Innovation in Esotericism from the Renaissance to the Present 3030679055, 9783030679057

Table of contents :
Foreword
Preface
Contents
Notes on Contributors
List of Figures
Chapter 1: Introduction: Reconceptualizing Innovation and Its Role in Esotericism
Innovation and Ideas
Individual and Collective Choice in Innovation
Innovation and Tradition
Esotericism and Other Frameworks (Religion and Science)
Innovation and Cross-Cultural Exchanges
Innovation in Esotericism
References
Chapter 2: Diligentia et divina sorte: Oracular Intelligence in Marsilio Ficino’s Astral Magic
Introduction
Diligentia et divina sorte
Natural or Spiritual Magic?
Diligentia
Divina sors
Astrology as Divination
Avicenna on Prophecy
Theologia Platonica
Conclusion
References
Chapter 3: The Transformation of the Notion of “Adept”: From Medieval Arabic Philosophy to Early Modern Alchemy
Defining “Adept”
Intellectus Adeptus in Medieval Arabic and Latin Philosophy
Mentions of “Adept” in Paracelsus’s Works
The Philosophia Adepta in the Work of Petrus Severinus (1540-1602)
The “Adept” in Oswald Croll’s Basilica Chymica (1609)
Conclusions
References
Chapter 4: A Necessary Conjunction: Cabala, Magic, and Alchemy in the Theosophy of Heinrich Khunrath (1560–1605)
Khunrath: A Brief Introduction
Khunrath’s Fields of Knowledge
Christian Cabala
Physical and Hyperphysical Magic
Alchemy
Interdisciplinary Combinations
Khunrath’s Youthful Support of Paracelsian Alchemy, Cabala, and Magic
Binary Conjunctions and Underlying Symmetries
Kabala, Magia, Alchymia Coniungendae
An Instance of Commonality: Greenness
Hybrid Sciences: Existing Models for Conjunction
Triune Conjunction in Consilium de Physico-Magica (1597)
The “Necessary” Triune Conjunction: The Philosophers’ Stone
Conclusion
References
Chapter 5: The Rosicrucian Diaspora in the Seventeenth Century
The Swedish Connection
The Diaspora in Britain
The Rosicrucian Furore in France
The Dutch Connection
The Rosy Cross in Italy
Conclusion
References
Chapter 6: John Henderson (1757–1788) and Changing Attitudes to the Occult in Enlightenment England
Henderson’s Contacts
Henderson’s Involvement in the Occult
Wesleyan Perspectives on Henderson’s Occult Interests
The Testimonies of Joseph Priestley (1733–1804) and Thomas Cooper (1759–1839)
The Opinions of John Watkins (1765–1831)
Controversy in the Periodical Press
Conclusions
References
Chapter 7: Psychic Disciplines: The Magnetizer as Magician in the Writings of Jules Dupotet de Sennevoy (1796–1881)
A Magnetic Context
The Magic of the Soul?
Magnetic Magic?
Conclusions: Occult Mesmerism
References
Chapter 8: H. P. Blavatsky’s “Wisdom-Religion” and the Quest for Ancient Wisdom in Western Culture
Ancient Wisdom in Intellectual Culture and Esotericism
The Continued Quest for the Ancient Wisdom (Seventeenth to Nineteenth Centuries)
Blavatsky’s Innovations in the Continued Quest for Ancient Wisdom
Blavatsky’s “Wisdom-Religion”
Conclusion
References
Chapter 9: Orientalist Aggregates: Theosophical Buddhism Between Innovation and Tradition
Theosophy and Orientalism
Olcott and Blavatsky in Ceylon
Theosophy as Buddhist Modernism
The Ceylonese Protagonists
The Buddhist Catechism of Henry Steel Olcott
Tradition Versus Innovation?
The Self in Chinese Buddhism
The Theravada Self
Conclusions
References
Chapter 10: Theosophical Chronology in the Writings of Guido von List (1848–1919): A Link Between H.P. Blavatsky’s Philosophy and the Nazi Movement
The Life and Writings of Guido Karl Anton List (1848–1919)
Die Religion der Ario-Germanen (The Religion of the Aryo-Germans), 1909/1910
Die Ursprache der Ario-Germanen (The Original Language of the Ario-Germans), 1914
List’s Soteriology in Light of Blavatsky’s Philosophy
List’s Anti-Semitism and Blavatsky’s Racial Views
The Question of the Link Between Guido Von List and Adolf Hitler: A New Connection
Conclusion
References
Chapter 11: The Esoteric Roots of the Iranian Revolution: The “Wardenship of the Jurist” Through the Metanomian Shi’a of Ayatollah Khomeini (1902–1989)
The Context of Khomeini’s Thought
Occult Knowledge and Esoteric Gnosis
Apocalyptic Eschatology and the Qiyamat
Conspiracism and Gharbzadegi (“Enwestation”)
Ayatollah Khomeini: A Great Sign Revealed
Tabataba’i: Esotericism, ‘Irfan and wilayat-i faqih
Khomeini’s Metanomian Interpretation of Shi’a
Mahdist Expectation
Conclusion
References
Chapter 12: Reflections on the Various Uses of Tarot
Use 1: Tarot and Divination
Use 2: Tarot and Psychology, Tarot and Meditation
Use 3: “Occult” Tarot
Branch 1: Tarot and Kabbalah
Branch 2: Tarot and Alchemy
Branch 3: Tarot and Astrology
Branch 4: Tarot and Arithmology
Tarot, Key of Occultizing Reading Applied to Non-Occult Subjects
Use 4: Masonic Tarot
Use 5: Cards Used to Open Book Chapters
Use 6: Uses of Tarot in Initiatory Communities and Societies
Use 7: Place for Convivial Exchanges
Use 8: Receptacle of Images of Other Cultures
Use 9: Support to the Pagan-Feminist Cause
Use 10: Source of Artistic and Literary Inspiration
Use 11: Object of Collection and Interior Design Motif
Use 12: Reservoir of Subjects for Scholars
Conclusion
Appendix 1
Appendix 2
Appendix 3
Appendix 4
References
Index

Citation preview

PALGRAVE STUDIES IN NEW RELIGIONS AND ALTERNATIVE SPIRITUALITIES

Innovation in Esotericism from the Renaissance to the Present

Edited by Georgiana D. Hedesan Tim Rudbøg

Palgrave Studies in New Religions and Alternative Spiritualities

Series Editors James R. Lewis School of Philosophy Wuhan University Wuhan, China Henrik Bogdan University of Gothenburg Gothenburg, Sweden

Palgrave Studies in New Religions and Alternative Spiritualities is an interdisciplinary monograph and edited collection series sponsored by the International Society for the Study of New Religions. The series is devoted to research on New Religious Movements. In addition to the usual groups studied under the New Religions label, the series publishes books on such phenomena as the New Age, communal & utopian groups, Spiritualism, New Thought, Holistic Medicine, Western esotericism, Contemporary Paganism, astrology, UFO groups, and new movements within traditional religions. The Society considers submissions from researchers in any discipline. More information about this series at http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/14608

Georgiana D. Hedesan  •  Tim Rudbøg Editors

Innovation in Esotericism from the Renaissance to the Present

Editors Georgiana D. Hedesan History Faculty University of Oxford Oxford, UK

Tim Rudbøg Department of Cross-Cultural and Regional Studies University of Copenhagen Copenhagen, Denmark

Palgrave Studies in New Religions and Alternative Spiritualities ISBN 978-3-030-67905-7    ISBN 978-3-030-67906-4 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-67906-4 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the ­publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and ­institutional affiliations. Cover illustration: Natali Art / Alamy Stock Photo This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

This book is dedicated in loving memory to Professor Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke (1953–2012)

Foreword

It was David Lorimer, founder of the Scientific and Medical Network, who introduced me to Nicholas and Clare in 1987, knowing that we shared many enthusiasms and scholarly interests. So we did for twenty-five years, as we dug in the same historical strata of Renaissance esotericism, polar mythology, Theosophy and early Romanticism. Nicholas’s learning and insight invariably exceeded my own, and although he was younger by several years, I always looked up to him as a senior scholar. It took longer for the world to recognize this, until his knowledge and skills as a teacher were rewarded by academic appointments: first at the University of Lampeter, Wales (2002), then to a personal Chair at the University of Exeter (2005). During the first years of our friendship, Nicholas was using quite different skills in Oxford University’s worldwide fundraising campaign, to the great profit of the university. But this exhausting job left little time for his intellectual and creative life. Nicholas described the next period as “twelve years in an open-necked shirt,” during which he and Clare worked at their IKON publishing business, editing and translating, contributing to an extra mural lecture series at Oxford and running a six-week seminar series on the Corpus Hermeticum. They moved from Oxford to a farmhouse near Wantage, and exulted in the country life. Like his admired writers Richard Jefferies and H. J. Massingham, Nicholas saw the landscape as an open book of history, poetry, and myth, and a bastion against the “progress” of the modern world. He was a superb writer in that vein, treating his fortunate friends to long handwritten letters. This is from one written vii

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on December 21, 1997, enclosing a booklet of Literary & Artistic Connections: Vale of the White Horse: This morning I rose as usual before six o’clock to make my round of farm jobs while it was still dusk. While I customarily take Pontiff either out along the causeway to the parish boundary (where we all walked when you, Janet & Ariel visited in the summer) or up to Hardy’s “Brown House” for a brisk Ridgeway walk to Segsbury Castle, the solstice demanded a special celebration. In thick mist, the air slowly growing lighter, we passed on down the Portway (do you remember those heavy flash-floods we encountered on our way in May 1993?) and ascended the Downs past the “Teapot” at Britchcombe Farm. The dim outlines of Dragon Hill, which still remains an enigma (glacial feature or Pendragon’s burial mound), loomed up and we negotiated the winding aerial track into yet thicker fog. Eight o’clock and the dawning of a New Year, the mist ever lightening, a curious flock of sheep hurried over the slopes towards the mighty postern gate of Uffington Castle and, in complete silence and solitude, we followed. The fog made this highest point of Berkshire a secret, shrouded place—the Vale with its little villages and patchwork fields, the Great Western mainline, the views to Wyck Beacon above Stowe-on-the-Wold across Corallian Ridge and the Thames in the far distance could only be imagined. As Pontiff and I ran over the turf to the old water-wagon, visible from our farm five miles away on a summer’s day, we seemed in a world of our own. The great white chalk figure lay at my feet, this angular head recalling ancient Wessex totem and myth, while a single eye gazed skywards … out beyond the pall of mist and the thrall of this world. I thought of all the times I have walked, talked, dreamt and hunted over these Downs, passed this very spot, looked out over the massive unpopulous tract towards Martinsell Hill and the Wansdyke beyond Marlborough in the far south, the smooth gallops down over Idlebush Barrow towards the Lambourn Valley in the foreground. Hot, baking summer, when the wheat waves hypnotically in an ocean of green and yellow; frostgirt, snowdusted plough when we tired hunters plod the rolling heavy mixed chalk and clay towards Kingham Hill … and everywhere Wessex tumuli, Romano-British sites and even the transposed fairy-tale castle of the Winter Queen in the middle of Ashdown Forest. What a blessed landscape and a secret kingdom to which my father and

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I first came, in search of Berkshire’s answer to Sussex and the same aerial, uplifting scenes around my old school, in the summer of 1970. It has been the landscape of our marriage. Pontiff and I looked across from the White Horse and his unmoving eye to the mulberry bush—a solitary tree which always reminds me of the Holy Thorn on Wearyall Hill above Glastonbury—and I heard Concorde high above the fog and winter clouds breaking the sound barrier. It was 0830 hours, an hour later than usual on Sundays, and my thoughts travelled westwards. Down the old Ridgeway, as in Neolithic times, when traders, farmers and journeymen marched the chalk scarpment from Norfolk all the way through Wessex to Lyme Bay and embarkation to the henged worlds of Carnac, Iberia, Malta and Mycenae. As Edward Thomas once wrote, one always feels the Ridgeway carrying one westwards, that is the flow … This time my mind travelled out across the angry waves of the ocean, following in the wake of John Cabot’s fragile little “Matthew”, until a landfall off New England, and I saw you, Janet and Ariel in your warm timber-framed farmhouse amid the thick forests and rolling fields of upstate New York. I thought of you all preparing for Christmas and I wanted you to share my delight in this land of your nativity. Hence the enclosed small token gift which relates a few of the Vale’s tales from Kelmscott to Roman Lowbury Castle, from Elizabeth’s Ashdown to Godstow. Nicholas and Clare were by now familiar figures at conferences and seminars in Britain, Europe, and the USA, at the Esoteric Quests of the New York Open Center, and at the gatherings in the Austrian Alps and in Provence where Western Esotericism was being honed into a viable academic discipline. The publication of Hitler’s Priestess (1998) and Black Sun (2002) by New York University Press completed a trilogy begun long before with Nicholas’s Oxford D.Phil. thesis, published in 1985 as The Occult Roots of Nazism. This and participation in several documentaries provided a counterbalance to the popular and sensational genre of “Nazi occultism.” However, I sensed that after such immersion in the dark side of history, Nicholas preferred to be identified with brighter fields such as alchemy and the Paracelsians, German literature and Naturphilosophie, Christian esotericism, and the theosophical tradition from Boehme to Blavatsky.

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The appointment at Exeter followed a prophetic move to the South Coast, where Nicholas and Clare lived in “Magnolia,” a Regency villa in Teignmouth, Devon. On June 15, 2003, Nicholas wrote a thank you letter for a book by John Michell in which he celebrates our mutual friend and the exploration of another mythic landscape: Here is no desperate man among the ruins nor a lone soldier on a lost position but one who gaily asserts that the old story shall be retold among our heirs, that all remains, sleeping, waiting for its recovery… We often think of him in Avalon, younger, perhaps as Clare knew him as a budding Garnstone Press author, striding out to plot the St. Michael Line, scarf flying loose in the wind, or exploring lost tracks across the Moors Adventurous or the seven holy chapels. Over the past two years, given its proximity to Devon, we have taken time to explore this landscape, wading the mists of May, gazing over shimmering osier beds full of wild fowl in high summer, and driving over the flooded fields and causeways of the sunken winterland. At Shapwick Station, alongside the old Somerset & Dorset Joint Railway tracks (long since gone) there rises a small replica Iron Age Lake village, where adobe & thatched round houses stand silent in the hot noontide sun. Inside the house a few logs glimmer and give off a curling trail of woodsmoke that has long blackened the thatched roof. Lying down on a scruffy old bedstead made of hazel & willow, Clare glimpses the animal totems on the rough lime walls, the rude wooden tools and has a profound sense of being at home. Outside the herons dive for elvers and in the distance rise mounds of “black erthe” suggestive of an alchemical industry. Nearby runs the Sweet Track, the oldest “catwalk” road across the swamp, which we trace under reed-filled peaty pools and through a primeval dense woodland lit by shafts of limelight. It is a most legendary landscape where one can imagine Dion Fortune’s Atlantean longships docking beside the islands, King Arviragus welcoming Joseph of Arimathea and the youthful Jesus to his lakeland kingdom, even Perceval & Lancelot riding hard across the Moors Adventurous, though their flat, fenny character hardly resembles the thick medieval forests of French chivalric romances. Here came John Dee & Edward Kelley for “diggings,” Mrs Maltwood put Oxo money to good use in buying Chilton Priory & surveying the zodiac across the vale villages.

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In offering these two excerpts by way of a Foreword, I have in mind a side of Nicholas that his friends knew well, but of which his readers may be unaware. Everywhere he went, whether it was Big Sur, Venice, Bad Teinach in the Black Forest or Lake Balaton in Hungary, he was alive to the genius loci and could supply a seemingly omniscient historical commentary. Naturally his deepest love was for England, and his sorrow was to see so much of it unloved, its ancient green roads built over, its myths and traditions discarded or misunderstood. His own reaction was not a blind conservatism, but the service of a cause above mere politics. When he announced the good news of his Exeter appointment, he wrote that “I hope that the coming years will see the emergence of a new generation of Hermetic explorers in the realm of the spirit and the arts.” The present volume shows the fulfillment of that hope. Hamilton, NY

Joscelyn Godwin

Preface

The present volume, Innovation in Esotericism from the Renaissance to the Present, is a tribute to the work and legacy of the late Nicholas Goodrick-­ Clarke, Professor at the University of Exeter, Director of the Exeter Centre for the Study of Esotericism (EXESESO), co-founder of the European Society for the Study of Western Esotericism (ESSWE), and founder member of the Association for the Study of Esotericism (ASE). Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke was one of the foremost pioneering scholars of the academic study of Western Esotericism. His brilliant and innovative scholarship had an astounding range, addressing subjects as varied as the occult roots of Nazism, the history of esoteric traditions, the Theosophical Society and esoteric theories of electricity. His landmark book, The Occult Roots of Nazism (1985), shone scholarly light on an area all too often filled with rumor, hearsay, and conspiracy theories, and is still the foundational work on the subject. This was followed by Hitler’s Priestess (1998) and Black Sun (2002), which offer insight into the ideological fantasies of Neo-Fascism. The Western Esoteric Traditions: A Historical Introduction (2008) is an excellent introduction to the field of Western Esotericism and a textbook for the subject. Goodrick-Clarke was Editor of the Essential Readings series for The Aquarian Press and the Western Esoteric Masters series for North Atlantic Books. His own contributions include Paracelsus (1990), Helena Blavatsky (2004), and G.R.S. Mead and the Gnostic Quest (2005) (co-edited with Clare Goodrick-Clarke). His translations include Ernst Benz’s Emanuel Swedenborg: Visionary Savant in the Age of Reason (2002) and Kocku von Stuckrad’s Western Esotericism: A Brief History of Secret Knowledge (2005). In addition, he contributed many chapters to xiii

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scholarly volumes, as well as entries to The Dictionary of Gnosis and Western Esotericism (2005). Goodrick-Clarke was wholeheartedly dedicated to the institutional and conceptual advancement of his field. The work he initiated at the University of Exeter continues to flourish in the writing and teaching of his colleagues and former students. After his death, Georgiana Hedesan and Tim Rudbøg, both former PhD students, together with his widow, Clare, discussed the idea of producing a book that would reflect Goodrick-Clarke’s work. The aim was to demonstrate the high quality of teaching, research, and mentoring that was characteristic of EXESESO, and to show that Nicholas had succeeded in creating a lively community of committed scholars inspired by his eloquence, love of history, and attention to detail. We received many more submissions from former EXESESO members than we could accommodate in one volume and had to make a rigorous selection. It is our hope that this book’s variety of contributors, their subjects, and the periods covered will do justice to the academic community that Nicholas established and nurtured. The contributors to this volume have all been a part of EXESESO and have known Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke personally as mentor, supervisor, friend, and colleague. As this volume will show, Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke succeeded in fostering a new generation of scholars of esotericism who owe him a great debt of gratitude. Oxford, UK Copenhagen, Denmark 

Georgiana D. Hedesan Tim Rudbøg

Contents

1 Introduction: Reconceptualizing Innovation and Its Role in Esotericism  1 Georgiana D. Hedesan and Tim Rudbøg 2 Diligentia et divina sorte: Oracular Intelligence in Marsilio Ficino’s Astral Magic 33 Angela Voss 3 The Transformation of the Notion of “Adept”: From Medieval Arabic Philosophy to Early Modern Alchemy 63 Georgiana D. Hedesan 4 A Necessary Conjunction: Cabala, Magic, and Alchemy in the Theosophy of Heinrich Khunrath (1560–1605) 97 Peter J. Forshaw 5 The Rosicrucian Diaspora in the Seventeenth Century135 Christopher McIntosh 6 John Henderson (1757–1788) and Changing Attitudes to the Occult in Enlightenment England155 Jonathan Barry

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7 Psychic Disciplines: The Magnetizer as Magician in the Writings of Jules Dupotet de Sennevoy (1796–1881)185 Jean-Pierre Brach 8 H. P. Blavatsky’s “Wisdom-Religion” and the Quest for Ancient Wisdom in Western Culture201 Tim Rudbøg 9 Orientalist Aggregates: Theosophical Buddhism Between Innovation and Tradition229 Julie Chajes 10 Theosophical Chronology in the Writings of Guido von List (1848–1919): A Link Between H.P. Blavatsky’s Philosophy and the Nazi Movement255 Jeffrey D. Lavoie 11 The Esoteric Roots of the Iranian Revolution: The “Wardenship of the Jurist” Through the Metanomian Shi’a of Ayatollah Khomeini (1902–1989)281 George J. Sieg 12 Reflections on the Various Uses of Tarot315 Antoine Faivre Index333

Notes on Contributors

Jonathan Barry  is Professor of Early Modern History at the University of Exeter, where he has taught since 1985. He has published widely on urban society, culture, and politics in England c.1500–1800, notably on the South West, and he is co-editor of the Bristol Record Society and of two series, Palgrave Historical Studies in Witchcraft and Magic and Palgrave Studies in Medieval and Early Modern Medicine. Jean-Pierre Brach  is holding the Chair of “History of Esoteric Currents in Modern and Contemporary Europe” at the École Pratique des Hautes Études (Sorbonne, Paris), France. He has published on topics ranging from early modern Christian Kabbalah, magic, and alchemy to number symbolism, contemporary occultism, and Masonry. Co-editor of the peer-reviewed journal Politica Hermetica, his most recent publications include “Géopolitique et ésotérisme” (edited by J.-P.  Brach and J.-P.  Laurant), Politica Hermetica 33 (2019), and “Illicit Christianity: Guillaume Postel, Kabbalah and a ‘Transgender’ Messiah,” Religio. Revue pro Religionistiku 1 (2019): 3–16. Julie  Chajes  is a lecturer at the University of Haifa, Israel, having acquired her PhD at University of Exeter. She is a historian of nineteenth-­ century Britain and America with particular interest in religious heterodoxy and its intersections with broad intellectual, literary, and religious trends. She is the author of Recycled Lives: A History of Reincarnation in Blavatsky’s Theosophy (2019). Her articles have dealt with topics such as gender, Orientalism, emergent critical categories, and the appropriation of scientific and medical theories in modern forms of religion. xvii

