tells his readers with a heavy-handed paradox, until you say “Thank God I am an atheist.” Again it is not
thelema
he is advocating, but himself. Crowley made recruitment drives for his occult movement in Oxford and Cambridge, but his most successful convert was practically handed to him on a platter.
Captain Fuller met the twenty-three-year-old poet Victor Neuburg at the funeral of William Stewart Ross, the editor of the
Agnostic Journal
, who died in November 1906. Neuburg had published some poetry in the journal and had read some of Crowley’s verse and he and Fuller became acquainted. Neuburg is little read today, and outside of Crowleyan circles he is best known for his hand in the publication of Dylan Thomas’s first book of poems. In the 1930s Neuburg edited a poetry section in a newspaper,
The Sunday Referee
, and his enthusiasm for Thomas’s verse led the newspaper’s editor to finance Thomas’s
18 Poems
(1934). Neuburg died in 1940.
Fuller told Crowley about Neuburg. He, too, had come from awealthy, repressive family, although his background was Jewish, not Christian, something Crowley never let him forget. Neuburg was reading languages at Crowley’s alma mater, Cambridge, and on an excursion to his old haunts, Crowley turned up unannounced at Neuburg’s rooms. He had read some of the younger poet’s verse and told him that it showed signs of promise. Neuburg also showed great magical potential, but equally appealing was Neuburg’s masochism and obvious need for a master. Neuburg was awkward, self-conscious, and unsure of himself, and his appearance matched his insecurities: unkempt, unwashed, ill mannered, thick lipped, curly haired, and possessed of a peculiarly piercing nervous laugh. Yet from most accounts Neuburg also had a curious faunlike appearance. Crowley was taller, accomplished, confident, flamboyant, and in search of a student. The two were made for each other, and along with developing a guru-
chela
relationship they also became lovers.
Neuburg’s association with Crowley soon led to trouble. Neuburg belonged to the university’s Pan Society—in 1910 he published a collection of poems entitled
The Triumph of Pan
—and Crowley often lectured to the group. When the Cambridge Inter-Collegiate Christian Union discovered this, they complained; Crowley’s reputation preceded him. An anonymous letter accusing Crowley of pederasty reached Rev. R. St. J. Parry, dean of Trinity, who immediately barred Crowley from the college. (As Crowley was an ex-Trinity man, the Dean really could not do this.) A fellow student of Neuburg’s and member of the Pan Society, Norman Mudd, was outraged when the Dean ordered him to cancel all of Crowley’s future lectures, and he called on his fellow members to refuse. Crowley eventually confronted the Dean and asked why he had barred him from the college. The Dean had no problem with magic, he said, but Crowley’s sexualideas were immoral. Parry finally threatened to expel anyone who had any dealings with Crowley. Mudd, who came from a poor background, was especially vulnerable, as the Dean could cancel his scholarship. Eventually he backed down and promised to avoid Crowley, a decision he regretted for the rest of his life. That he was forced to betray his role model gnawed at him for years to come.
—
N EUBURG JOINED THE A . .. A ..., taking the name
Omnia Vincam
(“I Shall Conquer All”), and started on his training. Along with extensive reading, this included eating hashish; Crowley believed it stimulated astral travel, a mystical knack for which Neuburg showed much potential. But Crowley also subjected Neuburg to a barrage of sadistic practical jokes, ostensibly to “liberate” him from his repressions and introduce him to “life,” but also to indulge Crowley’s own cruel sense of humor. At a party in Paris, Crowley got Neuburg drunk on Pernod and watched as the stumbling poet made embarrassing advances on women. Intuiting that Neuburg was a
thelema
he is advocating, but himself. Crowley made recruitment drives for his occult movement in Oxford and Cambridge, but his most successful convert was practically handed to him on a platter.
Captain Fuller met the twenty-three-year-old poet Victor Neuburg at the funeral of William Stewart Ross, the editor of the
Agnostic Journal
, who died in November 1906. Neuburg had published some poetry in the journal and had read some of Crowley’s verse and he and Fuller became acquainted. Neuburg is little read today, and outside of Crowleyan circles he is best known for his hand in the publication of Dylan Thomas’s first book of poems. In the 1930s Neuburg edited a poetry section in a newspaper,
The Sunday Referee
, and his enthusiasm for Thomas’s verse led the newspaper’s editor to finance Thomas’s
18 Poems
(1934). Neuburg died in 1940.
Fuller told Crowley about Neuburg. He, too, had come from awealthy, repressive family, although his background was Jewish, not Christian, something Crowley never let him forget. Neuburg was reading languages at Crowley’s alma mater, Cambridge, and on an excursion to his old haunts, Crowley turned up unannounced at Neuburg’s rooms. He had read some of the younger poet’s verse and told him that it showed signs of promise. Neuburg also showed great magical potential, but equally appealing was Neuburg’s masochism and obvious need for a master. Neuburg was awkward, self-conscious, and unsure of himself, and his appearance matched his insecurities: unkempt, unwashed, ill mannered, thick lipped, curly haired, and possessed of a peculiarly piercing nervous laugh. Yet from most accounts Neuburg also had a curious faunlike appearance. Crowley was taller, accomplished, confident, flamboyant, and in search of a student. The two were made for each other, and along with developing a guru-
chela
relationship they also became lovers.
Neuburg’s association with Crowley soon led to trouble. Neuburg belonged to the university’s Pan Society—in 1910 he published a collection of poems entitled
The Triumph of Pan
—and Crowley often lectured to the group. When the Cambridge Inter-Collegiate Christian Union discovered this, they complained; Crowley’s reputation preceded him. An anonymous letter accusing Crowley of pederasty reached Rev. R. St. J. Parry, dean of Trinity, who immediately barred Crowley from the college. (As Crowley was an ex-Trinity man, the Dean really could not do this.) A fellow student of Neuburg’s and member of the Pan Society, Norman Mudd, was outraged when the Dean ordered him to cancel all of Crowley’s future lectures, and he called on his fellow members to refuse. Crowley eventually confronted the Dean and asked why he had barred him from the college. The Dean had no problem with magic, he said, but Crowley’s sexualideas were immoral. Parry finally threatened to expel anyone who had any dealings with Crowley. Mudd, who came from a poor background, was especially vulnerable, as the Dean could cancel his scholarship. Eventually he backed down and promised to avoid Crowley, a decision he regretted for the rest of his life. That he was forced to betray his role model gnawed at him for years to come.
—
N EUBURG JOINED THE A . .. A ..., taking the name
Omnia Vincam
(“I Shall Conquer All”), and started on his training. Along with extensive reading, this included eating hashish; Crowley believed it stimulated astral travel, a mystical knack for which Neuburg showed much potential. But Crowley also subjected Neuburg to a barrage of sadistic practical jokes, ostensibly to “liberate” him from his repressions and introduce him to “life,” but also to indulge Crowley’s own cruel sense of humor. At a party in Paris, Crowley got Neuburg drunk on Pernod and watched as the stumbling poet made embarrassing advances on women. Intuiting that Neuburg was a
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