible magic for the average person who feels drawn to a spiritual
connection with nature and the Old Gods, without needing to join secret societies
or learn Latin incantations. If ceremonial magic is likened to classical music with
a full orchestra, Wicca is like a folk song around a campfire – simpler chords, but
heartfelt and communal.

Now, for something completely different: Chaos Magic – the punk rock of modern
occultism. If Wicca looked to the ancient past for inspiration, Chaos Magic looked
to the psychedelic, deconstructionist present. Born in the late 1970s England,
Chaos Magic (often spelled with the ‘k’ too, as Chaos Magick) came from occultists
who felt traditional magic had become too dogmatic or ceremonial. They wanted to
strip magic to its bare-bones techniques and use any belief as a tool, rather than
a sacred truth. Essentially, Chaos magic teaches that belief itself is a powerful
force – and that by deliberately changing one’s beliefs, one can change one’s
reality .

The name comes from chaos theory (which was trendy then) and the idea that chaos –
the unpredictable flux of possibilities – underlies reality, and from Discordianism
(a spoof religion worshipping Eris, the goddess of chaos, which influenced the
mindset). Chaos magicians often say things like “Nothing is true, everything is
permitted” (a quote from Hassan-i Sabbah they fancy), meaning there’s no absolute
truth in magical systems – they’re all human-made models – so you can play with
them freely.

The founders included Peter J. Carroll and Ray Sherwin, who started a zine called
Lion’s Paw and then The New Equinox, and later Carroll’s book Liber Null (1978) and
Psychonaut (1981) became the seminal texts. They formed the Illuminates of
Thanateros (IOT), a chaos magic order (with tongue-in-cheek reference to
Illuminati, and Thanateros combining Thanatos = death and Eros = sex, two primal
drives). Austin Osman Spare, an early 20th-century artist and sorcerer, is
considered the grandfather of chaos magic for his idea of the “sigil” method –
turning a desire into an abstract symbol and then launching it into the
subconscious.

What does chaos magic look like in practice? A hallmark technique is sigil magic:
you write a statement of intent (“It is my will to get a great new job”), then
remove repeating letters and scramble the rest into a glyph design – a personal,
unique symbol . Then you enter a gnosis state – basically an intense altered state
achieved either by hyper-arousal (e.g., spinning, sex, intense breathwork) or
inhibition (meditation, sensory deprivation) – and at the peak, you concentrate on
the sigil and then mentally forget it (sometimes burning the paper). The idea is
you imprint the desire into the subconscious while the conscious mind is silenced,
and then by forgetting the sigil, you let the “psychic energy” or whatever work
without lust of result. This technique was Spare’s big contribution and Chaotes
loved it: it’s simple, no need to summon Mercury at the right hour – just hack your
own psyche.

Another concept: Belief as a tool . Chaos magicians might one week invoke Thor as a
real entity if they need strength, then next week invoke a character from H.P.
Lovecraft (like Cthulhu) as if real, if that serves their purpose – even knowing
it’s fictional. They might adopt the paradigm of traditional ceremonial magic for
one ritual, then a shamanic paradigm for another, purely because whatever you can
wholeheartedly believe in at the moment will make the magic work. They argue that
it’s the intensity of belief/focus that causes change (the mechanism might be
psychological, or “quantum” or via astral – they’re agnostic on how it works
exactly), so “All systems are arbitrary – choose what is useful and discard the
rest.”

Chaos magic thus often involves pop culture and humor. There are famous examples of
chaos magicians creating whole new pantheons from fiction: e.g., the Lovecraftian
“Cthulhu mythos” used in ritual, or worshipping the “Holy Guardian Angle” (a pun
between a math angle and angel, from a chaos magick joke), or praying to Boba Fett
from Star Wars if that archetype resonates with you for a desired outcome. Why not?
If belief is a tool, any sufficiently powerful symbol your mind can latch onto can
be magical. One chaos magician, Phil Hine, did a ritual to invoke “Godzilla” to
smash through his personal obstacles (with some success, apparently!). The point is
partly serious – you really try to embody that energy – and partly showing that our
mind can personify forces in infinite ways.

