On the concept of "closed practises" in esoteric spirituality

There is a difference between "closed" and "protected--" have we forgotten this?

Indigenous and diasporic ways of being are, at their core, expressions of the same thing: containers for the imaginal somatic sense to experiment with bioregional and interpersonal relationships. African diasporic religions, as an example, are combinations of various religious traditions that were imposed by oppressive systems (such as Catholicism) and what was retained through the oral traditions of the homeland. Through syncretism, many religions that would have otherwise died out entirely somehow managed to survive. This fascinating fact alludes not only to an archetypal commonality between cultural groups, but a dialectical process that can both preserve traditional wisdom and be the basis for new myths, religions, and rituals.

An extreme approach in the interest of postmodern cultural values would have us believe that we are barred from engaging in certain religious practises, such as Jewish Kabbalah, the Indigenous American ritual purification practice of sage smudging, or the African diasporic religion of Voudou–because these practices developed within specific cultural boundaries–and there they ought to stay, lest the functions of capitalism and white supremacy twist and exploit them. This idea didn’t always lead to such extremes, but it has evolved toward an extremism, as many principles of social justice work seem to have done in the past 8-10 years.

These religions are currently referred to as “closed practices–” meaning that you can only engage with them if your cultural heritage stems from the associated group, or if you go through an official process of initiation by that group. While this specific term most likely emerged as a result of discourse addressing the problem of cultural appropriation–the act of exapting a culture from its original context either for the purposes of mockery or marketing–the concept of a closed practice, in it’s less extreme iteration, is technically embedded into the very fabric of esoteric spirituality. Most mystery schools and established spiritual factions have some sort of boundary differentiating them from the out-group, and an initiatory process guiding the practitioners through various levels of difficulty and knowledge.

As with most things, I have mixed feelings on this subject. Here they are:

Boundaries are healthy. Esoteric groups have been secretive, even elitist, as a function of not only preservation, but to protect practitioners themselves from the psychological damage that can ensue when working with the esoteric arts devoid of a proper foundation. However, I would argue that these practices aren’t actually “closed.” Like a healthy cell wall, the flow of energy and information between the interior and the exterior is intentionally managed—not “closed.” And, while the aforementioned concerns are certainly all valid, responding with too much rigidity to the point where we condemn or discourage folks from studying and practising the esoteric systems that call to them is likely to have equally negative consequences–at least, from a more holistic perspective.

Those who advocate for the idea of a closed practice make some incredibly compassionate and heartfelt arguments for why one ought to stay in their own cultural lane on their spiritual journey. Many closed practices are diasporic or indigenous cultural practices that historically required either a certain position of authority or leadership or otherwise incredibly rigorous spiritual training and initiations, it’s important that we respect this. This is not an arbitrary nicety; certain practices require a certain level of power, skill, and experience, and enacting a transformational process without these qualities can be psychologically dangerous. Additionally, several diasporic and indigenous spiritual practices were explicitly banned and destroyed under certain regimes–regimes that still have a massive influence on the negative way our contemporary culture perceives and interacts with those cultures.

Another issue that the idea of a closed practice addresses is the problem of misrepresentation. Someone who doesn’t exist in a Jewish cultural context is going to have a very hard time deeply understanding and embodying the Kabbalah–at least without some degree of guidance from a Jewish person. If you live in a city in the mountains, practising an African diasporic religion like Obeah or Voudou won’t be as contextually relevant as it would be to someone living in the Caribbean or someone with Caribbean heritage. Conversely, Appalachian folk magick isn’t created for people who live beneath the equator. Many religious practises and beliefs have been exploited, misrepresented, and mocked by those who don’t understand their context; this has not happened just with the smaller religions, but with larger ones such as Islam and Christianity as well. The point here is not that we shouldn’t explore outside of our culture, but more so that we should be aware of why certain practices are the way they are: because of the contexts under which they emerged. Without context, we are not practising the religion itself, nor are we acquiring its wisdom; we are merely enacting a meaningless simulation.

I have always felt a deep and powerful pull to the forests, despite having grown up in the city. I strongly resonate with certain branches of European folk magick, despite being a person of the African diaspora, and even feel a strong resonance with Christian mythology despite its infamy as a tool of colonialism and imperial violence. Without the stories of the Welsh and the Irish, my journey as a ritual practitioner would certainly look very different–and frankly, may not have even happened. I may be a member of the African diaspora, but upon closer inspection, there are many cultural streams from which this seeming singularity emerges: Angolan, Irish, Seminole. Even those groups emerged from similar blends of tribes that commingled one fine day in the distant past, smudging each others lines until a new boundary was formed. There is nothing “pure” about my blood; how can there be anything “pure,” then, about my practise?

Cuban women practising Santeria, an African diasporic religion based on various outlawed African and Indigenous spiritual practises that were syncretised with Catholicism as a means of survival.

There are many gifts within our respective cultures that we are blessed to take for granted, but there will be times when we will be called to explore unknown territory. These times are absolutely crucial for our growth as practitioners, and that’s exactly why although I agree that it is important to maintain and respect cultural boundaries, I can’t fully get on board with the concept of a “closed” practise as it’s been popularly implemented—though for the purpose of maintaining psychological wellness and peaceful intercultural relations, it serves as an adequate bridge toward a more nuanced solution. Religiosity, I’d argue, is not a merely a cultural phenomenon, but an emergent property of human cognition. If this is so, then the underlying structures from which religious practices emerge—closed and open alike—can tell us much about how to develop global society. This cannot be done solely through detached academic analysis from the outside looking in—in fact, this exacerbates the problem. This process must be complimented by deep somatic immersion in so-called “foreign” practices.

You see, if our spiritual journey wants to take us into foreign lands, it is our duty to heed that call–albeit responsibly. We can do this by reaching out to experienced practitioners and engaging in proper research about the practices that are calling to us. Banning each other from our sacred practices might feel good temporarily, as revenge for the centuries of mockery, banning, and commodification various control systems have performed against our cultures throughout history. It only makes sense to do what feels right to protect these sacred arts. At the same time, if our culture holds the medicine that the world currently needs–as so many of the indigenous and diasporic practices of historically marginalised groups do–then perhaps we are partially morally culpable for the destruction and suffering that ensues if we keep this wisdom to ourselves.

Each culture holds a precious elixir that is medicine for the others. It is how these cultures fit together, like puzzle pieces in the grand fabric of reality, that may be able to teach us exactly how to be human in ways that are more peaceful and collaborative. We should be choosing to hold the precious wisdom of other cultural systems like the precious gift that it is, so that this idea of closed practices need not be implemented as a harsh but effective last ditch effort at their preservation.

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References

Goodrick-Clarke, N. (2008). The Western Esoteric Traditions: A historical introduction. Oxford University Press.

Saladino, J. (2021, October 31). A breakdown of closed and open practices within spirituality. Her Campus. Retrieved October 25, 2022, from https://www.hercampus.com/school/cu-boulder/a-breakdown-of-closed-and-open-practices-within-spirituality/