O.T.O. describes itself as a place of freedom. Members are told time and again that there are no established dogmas, no official theology of Thelema, and no fixed interpretation of the Gnostic Mass. We’re encouraged to think for ourselves, explore deeply, and engage in open inquiry.
But in practice, that’s not how it works.
Beneath the rhetoric of liberation lies a rigid hierarchy that punishes dissent and enforces conformity through gossip, social pressure, and appeals to oaths. I learned this firsthand after publishing a respectful critique of a popular interpretation of the Gnostic Mass.
What Happened When I Disagreed with the DuQuettes
In the summer of 2022, I published an article offering a thoughtful critique of a popular reading of the Gnostic Mass promoted by Lon and Constance DuQuette. I quoted them directly and presented a theological counterpoint based on years of study and my own understanding of Thelema.
It wasn’t a personal attack but a sincere engagement with one of our core rituals.
But the backlash from senior O.T.O. members made one thing painfully clear: disagreement is not welcome, not when it challenges beloved figures, and not when it comes from someone lower on the ladder.
Even before the article was published, members were secretly screenshotting Facebook posts I made about my writing process. These were shared behind my back. No one approached me with questions or concerns. They simply monitored, whispered, and waited.
After the article came out, the Most Wise Sovereign of my local Chapter asked my V° sponsor to “counsel” me. When I asked the MWS directly what the issue was, he said I “appeared to assert expertise beyond the authority of members in good standing of higher degrees,” and that I “might wish to review the III° in that regard.”
In other words: disagreement is disrespect and irreverence. The problem wasn’t what I said—it’s that I said it about them.
I replied that I do have expertise. I’ve studied the ritual for years and have formal, university-level training in critical analysis and argumentation. I asked point-blank if it was inappropriate for someone of my degree to critique the DuQuettes because it might give the impression I knew more than they did. I said that if so, it was deeply authoritarian.
I received no reply.
The MWS never filed a formal complaint. Instead, he tried to have me “counseled.” He implied I had violated my oath by failing to show proper deference to senior members. This wasn’t dialogue. It was an attempt to pathologize dissent. Framing critique as disrespect and “counseling” as a fraternal favor is textbook gaslighting. It’s how authoritarian cultures suppress thought while pretending not to.
To make matters more surreal, I reached out to Lon directly during this period to clear the air. He told me he hadn’t read my article, but that he had no issue with me disagreeing with him and Constance. He seemed entirely unbothered. So while leadership in my Chapter was treating my article as some kind of scandal or breach of respect, the person I was supposedly “disrespecting” didn’t see a problem at all.
And the pressure didn’t stop there.
The High Priestess of the same Chapter later accused me of slandering the DuQuettes—along with a list of other fabricated offenses. When I confronted her, she admitted her statements were false but refused to take responsibility for the damage she had caused.
These are the people tasked with promoting “beauty and harmony” in our region. Instead, they modeled manipulation, triangulation, and punitive gossip. If you’re wondering why so much drama festers at the local level in O.T.O., look no further.
And it still wasn’t over.
An 8th degree reportedly told others I had “gone after” the DuQuettes and claimed I had also “gone after” him—because I published a rebuttal to one of his articles in Agapé, O.T.O.’s official newsletter. He described me as a “shit-stirrer” and compared me to someone who had been suspended, implying that my writing might merit similar discipline.
He never spoke to me directly. Instead, two others relayed what he said. When I saw him at NOTOCON, he refused to shake my hand and glared at me across a table.
If you want to understand where the drama comes from in O.T.O., set thine eyes upon high. The upper degrees play the tune the rest of us are forced to whistle along to.
The Real Orthodoxy
O.T.O. claims to support free thought. Leaders often repeat that there’s “no established dogma” about Thelema—not even about the meaning of our central rituals.
But in practice, there is an orthodoxy. It isn’t based on Crowley’s writings. It’s based on personalities. And it’s enforced not through open dialogue but through status, social pressure, and silence. The moment you challenge an interpretation tied to a popular figure, the Order closes ranks. You’re not refuted. You’re threatened.
And it’s all framed as spiritual concern—for your benefit, of course.
This is not just unhealthy. It’s authoritarian. And it’s crazy-making.
You can’t have free thought in a system where disagreement is treated as disloyalty and your ideas are judged by your degree, your connections, and your conformity.
And you cannot have a living tradition when critical thought is treated like a threat.
This experience revealed to me a hard truth: the culture of O.T.O. does not live up to its ideals. Its talk of freedom, scientific illuminism, and brotherhood does not inoculate it against fear-based control. It serves as cover for it.
I wasn’t punished for being wrong. I was punished for thinking out loud—about sacred things, in sacred ways. And that should trouble anyone who believes Thelema is something still unfolding, not something already fixed.
Thelema deserves better than a church of frightened glazers and petty enforcers.
It deserves the courage to question, the humility to be challenged, and the freedom to grow.
If O.T.O. can’t embody those values, then it may be time to ask—who will?