In what way then does Magic differ from Art, Religion or Science? Obvious practical differences in observed technique suggest themselves, and yet do not lead us to fundamental distinction when pursued. We can also attempt to distinguish by saying, for example, that Magic uses 'mysterious forces' where Science uses 'known laws'. But surely that would mean that we would often have to use the word 'Magic' to discuss future Scientific projects? Although the forces used by Magicians do not necessarily seem mysterious to the users, there is a school of thought which would defend the idea that Magic is the Science of as-yet-undiscovered forces. It is an idea which appeals to what we might (without intended malice) call the 'pseudo scientists' eg dowsers and anthroposophists. But surely the more fundamental distinction lies not in the outward methods, but in the thinking which underlies them? 

A simple act, such as the lighting of a fire under difficult conditions, could be performed in the same skilful way, but according to quite different mental processes. In two of those ways, the Magical and the Scientific, the outcome might appear to hold more practical importance and yet the reasoning is different. The Scientific thinker would take trouble to choose dry kindling because, for example, he knows that the latent heat of evaporation of absorbed water would hinder ignition; but the Magical thinker would make the same decision because he knows that the elements Fire and Water are antipathetic. In the case of the fire ignited as a Religious act, or an Artistic act, the motivation appears less practical and more a result of inner prompting. Although the Religious thinker is more inclined to choose dry wood because tradition demands it, thus disguising logic, he is also likely to make full use of the Scientist's reasoning as long as it is recognised as a God-given ability. On the other hand, the Artistic thinker would choose dry wood because it 'feels right', a reasoning closer to that of the Magician. 

In distinguishing the modes of thought, we come to a similar conclusion to that of C. G. Jung: that thought is compounded of four elements which I call intuition, observation, logic and feeling. 

Two of those are ways in which impressions reach us. In observation they come via the senses, in intuition, they do not; instead they come via memory or as a sudden 'inspiration' — this is not to say that intuition might not be triggered by the senses. 

The other two are methods by which the impressions are linked, or manipulated. Logic is well enough understood, but feeling is less easy to describe because it is a way of associating ideas using the brain's pattern-recognition faculties rather than conscious logic. As such it is perhaps best understood inductively by considering various examples in the course of this essay — this inductive learning itself indicates something of the nature of feeling. 

The biggest difficulty is that other people would use the word 'intuition' to describe much of what I call feeling, and use the word 'feeling' to describe emotional responses. [...] Fernandez Armasto in his book 'Truth' describes four traditional standards for measuring truth - thinking, sensation, feeling and authority. I realise now that the intuitive basis of Religious thought very often does come as dictation from some outer authority (as in my firelighting example where "tradition demands it"). The role of intuition is then twofold - the obvious one of delivering "the word of God" to certain individuals, and the secondary one of giving listeners an intuitive recognition of which particular individuals (among many conflicting voices) are indeed speaking with authority. 

Any practical method of thinking demands at least two of these four elements, one to serve as an input of impressions and the other to process them. Artistic thought uses feeling and intuition, Religious thought uses intuition and logic, Scientific thought uses logic and observation, and Magical thought uses observation and feeling. 

This definition of the terms Magical, Artistic, Religious and Scientific is due to Lemuel Johnstone, as are the rest of the arguments and examples of this essay. Although I am happy that they largely reflect the usual meanings of these words, it is possible that the reader will remain unconvinced, and so the initial capitals will be retained throughout this essay as a reminder that all argument will be based on these definitions. In general, however, the terminology of this essay will not be strictly defined. 

The definitions may be summarised in the following diagram.

The first misunderstanding which must be dealt with is the impression that the above definition in some way belittles the subjects with which it deals. The occultist might accept the Artistic, Religious and Scientific placings, and yet object that it is preposterous to 'lump together' such diverse subjects as astrology, spiritualism and ritual magic as being 'just observation plus feeling'. It must be realised that the mixtures and interactions of thoughts are so involved that the four words 'intuition', 'logic', 'observation' and 'feeling' are also better seen as directions than ingredients. So to put both astrology and ritual magic in one quadrant relative to myself does no more to equate them than does the sentence "Bristol and the Scilly Isles are both South West of Cheltenham" mean that Bristol and the Scilly Isles are in any other way the same. 

The involved nature of thinking leads to the second objection: surely I don't believe that Scientists never use intuition, and Artists don't observe? This is of course blatantly untrue: in any real life situation we will find all four thought processes apparently inextricably mixed. Again, the answer lies partly in remembering that we are talking of directions and not ingredients — so the question is not so much "what faculties does a scientist use?" but rather "however the discovery was made, which way is the scientist facing? ie how is the discovery justified or defended?" 

So you can determine the basis of a particular action by verbally attacking the perpetrators and asking them to defend their action. However inspirational a Scientific discovery, it will be written up and placed before the public judgement as an exercise in reason and observation. Although a painting can be a triumph of acute observation, it is unlikely that the artist will defend it upon such 'photographic' grounds. 

