NOTHING is real. Or, more accurately, the human brain curates reality subjectively, solidifying free thoughts into calcified fantasies with little foundation in universal truth. For instance, you might believe you’re sitting in a chair right now – but you’re not. Your buttocks float just ever so slightly above it, held aloft by infinitesimally small electromagnetic forces. No-one ever says that though – the illogical phrase “sitting on my a**e” being socially preferable. Despite being physically impossible.

Touch doesn’t actually exist, then. As floating patterns of energy and atoms, at a fundamental level we operate no differently from how magnets repel each other. The physical sensations of feel and friction are simply illusions – the weight of resistance pushed back by the invisible force keeping us all apart.

That we are just globs of molecules trapped within glowing Ready Brek prisons is certainly a darkly poetic irony for a species that thrives under the illusion of connection. Yet, electromagnetism serves a purpose higher than just stopping us becoming entangled with the midwives’ hands at birth. Put simply, it is the glue that holds all things in the universe together. From the largest galaxy to Robert Smith’s barnet.

So, if we picture a reality without electromagnetism – nothing is real. No planets, no stars – just a black soup of fizzing molecules bubbling aimlessly in eternal nothingness. Yet, the term “electromagnetism” itself is actually a bit of a conceited scientific fudge – for this force is not really understood at all. It just “is” – observed, measured, labelled and normalised by language. A wondrous mystery made tangible by syllables formed by an ape’s mouth muscle.

So, nothing is real – but for the ancient supercomputers in our skulls continuously processing objective reality into some kind of tangible shape to keep us sane, everything can be real. Look around – the human brain convinces itself of countless delusions. We believe in touch. In gods and demons. In heaven and hell. In political parties. That the moon is an alien observation post. Some even believe Michael McIntyre is a comedian.

And it’s such outlandish silos of thought that made a black “magick” rite carried out by 70s planet-straddling blues rockers Led Zeppelin very potent indeed – not because such silliness can ever affect reality, but that faith in occultism alone is enough for someone to genuinely believe they are under a lifetime’s curse. Certainly, now that Robbie Williams is his neighbour, you can’t blame Jimmy Page for thinking a particularly dark cloud hovers above him.

A kind of magick

FOR all its power, even the glue of electromagnetism couldn’t keep Page’s former home from being reduced to rubble. The legendary Boleskine House, now fire-ravaged ruins on the shore of Loch Ness, went up for sale last week for £500,000. Why the extortionate price-tag? Selling agent Galbraith was keeping mum – perhaps not wanting to mention it expects numerous bids from practitioners of a religion called Thelema.

This proto-Scientology cult was conjured into reality by “The Great Beast” Aleister Crowley, Boleskine’s most notorious former owner and a man who experimented wildly with the outer limits of human perception in the early 1900s – allegedly invoking the presence of several nasty demons during “sex magick” rituals at the property.

Participants in such esoteric pleasures of the flesh are often encouraged to consume their own, um, fluids to invoke “magickal children” – spirits who can apparently help us realise our higher purpose in life. Some occultists even believe you create a spirit each time you masturbate – and if true, Crowley must have had a right arm like Popeye as Boleskine House allegedly became a ScotRail train carriage for lost spirits under his ownership. Shadow figures allegedly roamed around the entrance hall, with “lights having to be used in on the brightest of days”. Perhaps The Great Beast should simply have installed bigger windows, but even after the house changed hands, it still apparently wasn’t free of this dark energy.

When following any patterns of misfortune connected to a particular place or person, it is always tempting to believe in unnatural explanations when the bodies and coincidences pile up in succession, but in doing this we fall victim to the exact same confirmation bias which believers in black magic are so hopelessly entangled.

Yet, it is also true that occultist rituals do actually have power – with repetitive mantras putting the mind in a deeply attuned meditative, near-hypnotic state, making it highly susceptible to influence.

This is where electromagnetism enters occult mythology. As the conduit between all flesh, practitioners of black magick believe they are manipulating this natural force to directly affect another person’s mind, health or, indeed, fate. Occultists are actually similar to scientists in their belief that the energy and matter which make up the universe are intrinsically linked. They certainly are, and both groups also agree that all energy and matter exists in waves of specific frequencies.