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Antoine Faivre  is Professor Emeritus of École Pratique des Hautes Études (Sorbonne), France. He was Attaché de Recherches C.N.R.S. (1965–1969), Professor of “Techniques d’Expression,” University of Paris XIII (1969–1972), Professor of Germanic Studies, University of Bordeaux, then of Rouen (1972–1991). In 1979, he was appointed to the chair (“Direction d’Études”) of “History of Esoteric and Mystical Currents in Modern and Contemporary Europe,” École Pratique des Hautes Études (Department of “Sciences Religieuses,” Sorbonne). He had appointments as a visiting professor at University of Berkeley in the 1980s. He is author of a dozen of books and over one hundred articles. Peter J. Forshaw  is Associate Professor of History of Western Esotericism in the Early Modern Period at the University of Amsterdam’s Center for the History of Hermetic Philosophy, the Netherlands. He specializes in the intellectual and cultural history of occult philosophy (particularly alchemy, magic, and Christian cabala). He is Head of the Ritman Research Institute at the Embassy of the Free Mind, Amsterdam. He was Editor-in-Chief of Aries: Journal for the Study of Western Esotericism (2010–2020). Forshaw has edited several scholarly volumes, and is author of the forthcoming Brill monograph The Mage’s Images: Heinrich Khunrath in His Oratory and Laboratory. Joscelyn Godwin  is Professor of Music Emeritus at Colgate University, USA.  Educated at Cambridge and Cornell Universities, he has written books on speculative music (Harmonies of Heaven and Earth, Music and the Occult, The Mystery of the Seven Vowels), Robert Fludd, Athanasius Kircher, Mystery Religions, the history of Theosophy, Renaissance paganism, the Polar Myth, Atlantis, the eccentric spiritual movements of New  York State, and its Masonic history, and co-authored two occult novels with Guido Mina di Sospiro. He has translated The Chemical Wedding, Splendor Solis, Hypnerotomachia Poliphili, and books by Fabre d’Olivet, Guénon, Evola, Antoine Faivre, and Hans Kayser. Georgiana  D.  Hedesan  is Postdoctoral Associate at the University of Oxford, UK and a former PhD from Exeter, specializing in early modern intellectual history, as well as the history of alchemy and medicine. Her first book is An Alchemical Quest for Universal Knowledge: The ‘Christian Philosophy’ of Jan Baptist Van Helmont (1579–1644) (2016). She has held several fellowships, including a Wellcome Trust Research Postdoctoral Fellowship in Medical History and Humanities at the University of

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Oxford (2013–2017), researching the topic of universal medicine and radical prolongation of life in early modern alchemy. Jeffrey  D.  Lavoie  is Professor of Philosophy and Religion at Roxbury Community College in Boston, MA, USA and a former PhD from Exeter. His studies concentrate on modern religious movements, Victorian studies, and eastern philosophy (including their intersection with race, gender, and sexuality). He has published numerous articles and books on these subjects, including his most recent book entitled George William Allen and Christian Socialism: A Study of the Christo-­Theosophical Society (2020). Christopher McIntosh  is a British-born writer, historian and DPhil from Oxford, who lives in Lower Saxony, Germany, and specializes in the esoteric traditions of the West. He has taught for several years at the Centre for the Study of Esotericism at University of Exeter, UK. His books include The Astrologers and Their Creed (1969); Eliphas Lévi and the French Occult Revival (1972); The Rosicrucians (latest edition: Weiser, 1997); The Rose Cross and the Age of Reason (1992), based on his D.Phil. dissertation; The Swan King: Ludwig II of Bavaria (latest edition 2003); Gardens of the Gods (2005); and Beyond the North Wind (2019). Tim  Rudbøg  is associate professor and director of The Copenhagen Center for the Study of Theosophy and Esotericism at the Department of Cross-Cultural and Regional Studies at the University of Copenhagen, Denmark, and a former PhD from Exeter. As a trained historian of religions, Rudbøg’s publications have particularly focused on the academic study of esotericism, hermeticism, modern religions, and in particular modern Theosophy. In relation to his focus on modern Theosophy, he has recently published a co-edited book entitled Imagining the East: The Early Theosophical Society (2020). George J. Sieg  teaches philosophy at the Southwestern Indian Polytechnic Institute (NM, USA), and is Area Chair of Esotericism, Occultism, and Magic for the Southwest Popular/American Culture Association. His PhD thesis at Exeter, supervised by Nicholas Goodrick-­Clarke, developed his MA work at SOAS on dualism and demonization in Zoroastrian Iran into a full historical survey of the transmission of dualism into Western esotericism. The thesis is forthcoming from I.B. Tauris as Iranian Dualism and Its Global Legacy: The Politics of Manichaeism and the Occult War. He has published on political radicalism, extremism, and violence in esotericism and new/minority religious movements.

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Angela Voss  is a senior lecturer at Canterbury Christ Church University, UK, where she directed a Masters program in Myth, Cosmology, and the Sacred (2014–2020). Her passion for Renaissance music and culture led her to delve into the magical world of the fifteenth-century magus Marsilio Ficino, and from there to the Western esoteric traditions and the power of the symbolic to awaken the human soul. She has published extensively on Ficino’s astrological music, on astrology and divination, Neoplatonism and magic, and more recently, on transformative learning. Her most recent book is Re-enchanting the Academy (edited with Simon Wilson, 2017).

List of Figures

Fig. 4.1 Fig. 4.2 Fig. 4.3 Fig. 4.4 Fig. 4.5 Fig. 4.6

Fig. 4.7 Fig. 4.8 Fig. 4.9

Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1595), Title Page (Courtesy of the Department of Special Collections, Memorial Library, University of Wisconsin, Madison) 100 Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1609), Title Page (Credit: Wellcome Collection) 102 Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1595), Theosophical Figure 1, center (Courtesy of the Department of Special Collections, Memorial Library, University of Wisconsin, Madison) 104 Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1595), Theosophical Figure 2, center (Courtesy of the Department of Special Collections, Memorial Library, University of Wisconsin, Madison) 105 Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1595), Theosophical Figure 3, center (Courtesy of the Department of Special Collections, Memorial Library, University of Wisconsin, Madison) 106 Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1595), Theosophical Figure 4, Oratory-Laboratory (Courtesy of the Department of Special Collections, Memorial Library, University of Wisconsin, Madison)107 Khunrath, De signatura rerum naturalium theses (1588), Title Page (Courtesy of Universitätsbibliothek Basel) 113 Khunrath, De signatura rerum naturalium theses (1588), Final Page (Courtesy of Universitätsbibliothek Basel) 115 Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1595), Adam-Androgyne detail: Anima-Spiritus-Corpus (Courtesy of the Department of Special Collections, Memorial Library, University of Wisconsin, Madison) 117

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Fig. 4.10

Fig. 4.11 Fig. 10.1

Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1595), Rebis or Hermaphrodite detail: Anima-Spiritus-Corpus (Courtesy of the Department of Special Collections, Memorial Library, University of Wisconsin, Madison) Alchemical table bell of Rudolf II, Courtesy of Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien, ©KHM-Museumsverband H. P. Blavatsky’s chronology in Guido List’s Philosophy— Loose leaf in Die Ursprache der Ario-Germanen und ihre Mysteriensprache (1914)

118 125 266

CHAPTER 1

Introduction: Reconceptualizing Innovation and Its Role in Esotericism Georgiana D. Hedesan and Tim Rudbøg

This book started from a simple question: what, if any, is the relationship between innovation and esotericism?1 Many esoteric currents would reject any connection between the two, insisting on the fundamentally unchanging nature of their beliefs and practices. Perhaps more surprisingly, some classical historians of religion would in principle have concurred with such universal and timeless conceptions.2 Yet such perspectives do not 1  We are primarily using the designation “esotericism” rather than the classic scholarly designation “Western esotericism” in this book. The rationale for this is discussed in the section “Innovation and Cross-Cultural Exchanges” further in the introduction. 2  For instance, Max Müller, Chips from a German Workshop, I: “Essays on the Science of Religion” (London: Longmans, Green and Co, 1867), x–xi; Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and

G. D. Hedesan (*) History Faculty, University of Oxford, Oxford, UK T. Rudbøg Department of Cross-Cultural and Regional Studies, University of Copenhagen, Copenhagen, Denmark e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 G. D. Hedesan, T. Rudbøg (eds.), Innovation in Esotericism from the Renaissance to the Present, Palgrave Studies in New Religions and Alternative Spiritualities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-67906-4_1

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obviously account for the historical fact that new esoteric phenomena like the publication of the Rosicrucian manifestos in 1614, the “invention” of esoteric tarot in the 1780s France, or the foundation of the Theosophical Society in 1875 did occur in specific contexts of space and time. Contemporary scholarship has fundamentally challenged the premise of the static nature of esotericism, highlighting the role of polemics and discourse in producing change.3 This book intends to add a new theoretical instrument for understanding transformations in esotericism from the European Renaissance to the present: the notion of innovation. By reconceptualizing innovation, we further suggest that innovation can advance scholarly discussion of historical change not only in the field of esotericism but the humanities as a whole. Any discussion of innovation in esotericism must begin by going to the core of esoteric claims of tradition and continuity.4 Certainly, the prevalence of beliefs in an ancient universal wisdom tradition cannot be underemphasized. Esoteric thought and related discourses often constructed elaborate genealogies of knowledge that stressed both origin and continuity.5 As Andreas Kilcher puts it, “Esoteric paradigms not only understand themselves… as bearers of ‘older,’ ‘hidden,’ ‘higher’ knowledge. They also claim their knowledge to be of a particular origin.”6 Some of these traditions were traced back to the Bible (Kabbalah, many forms of Gnosticism, Solomonic magic), others to mythical figures (Hermeticism, alchemy, the Profane: The Nature of Religion (New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1959), 8–18; Rudolf Otto, The Idea of the Holy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1958), 5–8, 12–13, 25–27, 31–32. More contemporary variants of this belief are analyzed further below. 3  A good example is Kocku von Stuckrad, Locations of Knowledge in Medieval and Early Modern Europe: Esoteric Discourse and Western Identities (Leiden: Brill, 2010). 4  There is now a growing body of scholarship on the topic of tradition in esotericism and related currents. See Egil Asprem and Kennet Granholm, “Constructing Esotericisms: Sociological, Historical and Critical Approaches to the Invention of Tradition,” in Contemporary Esotericism, eds. Egil Asprem and Kennet Granholm (Sheffield and Bristol, CT: Equinox, 2012), 24–48; Andreas Kilcher, ed., Constructing Tradition: Means and Myths of Transmission in Western Esotericism (Leiden: Brill, 2010); James R.  Lewis and Olav Hammer, eds., The Invention of Sacred Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007); Olav Hammer, Claiming Knowledge: Strategies of Epistemology from Theosophy to the New Age (Leiden: Brill, 2001). 5  See Stuckrad, Locations of Knowledge, 7–42, Wouter J. Hanegraaff, Esotericism and the Academy: Rejected Knowledge in Western Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012). 6  Andreas Kilcher, “Introduction: Constructing Tradition in Western Esotericism,” in Kilcher, Constructing Tradition, ix–xv.

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Rosicrucianism), to esoteric thinkers or philosophers (Neoplatonism, Behmenist theosophy, Paracelsianism, Swedenborgianism), or to a combination of these (as in certain forms of prisca theologia, or philosophia perennis).7 These traditions also claimed that there was a chain of transmission that connected this origin to the present. This chain was not always seen as unbroken, but any “rediscovery” of the tradition essentially relinked it back to the origin, ensuring an ahistorical continuity. Many esoteric writers have in fact emphasized tradition so much that they downplayed their own thought and identity in favor of claiming to be part of a wisdom lineage. If we ask the question why this is so, several answers can be given. One reason is of course transmission, whereby a recipient actually wrote down or communicated something that they were handed down themselves through individuals that belonged to a specific tradition. Another reason is that being seen as part of a long wisdom tradition conferred legitimacy and force to one’s writings or sayings. A third reason relates to the adherence to a spiritual ideology and practice that downplayed the role of the personal ego. No matter the reason, we find many such examples in esotericism. For instance, there were writers of Hermetic, Kabbalistic, or alchemical texts who chose to remain anonymous and often used a common pseudonym such as Hermes Trismegistus, Ramón Llull (1232–1316), or Abraham. Similarly, the writings of the modern esotericist Helena P. Blavatsky (1831–1891) emphasized the direct relation to an ancient secret doctrine and with Masters who were regarded as the living custodians of this tradition. While esoteric practitioners have often perceived themselves as guardians, restorers, and correctors of an ancient wisdom, they tend to overlook the fact that new ideas and practices were historically produced within esoteric traditions. Indeed, the very existence of several, often coexisting traditions, such as alchemy, Rosicrucianism, Freemasonry, natural magic, or demonic magic, are testimony to the existence of diverging ideas and practices, whether contemporary or of much older extract. The simultaneous existence of esoteric groups and societies that drew on the same or similar traditions is another testimony to the diversity of thought and practice in esotericism. 7  On these subjects, important for any discussion of the esoteric traditions, see D.P. Walker, The Ancient Theology: Studies in Christian Platonism from the Fifteenth to the Eighteenth Century (London: Duckworth, 1975), Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann, Philosophia Perennis: Historical Outlines of Western Spirituality in Ancient, Medieval and Early Modern Thought (Dordrecht: Springer, 2011); Hanegraaff, Esotericism and the Academy.

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The idea that esotericism is a highly pluralistic phenomenon belongs to a relatively recent way of thinking about the subject.8 Before the establishment of the academic field of “Western esotericism” (or, simply, “esotericism”), many scholars were of the opinion that esotericism (often described as “the occult” or “occultism”) is a specific form of thought that was almost static in nature and structurally opposed to, or different from, modernity. Brian Vickers, for example, argued that the occult was an unchanging system of thought that, rather than critically review itself in relation to new empirical observations, sought to fit everything into its already existing knowledge-structure.9 James Webb framed the occult as a collective form of human irrationality that erupted from the unconscious psyche in times of crises, thereby also outlining it as something that remained more or less the same.10 This is of course related to earlier notions of the “sacred,” the “numinous,” or the “infinite” as advocated by scholars of religion like Mircea Eliade, Rudolf Otto, and Max Müller.11 Nevertheless, the past few decades of scholarship have exposed the problems associated with essentialism and “master narratives.” Contemporary scholars tend to agree that the traditions we classify as belonging to the category “esotericism” have undergone historical change just like any other ones. The notion of a static esoteric tradition has also been replaced by an awareness of the plurality of esotericisms.12 Since, as scholarship has rightfully noted, there is more to esoteric thought and practice than a sheer repetition of the past, it seems useful to consider new heuristic tools for analyzing such historical changes. This book introduces the notion of “innovation” in the study of the history and transformation of esotericism from the Renaissance to the present. Yet, in asking what role innovation has played in the history of esotericism, we should first consider how innovation can be defined in intellectual discourse, and how it is related to esotericism.13  See Stuckrad, Locations of Knowledge.  Brian Vickers, “Introduction,” in Occult and Scientific Mentalities in the Renaissance, ed. Brian Vickers (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 1–55. 10  James Webb, The Flight from Reason (London: Macdonald, 1971), 121. 11  See note n. 2. 12  On the construction of esoteric traditions, see note n. 4. 13  There has been no book-length treatment of innovation in esotericism. Gideon Bohak, Yuval Harari, and Shaul Shaked’s edited volume Continuity and Innovation in the Magical Tradition (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2011) deals with the topic of magic, focusing mainly on transmission of ideas in this context. Michael A. Williams, Collett Cox, and Martin Jaffee’s 8 9

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Innovation and Ideas The term “innovation” is trendy nowadays, with indices showing that it has become one of the most commonly used words in the English language.14 Yet the popularity of the term is particularly linked with technology, engineering, economics, and business.15 We may think of a new digital device or a certain management process as “innovative.” Still, the term does not exclusively belong to technology and business. Accepted definitions of the word tend to be much more neutral: the Merriam-­ Webster dictionary, for instance, describes “innovation” as “the introduction of something new” or “a new idea, method, or device; novelty.”16 Such definitions suggest that innovation is linked with change and discontinuity. Yet understanding the concept itself as an instrument of scholarly discourse requires further analysis. Due to the vast scope of the subject, this introduction chiefly focuses on the relationship between ideas and innovation. The role of innovative ideas is already known, though perhaps not sufficiently emphasized. Although “design” or “methods” take center stage in the way we think about innovation, an idea or a concept often  stands at the origin of innovation. As might be expected, research on innovative ideas has almost exclusively focused on economic and social change.17 Such scholarship seems to edited collection Innovation in Religious Traditions (Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter, 1992) discusses the topic of innovation in religion, but does not address esotericism, and its theoretical approach to the concept of innovation is limited. 14  See, for instance, “Innovation” in the Collins English Dictionary, https://www.collinsdictionary.com/dictionary/english/innovation (accessed 20 July 2020), which rates the word frequency as “very common, innovation is one of the 4000 most commonly used words in the Collins dictionary.” 15  A useful Google chart shows that the term’s usage in books between 1940 and 2008 has increased at least five times. “Innovation,” Google Ngram Chart, https://books.google. com/ngrams/interactive_chart?smoothing=7&direct_url=t4%3B%2Cinnovation%3B%2Cc 0%3B%2Cs0%3B%3Binnovation%3B%2Cc0%3B%3BInnovation%3B%2Cc0&year_ end=2008&corpus=15&case_insensitive=on&year_start=1800&content=innovation (accessed 20 July 2020). 16  “Innovation,” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/innovation (accessed 20 July 2020). 17  As an example, Jan Fagerberg, David C.  Mowery and Richard R.  Nelson, eds., The Oxford Handbook of Innovation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005) begins with the assumption that innovations worth mentioning are airplanes, automobiles, telecommunications, refrigerators, agriculture, the wheel, the alphabet, and so on.

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be driven by the assumption that innovation can only be understood through a socio-economic framework. We can rightfully suspect that behind this perspective lies the prevalent view that innovation is about ideas that result in commercial products. The social consensus that knowledge must always have an economic value has, however, been criticized by Simon Robb and Elizabeth Bullen.18 Whether the consensus is valid or not, one can arguably question the soundness of the socio-economic argument in itself. Taking into account the complexity of human culture, the “material” outcome of an idea is sometimes so diffuse and unclear that a correlation between the idea and its “material” impact is sometimes  difficult to make.19 The problem is similar to Edward Lorenz’s famous “butterfly effect,” which states that a tornado may paradoxically be caused by the flapping of the wings of a butterfly.20 Consequently, it is difficult, if not impossible, to show that the tornado was caused by the flapping of the butterfly’s wings. If we consider that many high-level cognitive systems display complex nonlinear dynamics,21 we can conjecture that the reception of communicated ideas is not always clear or demonstrable. Yet, rather than being perceived as disturbing to scholars used to traditional chains of causality, nonlinearity could be viewed as opening up the field of scholarly inquiry. At the end of the day, any new idea can potentially play the role of Lorenz’s butterfly. Consequently, we suggest, all innovative ideas should be treated with interest by scholarship, especially when there is meaningful impact. According to standard definitions, innovative ideas are essentially “new” ones. Yet the notion that ideas can be “new” is a more complicated matter than it might appear at first glance. The philosophical origins of the term idea come from ancient Greece, and particularly from Platonist speculation. Plato (428/27–348/47 BCE) believed that an idea (Greek 18  Simon Robb and Elizabeth Bullen, “A Provocation,” in Innovation and Tradition: The Arts, Humanities and the Knowledge Economy, eds. Jane Kenway, Elizabeth Bullen and Simon Robb (New York: Peter Lang, 2004), 1–9. 19  Conversely, some ideas specifically geared toward a material outcome may fail to yield the socio-economic impact they were assumed to have, or may have unexpected results. 20  Edward N. Lorenz, “Deterministic Nonperiodic Flow,” Journal of Atmospheric Science 20 (1963): 130–41. 21  See for instance Takahiro Ezaki et al., “Closer to Critical Resting-State Neural Dynamics in Individuals with Higher Fluid Intelligence,” Communications Biology 3 (2020), M. Rabinovich, A.N. Simmons and P. Varona, “Dynamical Bridge between Brain and Mind,” Trends in Cognitive Science 19 (2015): 453–61, R.F. Port and T. Van Gelder, eds., Exploration in the Dynamics of Cognition: Mind as Motion (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1995).