Carroll introduced concepts like the 8 “colors” of magic (an expansion on Crowley’s
black/white/red magic categories, adding colors for different intents – e.g., blue
magic for wealth, green for love, etc., somewhat arbitrary but a framework) and
techniques like sigils, servitors, egregores (servitors are like DIY thought-form
spirits you create to do a task; egregores are group-thought-forms). He also wrote
about drawing ideas from science, cybernetics, and even math into magic – e.g.,
“the equation of magic” etc., mostly as metaphors. Chaos magicians often geek out
on quantum physics analogies (e.g., maybe magical intent collapses probability
wavefunctions, who knows).

They also emphasize personal experimentation and avoiding dogma: if something works
for you (gives results), use it; if not, tweak or toss it. This is close to the
scientific method: try a spell, record results (they do like keeping magical
diaries like old magicians did, but with a more results-oriented, less florid
approach). Julian Vayne, a chaos magician, said “Magic isn’t about certainty, it’s
about mystery – but we can measure how the mystery unfolds.”

Chaos magic influenced the wider culture in subtle ways: it was part of the 80s/90s
counterculture; comic book writer Grant Morrison incorporated chaos magic ideas
into his works (like The Invisibles – which ironically influenced The Matrix film’s
style). The “sigil” concept has basically become internet-common in witchcraft
circles far beyond chaos magic per se.

An example of a chaos magic ritual: Suppose I want confidence for a job interview.
I might choose the archetype of Iron Man (Marvel superhero) because he’s confident
and high-tech – that resonates with me more than, say, the traditional Mars god. I
could create a ritual where I draw Iron Man’s arc reactor on my chest with body
paint, play AC/DC’s “Back in Black” (since that’s in the Iron Man movie) to hype
up, visualize suiting up in the armor. In a gnosis peak (perhaps intense dancing or
drumming), I shout “I am Iron Man!” and feel invincible. Then I let that go, end
the ritual. I have effectively used a pop culture symbol to implant confidence in
me. A chaos magician would say if it works, great – if not, try another approach.
No need to worry about offending the Roman god Mars or doing the Tuesday hour of
Mars. Unless I think those add helpful structure – I could incorporate them if I
want! It’s very mix-and-match and pragmatic.

Chaos magic was also one of the first strands of occultism to incorporate
postmodern philosophy – e.g., they talk about paradigm shifting as a skill (knowing
that you can don and doff belief systems like hats). As Urban noted, it’s been
described as a union of traditional occult techniques with postmodernism’s
skepticism of absolute truth . Some chaos magic writings are delightfully crazy,
others are crisp and practical.

One classic chaos manual, “Liber Kaos” by Carroll, even touches on using equations
to model magic – not that one needs to, but they were exploring: can we articulate
spells in terms of variables like intention, gnosis, timing, etc., to optimize
them? This appeals to scientifically-minded magicians who chafe at medieval mumbo-
jumbo but want to do magic.

The reputation of chaos magic sometimes is that it’s for “edgy rebel” types, and
indeed it has had alt-cultural expressions: chaos magicians pioneered “magical
memetics” – using media and symbols to create shifts in society. For example, the
KLF (K Foundation), a 90s Brit music group/performance art, were into
Discordian/Chaos magic and did stunts like burning a million pounds as art, or
planting subliminal symbols. The Temple ov Psychick Youth (TOPY) was a chaos magic
collective tied to industrial music (e.g., Genesis P-Orridge and Psychic TV) that
explored sigils via sexual fluids and recorded vids of their experiments. All very
underground and subversive.

Chaos magic, by its nature, doesn’t have a huge public organization (the IOT exists
but is small and selective). Rather its influence permeates modern occult practice
widely – many non-chaos witches now use sigils and the idea of customizing their
craft.

Having toured through so many traditions, you might wonder: how do occultists make
sense of magic? Is there a unifying theory behind all these spells, spirits, and
symbols? While each culture has its own framework, there are recurring concepts in
magical theory that act like scaffolding for practice. Here we’ll discuss a few
fundamental ideas: correspondences (the idea that all things in the universe are
connected through hidden links), the four (or more) elements as primal building
blocks, and planetary and celestial influences on the terrestrial realm. We’ve
touched on these in passing – now let’s examine them more directly, because
understanding these is key to understanding the “why” and “how” of much magical
work.