The way in which the basic thought can be detected will become clearer later when more examples are considered in detail. So I will end this section with three illustrations of the difference between Magical and Scientific thought, with the particular intention of illustrating further what is meant by 'feeling'. 

The first example is very primitive. Imagine two simple people who have both made the same observation, namely that green apples, green plums and old meat which had green mould on it all tended to make people sick when eaten, and that the sick peoples' faces took on a greeny hue. One of the two tackles this observation logically, and sets out, for example, with experiments to locate the green substance in these different foods which makes you sick and subsequently tinges the face. The other uses feeling: he repeats a few experiments and deduces that greenness 'goes with' sickness. The first is thinking Scientifically and the second Magically. Here we can see how Magic is at an advantage in a primitive situation: whilst the first thinker is still testing erroneous theories, the second has already deduced a fairly powerful one: he can proceed to make his enemies ill by serving green food in a room decorated a sickly green. 

Because we know much more about Science nowadays, it is natural to criticise my conclusion by pointing out that the Scientist will eventually find out very much more, and that the Magician's rapid conclusion is anyway 'false' because there are so many exceptions to that rule. But this criticism is based on a lack of experience as to how the Magical way of thought might refine and improve its conclusions to the same extent that the Scientific can. For a start, the Magician would soon identify distinct types of greenness: there is the greenness of decay, the greenness of immaturity and so on. 

The second example is set in a more familiar situation, but is equally elementary. If you notice that the traffic lights are always red when you are in a desperate hurry, and you dismiss your observation on logical grounds, then you are thinking Scientifically. If instead you accept your observation and try next time to banish the feeling of desperation from your mind in order to avoid red lights, then you are thinking Magically. 

This statement is of course unfair: a truly Scientific thinker would give observation and logic equal weight at first. He would, therefore, continue by trying in future to collect statistical evidence that a certain degree of despair went with a certain percentage of red lights; but he would have to abandon the search when he found that this Scientific interest merely served to banish his panic. Finding that the desperate, panicky feeling was too elusively subjective, he would deduce that the apparent excess of red lights was possibly also a subjective illusion, and only then would the inquiry cease. 

However, the example is correct insofar as it illustrates a present day degeneration of Scientific thought: as a way of thought, Science has become so familiar that it is dogmatic and liable to take short cuts, and therefore we do find observations being dismissed out of hand in the course of otherwise 'Scientific' thinking. 

But what of our Magician? Surely he too will find that the elusive panic vanishes when he takes a Magical interest in it? Precisely, and thus he will conclude that his Magic has 'worked'. There is no practical way to refute this conclusion. One can only resort to abstract wrangles as to whether there was ever a surfeit of red lights in the past. 

The third example is a less elementary one. It is intended to show how in the ultimate resort we will uncover the two elements of thinking as described in the definition, even though the other elements are used along the way. As an example of the Scientific thinker, I will take an applied mathematician deducing a formula for the time of flight of a projectile, and for the Magical thought, consider the setting up of a temple to invoke Venus. 

The Scientist starts from basic known facts about the elements of his problem and proceeds to cover sheets of paper with a series of logical calculations until the desired formula is attained. The Magician starts from basic known facts about the entity to be invoked and proceeds to decorate a room with all the apparatus, colours, sounds and smells which 'go with' that entity until he is satisfied that the atmosphere 'feels right". The example stops at this point — the actual invocation to follow could be considered equivalent to the actual use of the projectile formula. 

But let us imagine that each has made a mistake in his working. The Scientist sits back in relief, then exclaims: "Hang on, that doesn't seem right. Why hasn't gravitational constant 'g' come into my result?" A mathematician expects to find 'g' in such a formula, so notice that the immediate objection is one of feeling — it doesn't 'seem right'. But of course the objection will not be accepted by him on those grounds. Instead, he will carefully rework the logic of his calculations until the correct answer is achieved. The Magician stands back from his handiwork with relief, then says: "Hang on, I've only got six candles on the altar. That's wrong." Now his objection is a logical one: six is not the number of Venus in the Cabalistic system, but seven is. However, that is insufficient justification for chucking in another candle. The Magician will savour the atmosphere created in his Venusian Temple, and if it seems impossible to add a seventh candle without spoiling the balance and harmony of what he has already done, then he will not do so. 

Whereas the Scientist's objection of feeling was resolved by the use of logic, the Magician's objection of logic was resolved by the use of feeling. In each case, it was the ultimate resort which betrayed the true nature. 

Readers who have read Crowley might wonder how this fourfold direction scheme stands in relation to his definition of what he called 'Magick', ie the Art and Science of causing change in conformity to Will. He was in a sense placing himself at the centre and using the word Magick to embrace the whole process of willed action. He adds that, of all the methods of Magick, only a certain proportion of them are what would traditionally be described as 'magical'. 

Crowley was advocating a bringing together of all techniques, scientific and artistic, under the term 'Magick' ("the Aim of Religion, the Method of Science" to quote his phrase). If I wanted to proselytise, a similar line could be taken. However, I am merely trying here to describe traditional 'magical' techniques.