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εiδoς) is immutable, divine, and primordial to matter; this view implied that there could be no such thing as a “new” idea. Nineteenth- and early twentieth-century formulations of intellectual history seemed at least partially tributary to this mode of thought, as they believed in an origin-­ idea that was subsequently modified throughout history. The famous scholar of the history of languages and religions Max Müller posited that new ideas are essentially variation of old ones, claiming that “it may be said that in [religion] everything new is old, and everything old is new, and that there has been no entirely new religion since the beginning of the world.”22 Similarly to Müller, Arthur O. Lovejoy established the field of “history of ideas” to study the original unit-ideas, as well as their development in and through subsequent texts and traditions.23 The chronological sequencing of the unit-ideas in order to establish the original, the similar, and the new or deviant thus became central. In the second half of the twentieth century, however, this approach became challenged by the concept of discontinuity. According to the chief proponent of this view, Michel Foucault, the quest for the original idea is impossible because meaning is established in relation to the historical context.24 For example, the idea of soul in a specific nineteenth-century context has a different meaning than the idea of soul in another specific context (e.g., in  the twenty-first century or in the first century), even though at first glance it seems to be the same idea. This is because the idea of soul is embedded in a specific context, and together they make up an entirely new framework, discourse, or episteme. By extension, all historical ideas are new ideas, as they arise in a specific circumstance. The Foucauldian approach rightfully emphasizes context and its role in shaping the meaning of ideas. It is no less clear that human culture is beholden to traditions, and these are passed on through nurture and education. Older ideas are continuously received as part of this process, and, importantly, such ideas are recognized as being “old.” Still, ideas cannot survive their historicity; as their past meaning is no longer accessible to the present, they need to be “resuscitated” or transformed into new ideas to survive.  Müller, Chips from a German Workshop, x–xi.  Arthur O.  Lovejoy, The Great Chain of Being: A Study of the History of an Idea (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009), 3–23. 24  Michel Foucault, “History, Discourse and Discontinuity,” trans. Anthony M. Nazzaro, Salmagundi 20, Special Issue “Psychological Man: Approaches to an Emergent Social Type” (1972): 225–48. See also Michel Foucault, The Order of Things: an Archeology of the Human Sciences (London: Tavistock Publications, 1970), xii. 22 23

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As such, we argue that, at any given historical moment, an idea is fundamentally the result of a negotiation between past and present, with each present formulation being a transformation of received (past) ideas. In other words, an idea is produced through a reassessment of tradition, and the result is an innovation upon it. Consequently, we affirm that innovation is a mechanism of negotiation whereby an idea is either produced against, or adapted from, an older set of concepts in order to respond to a present context. This definition implies that an innovative idea does not have to be “new” in the pure sense of the word. Even when someone is repeating an older view of the soul, they are still innovating, because their formulation is the result of the negotiation of past and present, where the balance shifts toward the past. Such a repetition of the past may not be interesting, inspiring, or “useful,” but in certain circumstances it can be disruptive. For instance, an anti-modern stance in modernity is innovative even though it may not appear to bring anything “new” to the table. The result, paradoxically, can still be new and groundbreaking. In one of the chapters of this book, Jonathan Barry, for example, shows that the little-known John Henderson (1757–1788) held recognizably non-Enlightenment views; nevertheless, his anti-modern stance did not stop him from becoming a subject of fascination and influence to many contemporaries, including the early Romantics.

Individual and Collective Choice in Innovation The role of individual choice in innovation is an important factor to be considered, as the individual is often contrasted with the collective and its control of tradition. In his groundbreaking study Social Theory and Social Structure (1968), Robert Merton, often considered one of the founding fathers of modern sociology, analyzed the dynamics between the individual and the collective structure of American society. He noted that, while all individuals seemed to share the generally-prescribed goal of achieving monetary success, not all had the same means of reaching this goal. Consequently, he defined the difference between the goal and the means as “anomie,” and observed that it led to strain for many individuals, causing them to develop coping strategies. Such strategies can be seen as ways in which individuals adapt to the pre-given collective structures of society and to the difficulty of achieving the commonly-accepted goal. Some individuals will follow the institutionalized means of reaching the

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goal, others will simply reject it, while some will seek to find alternative means to achieve it. This last strategy Merton designates as innovation.25 Anthony Giddens (1984) would later continue the exploration of individual choice in relation to the collective structures, and thereby nuance of the picture.26 He showed that, while each individual action involved the exercise of free choice, this took place within parameters of constraint. In other words, individuals were neither merely conduits of tradition automatically reproducing it, nor solely autonomous agents pursuing self-­ benefit or novelty. In fact, to use and combine tradition with one’s own creativity was part of ordinary human conduct. Creativity and innovation in this sense could be seen as the individual moving beyond the constraints of tradition, while at the same time responding to and participating in something beyond the individual (such as a tradition). This view suggests that individuality exists in a natural tension with tradition. It may also be argued that each individual engages in bricolage. This concept, first introduced by Claude Lévi-Strauss, means the fabrication or creative use of the resources available, while disregarding their original purpose.27 It is human to creatively compose a personal worldview from a great variety of heterogeneous ideas, which are unified in a way that is meaningful to the individual. At the same time, the view of the individual as bricoleur must be weighed against the reality that most individuals create similar worldviews. This is because the individual impulse is colored and molded by the necessity of belonging and fitting to a wider group.28 As such, solutions are often provided by a greater framework—the historical group or society the individual belongs to. We tend to think that innovation belongs to the individual, while the tradition is given by community. This “heroic” view of the individual may not necessarily be true. Social changes cannot always be referred to individual thought or action, even when leaders can be identified. For 25  Robert K.  Merton, Social Theory and Social Structure (New York: Free Press, 1968), 193–203. 26  Anthony Giddens, The Constitution of Society, Outline of the Theory of Structuration (Cambridge and Malden, MA: Polity Press, 1984), xiii-40. 27  See Paul-Francois Tremlett, Levi-Strauss on Religion: The Structuring Mind (London: Equinox, 2008), 73–77. 28  Recent developmental psychology has emphasized the importance of the “alignment” of mental states in human communication; see for instance M. Tomasello, Becoming Human: A Theory of Ontogeny (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2019).

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example, in 1962, Thomas Kuhn pointed out that “revolutions” occurred through consensual paradigm shifts.29 Although Kuhn only restricted his theory to change in scientific communities, it is clear that societies also undergo shifts of paradigm. As such, innovation can just as well belong to groups as individuals, both levels being worthy of consideration.

Innovation and Tradition Rather than thinking of innovation in terms of individual versus collectives, a useful way to further conceptualize innovation is to understand it in terms of frameworks or background structures. A background may be an esoteric tradition, for instance, but it can also be a religion, a scientific discipline, or simply the structures of contemporary society. To discuss frameworks, we will primarily use Foucault’s working definition of innovation as a counter-movement to normalization.30 Foucault perceived “innovation” to be a tendency toward curiosity, experimentation, critical engagement, or refusing conformity. This often comes along when power relations or paradigms are shifting, new negotiations are taking place, or new material to be analyzed is published. Implicit in Foucault’s definition is the existence of a framework an individual or collective rebels against or criticizes. When the framework is steeped in the past, we can discuss it as a “tradition,” though, of course, it can also be purely contemporaneous.31 At first glance, the dialectic between innovation and tradition seems to be one of antagonism. Nevertheless, there are cases when innovation may in fact be conjured by the tradition itself in response to a perceived problem within it. Going even further, Edward Shils argued that “there is something in tradition which calls forth a desire to change it by making improvements to it.”32 This view can be connected with our fundamental argument above that ideas need innovative transformation to survive. A tradition needs constant upholding, constant reinvention, and constant investment

29  Thomas Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1962). 30  See, for example, Christopher Falzon, Timothy O’Leary and Jana Sawicki, eds., A Companion to Foucault (Chichester, UK: John Wiley & Sons, 2013), 411, 531. 31  We note that what fundamentally distinguishes frameworks is not necessarily their historical duration, but institutionalization and group support. 32  Edward Albert Shils, Tradition (London: Faber & Faber, 1981), 214.

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of thought and practice to survive. A micro-construction of a tradition, if you will, is done on a regular basis. If a tradition’s survival implies transformation, it does not mean that it will not resist it. Like a living organism seeking to maintain homeostasis, a tradition also wants to perpetuate itself in a quasi-static form. It is this tendency that forces the negotiation of past and present, which in turn gives birth to innovation. The result of this reckoning is essential in defining the innovation’s impact. It is reasonable to think that one of the framework’s possible reactions to an innovation will be to try to assimilate it. This is particularly true when the innovation is seen as a solution to a problem plaguing the tradition in the first place. Yet it is also possible for a tradition to absorb an innovation even when the problem is not acknowledged. For instance, faced with the doctrines of Francis of Assisi (c.1181–1226), the Catholic Church integrated the movement in its own system, despite some problematic aspects.33 The Franciscan example incidentally points to the energy that can be infused into a tradition (Catholicism) when it manages to assimilate an innovation. By assimilating an innovation, it is clear that the framework changes. Of course, as we pointed out, frameworks are only static at first glance: change always happens, and surviving frameworks are in some sense “new” ones. Yet frameworks generally tolerate only minor changes: they prefer small innovations that re-affirm the status quo and bring it more in line with new generations and mindsets. When change becomes too great, it becomes threatening to the framework, as it can create a separate and competing one, overthrow it, or transform it in a way that leaves it almost unrecognizable. The instinct of survival and its inner power relations lead the framework to reject changes that seem to endanger its existence.

33  These included the pursuit of poverty, which was implicitly critical of the lavish lifestyle and riches of the Church, or the portrayal of Francis by Bonaventure and others as an angel and prophet set in an apocalyptic context, ideas that resonated with the heretic views of Joachim of Fiore (d. 1202); on the former topic, see for instance Brian Hamilton, “The Politics of Poverty: A Contribution to a Franciscan Political Theology,” Journal of the Society of Christian Ethics 35, no. 1 (2015): 29–44 (which notes, like other scholars, the similarity of the early Franciscans with contemporary heretical movements such as the Waldensians); on the latter topic, see Regis J.  Armstrong, J.  Wayne Hellmann and William J.  Short, “General Introduction,” in Francis of Assisi: Early Documents, eds. Regis J.  Armstrong, J. Wayne Hellmann and William J. Short (New York: New City Press, 2001), 11–21.

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Continuing with the Catholic example, we should observe that the absorption of the Franciscans within Catholicism was not complete. The Catholic authorities persecuted a branch of Franciscans, the Fratricelli, because their stance was simply incompatible with the Catholic framework.34 In this particular case, the dissenting Franciscan movement was eradicated, or it became subsumed in other frameworks. Yet, a few centuries later, the rejection of Luther’s reform was not so easily set aside and created a rival form of Christianity that fundamentally altered the Catholic Church. In this book, we will discuss the rejection of innovation in the context of a different religion: Theravada Buddhism, which, as Julie Chajes points out, assessed the introduction of a “soul” in its doctrines as unacceptable.

Esotericism and Other Frameworks (Religion and Science) Our theoretical discussion does not mean to imply that there is an Ur-­ framework or tradition that stands at the root of all others. In fact, a historical period is a canvas with multiple backgrounds. These exist in a dynamic relationship among themselves: they often juxtapose, blend in, or become subordinate or dominant to each other. It is important to recognize that we cannot—or perhaps should not—disentangle an innovative view from its other backgrounds. In fact, innovation often happens when two or more frameworks interact, or clash. For instance, a tradition like Mesmerism existed alongside or within related others (history of science, history of magic, eighteenth-­ century French society, the French medical establishment, etc.). When French medicine rejected Mesmerism, a “solution” was sought out, and we will see an answer to it in the article of Jean-Pierre Brach in this volume. Similarly, the example of Henderson’s adoption of old ideas of magic and the occult shows that one can reject the conformity of a dominant contemporary framework (in this case, the Enlightenment), while following an older one. By engaging with views that were considered “obsolete” by peers, Henderson affirmed himself as an innovative individual in the Foucauldian sense of the word. This, and other examples presented in our book, suggests that “refusing conformity” sometimes means rejecting a 34  On this topic, see David Burr, Spiritual Franciscans: From Protest to Persecution in the Century after Saint Francis (University Park, PA: Penn State Press, 2001).

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mainstream framework in favor of a minor, or even rejected, one. The Foucauldian definition of innovation, we argue, supports our perspective that innovation does not necessarily mean adopting a “new” idea. It is similarly important to note that innovation often happens when a dominant framework is losing its hold on the contemporary imagination. The ebbing of its power leads to the creation of a temporary cultural space that can be filled by more minor frameworks. Such structural shifts can lead to innovative ideas being advanced in the historical landscape. Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke has already noticed that esotericism particularly thrives during times of cultural change: It is notable that esoteric ideas often attend the breakdown of settled religious orthodoxies and socioeconomic orders…These historical points of resurgence in esotericism represent an efflorescence of heterodox new perspectives and paradigms in response to the waning hold of orthodoxy.35

He further noted that esotericism displayed a particular innovative potential for the cultural landscape: “esotericism is an essential element of renewal in the historical process.”36 To better understand the interplay of frameworks, it will be useful to understand the relationship between the main category analyzed here (esotericism) and that of two other similar or interlinked ones: religion and science. By discussing frameworks, we do not claim these to be absolute metaphysical categories. On the contrary, the boundaries between them are fluid and permeable. In particular, esotericism shares ideas, practices, and historical development with both religion and science. It is a fluid domain with definitions  ranging from  the typological to the historical.37 Yet, we would argue, it is particularly this type of fuzziness that allows esotericism to be an excellent case study for the role of innovation in the intellectual and cultural context. Religion. The relationship between established religion and the esoteric traditions is a complex one. In some cases esoteric movements co-existed with religion, either as fringe or inner traditions, while in others—and 35  Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke, Western Esoteric Traditions: a Historical Introduction (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2008), 13–14. 36  Goodrick-Clarke, Western Esoteric Traditions, 14. 37  On this topic, the best place to start is Wouter J.  Hanegraaff, “Esotericism,” in The Dictionary of Gnosis and Western Esotericism, eds. Wouter J.  Hanegraaff, Roelof van den Broek, Antoine Faivre and Jean-Pierre Brach (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 336–40.

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particularly during modern times—they sought to distinguish themselves  from it. Even co-existence was sometimes problematic. Religious orthodoxy occasionally expunged esoteric thought or practices, as in the case of the rejection of magic in seventeenth-century Catholic circles, or the rejection of the occult in eighteenth-century Protestant polemical writings. If a general pattern can be drawn out, it appears that esoteric traditions are often less strict, canonical, and conformist than the major orthodox religious traditions. Orthodox religion tends to demand absolute commitment and the assumption of an exclusive identity. By comparison, esotericism usually tolerates a pluralism of identities: one can be Freemason and Christian, or Theosophist and Buddhist, and so on. There have of course been attempts at creating a single esoteric identity by effectively turning a form of esotericism into a religion, for instance in forms of Late Antique Hermetism or, in modern times, in the Church of Thelema. Another aspect of the interplay between esotericism and religion is that the former favors individuality, at least initially. Historically, one becomes inducted, initiated, or self-initiated into an esoteric current: it is more likely for a person to be born into a religion than an esoteric group. This makes an esoteric identity a matter of individual, mature choice, often as part of a quest for personal enlightenment. The implication is that esotericism promotes self-experience, personal examination, and insight into traditions, be they those of the esoteric currents themselves or of the connected categories (e.g., religion or science). This makes esotericism potentially disruptive to religion and its power structures. This distinctive character of esotericism has, however, also often made it a source of innovation and creativity within the larger religious tradition. In the fifteenth century, Marsilio Ficino (1433–1499) and Pico della Mirandola (1463–1494) attempted to renew Christianity by introducing new  elements of Neoplatonism, Hermeticism, and Kabbalah within it. Ficino’s audacious views are discussed in this volume by Angela Voss. It has also been argued that the assimilation of Neoplatonic and Hermetic ideas during the High Middle Ages led to the Age of Cathedrals in Western Christianity.38 The theosophy of Jacob Boehme and similar

38  Peter Ellard, The Sacred Cosmos: Theological, Philosophical, and Scientific Conversations in the Twelfth Century School of Chartres (Chicago, IL: University of Scranton Press, 2007).

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thinkers led to new religious developments in Protestant Christianity, such as Behmenism and Pietism.39 Science. Esoteric currents have often paid particular interest to nature and the natural world. This characteristic has even led the pioneer of Western Esotericism studies, Professor Antoine Faivre, to include “living nature” as one of the key aspects of esotericism.40 Many esoteric movements have affirmed the presence of non-material elements in nature, often by denying the Cartesian separation of matter and soul. Insofar as esotericism and science share a concern for the natural world, there can be overlap between the two categories. In particular, the desire to manipulate nature has connected esoteric practices such as magic and divination with technology, as Lynn Thorndike has long noted.41 However, esotericism has often portrayed itself in contrast to modern mainstream science by rejecting the latter’s materialistic tendency. This does not mean that science was founded on materialistic principles; indeed, many so-called founders of modern science, like Isaac Newton (1642–1727) and Gottfried W. Leibniz (1746–1716), were profoundly religious men, believed in the presence of God within nature and were interested in esoteric pursuits such as alchemy. Rather, science as materialistic was a construct of the nineteenth century, when naturalists and positivistic thinkers sought to delineate science from religion and make the former the only valid framework for studying nature. Yet the findings of twentieth-century science—relativity, quantum theory, Gödel’s incompleteness theorem, the Big Bang theory—have complicated matters. Although science remains broadly materialistic in its focus, it has ventured in directions that arguably take it closer to esoteric nature philosophy than to nineteenth-century science (for instance, in its theories of multiverses, string, or membrane theories). This connection has been acknowledged by the so-called New Age science, with some scientists, like Rupert Sheldrake or David Bohm, openly embracing esoteric insights.42 39  See, for example, Lucinda Martin, “Jacob Boehme and the Anthropology of German Pietism,” in An Introduction to Jacob Boehme: Four Centuries of Thought and Reception, eds. Ariel Hessayon and Sarah Apetrei (New York: Routledge, 2014), 120–41. 40  Antoine Faivre, Access to Western Esotericism (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1994), 10–15. 41  Lynn Thorndike, History of Magic and Experimental Science, 8 vols (New York, NY: Columbia University Press and Macmillan, 1923–1958). 42  Wouter J. Hanegraaff, New Age Religion and Western Culture: Esotericism in the Mirror of Secular Thought (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 62–76.

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This short analysis suggests that esotericism can be viewed as something potentially innovative to the scientific tradition. Yet it is no less clear that science and its historians have long been reluctant to acknowledge any contribution of esotericism to its views or practices. The relationship has particularly been contested by those imbued with the belief that esoteric perspectives are an obsolete way of looking at the natural world. In contrast, there have been scholars such as Frances Yates who have argued that esoteric ideas may have had more impact on the rise of modern science than previously thought.43 Today there is more academic openness to admitting the role of esoteric currents in early science.44 Yet much more research needs to be done to fully understand and explore  the esotericism/science relationship. It may be concluded from this analysis that, when seen in relation with frameworks such as religion or science, esotericism can act as an important factor of innovation. By introducing ideas and practices that challenge the tradition, it fosters a reassessment of the received wisdom, and offers new opportunities for the imagination. As such, it can be conceptualized as a fulcrum of alternative thinking that, in the right conditions, can alter or even transform accepted worldviews. Of course, we must not forget that exogenous frameworks have caused innovations within esotericism itself. If we consider esotericism as a “tradition” and the outside frameworks like religion or science as “factors 43  Historian Frances Yates has proposed the famous Yates thesis, according to which the Hermetic tradition has brought about the advent of early modern science. See Frances Yates, “The Hermetic Tradition in Renaissance Science,” in Art, Science and History in the Renaissance, ed. Charles S. Singleton (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins Press, 1967), 255–74, or her more famous Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition (Chicago, IL and London: University of Chicago Press, 1964). 44  For instance, Stephen Gaukroger, The Emergence of a Scientific Culture (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 88–116, includes Platonic Renaissance philosophy as a factor in the rise of modern science. William R. Newman and Lawrence M. Principe have argued for the role of (practical) alchemy in the transformations that led to modern science; for instance, Alchemy Tried in the Fire: Starkey, Boyle and the Fate of Helmontian Chymistry (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2002). In the 1990s, William Eamon showed the influence of natural magic and books of secrets on the formation of a scientific culture (Science and the Secrets of Nature: Books of Secrets in Medieval and Early Modern Culture, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), while Brian P. Copenhaver, William B. Ashworth Jr., and William Eamon argued for the importance of esoteric currents in different aspects of the “Scientific Revolution”; see their contributions in David C. Lindberg and Robert S. Westman, eds., Reappraisals of the Scientific Revolution (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990).

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of innovation,” it is clear that esoteric currents were also challenged by these. For instance, the rise of modern science has led to many esoteric movements portraying themselves as compatible with science or even “scientific.”

Innovation and Cross-Cultural Exchanges It is difficult to deny that esoteric doctrines arise in specific cultural spaces, just like other cultural phenomena. Yet they do not usually claim legitimacy from that specific culture, as nationalistic, imperialistic, or even traditional scientific discourses have often done. In fact, a remarkable characteristic of many forms of esotericism is their claim to originate from other cultures, which are remote in time, in space, or both. Pythagoreanism and Platonism, for example, claimed some degree of origin in Egypt and Mesopotamian cultures, as Pythagoras and Plato purportedly traveled extensively in these areas in quest for wisdom; the Neoplatonist Iamblichus, a Hellenized Syrian, similarly maintained in his highly influential work On the Mysteries of the Egyptians, Chaldeans, and Assyrians that his theurgy had Egyptian roots.45 Many Arabic writings clearly influenced “Western” (European) esoteric traditions, such as the Picatrix or the treatises of Al-Kindi, Ibn Sina (Avicenna), and Ibn Rushd (Averroes). The Rosicrucian manifestos claimed that the legendary Christian Rosencreutz received his wisdom from “Eastern” sages while traveling in the Middle East, as did Blavatsky, whose Theosophy was composed of “building blocks” from many different traditions, including Buddhist traditions and Hinduism. The willingness to attribute the roots of a certain doctrine to a spatially or temporally distant culture would theoretically make esoteric forms more sensitive to cross-cultural exchanges. The question, of course, is whether this inclusive attitude is only skin-deep. In other words, do such esotericisms claim such roots because they are more open to other cultures or simply out of a desire to tap into a mindset that favored the exotic to the familiar? Even more problematically, could esotericisms act as instruments of appropriation whereby a culture seeks to dominate a different one? The answer to such questions may not be straightforward. Esotericisms often do consist of elements from more than one cultural background; 45  Iamblichus, On the Mysteries, trans. Emma C.  Clarke, John M.  Dillon and Jackson P. Herschbell (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Studies, 2003).