The Law of Correspondences: “As Above, So Below”

This phrase from the Hermetic Emerald Tablet sums it up: “That which is above is
like that which is below, and that which is below is like that which is above, to
accomplish the miracles of the One Thing.” . In practical terms, Correspondence
means there’s an analogy or connection between different levels of reality. The
macrocosm (the great universe) and the microcosm (a human being, or a smaller
system) reflect each other. Therefore, by manipulating something in one realm, you
can affect its counterpart in another. This is the philosophical backbone of
sympathetic magic: like affects like, part affects whole. We see it everywhere: a
Voodoo doll works on the correspondence that the doll represents the person;
astrology works on the belief that planets and human lives correspond in meaning
and time; an herbalist picks a yellow sap plant to treat jaundice because yellow
corresponds to bile (this was an old “Doctrine of Signatures”).

In Renaissance occult philosophy, Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa formalized

correspondences in dizzying detail: planets correspond to metals (Sun=gold,
Moon=silver, Mars=iron, etc.), to plants (each planet “rules” certain herbs), to
colors, to musical notes, even to parts of the body . For example, Venus
corresponds to copper, to roses and thyme, to the color green, to the kidneys and
the reproductive system, to the astrological sign of Libra, etc. So if a magician
wants to do a love spell (Venusian work), she might incorporate as many Venus
correspondences as possible: do it on Friday (Venus’s day), in the hour of Venus,
wear green or copper jewelry, burn rose-scented incense, and perhaps inscribe a
copper talisman with the symbol of Venus. The theory is that each of these links
vibrates with the Venus principle, strengthening the magical intention by aligning
microcosm (the ritual and practitioner) with macrocosm (the celestial power of
Venus) .

Agrippa’s monumental Three Books of Occult Philosophy is essentially an

encyclopedia of correspondences. As Grafton wrote, Agrippa “mapped the entire
network of forces that passed from angels and demons, stars and planets, downward
into the world of matter… weaving complex spider webs of influence from high to low
and low to high” . The cosmos was like a great chain of being, and magic was the
art of tugging on one link to cause movement in another. If you wanted a demonic
spirit to obey, you invoked the name of a higher angel that corresponded to control
that demon. If you wanted a plant’s virtue, you picked it under the right star. It
was a grand unifying theory bridging spirit and matter.

Sympathy and Contagion: Anthropologist James Frazer in The Golden Bough (1890)
identified two principles in magic: the Law of Similarity (like produces like) and
Law of Contact/Contagion (things once in contact remain linked). These are
basically two categories of correspondences. Similarity is why you might use a blue
candle for calm (blue like a serene sky or water), or draw a lightning bolt on a
spell for sudden impact. Contagion is why relics (saint’s bones, or even
celebrity’s used napkin on eBay) are valued; or why hair/nail clippings can serve
as a link to someone in magic – they were physically part of them, thus still carry
their essence. Many folk charms use personal effects to strengthen the link.

The Hermetic Qabalah (as adopted by Golden Dawn and others) formalizes an entire
schema of correspondences on the Tree of Life – ten spheres (Sephiroth) and 22
paths, each with myriad correspondences (tarot cards, letters, elements, planets,
colors, etc.) . A ceremonial magician memorizes these such that, as Crowley said,
“The Tree of Life has got to be learnt by heart; you must know it backwards,
forwards, sideways…” – because it becomes a filing cabinet of all magical
concepts. If they hear “Chesed” (4th sphere, Mercy), they know it’s Jupiter, blue,
abundance, the number 4, the wand, etc. So in ritual, they can plug those in to
resonate with Mercy.

Why correspondences? On a metaphysical level, occultists propose the universe is a

grand coherent whole (often because it emanated from the One or the Mind of God in
Hermetic thinking). So patterns repeat on different scales. Modern chaos theory’s
fractals echo this notion too (the same pattern of coastline from far away or up
close). “As above, so below” implies also “As inner, so outer.” Hence magic often
starts with internal change to cause external change: e.g., to influence weather, a
shaman might work into a frenzy (inner storm) then project it outward. To bring
peace in one’s home, a witch might first cultivate peace in herself via meditation,
believing that inner state will radiate.

Another aspect is astral/energy connections: occultists think that on the unseen

plane, things that correspond are literally linked by invisible threads or
vibrations. So, by manipulating one, you vibrate the string that leads to the
other, accomplishing your goal at a distance. This is essentially a pre-scientific
way to understand action at a distance (which science found in gravity, quantum
entanglement, etc., but magic says mind and symbol can do similarly).