Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.
It is nifty to say that every man and every woman is a star—self-ruling, radiant, burning in their course. But all stars belong to a universe larger than themselves. Our light is not diminished by this context. It is amplified.
Likewise, Thelema cannot survive as merely a quarrel of egos over scraps of doctrine, nor as a scattering of lonely stars pretending to shine alone. If Thelema is to endure, it must be seen and lived as a culture—a fabric woven from difference into strength through the warp and weft of beliefs, behaviors, and boundaries.
I continue to pound out the message that community is not the enemy. The enemy is conformity to mediocrity, the empty performance of togetherness without the fire of purpose. The “company of heaven,” the community of Thelema, is not a shelter for feral cats to do as they please. It is a garden—rooted, tended, growing, elegant in its diversity of beauty and flavor. Some plants thrive best in close company; others need space apart. The aim, though, is the same: flourishing. But a garden requires labor. Weeding, watering, and protection from blight. A community built only on gossip, trivia, and petty quarrels is not Thelemic—it is just another barren plot. To cultivate Thelema is to work toward growth, sustenance, and beauty.
Leadership in such a community cannot be vanity projects or monuments dropped around cities like gaudy temples awaiting pilgrims. Leadership asks a harder question: how will Thelema look in fifteen years in this spot—and what am I willing to risk so that it lives? Give me five sincere laborers working in concert over fifty “radical individualists” chasing whims, and I will take the five every time.
This is why a participatory model must replace the spectator model. Rituals done for people may entertain, but rituals done with people transform. Too much of Thelema has been dulled by ceremonial pageantry or endless talk about history, while the present hunger for lived engagement goes unmet. Thelema is not a stage play. It is an awakening. A call to rise, to engage, to forge one’s Will in company with others who are doing the same.
And so the point of community is not merely survival. The point is to be vigorously bursting with life and to sustain growth: to establish catalysts for strength across diverse lines, as crucibles where individuality is refined through fraternity, and where the brilliance of individualism enhances rather than diminishes community. Not herding cats. Not empty monuments. Gardens. Living systems. The kind of community Nuit herself would recognize as Her own.
But it is one thing to speak in abstractions, another to translate those abstractions into practices. To that end, I have an idea for a handful of broad working principles—a thought experiment of sorts for how a Thelemic community might actually be cultivated.
First, the law of reciprocity. Every star shines on its own, but also gives light to others. A Thelemic community cannot be sustained by consumers; it must be composed of contributors. The measure of one’s place is not rank or status, but whether the flame of the whole is fed by the totality of its parts—through endeavor (labor), through innovation (creativity), and through tradition (wisdom).
Second, the discipline of participation. To sit and watch is easy; to stand and take part is harder. But Thelema is a path of awakening, not entertainment. Communities worth the name must be engaged—rituals where hands and voices are involved, discussions where ideas are tested, work that requires more than passive attendance. This isn’t about simple communism (which I know would be the accusation here), but rather the fusion of discipline, determination, and desire, both individually and communally, toward a commonwealth of hope and prosperity.
Third, the principle of diversity-in-design. A garden thrives not on uniformity but on variety. Communities must be porous enough to allow local expression, yet ordered enough to remain recognizable as Thelemic. Pluralism is not chaos; it is ecology. In this, we have to grasp one simple concept: we cannot survive if all we have is ourselves. What I mean is that community is built around the people who show up. We can have a central idea around which all coalesce—i.e., Thelema—but we have to take into consideration and make allowances for diversity not merely of individuals but of ideas.
Fourth, the courage of pruning. Not every plant belongs in the bed forever. Dead weight, toxic growth, parasitism—these must be cut back if the whole is to live. This is not cruelty but stewardship. A community that endlessly tolerates corrosive behavior is not merciful. It is cowardly. Don’t mistake diversity of thought, of ideas, for acceptance of toxicity.
Marco has a great note on this subject that I think effectively captures what I mean here. I’ll let his note speak on its own.
Fifth, the vision of continuity. Thelema is not a weekend hobby. Communities must think generationally: what are we building that will outlast our own egos? This requires planning, infrastructure, and the willingness to risk resources—time, money, labor—for something more enduring than a social media following or a weekend campout.
The image of “herding cats” is a dead end. The image of the garden invites creativity and courage. If we begin even tentatively to live by these principles, then perhaps in fifty years—or maybe even merely fifteen years—we will not be asking whether Thelema has survived, but marveling instead at how it has grown.
Love is the law, love under will.