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such is the case, for instance, of Christian Cabala and Hermeticism. In fact, quite a number of “esoteric” thinkers sought to assimilate all traditions known to them; a famous case is Giovanni Pico della Mirandola’s attempt to combine an extensive number of esoteric traditions in his 900 theses. We must also consider that the narrative of dominance has many nuances. For instance, although many Christian Cabalists advocated their absorption of Jewish Kabbalistic elements as a tool of converting the Jews to Christianity, it is clear that they were also motivated by some level of admiration for Jewish esotericism. Moreover, the work of the Cabalists also helped European intellectuals get a better understanding, and sometimes tolerance, of Jewish culture. The example of Theosophical Society is even more complex. Although Theosophy in many respects had Western origins and impacted many Indians when it established lodges in India, it is not obvious that the ideas and perspectives that have formed in the minds of the thousands of Indians who participated in and still participate in the Theosophical Society were, and continue to be, “Western.” By affirming this, would we not essentially be arguing that only “Westerners” can truly use their own creativity and agency and that the Indians could only “rent” these ideas when reading “Western” texts and writing their own esoteric works? Instead, we would argue for an “entangled” view of cross-cultural exchange as having an impact on both cultures engaging in it,46 though the degree of influence may vary. Referring back to our discussion of frameworks, we affirm that cross-cultural contact brings into dialogue two cultural frameworks, and this leads to innovations. They occur as each side of the exchange adjusts its position in response to the other, and ideas are blended in the common space where the contact takes place. The implication of our view is that one cannot speak of an “original” “Western” esotericism, as esoteric doctrines undergo constant changes through innovative cross-cultural exchanges. In his influential piece The Death of the Author, Roland Barthes expressed this state of flux quite well when he wrote:

46  Unless, of course, we are talking about temporally distanced cultures, in which case only the “present” culture would experience a change. The concept of “cultural entanglement” was first proposed by R.  T. Alexander, “Afterword: Toward an Archaeological Theory of Culture Contact,” in Studies in Culture Contact, ed. J.G. Cusick (Carbondale, IL: Southern Illinois University Press), 476–95.

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We know that a text is not a line of words releasing a single “theological” meaning (the “message” of the Author-God) but a multi-dimensional space in which a variety of writings, none of them original, blend and clash. The text is a tissue of quotations drawn from the innumerable centers of culture.47

This patchwork does not of course apply only to literary products, but to cultural phenomena as well. It must be recognized that, no matter how we may judge esotericism in itself, the academic study of the topic had an initially one-sided “Western” focus. Although scholars like Henry Corbin and Pierre A.  Riffard had embraced non-Western and more cross-cultural forms of esotericism,48 Antoine Faivre formulated a model for the academic study of “Western esotericism” that became the foundational framework for the field. Faivre’s definition of a specifically “Western” esotericism, which originated in the European Renaissance and had a strong basis in Greco-Roman culture, has become part of the identity of this academic subject.49 In turn, the term “Western esotericism” has functioned as a brand or marker for what the study entails. However, as the field developed, the usefulness of the marker has been questioned by some. Kocku von Stuckrad was one of the first to theoretically challenge it by calling for the inclusion of Jewish, Islamic, Hinduist, Buddhist, and pagan influences.50 In his 2010 article “Oriental Kabbalah and the Parting of East and West in the Early Theosophical Society,” Marco Pasi showed that the demarcation of Eastern and Western esotericism ideologically originated in debates that took place in nineteenth-century occultism. Furthermore, he stated that if esotericism is not a universal phenomenon, but is specifically rooted in, and limited to, Western culture, then it should not be necessary to qualify it as “Western.” The very moment it is labeled as “Western,” it becomes also possible to conceive that other, “non-Western” forms of esotericism exist.51

47  Roland Barthes, “The Death of the Author,” in Roland Barthes: Image Music Text, trans. Stephen Heath (London: Fontana Press, 1977[1968]), 146. 48  Henry Corbin, Alone with the Alone: Creative Imagination in the Sufism of Ibn ’Arabi (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997[1969]), Pierre A. Riffard, L’Ésoterisme (Paris: R. Laffont, 1990). 49  Faivre, Access to Western Esotericism, 6–8. 50   Kocku von Stuckrad, “Western Esotericism: Towards an Integrative Model of Interpretation,” Religion 35 (2005): 83. 51  Marco Pasi, “Oriental Kabbalah and the Parting of East and West in the Early Theosophical Society,” in Kabbalah and Modernity. Interpretations, Transformations,

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While problematizing the term “Western,” Pasi did not advocate abandoning the term altogether. Henrik Bogdan and Gordan Djurdjevic’s Occultism in a Global Perspective (2013) was one of the first book-length attempts to widen the field by arguing that it is important to “understand how occultism changes when it ‘spreads’ to new environments.”52 In his contribution to this volume, Kenneth Granholm went even further by showing how the designation “West” is ideologically bound and therefore problematic.53 The general argument of the book falls, however, along the same lines as that later stated by Wouter J. Hanegraaff in his article on “The Globalization of Esotericism” (2015). Hanegraaff recognizes that it is important to expand the study of the field, but maintains that esotericism is a Western phenomenon, and the way we should study it in a global scenario is to see how it has been exported, diffused, and altered, and how at times it returned to the “West” in a new, mutated state falsely taken to be authentic.54 Recently, Michael Bergunder has employed “the global history ­perspective” to argue that both the term “Western” and the diffusion perspective are highly problematic theoretical constructs in a globalized world, as cultures, religions, and esotericisms form and change through multidirectional discourses. In other words, all involved parties are entangled and transformed in cross-cultural exchanges. Bergunder equally criticized the post-colonial emphasis promoted by Edward Said and others on how the colonialized have been subjugated to “Western” knowledge, as it leaves no room for authentic agency with the colonialized.55 Consequently, Adaptations, eds. Boaz Huss, Marco Pasi and Kocku von Stuckrad (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 153, 155–56. 52   Henrik Bogdan and Gordan Djurdjevic, “Introduction: Occultism in a Global Perspective,” in Occultism in a Global Perspective, eds. Henrik Bogdan and Gordan Djurdjevic (Abingdon: Routledge, 2013), 5. 53  Kenneth Granholm, “Locating the West: Problematizing the ‘Western’ in Western Esotericism and Occultism,” in Occultism in a Global Perspective, eds. Henrik Bogdan and Gordan Djurdjevic (Abingdon: Routledge, 2013), 17–36. 54  Wouter J.  Hanegraaff, “The Globalization of Esotericism,” Correspondences 3, no. 1 (2015): 55– 91. 55  Michael Bergunder, “Experiments with Theosophical Truth: Gandhi, Esotericism, and Global Religious History,” in Imagining the East: The Early Theosophical Society, eds. Tim Rudbøg and Erik Reenberg Sand (New York: Oxford University Press, 2020), 347–50. The paper is a slightly updated version of Michael Bergunder, “Experiments with Theosophical Truth: Gandhi, Esotericism, and Global Religious History,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 82, no. 2 (2014): 1–29, https://doi.org/10.1093/jaarel/lft095.

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the West cannot claim ownership over the content of the ideas once they are used by people from other cultures. Based on the above discussion, we take the view that esotericism should be seen as a dynamic bricolage of ideas that historically originate from different sources and cultures and constantly change. The continuous innovation that takes place in esoteric doctrines means that they are always shifting, adapting, or renewing through equally authentic agency. Although ideas do interact in a certain space, the exchange that takes place in it makes it difficult to identify the result as “Western,” “Eastern,” or the like. Rather, the outcome could be seen as a composite that is fundamentally different from its origin. Since people keep interacting as free and individual agents, the designation of ideas as “Western” or “Eastern” can only be temporary, and relates mainly to relative points of origin. Thus, innovation can be used as a global outlook tool, in order to explore the new composites that emerge as the result of different interactions. To exemplify the above, this book features cross-cultural exchanges and innovations. Hedesan shows how a notion such as that of the “adept” can move across cultural spaces and be transformed in the process: the concept, having a distant origin in Greek Aristotelian philosophy, developed in Late Antiquity, was adapted to Islamic contexts, and then was translated to European culture, where it underwent further changes. In his chapter, Rudbøg points out how the discovery of different cultures and new textual material resulted in innovations to the “ancient wisdom narrative” after the Renaissance. In turn, Chajes problematizes the standard narrative of a clash between “Western” (Theosophical) and “Eastern” (Buddhist) notions of the soul. Instead, the chapter shows that there was no monolithic “Eastern” view of the soul, thus implicitly questioning the value of the traditional “Western” and “Eastern” divide. Finally, Sieg explores the complexities of non-­ Western esotericism in itself, showing how the discourse of a clash with the “West” led Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini to elaborate a new religious approach, which has distinct esoteric elements. From the above discussion it emerges that the designation “Western esotericism” can be limiting, especially if it is to serve as the most general category for what we study. We would therefore suggest that “esotericism” is most suited for the most general level and that “Western” and “Eastern” can be used as relative designations, although more specific localities are preferred, such as African, Indian, or European.

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Innovation in Esotericism It may now be worth revisiting the question: what, if any, is the role of innovation in esotericism? Our answer is that innovation as a concept can be fundamental in understanding esotericism as a historical phenomenon. Esoteric traditions, like all other, have needed innovations to adapt and survive. Discontinuities have been necessary for traditions to perpetuate themselves. These innovations have been brought about by individuals but also by groups. In this book, we discuss innovative individuals (Ficino, Paracelsus, Helena P. Blavatsky) as well as esoteric communities (different Rosicrucian circles, tarot groups, etc.). It is essential to restate that tradition and origins have always been important to esotericism. As such, esoteric discourse has usually attempted to ground its innovations in tradition, to the point of even denying their existence. In this sense, esotericism resembles religion, which also commonly handles innovation by denying it has taken place at all.56 It must be emphasized that in the context of this book the term “innovation” will need to be understood as an etic or academic category, which means that the “innovation” we analyze might not be viewed as innovation to the traditions themselves. Yet our reconceptualization of innovation suggests that the notion is more fundamental to esotericism than previously thought. In fact, esotericism can be seen as a paradoxical nexus of change and continuity, with innovation playing the essential role of updating, adapting, or re-creating previous traditions to fit the historical reality of the age. Throughout history, esoteric traditions have had to adapt to new mindsets, views, and to other frameworks. A continuous negotiation has taken place between esotericism, as a minor and less well-defined framework, and other larger or more powerful frameworks like religion and science. Yet this constant reckoning has given esotericism a dynamism that is unique to itself. It has benefitted from the common marketplace of ideas and their constant inflow to create innovative syntheses that, in turn, produced new developments within or outside esotericism. Such was the case of Paracelsus’s appropriation of the originally Arabic notion of intellectus adeptus, Ficino’s acceptance of Late Antique notions of magic 56  Olav Hammer, “Tradition and Innovation,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Study of Religion, eds. Michael Stausberg and Steven Engler (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 735.

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and theurgy, or Guido von List’s otherwise nefarious transformation of Blavatsky’s philosophy of time. Furthermore, it is this flexible interplay with other ideas, practices, and frameworks that makes esotericism an ideal case study for innovation. As a domain that includes elements of many other frameworks such as religion, philosophy, science, and art, esotericism allows us to better understand the innovative mechanisms whereby ideas and practices are used, renewed, and legitimized. In this book, we will attempt to capture some of esotericism’s innovations as they were proposed within and outside its own framework. In doing so, we will attempt a practical application of our conceptualization of innovation. Each of the chapters is ordered in chronological sequence to demonstrate how esoteric traditions and currents have broadly adapted to their own historical periods. The first chapter focuses on a figure that is relatively well known to esotericism, philosophy, and Christian thought: the Florentine thinker Marsilio Ficino (1433–1499). Ficino is usually credited for his attempt to revive the Platonic tradition and introduce some esoteric forms of knowledge, such as natural magic, into intellectual discourse. Yet narratives of Ficino often describe him as hesitant, unconvincing, and perhaps unaware of his own audaciousness. Angela Voss, however, recasts Ficino as a conscious thinker who was intentionally innovative, even more than he is usually given credit for. Ficino had a grand design to reconnect the Christian religion with esoteric philosophy, and as such held the unusual view that astrology could give prophetic insight by accessing an ambiguous higher realm. His vision transcended Scholastic theology’s stark distinction between the “natural” and “supernatural” domains, affirming a continuum between humans and divinity. Voss argues that De vita coelitus comparanda could be read in such a way as to show that Ficino was as a radical and even subversive thinker who challenged the Scholastic tradition by affirming the ability of the soul to be deified through magical-theurgic practice. If Voss’s contribution focusses on Ficino’s innovation within Christian-­ philosophical thought, the second chapter discusses innovation within the esoteric tradition itself. Georgiana D. Hedesan discusses a term that has become widespread in esotericism: “adept.” She shows that the usage of the term in the way we are accustomed with today has a much shorter history than perhaps imagined. Its terminology was based on Arabic philosophy (particularly Al Farabi, Averroes, and Avicenna), where intellectus adeptus (“acquired intellect”) denoted a mind perfected by

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contact with the Active Intellect. Although references to adeptus appear in the early alchemical tract Testamentum of Morienus, its use in esoteric circles was chiefly introduced by Theophrastus von Hohenheim, called Paracelsus (1493–1541). Instances of adeptus/adepta occur rather ambiguously throughout Paracelsus’s work, but it was in particular the term Philosophia Adepta that had an impact on his followers. This notion seemed to refer, in one treatise, to a secret form of knowledge that had survived throughout the ages. In a larger treatise, it described Uberirrdisch (super-earthly, or otherworldly) knowledge, taught by God or the heavens. In Paracelsus’s usage, the term adeptus characterized many forms of knowledge, including alchemy. The followers of Paracelsus quickly picked up on the term, with two important Paracelsian philosophers, Petrus Severinus (1540–1602) and Oswald Croll (1563–1608), using it in a more specific alchemical context. Their contribution can be characterized as an innovation upon an innovation—taking Paracelsus’s term and transforming it to mean superior alchemical philosophers. The third chapter discusses Heinrich Khunrath (1560–1605), an enthusiastic theosopher whose works may have inspired the Rosicrucian movement and certainly aroused the ire of the French Jesuits. According to Peter J. Forshaw, Khunrath’s 1609 Amphitheatrum Sapientiae Aeternae (Amphitheatre of Eternal Wisdom) was the first published work that used the term “Christian Kabbalist.” Khunrath was undoubtedly a groundbreaking thinker in Western esotericism, proposing that the supreme wisdom was acquired at the conjunction of Christian Cabala, alchemy, and magic: as he put it in De Igne Magorum Philosophorumque (On the Fire of the Mages and Philosophers, 1608), “Cabala, Magic and Alchemy conjoined, should and must be used together with and alongside one another.” This theme was continued in the Amphitheatre, where Khunrath’s innovation extended to language: the full title contains three neologisms, the compound words Christiano-Cabbalisticum, divino-­ magicum, and physico-chymicum (Christian Kabbalist, Divinely Magical, and Physico-Chymical). The paper considers Khunrath’s evident fascination with new experimental combinations, composites, and conjunctions in his idiosyncratic blend of early modern occult theosophy. The fourth chapter focusses on the aftermath of a famous episode in Western esotericism: the publication of the Rosicrucian manifestos in 1614. These introduced an innovative concept to both esotericism and the wider European culture: the existence of a secret organization that pursued the advancement of knowledge and spirituality in view of a

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coming new age. The invention of the Rosicrucian order is a prime example of innovative thinking cloaked as it was in the guise of an old tradition. Christopher McIntosh shows how the Rosicrucian movement had a huge impact on the intellectual development of the seventeenth century, spreading outside its cradle in Germany. As Rosicrucian ideas faded in the Holy Roman Empire in the context of the Thirty Years War (1618–1648), they quickly spawned further innovations in the European cultural space, such as Bureus’s Lion of Midnight writings in Sweden, Francis Bacon’s vision of the New Atlantis in England, and the creation of a number of Rosicrucian-inspired organizations like the Aurea Croce in Italy or the Societas Christiana of Jan Amos Comenius. Jonathan Barry takes up the story of John Henderson (1757–1788), a young man of great but controversial intellectual promise. Henderson appears as an anomaly in the context of Enlightenment England: an individual highly interested in the type of esoteric pursuits that many had dismissed as obsolete. Henderson’s innovation rests not in his writings—of which he left little—but in his willingness to “live” within an esoteric paradigm despite his day-and-age. He did not hide his beliefs in the spirit world and his research into magic. Due to his eccentric commitments, Henderson managed to make a remarkable impact on his contemporaries. Barry’s story shows how many learned men, including John Wesley, Robert Southey, and Samuel Coleridge, were fascinated by Henderson and his occult interests and sought fit to comment on them. Henderson’s case shows how the pursuit of an “obsolete” esoteric tradition could in fact challenge the “accepted truths” of an age. As such, Henderson can be perceived as one of the facilitators of the Romantic movement, an innovator that did not shy away from looking to the past in search of spirituality. Jean-Pierre Brach’s chapter focusses on a movement that claimed to be profoundly innovative: Mesmerism. Anton Mesmer (1734–1815) maintained that his medical approach was completely new and scientific, drawn on the “discovery” of the Mesmeric fluid. Scholars, however, have taken his claims with a grain of salt, pointing out how his ideas and practices were drawn from older traditions of animal magnetism and natural magic. This indebtedness was in fact not lost on followers of Mesmerism themselves. As Mesmerism encountered the rejection of the French medical establishment, some thought to solve the crisis by (re-)connecting the movement to the magical tradition. Brach analyzes the ideas of Jules Dupotet (1796–1881), a heterodox physician who sought to redefine the Mesmeric practitioner as a magician. Dupotet’s appeal to the magical

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tradition can be seen as an innovative method of reinventing Mesmerism for the Romantic age, at a time when magic was once again a subject of interest. In practical terms, Dupotet’s innovation meant that his brand of Mesmerism no longer sought to be integrated in the mainstream scientific framework, but in the esoteric one. While the narrative of an ancient universal wisdom is one of the fundamental characteristics of what we term esotericism, the narrative itself has continuously undergone innovations. This is the topic of the eighth chapter by Tim Rudbøg, which analyzes H.P. Blavatsky’s central and innovative concept of a “Wisdom-Religion” in relation to earlier versions of the quest for ancient wisdom. Rudbøg shows that the narrative has continued, but also significantly changed throughout Western history in specific relation to the contexts it was formulated in. Platonism supported the notion of ancient oriental wisdom philosophized by Plato. Many Christian apologists envisioned a pre-Christian Christianity, a notion that was revived and expanded upon during the Renaissance. With Blavatsky, the interest in an ancient “Wisdom-Religion” was again defended in a new critical context, except now India was the original source and the Christian elements were no longer central to the quest for ancient wisdom. Julie Chajes’ chapter discusses an episode in the reception of Theosophical Orientalism within the tradition of Theravada Buddhism. In doing so, it draws attention to the complexity that characterizes the clash between different traditions, and encourages us to reconsider the boundaries of innovation and tradition. She describes a case of the Buddhist tradition encountering, and rejecting, the Theosophical Orientalist innovation. The apparent conflict surrounded the notion of the Self, which mainstream Theravada Buddhism as represented by the High Priest Sumangala discarded as unreal, but which was strongly supported by the early Theosophist Henry S. Olcott. Doubtlessly, Olcott’s insistence on the Self originated from the Western tradition, both Christian and esoteric. Yet a closer analysis of the episode shows that Olcott did not unreasonably seek to graft a Christian-esoteric belief unto a resistant Buddhist tradition. In fact, Chajes shows that his belief was reinforced by Theravada dissenters and by the wider tradition of Eastern, particularly Chinese, Mahayana Buddhism. According to Chajes, the encounter confirms that the Western notion of Buddhism as a monolithic tradition is inaccurate, and points out that there were several Buddhist “traditions” that varied according to historical periods. Consequently, Olcott’s action can be described as an attempt to advance certain, albeit minor, traditions

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of Buddhism that favored notions of Self. In the context of our theme, it is clear that his attempt was a form of innovation, but it was an innovation based not only on Western traditions but on certain Buddhist ones as well. The rejection of his view by Theravada Buddhism can also be seen as an example of how a tradition may choose to discard an innovation that it perceives as a threat to its own survival. In the next chapter, Jeff D. Lavoie discusses the innovations carried out by Austrian writer Guido von List (1848–1919) on Blavatsky’s philosophy of time. List appropriated Blavatsky’s concepts of root races, cyclical time, and reincarnation to advance a non-theosophical soteriology. In contrast with the theosophical system, List embraced Western apocalypticism, maintaining that the present is decadent and will be overthrown by a New Age (or Reich) of future prosperity. This final restoration of the world was based on the revival of the Aryo-German race. List hence transformed Blavatsky’s chronology into a tool for the benefit of a racial ideology, changing Blavatsky’s claim that civilization originated in India in favor of Germany. Many of List’s ideas were later integrated into Nazi ideology, and it is possible, Lavoie argues, that Adolf Hitler himself may have been aware of some aspects of his philosophy. George J.  Sieg’s chapter discusses the central figure of the Iranian Revolution of 1978–1979, Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini (1902–1989). Sieg argues that Khomeini established the Islamic Republic through a Shi’a conception of Islamic sovereignty that can be characterized as metanomian, utilizing an esoteric understanding of wilayat-i faqih, the “Wardenship of the Jurist.” His esotericism continued the historical transmission of wisdom traditions informed by Aristotle, Ibn Arabi (1165–1240), and Suhrawardi (1154–1191), received by Mulla Sadra (1571–1540), and advanced by Allameh Tabataba’i (1904–1981). Their philosophies influenced Western academic and Traditionalist receptions by Henri Corbin (1903–1978) and Seyyed Hossein Nasr (b. 1933) and also interacted with apocalyptic Shi’a eschatology and Iranian conspiracism. Analysis of Khomeini’s statements and strategies in the early post-­ Revolutionary period indicates that his interpretation and application of the wilayat-i faqih mitigates the apocalyptic eschatological dualism characteristic of Shi’a, but accompanies it by an intensification of Iranian conspiracism. The metanomian basis of the Islamic Republic’s application of the wilayat-i faqih also maintains and extends Shi’a conceptions of the absolute authority of the Imam or his representatives to interpret shari’ah, while avoiding immanent messianic and/or Mahdist claims. Sieg shows

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that the expression of the wilayat-i faqih as the basis of a nation-state appears novel in the context of Western political philosophy as well as Western esoteric conceptions. Antoine Faivre’s concluding chapter discusses an important innovation within Western esotericism: modern tarot. Its popularity can be traced back to the 1780s and the works of Court de Gébelin (1725–1784) and Etteilla, also called Aliette (1938–1991). Ever since, the use of tarot has greatly spread in the Western world, with its purposes varying from divination to source of artistic inspiration. Faivre hereby attempts to establish a typology of tarot usage and stimulate methodological discussion on this little-analyzed subject. In the process, Faivre shows how the tarot and its imagery can foster innovative approaches to the search of the self and meaning in modern society.