Yet, this mutual consensus reaches a forked road when it comes to the real-world application of such knowledge. Certainly, no respectable physicist would ingest their own bodily fluids to psychically influence the electromagnetic field that binds and repels all things. None have ever admitted doing so in The Lancet or New Scientist anyway.

The Crowley delusion

THE late 19th century was a peak era for pseudoscience and spiritualism – offering ripe pickings for smart confidence tricksters such as Crowley, who set curious minds on fire with talk of other dimensions, communicating with extraterrestrial intelligences, raising the dead and telepathy – all “scientifically validated” through his assertion that he was merely manipulating electromagnetic forces.

Of course, Crowley knew that was cobblers. He simply understood the power of the mind to make up its own realities, particularly if they were ones suggested by a highly intelligent, seductive and charismatic individual such as himself. He said in later life: “I have been accused of being a black magician. No more foolish statement was ever made about me. I despise it to an extent that I can hardly believe in the existence of people so idiotic to practice it.”

His denouncement, however, is the classic misdirection of a magician – Crowley certainly believed in the power of his “sex magick” but also understood it was more related to the subconscious mind than the orchestration of electromagnetic energy.

Certainly, no scientific evidence has ever been put forward for peer group evaluation to assess the external manipulation of natural universal forces through the power of masturbation.

Yet, the influence and power of self-proclaimed gurus like Crowley can seem very real indeed for those susceptible to psychological manipulation, cold reading and – the truly “magick” ingredient – someone’s willingness to believe in supernatural forces in the first place. Add the grand theatre and intensity of taking part in a mass sex ritual and even the most cynical of us may have our minds blown. And, perhaps if we’re lucky during such a ritual, something else too.

And finally ...

ONCE an enthusiastic participant in occult rituals, Jimmy Page even convinced his bandmates to take part in a wee black magick ceremony – which, according to Zep lore, went slightly awry.

Instead of turning the chaps into superpowered hammers of the gods, they instead fell victim to much calamity and misfortune which some blamed on a ‘curse’. Certainly, anyone who has ever heard Page’s 80s solo work would indeed assume dark, debilitating forces were at play. It was perhaps just another day in a living hell when gurning end-of-the-pier chancer Robbie Williams moved in next door.

How does the rest of the evidence for the legendary Led Zep curse weigh up? Not long after the alleged ritual, another wee curse was placed upon the band by occultist director Kenneth Anger - whom Page apparently angered. Fly with the crows and all that. Soon after, Robert Plant was in a horrific car crash which nearly killed him and his family. A postponed tour was then plagued by “strange events” such as Plant losing his voice. The singer then temporarily quit the band after more personal tragedy, which coincided with Page suffering from a crippling heroin addiction.

Bonham’s alcoholism also raged out of control, and he became increasingly violent and unpredictable. Then Sandy Denny, who duetted on the band's Battle of Evermore, broke her neck and died after falling downstairs. Then, in September 1980, John Bonham was sent home drunk from rehearsal – he’d only drank 30 pints, so the band thought he'd be fine. He wasn't. After his death, the band immediately agreed on their own demise. Only Jon Paul Jones, the single Zep member not to take part in the ritual, remained untouched by misfortune.

It’s true that the adversities Zep members have faced since the mid-70s suggest they were extremely prone to calamity and bad luck. Yet, any sober analysis of these random events highlights yet another prime example of confirmation bias and false assumption of patterns - a common condition known as apophenia. Comparison to the lives of others show that Zep were not special in experiencing misfortune in life. Comparatively speaking, they got off lightly compared to many others of their rock n' roll peer group.

Certainly, Cliff Richard has had a hard time of it recently and no-one ever blames sex magick curses for his misfortune. Unless Devil Woman was actually this evergreen Knight of the Realm warning his fans to never mess with the mysterious energies holding the universe together. Cliff was around when the whole thing was created after all.