I did not plan to write my first post after a long hiatus about a book. In fact, I was working on a piece to share some of my reasons behind that hiatus, which might still be posted another day. The recent publication of The Black Pilgrimage by David Beth through Theion Publishing inspired me, however, to share a very short first impression of that work (with more to follow in due time). For those of you seeking advice on whether to buy it: I will not write a proper review of this title. On the one hand, there are already a few elaborate reviews online (links at the end of this post), and I expect there to be more in the future. On the other hand, I am biased, of course. As part of Theion, my answer to those considering whether this book is worth their time is clearly an emphatic yes. And as part of the gnostic current David Beth’s work grows out of (or into?) I deem it a most essential tome. In fact, I think it will actually stand the test of time. Why? Because it is not just an introduction or an elaborate description of a system. It is not simply a grimoire, even though it offers more sophisticated workings than most modern ones. It is also not a book you read from back to back and are done with. Instead, you will (or so I hope) pick it up and read parts of it however you like, and repeatedly. It is a book that may actually change you. Its philosophy is sound, and its outlook valid and more timely than ever. In short, The Black Pilgrimage is a book that does not simply describe or explain; it does not preach, but it interacts. It beckons you to question, to look into the mirror, face uncomfortable truths, and look again.
I will give you an example. In the second pylon of The Black Pilgrimage, Beth pulls the rug out from under our feet—or rather, the ground. He writes about the abyss, this term so very present in occulture, and declares that it, the abyss, is effectively the groundlessness, “the fact that the world has no final bottom.” (p. 70). This takes away all reason for the proverbial ‘rat race’; it questions the striving toward higher goals, better performance, lasting achievement. It appears to take away purpose and meaning. Yet, what this definition really does—and that is what the whole book does extremely well in my view—is hold up the mirror, showing us the constructions we call our lives, those questionable and false ideals that we built or entered ourselves:
Whole cultures are built on the pact of not looking down [JG: into the abyss]. In place of the depth they suppress, they erect a thin, bright architecture: a network of objects and functions and concepts that pretends to be all there is. It is possible to live and die entirely inside this construction. One can accumulate pleasures and grievances, successes and disappointments, and never once allow the thought to fully form: none of this will last, and none of it answers what I actually am.
David Beth, The Black Pilgrimage, p.70f.
Even those of us who praise ourselves for already walking close to the edge or even ‘crossing the abyss,’ seeing through the smokescreens of civilization, have mostly never set foot outside of “this construction” — that is a truth to face when embarking on the black pilgrimage oneself. Only when a deeper understanding of groundlessness, of no final bottom, begins to resonate, when the defence against ‘no purpose’ gives way to the pain and fear of losing stability and footing, when you feel lost, alone, and without any direction, can you open to the Gnosis of the Abyss. Abyssum abyssus invocat, Deep calls to deep, is the title of this second pylon, and to me it is the motto of the pilgrimage. It is deeply gnostic (the Call). To hear the calling, to feel the resonance of what is being called to what is calling (the depth or black hole within our soul to the depth that is the abyss), and to know our relation to all that truly lives (not as a rational understanding in an animistic way that all-is-ensouled, but as the full awareness and experience that all moves interrelated in the same depth) — that is the first experience of Gnostic awakening.
After taking the ground away and tearing down walls (or at least punching large holes in them), David Beth thankfully does not leave us hanging above the abyss. Eventually, his “pylons” are exactly that: supporting structures that provide guidance and direction and allow us to face that question of “what I actually am”. They are gateways to the inner sanctum. For the abyss is not to be crossed nor journeyed through, but stood within. Abyss, Mater, chaos, and kosmos. Beth describes their relations masterfully, and if I am left with a feeling of paradox, of something just within reach but that I cannot grasp, it is because of the very nature of what is described: the fourfold Mystery of the Depth.
From the images and emotions that arise in me when reading the first pylons of The Black Pilgrimage, it makes total sense to me that the third pylon confronts us with that topic so uncomfortable to modern Western minds: master and student (and what I called the esoteric dependence). It is no secret that the Kosmic Gnosis, and David Beth in particular, emphasizes such a relationship — without making its entirety obligatory. The initiate will not receive “the Poisoner’s gift”, as the third pylon is called, if they are not ready and willing to do so. The pylon also shows, however, that the relation of student to teacher, initiate to master, is far more essential than a mind caught up in building constructions can grasp. If you lose your ground, it is the master who stands by you:
In this moment, the master watches without sentiment. He does not comfort — comfort strenghtens what must die. Yet his steadiness is a shelter: not solace, but containment; a held perimeter in which her trembling does not spill into ruin. He does not explain—explanation rebuilds the prison. He stands as the dark axis around which her dissolution coils, keeping her contour as the false-I breaks. In his presence she feels both terror and recognition: terror at the abyss opening within her, recognition that this abyss is her own.
David Beth, The Black Pilgrimage, p.118
With this recognition, I will leave you be. Again, The Black Pilgrimage is not comfortable—neither the actual path nor the book. It does not play into the greediness of modern humans, whether for power or approval. It does not make promises of eternal happiness and does not cater to wishful thinking. It asks you to confront yourself, to go where it hurts. Yet there you may actually find the answer to a much deeper longing than any desire for earthly goods. This answer does not mean that the longing will ever be alleviated. But your longing will finally receive purpose and meaning. It will urge you to movement, to seek your stand in the living All (see also the first pylon in the book). For me personally, reading this book set an inner wheel in motion so that I feel above all compelled to proceed with my black pilgrimage in the abyss—a longing to turn my life fully into a response to itself.
Links
Review of The Black Pilgrimage by Peter Mark Adams on Paralibrum
Review of The Black Pilgrimage by David Wenborn on The Western Gate / dagenhamdave.com
Review of The Black Pilgrimage by James Ellis, Hermitix Podcast (on YouTube)
Buy The Black Pilgrimage at Theion Publishing
New Homepage of the Primordial Way / Kosmic Gnosis: primordialway.com