References Alexander, R.T. 1998. Afterword: Toward an Archaeological Theory of Culture Contact. In Studies in Culture Contact, ed. J.G. Cusick, 476–495. Carbondale, IL: Southern Illinois University Press. Armstrong, Regis J., J.  Wayne Hellmann, and William J.  Short. 2001. General Introduction. In Francis of Assisi: Early Documents, ed. Regis J.  Armstrong, J. Wayne Hellmann, and William J. Short, 11–21. New York: New City Press. Asprem, Egil, and Granholm Kennet. 2012. Constructing Esotericisms: Sociological, Historical and Critical Approaches to the Invention of Tradition. In Contemporary Esotericism, ed. Egil Asprem and Kennet Granholm, 24–48. Sheffield and Bristol, CT: Equinox. Barthes, Roland. 1977 [1968]. The Death of the Author. In Roland Barthes: Image Music Text, trans. Stephen Heath, 142–149. London: Fontana Press. Bergunder, Michael. 2014. Experiments with Theosophical Truth: Gandhi, Esotericism, and Global Religious History. Journal of the American Academy of Religion 82 (2): 1–29. https://doi.org/10.1093/jaarel/lft095. ———. 2020. Experiments with Theosophical Truth: Gandhi, Esotericism, and Global Religious History. In Imagining the East: The Early Theosophical Society, ed. Tim Rudbøg and Erik Reenberg Sand, 345–374. New  York: Oxford University Press. Bogdan, Henrik, and Gordan Djurdjevic. 2013. Introduction: Occultism in a Global Perspective. In Occultism in a Global Perspective, ed. Henrik Bogdan and Gordan Djurdjevic, 1–15. Abingdon: Routledge. Bohak, Gideon, Yuval Harari, and Shaul Shaked, eds. 2011. Continuity and Innovation in the Magical Tradition. Leiden and Boston: Brill.

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Burr, David. 2001. Spiritual Franciscans: From Protest to Persecution in the Century after Saint Francis. University Park, PA: Penn State Press. Corbin, Henry. 1997 [1969]. Alone with the Alone: Creative Imagination in the Sufism of Ibn ’Arabi. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Eamon, William. 1994. Science and the Secrets of Nature: Books of Secrets in Medieval and Early Modern Culture. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Eliade, Mircea. 1959. The Sacred and the Profane: The Nature of Religion. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World. Ellard, Peter. 2007. The Sacred Cosmos: Theological, Philosophical, and Scientific Conversations in the Twelfth Century School of Chartres. Chicago, IL: University of Scranton Press. Ezaki, Takahiro, Elohim Fonseca dos Reis, Takamitsu Watanabe, Michiko Sakaki, and Naoki Masuda. 2020. Closer to Critical Resting-State Neural Dynamics in Individuals with Higher Fluid Intelligence. Communications Biology 3. https:// doi.org/10.1038/s42003-­020-­0774-­y. Fagerberg, Jan, David C. Mowery, and Richard R. Nelson, eds. 2005. The Oxford Handbook of Innovation. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Faivre, Antoine. 1994. Access to Western Esotericism. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Falzon, Christopher, Timothy O’Leary, and Jana Sawicki, eds. 2013. A Companion to Foucault. Chichester, UK: John Wiley & Sons. Foucault, Michel. 1970. The Order of Things: an Archeology of the Human Sciences. London: Tavistock Publications. ———. 1972. History, Discourse and Discontinuity. Translated by Anthony M. Nazzaro. Salmagundi 20, Special Issue ‘Psychological Man: Approaches to an Emergent Social Type’: 225–248. Gaukroger, Stephen. 2006. The Emergence of a Scientific Culture. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Giddens, Anthony. 1984. The Constitution of Society, Outline of the Theory of Structuration. Cambridge and Malden, MA: Polity Press. Goodrick-Clarke, Nicholas. 2008. Western Esoteric Traditions: A Historical Introduction. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Granholm, Kenneth. 2013. Locating the West: Problematizing the ‘Western’ in Western Esotericism and Occultism. In Occultism in a Global Perspective, ed. Henrik Bogdan and Gordan Djurdjevic, 17–36. Abingdon: Routledge. Hamilton, Brian. 2015. The Politics of Poverty: A Contribution to a Franciscan Political Theology. Journal of the Society of Christian Ethics 35 (1): 29–44. Hammer, Olav. 2001. Claiming Knowledge: Strategies of Epistemology from Theosophy to the New Age. Leiden: Brill. ———. 2018. Tradition and Innovation. In The Oxford Handbook of the Study of Religion, ed. Michael Stausberg and Steven Engler, 718–738. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Hanegraaff, Wouter J. 1996. New Age Religion and Western Culture: Esotericism in the Mirror of Secular Thought. Leiden: Brill. ———. 2006. Esotericism. In Dictionary of Gnosis & Western Esotericism, ed. Wouter J. Hanegraaff, Roelof van den Broek, Antoine Faivre, and Jean-Pierre Brach, 2 vols, II, 336–340. Leiden: Brill. ———. 2012. Esotericism and the Academy: Rejected Knowledge in Western Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2015. The Globalization of Esotericism. Correspondences 3 (1): 55–91. Iamblichus. 2003. On the Mysteries. Translated by Emma C.  Clarke, John M. Dillon, and Jackson P. Herschbell. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Studies. Innovation. Collins English Dictionary. Accessed July 20, 2020. https://www. collinsdictionary.com/dictionary/english/innovation.. Innovation. Google Ngram Chart. Accessed July 20, 2020. https://books.google. com/ngrams/interactive_chart?smoothing=7&direct_url=t4%3B%2Cinnovati on%3B%2Cc0%3B%2Cs0%3B%3Binnovation%3B%2Cc0%3B%3BInnovation% 3B%2Cc0&year_end=2008&corpus=15&case_insensitive=on&year_start=180 0&content=innovation.. Innovation. Merriam-Webster Dictionary. Accessed July 20, 2020. https://www. merriam-­webster.com/dictionary/innovation. Kilcher, Andreas. 2010. Introduction: Constructing Tradition in Western Esotericism. In Constructing Tradition: Means and Myths of Transmission in Western Esotericism, ed. Andreas Kilcher, ix–xv. Leiden: Brill. Kuhn, Thomas. 1962. The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Lewis, James R., and Olav Hammer, eds. 2007. The Invention of Sacred Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lindberg, David C., and Robert S.  Westman, eds. 1990. Reappraisals of the Scientific Revolution. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lorenz, Edward N. 1963. Deterministic Nonperiodic Flow. Journal of Atmospheric Science 20: 130–141. Lovejoy, Arthur O. 2009. The Great Chain of Being: A Study of the History of an Idea. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Martin, Lucinda. 2014. Jacob Boehme and the Anthropology of German Pietism. In An Introduction to Jacob Boehme: Four Centuries of Thought and Reception, ed. Ariel Hessayon and Sarah Apetrei, 120–141. New York: Routledge. Merton, Robert K. 1968. Social Theory and Social Structure. New York: Free Press. Müller, Max. 1867. Chips from a German Workshop, I: ‘Essays on the Science of Religion.’ London: Longmans, Green and Co. Newman, William R., and Lawrence M. Principe. 2002. Alchemy Tried in the Fire: Starkey, Boyle and the Fate of Helmontian Chymistry. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

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Otto, Rudolf. 1958. The Idea of the Holy. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Pasi, Marco. 2010. Oriental Kabbalah and the Parting of East and West in the Early Theosophical Society. In Kabbalah and Modernity. Interpretations, Transformations, Adaptations, ed. Boaz Huss, Marco Pasi, and Kocku von Stuckrad, 151–166. Leiden: Brill. Port, R.F., and T. Van Gelder, eds. 1995. Exploration in the Dynamics of Cognition: Mind as Motion. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Rabinovich, M., A.N. Simmons, and P. Varona. 2015. Dynamical Bridge between Brain and Mind. Trends in Cognitive Science 19: 453–461. Riffard, Pierre A. 1990. L’Ésoterisme. Paris: R. Laffont. Robb, Simon, and Elizabeth Bullen. 2004. A Provocation. In Innovation and Tradition: The Arts, Humanities and the Knowledge Economy, ed. Jane Kenway, Elizabeth Bullen, and Simon Robb, 1–9. New York: Peter Lang. Schmidt-Biggemann, Wilhelm. 2011. Philosophia Perennis: Historical Outlines of Western Spirituality in Ancient, Medieval and Early Modern Thought. Dordrecht: Springer. Shils, Edward Albert. 1981. Tradition. London: Faber & Faber. Stuckrad, Kocku von. 2005. Western Esotericism: Towards an Integrative Model of Interpretation. Religion 35: 78–97. ———. 2010. Locations of Knowledge in Medieval and Early Modern Europe: Esoteric Discourse and Western Identities, Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History 186. Leiden: Brill. Thorndike, Lynn. 1923–1958. History of Magic and Experimental Science, 8 vols. New York, NY: Columbia University Press and Macmillan. Tomasello, M. 2019. Becoming Human: A Theory of Ontogeny. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Tremlett, Paul-Francois. 2008. Levi-Strauss on Religion: The Structuring Mind. London: Equinox. Vickers, Brian. 1984. Introduction. In Occult and Scientific Mentalities in the Renaissance, ed. Brian Vickers, 1–55. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Walker, D.P. 1975. The Ancient Theology: Studies in Christian Platonism from the Fifteenth to the Eighteenth Century. London: Duckworth. Webb, James. 1971. The Flight from Reason. London: Macdonald. Williams, Michael A., Collett Cox, and Martin Jaffee, eds. 1992. Innovation in Religious Traditions. Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter. Yates, Frances. 1964. Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition. Chicago, IL and London: University of Chicago Press. ———. 1967. The Hermetic Tradition in Renaissance Science. In Art, Science and History in the Renaissance, ed. Charles S. Singleton, 255–274. Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins Press.

CHAPTER 2

Diligentia et divina sorte: Oracular Intelligence in Marsilio Ficino’s Astral Magic Angela Voss

Introduction Marsilio Ficino was instrumental in the revival of Platonism in Renaissance Europe, devoting his career to the integration of the “ancient theology” of the Persian, Egyptian, and Greek pagan sages into Christianity.1 His “By diligence and the divine oracle”; Marsilio Ficino, De vita coelitus comparanda (henceforth Dvcc), in Three Books on Life, eds. Carol Kaske and John Clark (Binghamton, NY: Society of Renaissance Studies, 1989), Ch. XXI, 356–57, §47. The Latin translations of excerpts from Dvcc in this chapter are from this edition, which is based on the editio princeps of 1489. All other references to and quotations from Ficino’s Latin texts are from Marsilio Ficino, Opera Omnia (Basel: HenricPetri, 1576, repr. Paris: Phénix, 2000). Dvcc was originally written as part of Ficino’s commentaries on Plotinus, but by August 1489 he had revised it and made additions to the text; Carol Kaske and John Clark, “Introduction,” in Marsilio Ficino, Three Books on Life, eds. Carol Kaske and John Clark (Binghamton, NY: Society of Renaissance Studies, 1989), 7. 1  See, for example, Wouter Hanegraaff, Western Esotericism and the Academy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 41–52; James Hankins, Plato in the Italian Renaissance (Leiden and New  York: Brill, 1991), 267–317. By “ancient theology,” Ficino meant a

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 G. D. Hedesan, T. Rudbøg (eds.), Innovation in Esotericism from the Renaissance to the Present, Palgrave Studies in New Religions and Alternative Spiritualities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-67906-4_2

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innovative vision was aimed at rekindling the flame of a living engagement with the sacred which was both dynamic and transformative, in order to deepen faith with philosophical understanding.2 Following the examples of Pythagoras, Socrates, and Christ, Ficino combined action and contemplation in a life of service to both physical and spiritual wellbeing,3 his ecclesiastic career enabling him to “sanctify” the philosophy of the ancient pagan theologians while still confirming the supremacy of the established faith.4 At the same time, Ficino was also a practicing physician, astrologer, musician, and magician, and all of these activities contributed to his “natural magic,” a form of healing which was firmly situated within Neoplatonic cosmology and ritual, and which drew on the powers of the active imagination for its effects.5 One could say that Ficino’s mission was succession of pagan sages from Zoroaster (or Hermes Trismegistus) to Plato who transmitted a “perennial wisdom” which Ficino understood himself as reviving. For details of the lineage, see Ficino’s Preface to his translation of the Corpus Hermeticum in Ficino, Opera, 1386, trans. Brian Copenhaver, Hermetica (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), xlviii; D.P. Walker, The Ancient Theology (London: Duckworth, 1972). 2  In his treatise De Christiana religione, Ficino laments the profanity of his age and states his mission to “liberate philosophy from impiety” and to “redeem holy religion”: “I therefore exhort and implore all philosophers to reach out and embrace religion firmly, and all priests to devote themselves diligently to the study of legitimate religion.” (“liberemus obsecro quandoque philosophiam, sacrum Dei munus, ab impietate, si possumus—possumus autem, si volumus—religionem sanctam pro vivus ab execrabili insitia redimamus, Hortor igitur omnes atque precor philosophos quidem, ut religionem vel capessant penitus vel attingant, sacerdotes autem, ut legitimate sapientiae studiis diligenter incumbent”); Ficino, Opera, I, quoted in Hankins, Plato in the Italian Renaissance, 289. 3  Ficino tells us in the Proem to his Three Books on Life (Ficino, Three Books on Life, 102–03, 19–22) that he had two fathers, his natural father (a physician) and his patron Cosimo de’ Medici: “The former commended me to Galen as both a doctor and a Platonist; the latter consecrated me to the divine Plato. And both the one and the other alike dedicated Marsilio to a doctor—Galen, doctor of the body, Plato, doctor of the soul” (“Ille quidem me Galieno tum medico tum Platonico commendavit; hic autem divino consecravit me Platoni. Et hic similiter atque ille Marsilium medico destinavit: Galienus quidem corporum, Plato vero medicus animorum”). 4  Ficino was ordained as a priest in 1473, and later became a Canon of Florence Cathedral. 5  On the Neoplatonic elements in Ficino’s natural magic in Dvcc, see Brian Copenhaver, “Renaissance Magic and Neoplatonic Philosophy: Enneads, 4.3–5 in Ficino’s De vita coelitus

A. Voss (*) Canterbury Christ Church University, Canterbury, UK e-mail: [email protected]

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founded on his desire to infuse an “exoteric” framework of Christian spiritual values with a deep understanding of the necessity for individual, visionary inner work in order to heal a perceived dissociation between the rational and imaginative powers of mind.6 In this chapter I want to demonstrate how the astral magic of the Florentine philosopher Marsilio Ficino (1433–1499) in his treatise De vita coelitus comparanda of 1489 (“On Aligning Your Life with the Heavens,” henceforth Dvcc)7 can be understood as a method for attaining a mode of insight he understood as oracular or prophetic.8 I suggest that this challenges the supposedly “natural” remit of his magic, through confirming comparanda,” in Marsilio Ficino e il ritorno di Platone, ed. G. Garfagnini (Florence: Olschki, 1986), 351–69; D.  P. Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic from Ficino to Campanella (Stroud: Sutton Publishing, 2000); Frances Yates, in Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition (Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1964), ch. 4 emphasizes Ficino’s magical and Hermetic sources. On the power of the imagination in Renaissance magic and its associations with eros, see Ioan Couliano, Eros and Magic in the Renaissance (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1987), ch. 2. 6  Further on this dissociation and its implications in the Renaissance period, see Iain McGilchrist, The Master and His Emissary (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2009), ch. 9. 7  Dvcc constitutes Book III of Ficino’s Three Books on Life. Vernon Wells has drawn attention to the ambiguity of the title in “Tempering Heaven: A Commentary on the First Chapter of Marsilio Ficino’s De Vita Coelitus Comparanda” (MA thesis, University of Kent, 2010), 3–5. “Comparare” can be translated as “prepare, provide, compose, collect, get together/hold of; raise (force), unite, place together, match, couple, pair, set/pit against, treat as equal, compare, set up/establish/institute, arrange, dispose, settle, buy, acquire, secure”; “Comparanda,” http://www.archives.nd.edu/cgi-bin/wordz. pl?keyword=comparanda, accessed 31 July 2015. I am grateful to Georgiana Hedesan for suggesting the appropriate translation of “aligning.” The first two books of the treatise, De vita sana and De vita longa, are devoted to medical and regimen advice for over-intellectual scholars. 8  My approach will be more hermeneutic than historiographical, in that I am particularly interested in how Ficino understood and worked with the powers of imagination and what the Neoplatonic metaphor may reveal about dimensions of human consciousness. I am fully aware of the arguments raised by Wouter Hanegraaff concerning the contrasting approaches of “methodological agnosticism” and “religionism” within historical studies of Western Esotericism; Hanegraaff, Western Esotericism and the Academy, 237–38, but fully support the view of Jeffrey J. Kripal, who calls for a “gnostic scholar” who is both “passionate and critical, personal and objective, religious and academic” and committed to a methodological approach which integrates criticality and empathy; Jeffrey J. Kripal, Roads of Excess, Palaces of Wisdom (Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press, 2001), 5. Further on this, see Jeffrey J. Kripal, The Serpent’s Gift (Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press, 2007), 4–14; Angela Voss, “A Methodology of the Imagination,” Eye of the Heart Journal 3 (2009): 37–52.

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the noetic dimension of the human soul as essentially divine, capable of accessing a kind of direct knowing of a radically different order from conceptual or speculative thought. That Ficino himself was fully aware of this possibility through his reading of the Neoplatonic theurgists is hinted at in this text, but he was constrained by Christian doctrine on the dangers of attracting demonic powers.9 We find here an irresolvable conflict between Neoplatonic ritual, which upheld the potential of the imagination as a purposeful agent in directing the soul to divine communion via cosmic intelligence, and the assertions of Scholastic Christianity regarding the illegitimacy of “pagan” practices. However, I conclude that Ficino’s assured grasp of the power of astrological invocation as divinatory enabled him to artfully lay the ground in Dvcc for a process of spiritual illumination that he understood as partaking of a universal religious truth, framed by Christianity, but transcending the arguments of abstract scholastic debate.

Diligentia et divina sorte There has been considerable scholarly interest in Dvcc,10 but to my knowledge no one has focused on the hermeneutic implications of a specific phrase he uses in Chapter XXI, where he addresses the improvisation or composition of suitable music for attracting propitious stellar influences: “It is indeed very difficult to judge exactly what kinds of tones/modes

9  See Brian Copenhaver, “Scholastic Philosophy and Renaissance Magic in the De vita of Marsilio Ficino,” Renaissance Quarterly 37, no. 4 (1984): 523–54; Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic, 36–44; the main critic here is Augustine, De doctrina Christiana, ed. and trans. R.P.H. Green (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), 2.23.36, 29.45. Copenhaver points out that Ficino would have found more sympathy toward his talismanic magic in Thomas Aquinas’ Summa contra Gentiles and De occultis operibus naturae, but the crux of the problem lay in the question of the ontological status of any “independent” spiritual agency involved. On Ficino’s concern about daemonic invocation, see Michael J. B. Allen, “Summoning Plotinus: Ficino, Smoke and the Strangled Chickens,” in Michael J. B. Allen, Plato’s Third Eye: Studies in Marsilio Ficino’s Metaphysics and its Sources (Aldershot: Variorum, 1995), 63–88. 10   See, for example, Copenhaver, “Scholastic Philosophy;” “Renaissance Magic and Neoplatonic Philosophy,” 351–69; Kaske and Clark, “Introduction”; Thomas Moore, The Planets Within (repr. Hernden, VA: Steinerbooks, 1992); Gary Tomlinson, Music in Renaissance Magic (Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press, 1989), ch. 4; Marsilio Ficino, Writings on Astrology, ed. Angela Voss (Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books, 2006); Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic, 3–53; Yates, Giordano Bruno, 64–83.

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(toni)11 are suitable for what sorts of stars,” says Ficino, or indeed what combination of tones/modes especially accord with what sorts of constellations and aspects. But we can attain this, “partly through our own efforts (diligentia nostra), partly by some divine oracle (divina quadam sorte).”12 The word “sors” was used in classical sources chiefly for the practice of divination by lot, as, for example, in the ancient Roman custom of drawing Homeric verses from a pot to determine a course of action—implying that what we call “chance” was in fact an opportunity for the gods to give divine guidance.13 But sors could also refer to the verbal response of an oracle,14 and this seems to be what Ficino has in mind in Dvcc, in which his primary concern is to attract the gifts of higher (ostensibly cosmic) powers to the human soul. Ficino’s use of sors here suggests that he is thinking of his astral music as a divinatory procedure, in which human diligentia prepares the ground for a numinous response. Indeed in confirmation that the divine collaborates in the healing process, he defers to Late Antique magi Apollonius of Tyana (c.15–c.100 CE) and Iamblichus 11  Kaske and Clark translate toni as “tones” (Ficino, Dvcc, XXI, 42), but tonus (from the Greek tonos meaning “note, interval, region of the voice or pitch”) may also refer to a Church mode or plainsong recitation formula, that is a series of tones arranged as a species of octave scale or as a melodic fragment. See Cleonides, “Harmonic Introduction,” in Source Readings in Music History, trans. Oliver Strunk (New York: Norton, 1965), I, 34–46; Andrew Barker, “Harmonic and Acoustic Theory,” in Greek Musical Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), II, 17–19. On Ficino’s probable use of the modes in his planetary music, see Angela Voss, “The Music of the Spheres: Marsilio Ficino and Renaissance Harmonia,” Culture and Cosmos 2, no. 2 (1998): 16–38, and Angela Voss, “Orpheus Redivivus: The Musical Magic of Marsilio Ficino,” in Marsilio Ficino, his Philosophy, his Theology, his Legacy, eds. Michael J. B. Allen and Valery Rees (Leiden and New York: Brill, 2002), 227–42. 12  Ficino, Dvcc, XXI, 44–47: “Difficillimum quidem est iudicatu, quales potissimum toni qualibus convenient stellis, quales item tonotum compositiones qualibus praecipue sideribus aspectibusque consentient. Sed partim diligentia nostra, partim divina quadam sorte id assequi possumus…” Kaske and Clark translate sors as “destiny,” but the word has a range of other meanings, including “lot, fate and oracular response” (“Sors,” http://www.archives. nd.edu/cgi-bin/wordz.pl?keyword=sors, accessed 31 July 2015). 13  See Marcus Tullius Cicero, On the Nature of the Gods and On Divination, translated by C.D. Yonge (New York: Prometheus Books, 1997), I.34, also M. Loewe and C. Blacker, eds., Divination and Oracles (Berkeley, CA: Shambhala, 1981), 116–22, on different ways of divining by lot. Generally speaking, “chance” is envisioned as the working of some impartial power which makes dice fall in a specific way, or an odd or even number of pebbles jumping out of a buffalo horn, or a specific individual drawing a certain lot. These may be ways of revealing divine will, or simply of ensuring fairness. 14  See Cicero, On Divination, II.56.

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(245–325 CE) who testify that “all medicine had its origin in inspired prophecy,” because Apollo was father of both arts.15 This statement has far-reaching implications in relation to the supposedly “natural” remit of Ficino’s magic, as we shall see.

Natural or Spiritual Magic? But how do the higher powers reveal their oracular message?16 Ficino implies that the divine direction is experienced as a spontaneous, intuitive inspiration that appears to be “other” than human, yet finds a channel through the soul of the performer—as he describes in his Letter “On Divine Frenzy” to Peregrino Agli.17 According to Plato, both poetry and 15  Ficino, Dvcc, XXI, 51: “totam medicinam exordium a vaticiniis habuisse;” also Marsilio Ficino, The Letters of Marsilio Ficino, trans. Members of the Language Department of the School of Economic Science (London: Shepheard-Walwyn, 1975), I, 127. See Iamblichus, On the Mysteries, trans. Emma C. Clarke, John M. Dillon and Jackson P. Herschbell (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Studies, 2003), III.3, and the Epitome in Ficino, Opera, 1883; also Philostratus, Vita Apollonii, in Opera auctiora, ed. C.L. Kayser (Leipzig: Teubner, 1870–71), I, 3.44. 16  In Dvcc, I, 23–25, Ficino insists that his natural magic only engages celestial or daemonic rather than supercelestial powers: “And so let no one think that any divinities wholly separate from matter are being attracted by any given mundane materials, but that daemons rather are being attracted and gifts from the ensouled world and from the living stars” (“Nemo itaque putet certis mundi materiis trahi nmina quaedam a materiis penitus segregate, sed daemones potius animatiue munid munera stellarumque viventium”), although he is clearly attracted by Iamblichus’ and Proclus’ appeal to forces “which are not only celestial, but even daemonic and divine” (Ficino, Dvcc, XIII, 30–32: “vires effectusque non solum coelestes, sed etiam daemonicos et divinos”). He attempts to subdue any scholastic concern about daemones as deceitful spiritual intelligences by stating that “some regard the spirits of the stars as wonderful celestial forces, while others regard them as daemons attendant upon this or that star” (Ficino, Dvcc, XX, 23–24: “Spiritus autem stellarum intelligent alii quidem mirabiles coelestium vires, alii vero daemonas etiam stellae huius illiusve pedissequos”). 17  Ficino, “On Divine Frenzy,” in Ficino, Letters, I, 42–48 (Ficino, Opera, 612–15). On poetic frenzy, see Plato, Ion, 533e–536d; Phaedrus, 245a, in Complete Works, eds. Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1961). We know that Ficino himself was possessed by such frenzy on occasion, as we have an eye witness account from Bishop Campano in 1471: “And there is frenzy; when he sings, as a lover to the singing of his beloved, he plucks his lyre in harmony with the melody and rhythm of the song. Then his eyes burn, he leaps to his feet and he discovers music which he never learnt by rote” (“Et furor est, cum cantata amans cantante puella /Ad flexum, ad nutum percutit illi lyram. /Tunc ardent oculi, tunc planta exsurgit utraque,/ Et quos non didicit, comperit ille modos.), quoted in Arnaldo Della Torre, Storia dell’Accademia Platonica (Florence: G. Carnesecchi e figli, 1902), 791. Other references to Ficino’s own performance include

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prophecy arise through this altered state of consciousness, where the soul is “moved by divine rapture” to prophetic utterance.18 It thus appears to contact a creative intelligence, a fact that calls into question the Scholastic distinction between “natural” and “supernatural” realms of magical operation. The question is never satisfactorily resolved in Dvcc.19 Indeed perhaps it can never be resolved, because of the fundamental ambiguity in Platonism concerning the ontological status of this “other” voice, to which I will return. But firstly, we must situate Ficino’s oracle within the metaphysical context with which he opens Dvcc: the Plotinian tripartite cosmos. In chapter I of Dvcc, Ficino sets the scene by evoking the power of the “world soul” (anima mundi), which mediates between the divine Ideas and matter, conveying qualities from the Ideas to material forms by way of “seminal reasons” (rationes seminales) by which species are fashioned.20 This poetic vision is typical of Ficino, its tone in stark contrast to the

Letters, I, 144 (Ficino, Opera, 651), 179 (Ficino, Opera, 665), 198 (Ficino, Opera, 673) Letters, II, (London: Shepheard-Walwyn, 1978), 14 (Ficino, Opera, 725), 33 (Ficino, Opera, 734–35); Letters, IV (London: Shepheard-Walwyn, 1988), 16–17 (Ficino, Opera, 788). 18  Ficino, “On Divine Frenzy,” 47. On Ficino’s understanding of prophecy, see Letters, VII (London: Shepheard-Walwyn, 2003), 26–28, “Prophets and their Interpreters,” Opera, 873–74. Ficino finds consistency in both Platonic and Christian views that foreknowledge of the future is in the mind of God alone, and that the prophet as “God’s tongue” may not know the import of what they utter. However, he adds an intriguing comment (Letters, VII, 27, Opera, 873) that men can perceive the future through divination, which is “a property of the senses and imagination rather than of the mind and reason” (“Quod si praesagi dicuntur, id est, praesentientes, id ipsum praesagium non ad mentem et raionem, sed ad sensum imaginionatemque pertinere videtur”). 19  “Natural” in a theological sense would be understood to refer to the created order below the primum mobile of Aristotelian cosmology, and to the powers of the created world and the human being as opposed to the supernatural powers of God and the angels, who were located beyond any human intelligence and whose essence constituted a mystery. See Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologica, http://www.newadvent.org/summa/ (accessed 13 August 2015), 2.1.94, on “natural law.” We must also note that divination through inspiration or dreams was regarded as “natural” in that it did not rely on “artificial” apparatus or deliberate induction, such as in divination through entrails, birds, or lots. This term in no way denied the “supernatural” provenance of the revelation (see Plato, Phaedrus, §244). 20  Ficino, Dvcc, I, 13–20. Plotinus describes the logoi spermatikoi (“seminal reasons”) as the productive powers or essences of the world soul, produced by divine intelligence (nous); see Enneads, trans. Stephen McKenna (Harmondsworth: Penguin Classics, 1991), V.9.6–7. For an overview of medieval and Renaissance cosmology, see Edward Grant, Planets, Stars and Orbs: The Medieval Cosmos 1200–1687 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996).

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logical reasoning of Scholastic theology.21 In the Neoplatonic scheme of creation, all things conform through their ratio (which can be described as an occult property) to an Idea, and this identification can be intensified by the natural magician working with a knowledge of sympathy and correspondence.22 Most importantly, the stars, planets, and their various configurations flourish in the world soul, and “on these well-ordered forms the forms of lower things depend.”23 Celestial forms (i.e., planetary and stellar patterns) in turn refer back to the Ideas, being images, brought forth by the soul, of intellectual properties, and ultimately they return to the unity of the “One and Good” (unum atque bonum), the ground of all being.24 Plotinus explains that the soul of the human being, made from the same stuff as the world soul,25 resonates with or comprehends the Ideas as images through its corresponding faculty of intellectual imagination (which is distinct from the phantasia in the lower part of the soul).26 Just as these images point back to their source, the human imagination can follow through the act of symbolizing, that is, engaging with the images mirrored in the lower soul and bringing them into single focus with the 21  See, for example, Leo Elders, The Philosophical Theology of St. Thomas Aquinas (Leiden: Brill, 1990). This topic is far too complex to address here, but I would just make the point that one essential difference between Neoplatonic and Scholastic texts lies in their modes of discourse: the former valuing the power of poetic metaphor and symbol to evoke direct noetic understanding, the latter relying on rational argument and logical demonstration to appeal to the rational mind. On Ficino’s critique of Scholasticism and the errors of his contemporary Aristotelians, see Hankins, Plato, 272–76, 340. 22  For Plotinus’ understanding of magic as natural sympathy, see Enneads, IV.4. 23  Ficino, Dvcc, I, 56–57: “A quibus formis ordinatissimis dependent inferiorum formae.” 24  Ficino, Dvcc, I, 57–62. 25  As in Plato, Timaeus, §41d-e, in Plato, Complete Works, edited by Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1961). 26  On the higher and lower parts of the soul (the “divisible” and “indivisible”) and the necessity of bringing them into single focus, see Plotinus, Enneads, IV.3.19, 31. On the nature of the Plotinian soul, see Margaret Miles, Plotinus on Body and Beauty (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 57–82. On Plotinus’ understanding of the role of imagination as facilitating the mirroring of divine Ideas, see Enneads, IV.3–5; John Dillon, “Plotinus and the Transcendental Imagination,” in The Religious Imagination, ed. John Mackey (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1986), 55–64. Gerard Watson in the same volume gives a clear overview of the development of phantasia from its negative connotations in Plato to its elevation as an intermediary between sense-perception and intellect by the early centuries CE; Gerard Watson, “Imagination and Religion in Classical Thought,” in The Religious Imagination, ed. John Mackey (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1986), 29–54.

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intellectual properties of the higher.27 In Neoplatonic hermeneutics, this constitutes an active process which will lead the soul back to a condition of unity with itself, the world soul, and ultimately with the One/God. This is why Ficino described both astrology and music—as archetypal image-systems—as powerful means of re-alignment. Yet he found himself in a difficult position with regard to Scholastic Christianity. The Neoplatonic understanding that the soul uses its own innate powers, powers which are in fact divine, to achieve a level of consciousness that transcends human reason (and thus may be seen to be prophetic) was not compatible with the Christian doctrine on revelation. Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274) had distinguished between the direct impression on the mind by God “from without” (true prophecy), and the kind of foreknowledge that derives from human nature, which he would not regard as prophetic.28 James Hankins has already pointed to Ficino’s refusal to make this distinction, for he clearly regarded the engagement of the imagination in divinatory acts as facilitating revelation from the divine source.29 The problem would seem to center on the incompatibility of dual and non-dual conceptions of the cosmos: Platonically speaking, divine revelation could be achieved through innate powers of the soul that are themselves divine; yet, as a Christian, Ficino found himself required to honor the distinction between natural and supernatural domains of 27  Plotinus comments “all teems with symbol, the wise man is he who in any one thing can see another” (Enneads, II.3.7); in “Are the Stars Causes?” (Enneads, II.3), his message is that the stars and planets signify, they do not cause, events in the material world or human characteristics. 28  Aquinas, Summa theologica, 172.1, see also De veritate 12.1–2; Summa theologica, 2.2.173. 29  See fn. 19. On Ficino’s lack of distinction see James Hankins, “Ficino, Avicenna and the Occult Properties of the Rational Soul,” in La Magia nell’Europa Moderna: tra antica sapienza e filosofia naturale, eds. F. Meloi and E. Scapparone (Florence: Olschki, 2003), I, 35–52. Christian orthodoxy did not acknowledge a “higher” imaginative faculty of the soul in the Neoplatonic/Avicennan sense of partaking of the divine mind, for it understood the imagination as having a corporeal basis, not existing outside time. See Aquinas, Summa theologica, 1.84, 7, 3 and Anthony Kenny, Aquinas on Mind (London and New  York: Psychology Press, 1994), 41–58. The question of the theological compatibility of Scholastic doctrine, heavily dependent on Aristotle, with Neoplatonic theories regarding the nature of the soul and its faculties of perception was the central theme of Ficino’s major original work, the Theologia Platonica of 1469–74, in which he set out to achieve a synthesis of philosophy and theology and demonstrate the immortality of the soul; Marsilio Ficino, Theologia Platonica, eds. Michael J. B. Allen and James Hankins, 6 vols, (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001–2006).

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influence. The crux lay in the fact that the Neoplatonic “natural” continuum of psychic energy from the ensouled world to the divine mind, mediated by benevolent intermediary spiritual agencies (the daemones),30 could not be translated into a Christian model where there was a strict divide between God and nature. This had serious implications as far as magical operations were concerned, because for Scholastic Christianity the natural world was the domain of demonic powers, which could be attracted by sympathy through talismanic invocation.31 Indeed this was a dangerous aspect of Ficino’s ritual practice. He had translated (or rather paraphrased) Iamblichus’ On the Mysteries (De mysteriis) shortly before writing the Liber de vita,32 and there he would have read of the theurgic practice of purifying the subtle or astral body (pneuma or ochema) through ritual techniques to the extent that it became “divinized” while the theurgist was still alive, thus constituting a vehicle for his or her return to the gods.33 Furthermore, this process would take place through the power of the intermediary daemones, for “mortal things obtain divine influences through these daemons.”34 Indeed the imaginative 30  Ficino’s understanding of the nature of the daemones is derived from Iamblichus and Proclus and explained in Letters, X (London: Shepheard-Walwyn, 2015), 56–57 (an excerpt from Ficino’s summary of Proclus’ commentary on Plato’s Alcibiades, Ficino, Opera, 1908–28). The cosmic deities rule over ranks of daemones who share in their power, and human souls in turn participate in the daemones. The whole communion is presided over by the Creator God in as an uninterrupted flow of “soul.” When speaking “Platonically” in this way, Ficino does not refer to contrasting Christian views. 31  Hence Ficino’s attempt to justify his practice as harnessing “life” rather than the world soul (see Ficino, “Apology” in Three Books on Life, 395–401, 102–08). On the theological argument, see Augustine, City of God, trans. Henry Bettenson (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1984), 344f, 324f; on Ficino’s position regarding demonic magic, see Copenhaver, “Scholastic Philosophy;” Angela Voss, “God or the Daemon? Platonic Astrology in a Christian Cosmos,” in Temenos Academy Review 14 (London: The Temenos Academy, 2011), 96–116; Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic, 45–53. 32  In Ficino, Opera, 1873–1907. Many of Ficino’s letters in Liber IX reveal his preoccupation with Iamblichus at this time; in his “Preface to Iamblichus,” Letters, VIII (London: Shepheard-Walwyn, 2009), 14–15 (Ficino, Opera, 897), Ficino writes to Cardinal Giovanni de’ Medici that Iamblichus is both a “high priest” and “divine,” and has much to teach the Cardinal about “religion and matters divine.” In the light of this, one cannot overestimate the theurgic implications of Ficino’s natural magic. 33  See Gregory Shaw, “Living Light; An Exploration of Divine Embodiment,” in Seeing with Different Eyes; Essays in Astrology and Divination, eds. Angela Voss and Patrick Curry (Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2008), 57–81. 34  Ficino, Letters, X, 56, Opera, 1912 (“Proinde mortalia per hos daemones divinos nanciscuntur influxus”).

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power of the operator is itself a daemon, and is impressed on the pneuma, accompanying it when it leaves the body.35 Could we suggest that Ficino’s ritual use of astral forces to purify the spiritus of the individual in Dvcc points directly to this process, which ultimately—theurgically—would lead to the soul’s realization of its innate divinity? In this sense, astrology, music, talismanic image-work, and invocation become keys for opening the door, as it were, to a transformation of the soul in which human consciousness shifts its locus from the world of appearance to the intelligible reality of the Ideas, via the daemonic powers inherent in stars, planets, and audible sound.36 I would argue that in the phrase “diligentia et divina sorte” there is then a subtle implication that Ficino’s astrological music is essentially aiming to re-align the soul not only with the cosmos, but with its divine “supercosmic” source, through restoring the daemonic continuum between humans and the One/God. If so, then Dvcc is a remarkable attempt at disguise—carefully cloaking the first steps of such a subversive enterprise in the natural sympathies of the cosmic order.

35  On the Platonic history of phantasia and its relationship with the pneuma or astral body, see Plotinus, Enneads, IV.3.31; Porphyry, Sententiae: Auxiliaries to the Perception of Intelligible Nature, trans. by Thomas Taylor, http://tertullian.org/fathers/porphyry_ sententiae_02_trans.htm, accessed 1 July 2020, §29, To Gaurus on How Embryos are Ensouled and On What is in Our Power, trans. James Wilberding (London: Bristol Classical Papers, 2011), VI.1; Synesius, De insomniis—Donald A. Russell and Heinz-Günther Nesselrath, eds. On Prophecy, Dreams and Human Imagination: Synesius, De insomniis (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), §4–6; Iamblichus, On the Mysteries, III.2, 14, 24; also Anne Sheppard, “Phantasia and Inspiration in Neoplatonism,” in Studies in Plato and the Platonic Tradition: Essays Presented to John Whittacker, ed. J. Joyal (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1997), 201–10; Gerard Watson, Phantasia in Classical Thought (Galway: Galway University Press, 1988), chs. 5 and 6. It is Iamblichus who develops the idea of symbolic images pointing to a divine source (On the Mysteries, I.7–8, 3.8). See also Leonard George, “Iamblichus on the Esoteric Perception of Nature,” in Esotericism, Religion and Nature, eds. Arthur Versluis et al (West Lancing, MI: North American Academic Press, 2010), 73–88; Gregory Shaw, Theurgy and the Soul (Philadelphia, PA: Penn State Press, 1995); “Containing Ecstasy; the Strategies of Iamblichean Theurgy,” Dionysus 21 (2003): 53–88; “The Role of Aesthesis in Theurgy” (unpublished paper, personal communication, 2010). 36  See Iamblichus, On the Mysteries, 96, 15–18: “the perfect efficacy of ineffable works, which are divinely performed in a way surpassing all intelligence, and the power of inexplicable symbols, which are known only to the Gods, impart theurgic union.” The Platonic source for the religious function of astronomy and music in regulating the soul and aligning it with the divine order is Timaeus 47b–d. See also Epinomis (attr. Philip of Opus). On music as a living spirit, see Ficino, Dvcc, XXI, 81–85.

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Diligentia Before considering the implications of the divina sors in relation to astrology, divination, celestial, and supercelestial intelligence, we should briefly discuss what Ficino means by diligentia. In Dvcc chapter XXI, Ficino tells us that there are three key factors which promote the efficacy of his astrological song: the inner, solar power, or moral excellence (virtus) of the singer, the election of an astrologically propitious time (opportunitas), and desire or focused intention (intentio). If these are all cultivated, the performer will in some way “conceive” a music spirit which will have a healing effect on the listener through sympathetic resonance: Now song which arises from this power, timeliness and intention is undoubtedly nothing else but another spirit recently conceived in you in the power of your spirit—a spirit made Solar and acting both in you and in the bystander by the power of the Sun.37

We could see these three factors as contributing to the “human” part of the equation; Ficino provides detailed instructions in Dvcc for the cultivation of the Sun’s power through a program of assimilation of solar substances and practicing solar activities. We must remember that in the Neoplatonic chain of correspondences, the Sun rules the vital energies of the heart, its qualities being reflected in both material and spiritual properties from white wine to the god of music, Apollo.38 Exposure to these qualities will strengthen the spirit of the performer, enabling it to become a channel for the celestial gifts to pass from the cosmic spirit39 to 37  Ficino, Dvcc, XXI, 105–07: “Cantus autem hac virtute, opportunitate, intentione, conceptus factusque Solaris et agens tum in te, tum in proximum potestate Solari.” 38  On the chains being used in magical operations, see Proclus, Elements of Theology, trans. E. R. Dodds (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1933); De sacrificio et magia, trans. S. Ronan as On the Sacred Art, https://web.archive.org/web/20130307124941/http://www.esotericism. co.uk/proclus-sacred.htm (accessed 20 July 2015); David Pingree, ed, Picatrix (London: The Warburg Institute, 1986). See also A.O. Lovejoy, The Great Chain of Being (Cambridge, MA.: Harvard University Press, 1964); Peter Struck, Birth of the Symbol: Ancient Writers at the Limits of their Texts (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press), 227–34. 39  The cosmic spirit has its origins in Stoic philosophy, which postulates a world spirit (spiritus mundi) flowing through the universe, as a channel between the cosmos and material world. In Dvcc, III, 30–32 Ficino calls it the quinta essentia, or fifth element, that is, aether, “a very tenuous body: as if now it were soul and not body, and now body and not soul” (Ipse vero est corpus tenuissimum, quasi non corpus et quasi iam anima, item quasi non anima et quasi iam corpus).

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the soul and body, like a “bait or kindling” (esca quaedam sive fomes).40 Secondly, timing is everything. No musical ritual will attain perfect efficacy unless “the celestial harmony conduces to it from all sides,”41 the moment having been elected for its unique planetary correspondence with the horoscope under consideration. Planets have an objective, material dimension, and move in real time, their patterns read symbolically by the divinatory astrologer.42 Indeed for Ficino, the imaginative engagement with these readings, as poetic metaphors, was their primary function.43 But their visible movements also meant that they could act as markers of time and location for human events, thus enabling the manifestation, or expression, of their meaning on earth.44 Indeed Ficino would have read in Iamblichus that the soul could ascend to divine realms “without calling in the aid of matter or bringing to bear anything other than the observation of the critical time for action,”45 such was the power of aligning human intention with cosmic symbolism.46

 Ficino, Dvcc, XXVI, 9.  Ficino, Dvcc, XII, 109–13: “…sic et materialis actio, motus, eventus talis aut talis non alias efficaciam sortitur effectumque perfectum quam quando coelestium harmonia ad idem undique consonat.” 42  See Plotinus, Enneads, III.1.6: the stars are like letters “on which the augur, acquainted with that alphabet, may look and read the future from their pattern—arriving at the thing signified by such analogies as that a soaring bird tells of some lofty event.” 43  See, for example, Ficino’s letter “Good Fortune is in Fate” in Letters, IV (London: Shepheard-Walwyn, 1988), 61–63, where Ficino exhorts a young member of the Medici family to meditate on the symbolic meanings of “the planets within,” stating that they are not “outside, in some other place” (“Non enim sunt haec alicubi nobis extra quaerenda, nempe totum in nobis est coelum, quibus igneus vigor inest et coelestis origo”) (Ficino, Opera, 305). 44  For example, see Hankins, Plato, 301–04. Ficino chose the conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn in Scorpio in 1484 as the date to publish his Plato translations, the symbolism of the “great conjunction” relating to the union of philosophy and religion, or wisdom and power. In this way, he was aligning his action with cosmic principles in order to gain divine authority for the renewal of Christianity. 45  Iamblichus, On the Mysteries, VIII.4. 46  The election of suitable astrological times for ritual action is a common theme in Dvcc. For example, Ficino quotes Albertus Magnus (XII, 121–24): “Freedom of will is not repressed by the election of an excellent hour; rather, to scorn to elect an hour for the beginnings of great enterprises is not freedom but reckless choice” (“Non enim libertas arbitrii ex electione horae laudabilis coercetur, sed potius in magnarum rerum inceptionibus electionem horae contemnere est arbitrii praecipitatio, non libertas”). 40 41

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Finally, Ficino devotes a chapter in Dvcc to the power of human emotion and desire in astral attraction, which he attributes to “the Arabs”:47 The Arabs say that when we fashion images rightly, our spirit, if it has been intent upon the work and upon the stars with imagination and emotion, is joined together with the very spirit of the world and with the rays of the stars through which the world-spirit acts.48

We are here in the realm of Platonic eros, the desire aroused in the human soul at the glimpse or perception of divine beauty.49 The last great Platonic theurgist Proclus (412–485 CE) wrote that symbolic images “move everything towards the desire of the good, and this wanting produced in things is unquenchable,”50 and it is significant that Ficino translated Proclus’ treatise on theurgic magic De sacrificio et magia concurrently with his Dvcc.51 Indeed, this short work explicitly describes the deification of the human soul that may arise through sympathetic magic and the engagement of the daemones.52 In his Commentary on Plato’s 47  Arabic treatises on astrology, magic, and medicine, influenced by Neoplatonic and Hermetic ideas and translated into Latin in the medieval period, provided another source for Ficino’s natural magic. See Liana Saif, The Arabic Influences on Early Modern Occult Philosophy (London and New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015). 48  Ficino, Dvcc, XX, 36–39: “Tradunt Arabes spiritum nostrum quando rite fabricamus imagines, si per imaginationibus mentibusque coelestium, vim quoque vehementissimam ex affectu illorum…” On the theory of rays, see Al-Kindi (c.800–870 CE), De radiis, eds. M.-T. D’Alverny and F. Hudry, in Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littérature du moyen âge 41 (1974): 139–260. Ficino refers further to the ray theory in Dvcc, XVI. 49  See Plato, Symposium, 210a–12a, in Complete Works, eds. Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1961); Phaedrus, 246a–56e. 50  Proclus, In Cratylem, 30.19–32.3, quoted in Struck, Birth of the Symbol, 237. See Michael J.B. Allen, “Marsilio Ficino,” in Interpreting Proclus from Antiquity to the Renaissance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 353–79. Allen states that it is not known if Ficino was familiar with Proclus’ Commentary on Plato’s Cratylus (360). 51  Ficino, Opera, 1928–29. 52  “Longing to go beyond [the powers inherent in physical objects], [the theurgists] came to know the Daemonic Powers which are essentially linked to the activities of nature and physical bodies, and by this means they drew down (epêgagonto) these Powers in order to communicate (sunousian) with them. From the Daemonic Powers they moved straight up towards the actual Doings of the Gods (autas…tas tôn theôn…poiêseis), instructed in some matters by the Gods themselves, but in others moved by their own efforts to an accurate conception of the appropriate symbols. And so, leaving nature and physical operations below, they came to directly experience (echrêsanto) the Primordial (prôtourgois) and Divine Powers” (Proclus, De sacrificio).

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Symposium, Ficino too describes the work of magic as the stimulation of the erotic attractions and affinities within the realm of soul.53 This “intention of the imagination” is then no subjective fantasy, but a crucial energetic impulse that propels the arrow of desire to the very center of the target—the cosmic, or daemonic, intelligence.

Divina sors Once these three factors of “power, timeliness, and intention” are operative, then what is the role and provenance of the oracular voice? Let us turn to an earlier text, Ficino’s unpublished Disputatio contra iudicium astrologorum of 1477,54 in which he discusses how judgements may be made from horoscopes: through whatever art future things are questioned, they are foretold more completely from a certain gift of the soul (dos animae) than through judgement. Here those unlearned in art often judge more truthfully than those who are learned. Ptolemy said about this, “knowledge of the stars comes both from you and from them,” as if he were saying that you are truthful in judgement not so much through inspecting the stars as through a certain foreknowledge innate to you. For it is explained that you will follow this knowledge at one time through your diligence, at another you may possess it through the stars’ natural benevolent action.55 53  Marsilio Ficino, Commentary on Plato’s Symposium, VI.10, trans. Sears Jayne (Dallas, TX: Spring Publications, 1985), 127, also Couliano, Eros and Magic. 54   Marsilio Ficino, “Disputatio contra iudicium astrologorum,” in Supplementum Ficinianum, ed. Paul Oskar Kristeller (Florence: Olskchi, 1937), II, 11–76. Although this treatise was unpublished, Ficino included large extracts in both the Theologia Platonica and his commentaries on Plotinus, as well as in a letter to the Duke of Urbino, Divina lex fieri a caelo non potest, sed forte significari; Ficino, Letters, VI (London: Shepheard-Walwyn, 1999), 23–31. It should be noted that Kaske and Clark mistranslate the title as “Disputation against Judicial Astrology” (Ficino, Three Books on Life, 31). Ficino was not however condemning judicial astrology as such, rather the deterministic stance of his contemporary practitioners. 55  Ficino, “Disputatio,” 50: “Denique per quamcumque artem future querantur, plus admodum ex quadam anime singulari dote quam iudiciis presagitur. Hinc sepe indoctiores in arte verius iudicant quam doctiores. Quapropter Ptolemeus ait: Astrorum scientia et ex te est et ex illis, quasi dicat hoc ipsum quod sis in iudicando verdicus non tam illorum inspection quam presagio quodam tibi naturali habes. Sive potius exponatur quod hanc scientiam consequaris tum ex diligentia tua, tum naturali illorum possideas beneficio.” This is reiterated in “In Plotinem,” Opera, 1626, where Ficino says astrologers can approach the truth of things through a certain “strength of soul” (vim animae).

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We note that Ficino here draws the same Platonic distinction between human judgment and divine revelation as he does in Dvcc; but what does he mean by “the stars’ benevolent action”?

Astrology as Divination As we have seen, for Ficino prophecy and divination were synonymous, being “foreknowledge inspired by the divine spirit.”56 In this way, his understanding of astrology as divination was a radical move for his time.57 In his epitome on Iamblichus, he confirms, “I am of the opinion that most certain truth in respect to the stars can be had through divine prophecy.”58 Again, in a letter to the Duke of Urbino in 1482, he emphasizes that when astrologers see truthfully, it is not through rational speculation, but through an intuitive grasp of significance (the dos animae): then “I may truly say they prophesy.”59 In the key passage that follows, Ficino, drawing on Plotinus, differentiates between the domains of “instrumentality” and “intimation” in respect to the function of heavenly bodies:

56  See Ficino, “On Divine Frenzy,” 47 (Ficino, Opera, 615): “Plato considers the last kind of frenzy, in which he includes prophecy, to be nothing other than foreknowledge inspired by the divine spirit, which we properly call divination and prophecy” (“Postremam vero furoris naturam, in qua vaiticinium point, nihil aliud esse putat, nisi divino afflatu inspiratam praesensionem, eamque proprio vocabulo, divinationem ac vaticinium nominavimus”). 57  Further on Ficino’s astrology, see Melissa Bullard, “The Inward Zodiac, A Development in Ficino’s Thought on Astrology,” Renaissance Quarterly 43 (1990): 687–708; Angela Voss, “The Astrology of Marsilio Ficino, Divination or Science?” Culture and Cosmos 4, no. 2 (2000): 29–45. 58  Ficino, Opera, 1905: “Ergo vero censeo primum quidem haberi posse per divinum vaticiniu veritatem certissimam circa stellas.” For Iamblichus the goal of “inspired” divination was the union of the theurgist with the gods, achieved through a transcendence of the subject-object divide characteristic of syllogistic knowing. See Crystal Addey, “Oracles of the Gods: The Role of Divination and Theurgy in the Philosophy of Porphyry and Iamblichus” (PhD diss, University of Bristol, 2009), 263–67. 59  Ficino, Letters, VI, 23–31, Opera, 850–53. See fn. 56; also Ficino, Theologia Platonica, XIII.II, 8, where Ficino says the predictions of “augurers, diviners, soothsayers, astrologers and mages … testify to their minds’ divinity” (“augures, haruspices, auspices, mathematicos, magos … Mentes vero divinas illa prae ceteris praesagia indicant”). At TP II.10 Ficino describes the prediction of future events as possible because prophetic power “gathers the fleeting intervals of time into an eternal moment, is itself eternal” (“praesaga virtus … Est autem substantia haec aeterna quae in aeternum momentum …”).

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Plotinus … teaches that almost all phenomena beneath the moon are somehow indicated by the heavens, yet they do not all depend on a heavenly body, for only physical phenomena can arise from a heavenly body or, rather, from the powers that move the heavens, through the instrumentality of a heavenly body. But those phenomena within us which go completely beyond the physical level and come close to our mind and to our divine nature proceed from the divine mind and from those minds in its train. Indeed, he says that the plans and purposes of these minds can often be intimated by celestial configurations and movements as though by glances and nods. But to read clearly those intimations requires above all a wise man, a divine man.60

Indeed the human vantage point alone, Ficino says, would be quite inadequate.61 We would seem to find confirmation here that astrology, when it is understood as divination, can lead to realizations and revelations of an altogether higher order, and this is when the astrologer speaks with an oracular authority, as opposed to merely being predictive.62 This is because the “realization” of a symbolic meaning is not a function of the rational mind alone, but requires the activation of an innate capacity of the soul to “wake another way of seeing.”63 In Platonic terms, these are the eyes of the intellective soul, which has direct access to the Divine Mind. This innate knowing is itself “from the stars” because they themselves are 60  Ficino, Letters, VI, 26, Opera, 851: “Plotinus … docet, effectus infra Lunam pene omnes a ceolo significari, non tamen omnes a ceolesti corpora dependoere, sola eim corporea posse vel a corpora coelisti, vel potius per coeleste corpus, quasi super instrumentum, ab ipsis coeli motoribus fueri. Si qua vero apud nos omnino corporeum genus excedunt, atque ad mentem divinitatemque accedunt, solum a mente divina mentibusque eam sequentibus proficisci.” See also Plotinus, Enneads, III.2. 61  Earlier in the letter to Federico (Letters, VI, 25) Ficino puts forward the view of Plotinus and Avicenna that events on earth are the result of a mixture of corporeal and incorporeal causes, adding: “But since no one is ever able to understand all these things, it is not surprising that no one can hold a definite view about anything of this kind” (“Cum autem cuncta haec nullus unquam comprehendere valeat, nimirum neminem certam ulla de re huiusmodi ferre posse sententiam”) (Opera, 850). That Ficino readily “prophesied” using astrology is demonstrated in his letter to Pope Sixtus IV (Letters, V, 16–19) where he predicts various misfortunes over the coming two years. 62  See Ficino, “Letter on Divine Frenzy,” 47 where he calls prediction a false copy of prophecy. I also refer the reader to the work of Geoffrey Cornelius, The Moment of Astrology (Bournemouth: Wessex Astrologer, 2003) and “Field of Omens: A Study of Inductive Divination” (PhD diss, University of Kent, 2010) for thorough discussions on the oracular and divinatory dimension of astrology, and of the hermeneutics of divinatory knowing in general. 63  Plotinus, Enneads, I.6.8.

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seen as daemonic intelligences, mirroring their creator, and experienced as originating both “within” and “without” the human psyche.64 At the level of oracular insight, human and divine intelligence converge; all Ficino can say is that the daemon is both “our intellect, and a numinous being.”65

Avicenna on Prophecy James Hankins has drawn attention to the fact that Ficino would have found confirmation that the powers of the imagination could be harnessed to achieve prophetic insight in his reading of the Arabic Neoplatonists, particularly Avicenna (980–1037), and he suggests that in Dvcc Ficino “conceals his debt” to Avicenna through deliberately emphasizing the less controversial aspects of magic, those which rely on “lower” cosmic correspondence and the influence of the imagination on the spiritus, the intermediary of body and soul.66 However, Ficino’s letter to Federico demonstrates that he understood full well how the imagination could engage with cosmic symbolism and be opened to noetic realms. In his On the Soul (De anima), Avicenna discusses three kinds of prophecy, deriving from the imaginative faculty, the motive faculties, and the intellect.67 When the soul and its imaginative faculty are strong, there may be direct access to the divine realm, and this access may also be achieved by developing a certain kind of will power or through direct intellectual intuition.68 Avicenna suggests that powerful intuitive apprehension of spirit may find 64   Geoffrey Cornelius has drawn attention to Giovanni Pontano’s commentary on (Pseudo-)Ptolemy’s Centriloquium: Pontano, Commentariorum in centum Ptolomei sententias libri duo (Basel: Cratandrus, 1531), in which he discusses the phrase a te et a scientia—that knowledge of the stars derives both “from you and from the discipline/art [of astrology].” Pontano interprets the a te as the intuitive inspiration of the astrologer, yet which is also “stimulated by the stars.” Whether or not Pontano derives this idea from Ficino, both men link prophetic vision with a cosmic intelligence that cannot be defined as either “inner” or “outer.” See Cornelius, Moment of Astrology, 321–25. 65  Ficino, “Commentary on Plotinus,” Opera, 515: “remember our daemon and genius is not only, as is thought, our intellect, but a numinous being (“Ac memento nostrum daemonem geniumque non solum, ut quidam putant, nostrum intellectum esse sed numen.” On the Platonic and Neoplatonic sources for this idea, see Allen, “Summoning Plotinus,” 64, fn.2. Also, Plotinus, Enneads, III.4.3, 3–8 and III.4.5, 19–24. 66  Hankins, “Ficino, Avicenna,” 35–52. 67  See Dag Nikolaus Hasse, Avicenna’s “De Anima” in the Latin West: The Formation of a Peripatetic Philosophy of the Soul 1160–1300 (London: Warburg Institute, 2001), 154–74. 68  Hasse, Avicenna, 155.

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its expression through the imagination,69 and that the act of “imagining,” which is concerned with the combination and separation of sense data, is a cognitive faculty which can turn toward the active intellect—the highest divine intelligence—and convey its properties through images. These images are then necessarily subject to the rational part of the soul for “stabilization.”70 This leads to a crucial observation about the nature of symbolic imagination. As Dag Nikolaus Hasse comments, “the core idea about imaginative prophethood is that sense data are perceived as if they were real, whereas in fact they are produced by the imaginative faculty,”71 and this helps to explain why the prophetic soul can “see” both literally and metaphorically simultaneously. Ficino, centered in his imaginative faculty, could make seemingly factual or causal observations about planetary influences while not “taking them literally”; these statements, often in response to friends and associates, disguise a more subtle hermeneutic position, which the “petty ogre” (nefarii gargantuli) astrologers who Ficino condemns in the Disputatio are not able to attain.72 What of pure intellectual prophecy? Consider these two passages: (Avicenna) Thus there might be a person whose soul has been rendered so powerful through extreme purity and intense contact with intellectual principles that he blazes with intuition, i.e. with the ability to receive the inspiration in all matters from the active intellect … this is a kind of prophethood—indeed its highest faculty—and the most appropriate thing is to call this faculty “sacred faculty.”73 (Ficino) The soul [filled with the intelligence born of distilled black bile]… always seeks the centre of all subjects and penetrates to their innermost core.  Hasse, Avicenna, 157.  Hasse, Avicenna, 158. 71  Hasse, Avicenna, 160. Of relevance here is Henry Corbin’s essay Mundus imaginalis (Ipswich: Golgonooza Press, 1976), which delineates the ontological reality of the imaginal realm in the metaphysics of the Islamic illuminist philosophers. On the theme of imaginal perception and its relationship with sense-perception, see also William Chittick, Imaginal Worlds: Ibn ‘Arabi and the Problem of Religious Diversity (New York: SUNY Press, 1994), chs. 5 and 6. 72  See the Proemium to the Disputatio contra iudicium astrologorum in Letters, III (London: Shepheard-Walwyn, 1981), 75–77. For an example of Ficino’s “causal” language, see Letters, II, 26–27 where he complains about Saturn’s melancholic influence in his own horoscope. 73  Hasse, Avicenna, 164, quoting Avicenna, De anima, V.6. 69 70

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It is congruent, moreover, with Mercury and Saturn, of whom the second, the highest of planets, carries the investigator to the highest subjects. From this come original philosophers, especially when their soul, hereby called away from external movements and from its own body, is made in the highest degree both a neighbour to the divine and an instrument of the divine. As a result, it is filled from above with divine influences and oracles, and it always predicts new and unaccustomed things and predicts the future.74

Understood Platonically, “occult” planetary signatures are instances of archetypal qualities which resonate at all levels in the hierarchy of being, thus contributing to a chain of resemblance.75 In this way Saturn, as the furthest planet then known, signifies the realm of the highest, contemplative mind, even if, on a worldly level, it may be associated with delays, hardships, and ill-health. So we could say that Ficino the melancholic, plagued by black bile, plays music to incite an intelligence which will be received as an oracle, yet it is identical to the highest part of his own soul, and analogous to Saturn.76 All the ingredients of human diligence then—the concoction of medicines, the technical language of astrology, the skill in music theory and performance practice, the knowledge of sympathies and correspondences in nature and the cosmos, the cultivation of a pure 74  Ficino, De vita sana, VI.19–28, in Ficino, Three Books on Life, 121–23: “animus instrumento sive incitamento eiusmodi quod centro mundi quodammodo congruity, atque (ut ita dixerim) in suum centrum animum colligit, simper rerum omnium et centra petit, et penetralia penetrat. Congruit insuper cum Mercurio atque Saturno, quorum alter, altissimus omnium planetarum, investigantem evehit ad altissima. Hinc philosophi singulars eadunt, praesertin cum animus sic ab externis motibus atque corpora proprio sevocaatus, et quam proximus divinis et divinorum instrumentum efficiatur. Unde divinis influxibus oraculisque ex alto repletus, nova quaedam inusitataque semper excogitat et futura praedicit.” 75  On resemblance and similitude in Renaissance magic in general and Ficino’s songs in particular, see Tomlinson, Music, 101–44. 76  For an astrological interpretation of Saturn, see Julius Firmicus Maternus, Ancient Astrology, Theory and Practice: Matheseos Libri VIII, trans. Jean Rhys Bram (Abingdon, MD: Astrology Classics, 2005), 89, 138–39, 184–85; for examples of Ficino’s own difficulties with Saturn, see Letters, III, 50–51; V, 59–60. Yet “[o]ur Plato placed the higher part of the soul under the authority of Saturn in the realm of mind and divine providence, and the lower part under Jupiter, in the realm of life and fate” (“Partem quidem illam aimae superiorem Plato noster in regno Saturni, id est, in mentis et providentiae, inferiorem autem in regno Iovis, id est, vitae fatique locavit” [Opera, 658, Letters, I, 161]), referring to Plato, Timaeus 34b–36e. Key passages on Saturn in Dvcc include II, 54–66, XXII, 59–90. The most important source for Renaissance interpretations of Saturn is Raymond Klibansky, Erwin Panofsky, and Fritz Saxl, Saturn and Melancholy (Michigan, MI: University of Michigan, 1964).

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spiritus, and focused intent—came together for one underlying purpose; to awake the eye “that all have but few use”77 and engage with the infused light of a higher order of being.78 This higher imaginative faculty, suggests Leonard George, “adds a theophanic dimension to the lower faculty’s sense image,”79 as Ficino describes the very act of symbolic, contemplative connection as opening perception to the living presences in—and beyond—the cosmos: But it is not only those who flee to Jupiter who escape the noxious influence of Saturn and undergo his propitious influence; it is also those who give themselves over with their whole mind to the divine contemplation signified by Saturn himself. The Chaldeans, Egyptians, and Platonists think that by this method one can avoid the malice of fate. For since they believe the celestials are not empty bodies, but bodies divinely animated and ruled moreover by divine Intelligences, no wonder they believe that as many good things as possible come forth from thence for men, goods pertaining not only to our body and spirit but also overflowing somewhat into our soul, and not into our soul from their bodies but from their souls. And they believe too that the same sort of things and more of them flow out from those Intelligences which are above the heavens.80

It is hardly surprising that Ficino leaves the question of stellar intelligence as ambiguous, if not confused, in Dvcc. But whether living stars, daemones, or spirits, the “seminal reasons” sown in the cosmos by the world soul are necessarily distinguished by Ficino from “divinities wholly separate from matter,”81 or “intelligences which are above the heavens” (as in above  Plotinus, Enneads, I.6.8.  See Ficino, “The Two Lights of the Soul,” in Ficino, Commentary on Plato’s Symposium on Love, IV.4, 75–76, Opera, 1332. 79  George, “Iamblichus,” 81. See also Iamblichus, On the Mysteries, III.2. 80  Ficino, Dvcc, XXII, 81–90: “Noxium vero influxum Saturni effugiunt subeuntque propitium, non solum, qui ad Ioven configuiunt, se etiam qui ad divinam contemplationem ab ipso Saturno significatam tota mente se conferunt. Hoc enim pacto malignitatem fati devitari posse Chaldaei et Aegyptii atque Platonici putant. Cum enim coelestia nolint esse corpora vana, sed divinitus animata atque insuper mentibus recta divinis, nimirum illinc ad homines non solum quam plurima ad corpus et spiritum pertinentia, sed multa etiam bona quodammodo in animam redundantia proficisci volunt, non a corporibus in animam sed ab animis. Magis autem haec pluraque eiusmodi a mentibus superioribus coelo profluere.” 81  Ficino, Dvcc, I, 23–24, “Nemo itaque putet certia mundi materiis trahi numina quaedam a materiis penitus segregata, sed daemones potius animatique mundi munera stellarumque viventium.” 77 78

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quotation) despite the fact that the “seminal reasons” can be receptacles for the Divine Ideas themselves. This becomes even more problematic when he concludes Dvcc by referring again to Plotinus, this time suggesting that the “seminal reasons” can be called “gods” “since they are never cut off from the Ideas of the Supreme Mind,” and we are left uncertain as to the distinction between gods and immaterial/separate divinities.82 Ficino is on dangerous territory when he hints that through the Ideas, “higher gifts too may descend into matter,”83 but I would suggest that this very lack of clarity is a result of the impossibility of accommodating Neoplatonic ritual into a theological framework. As a Platonist, Ficino knew that his astral magic might ultimately unite him with the One through a continuum of sympatheia between Divine Mind and world soul, but as a Christian, he had to maintain a necessary distance between divine and human realms and never suggest that the soul might attain theosis through “pagan” practices. A difficult task indeed.

Theologia Platonica Let us take a step further. In Ficino’s Theologia Platonica (1469–1474), which is not concerned with magical practice but with a theoretical defense of the immortality of the soul,84 he invites yet another interpretation of the divina sors, in his analysis of the nature of the rational soul. Its highest part, the intellect, “which is the soul’s head and charioteer,” he says, “by its very nature imitates the angels, [and] attains what it desires not in temporal succession but in an instant.”85 When the lower part, the normally agitated and preoccupied reason, is quiet, then he muses, “what is stopping 82  Ficino, Dvcc, XXVI, 126–27: “Quas quidem rationes appellat etiam deos, quoniam ab ideis supremae mentis unquam destituuntur.” 83  Ficino, Dvcc, XXVI, 132–34: “Fieri vero posse quandoque, ut rationibus ad formas sic adhibitis sublimiora quoque dona descendant ….” 84  On Ficino’s theory of immortality, see Paul O. Kristeller, The Philosophy of Marsilio Ficino (New York: Columbia University Press, 1943), ch. 15. Michael Allen has pointed to “the extraordinary tension” generated by the attempt of the Christian Platonists to “accommodate Neoplatonic metaphysics to the Hebraeo-Christian notion of an omnipotent, ineffable God” and states that although fruitful, “it signalled ultimately the underlying incomparability of the two systems” (Michael J.B. Allen, “Marsilio Ficino on Plato, the Neoplatonists and the Christian Doctrine of the Trinity,” in Michael J.B. Allen, Plato’s Third Eye, 561). 85  Ficino, Theologia Platonica, XIII.II, 18: “Mens autem illa, quae est animae caput et auriga, suapte natura angelos imitate, non successione sed momento quod cupit assequitur ….”

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some angelic process of thought from stealing into our rational powers, although we cannot see where it is subtly coming from?”86 This intellectual power is described as a ray, shining down into the soul.87 So perhaps we can name the oracle not only as a daemon, planetary spirit, or celestial divinity, but also as an angelic intelligence, which is both wholly “other” and a power of the soul.88 Where is all this leading? Ficino asks in the Theologia, answering that, in the end, the soul’s burning desire for God will lead it to lay aside all its earthly activities and become angelic: “He who commits himself entirely to this inspiration ceases to be a soul and becomes, being reborn from God, a son of God, an angel.”89 It will then be able to “govern the spheres of the elements” with the power of the world soul itself.90 James Hankins quotes a remarkable passage from Avicenna, which I believe provides an authentic context for Ficino’s natural magic of physical and psychic balancing, where “imitating the heavens” through working with the images of astrology leads to a “realization of the heavens” in the soul of its own divine powers: But when a person expends all his efforts to purify [his rational soul] through knowledge, acquires the propensity for contact with the divine effluence, has a balanced temperament, and lacks those opposites that hinder his 86  Ficino, Theologia Platonica, XIII.II, 22: “Ea vero vacante, quid prohibit angelicam aliquam rationalibus viribus cogniationem irrepere, licet unde surrepat non videamus?” 87  Ficino, Theologia Platonica, III.IV, 3. 88  “Angel” in Ficinian metaphysics is equivalent to the Neoplatonic nous; on the relationship between the angel and the soul, and the problematic of fitting the Christian angel into the Plotinian hypostases, see Michael J.B. Allen, “The Absent Angel in Ficino’s Philosophy” in Michael J.B. Allen, Plato’s Third Eye, 219–40. Ficino’s idea of the Angel was derived from scriptural sources, Pseudo-Dionysius’ On the Celestial Hierarchy, and medieval Scholasticism. Allen discusses Aquinas’ absolute distinction between human and angelic intelligence, but asserts that “the whole thrust of [Ficino’s] strictly systematic thought is directed against the fundamental postulate of Christianity, that God is ineffably transcendent” (224). Allen points to Ficino’s essentially Neoplatonic definition of the angelic as “the sphere of pure intelligences” and discusses how his revisioning of Christian metaphysics essentially weakened the position of the Angel and “seriously impaired” its ontological validity (227–28). On Ficino’s apparent confusion regarding the identity of angels and planetary intelligences, see Allen, “The Absent Angel,” 231–32. On the angel as mens, the highest part of the soul, see Allen, “The Absent Angel,” 235–35. 89  Ficino, Theologia Platonica, XIII, IV, 12 “Qui hinc inspirationi totum se committit, cessat esse anima fitque, deo regenerante, dei filius, angelus.” 90  Ficino, Theologia Platonica, XIII.IV, 13; Hankins, “Ficino, Avicenna,” 18.

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reception of the divine effluence, then there comes about in him a certain similarity to the celestial bodies and he resembles in his purity the seven mighty ones, that is the seven celestial spheres.91

Furthermore, “by means of the intellect and will, its two Platonic wings” says Ficino, the soul will fly toward God, making progress every day through its desire to achieve union, until it is perfected: “Hence our soul will sometime be able to become in a sense all things, and even to become God.”92

Conclusion I would like to suggest that the strategies and techniques of Ficino’s astral magic were directed toward the opening of the soul to an inspiration— hinted at by the divina sors—which derived from its own highest part, the angelic intelligence, in order to lead it to a spiritual rebirth in God. But this mystical aim could never be stated as a final goal of “natural magic,” situated in a Neoplatonic cosmology, concerned with talismans, sympathetic magic, and musical invocation to pagan deities, pace Proclus. Transmuting the physical cosmos into symbols as a hermeneutic method of spiritual ascent could only go so far in the eyes of the Church, and Ficino’s frustrations in Dvcc are barely disguised.93 It is little wonder that Ficino felt constrained, for, as Henry Corbin puts it, “[orthodox] theology would combat all emanationism,94 claim the creative act as a prerogative of  Quoted in Hankins, “Ficino, Avicenna,” 28.  See Ficino, Theologia Platonica, XIV, 3, Opera, 311 (translation courtesy of J.  L. Burroughs): “animam nostrum per intellectum et voluntatem tanquam geminas ilas Platonicas alas, idcirco volare ad Deum, quoniam per eas volat ad omnia. Per primam omnia sibi applicat, per secundam se applicat omnibus. Itaque anima cupit, conatur, incipit Deus fieri; proficitque quotidie. Motus autem omnis qui ad terminum aliquem directus, incipit quidem primo, pergit deinde, intenditur paulatim, et proficit, profecto quadoque perficitur. Eadem namque facultate intenditur, qua coepit. Eadem postea perficit, qua et intendebatur. Eadem tandem perficitur, qua proficit. Quamobrem animus noster quandoque fieri poterit quodammodo omnia, ac Deus quidam evadere).” 93  See, for example, Ficino, Dvcc, XXV, where Ficino puts a fictional “severe ecclesiastical prelate” in the position of devil’s advocate. 94  Emanationism lies at the heart of Neoplatonic thought, being the never-ending overflowing of divine goodness into creation, from the transcendent source, via the hypostatic layers of Divine Mind, World Soul, and material world, decreasing in potency of divine essence as it descends. This contrasts with Creationism, which posits a divine creator separate from his creation. 91 92

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God alone, [and] end the human soul’s soliloquy with the Angel Active Intelligence.”95 I end with my conviction that we cannot extricate Ficino’s astral magic from the “big picture” of his Christian Neoplatonism and his fundamental concerns about the ultimate purpose and destiny of the soul, for to do so would be to distort the integrity of his life’s mission to restore ancient wisdom (including the “ancient singing of songs to the Orphic lyre”) to the world in the service of theology.96 In this context, Ficino’s appeal to the “divine oracle” is part of a process by which the soul may learn to purify the lens of imagination in order to listen to its own higher voice, and begin its self-empowered journey toward divine realization, whatever this may mean in any ultimate sense.97 As a final word, I would like to leave readers with a problem which has been touched on at several points in this chapter; and that is the absolute distinction between theories of higher intelligence—the debates between Platonic and Christian theologies regarding “correct” definitions of metaphysical terms and how to reconcile them—and the experienced “other” in ritual practice. Ficino’s magical music-making was inspired by a direct communication from “somewhere” which, in its instance of apprehension, defied all categorization or definitive naming. The important fact is that it worked. Ficino is then required to grapple with impossible questions of provenance based on conceptual, and incompatible, metaphysical structures, which can only ever serve as metaphors for something beyond them all. In this respect, the words of Iamblichus faithfully summarize Ficino’s dilemma, even while pointing to yet another “impossible question” for the historian: 95  Henry Corbin, Avicenna and the Visionary Recital (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. 2014), 101. 96  See Ficino, Letter to Paul of Middelburg of 1492 in Letters, X, 51 (Ficino, Opera, 944): “This age, like a golden age, has brought back to light those liberal disciplines that were practically extinguished: grammar, poetry, oratory, painting, sculpture, architecture, music and the ancient singing of songs to the Orphic Lyre, and all this in Florence” (“Hoc enim seculum tanquam aureum, liberales disciplinas ferme iam extinctas reduxit in lucem, grammaticam, poesim, oratoriam, picturam, sculpturam, architecturam, musicam, antiquum ad Orphicam Lyram carminum cantum, idquae Florentiae”). 97  Geoffrey Cornelius has pointed out in that astrology as a practice unites the two modes of vision: “we understand that Sun, Moon and planets are visible in two lights, and not one; the world of sense, where they may be measured by the astronomer, and the world of imagination, where they reveal their hidden light to the astrologer”; “Astrology’s Hidden Light: Reflections on Ficino’s De sole,” Sphinx, Journal of Archetypal Psychology and the Arts 6 (1993): 121–22.

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Indeed, to tell the truth, the contact we have with the divinity is not to be taken as knowledge. Knowledge, after all, is separated from its object by some degree of otherness. But prior to that knowledge, which knows another as being itself other, there is the unitary connection with the gods that is natural and indivisible.98

Ficino knew not to take the metaphors literally, and herein, I suggest, lies his genius.

References Addey, Crystal. 2009. Oracles of the Gods: The Role of Divination and Theurgy in the Philosophy of Porphyry and Iamblichus. PhD diss., University of Bristol. Al Kindi. 1974. De radiis, edited by M.T.  D’Alverny and F.  Hudry. Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littérature du moyen âge 41: 139–260. Allen, Michael J.B. 1995a. Marsilio Ficino on Plato, the Neoplatonists and the Christian Doctrine of the Trinity. In Michael J.B. Allen, Plato’s Third Eye: The Metaphysics of Marsilio Ficino, 555–584. Aldershot: Variorum. ———. 1995b. Summoning Plotinus: Ficino, Smoke and the Strangled Chickens. In Michael J.B.  Allen, Plato’s Third Eye: The Metaphysics of Marsilio Ficino, 63–88. Aldershot: Variorum. ———. 1995c. The Absent Angel in Ficino’s Philosophy. In Michael J.B. Allen, Plato’s Third Eye: The Metaphysics of Marsilio Ficino, 219–240. Aldershot: Variorum. ———. 2014. Marsilio Ficino. In Interpreting Proclus from Antiquity to the Renaissance, 353–379. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Aquinas, Thomas. Summa theologica. http://www.newadvent.org/summa/. Accessed 13 August 2015. Augustine. 1984. City of God. Translated by Henry Bettenson. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. ———. 1995. De doctrina Christiana. Edited and translated by R.P.H.  Green. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Barker, Andrew. 1989. Harmonic and Acoustic Theory. In Greek Musical Writings, vol. II, 17–19. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bullard, Melissa. 1990. The Inward Zodiac, A Development in Ficino’s Thought on Astrology. Renaissance Quarterly 43: 687–708. Chittick, William. 1994. Imaginal Worlds: Ibn ‘Arabi and the Problem of Religious Diversity. New York: SUNY Press.

 Iamblichus, On the Mysteries, I.3.

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Cicero, Marcus Tullius. 1997. On the Nature of the Gods and On Divination. Translated by C.D. Yonge. New York: Prometheus Books. Cleonides. 1965. Harmonic Introduction. In Source Readings in Music History, trans. Oliver Strunk, vol. I, 34–46. New York: Norton. “Comparanda.” http://www.archives.nd.edu/cgi-­bin/wordz.pl?keyword= comparanda. Accessed 31 July 2015. Copenhaver, Brian. 1984. Scholastic Philosophy and Renaissance Magic in the De vita of Marsilio Ficino. Renaissance Quarterly 37 (4): 523–554. ———. 1986. Renaissance Magic and Neoplatonic Philosophy: Ennead 4.3–5 in Ficino’s De vita coelitus comparanda. In Marsilio Ficino e il ritorno di Platone, ed. G. Garfagnini, 351–369. Florence: Olschki. ———, ed. 1992. Hermetica. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Corbin, Henry. 1976. Mundus imaginalis. Ipswich: Golgonooza Press. ———. 2014. Avicenna and the Visionary Recital. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Cornelius, Geoffrey. 1996. Astrology’s Hidden Light: Reflections on Ficino’s De sole. Sphinx, Journal of Archetypal Cosmology and the Arts 6: 114–122. ———. 2003. The Moment of Astrology. Bournemouth: Wessex Astrologer. ———. 2010. Field of Omens: A Study of Inductive Divination. PhD diss., University of Kent. Couliano, Ioan. 1987. Eros and Magic in the Renaissance. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Della Torre, Arnaldo. 1902. Storia dell’Academia Platonica di Firenze. Florence: G. Carnesecchi e figli. Dillon, John. 1986. Plotinus and the Transcendental Imagination. In The Religious Imagination, ed. John Mackay, 55–64. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Elders, Leo. 1990. The Philosophical Theology of St. Thomas Aquinas. Leiden: Brill. Ficino, Marsilio. 1937. Disputatio contra iudicium astrologorum. In Supplementum Ficinianum, ed. Paul Oskar Kristeller, vol. II, 11–76. Florence: Olschki. ———. 1985. Commentary on Plato’s Symposium. Translated by Sears Jayne. Dallas, TX: Spring Publications. ———. 1989. De vita coelitus comparanda. In Marsilio Ficino, Three Books on Life, ed. Carol Kaske and John Clark, 236–393. Binghamton, NY: Society of Renaissance Studies. ———. 2000. Opera Omnia. Paris: Phénix Editions. Originally published in Basel: HenricPetri, 1576. ———. 2001–2006. Theologia Platonica. Edited by Michael J.B. Allen and James Hankins, 6 vols. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. ———. 2006. Writings on Astrology. Edited by Angela Voss. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books.

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———. 1975, 1978, 1981, 1988, 1994, 1999, 2003, 2009, 2012, 2015. The Letters of Marsilio Ficino. Translated by members of the Language Department of the School of Economic Science, 10 vols. London: Shepheard-Walwyn. Firmicus Maternus, Julius. 2005. Ancient Astrology, Theory and Practice: Matheseos Libri VIII. Translated by Jean Rhys Bram. Abingdon, MD: Astrology Classics. George, Leonard. 2010. Iamblichus on the Esoteric Perception of Nature. In Esotericism, Religion and Nature, ed. Arthur Versluis, Claire Fanger, Irwin Lee, and Melanie Phillips, 73–88. West Lancing, MI: North American Academic Press. Grant, Edward. 1996. Planets, Stars and Orbs: The Medieval Cosmos 1200–1687. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hanegraaff, Wouter. 2012. Esotericism and the Academy: Rejected Knowledge in Western Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hankins, James. 1991. Plato in the Italian Renaissance. Leiden and New York: Brill. ———. 2007. Ficino, Avicenna and the Occult Properties of the Rational Soul. In La Magia nell’Europa Moderna: tra antica sapienza e filosofia naturale, ed. F. Meloi and E. Scapparone, vol. I, 35–52. Florence: Olschki. Hasse, Dag Nikolaus. 2001. Avicenna’s “De Anima” in the Latin West: The Formation of a Peripatetic Philosophy of the Soul 1160–1300. London: Warburg Institute. Iamblichus. 2003. On the Mysteries. Translated by Emma C.  Clarke, John M. Dillon, and Jackson P. Herschbell. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Studies. Kaske, Carol, and John Clark. 1989. Introduction. In Marsilio Ficino, Three Books on Life, ed. Carol Kaske and John Clark, 3–91. Binghamton, NY: Society of Renaissance Studies. Kenny, Anthony. 1994. Aquinas on Mind. London and New York: Psychology Press. Klibansky, Raymond, Erwin Panofsky, and Fritz Saxl. 1964. Saturn and Melancholy. Michigan, MI: University of Michigan. Kripal, Jeffrey J. 2001. Roads of Excess, Palaces of Wisdom. Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press. ———. 2007. The Serpent’s Gift. Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press. Kristeller, Paul O. 1943. The Philosophy of Marsilio Ficino. New York: Columbia University Press. Loewe, M., and C.  Blacker, eds. 1981. Divination and Oracles. Berkeley, CA: Shambhala. Lovejoy, A.O. 1964. The Great Chain of Being. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. McGilchrist, Iain. 2010. The Master and His Emissary. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Miles, Margaret. 1999. Plotinus on Body and Beauty. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Moore, Thomas. 1992. The Planets Within. Herndon, VA: Steinerbooks.

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Philostratus. 1870–71. Vita Apollonii. In Opera auctiora, ed. C.L. Kayser, 2 vols, I. Leipzig: Teubner. Pingree, David, ed. 1986. Picatrix. London: The Warburg Institute. Plato. 1961. Complete Works. Edited by Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Plotinus. 1991. Enneads. Translated by Stephen McKenna. Harmondsworth: Penguin Classics. Pontano, Giovanni. 1531. Commentariorum in centum Claudii Ptolemaei sententias libri duo. Basel: Cratandrus. Porphyry. 2011. To Gaurus on How Embryos are Ensouled and On What is in Our Power. Translated by James Wilberding. London: Bristol Classical Papers. ———. Sententiae: Auxiliaries to the Perception of Intelligible Nature. Translated by Thomas Taylor. http://tertullian.org/fathers/porphyry_sententiae_02_ trans.htm. Accessed 1 July 2020. Proclus. 1933. Elements of Theology. Translated by E.R.  Dodds. Oxford: Clarendon Press. ———. De sacrificio et magia (On the Sacred Art). Translated by Stephen Ronan. https://web.archive.org/web/20130307124941/http://www.esotericism. co.uk/proclus-­sacred.htm. Accessed 20 July 2015. Russell, Donald A., and Heinz-Günther Nesselrath, eds. 2014. On Prophecy, Dreams and Human Imagination: Synesius, De insomniis. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Saif, Liana. 2015. The Arabic Influences on Early Modern Occult Philosophy. London and New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Shaw, Gregory. 1995. Theurgy and the Soul, the Neoplatonism of Iamblichus. Philadelphia, PA: Penn State Press. ———. 2003. Containing Ecstasy; the Strategies of Iamblichean Theurgy. Dionysus 21: 53–88. ———. 2008. Living Light: An Exploration of Divine Embodiment. In Seeing with Different Eyes; Essays in Astrology and Divination, ed. Angela Voss and Patrick Curry, 57–81. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. ———. 2010. The Role of Aesthesis in Theurgy. Unpublished paper, personal communication. Sheppard, Anne. 1997. Phantasia and Inspiration in Neoplatonism. In Studies in Plato and the Platonic Tradition: Essays Presented to John Whittacker, ed. J. Joyal, 201–210. Aldershot: Ashgate. “Sors.” http://www.archives.nd.edu/cgi-­bin/wordz.pl?keyword=sors. Accessed 31 July 2015. Struck, Peter. 2004. Birth of the Symbol: Ancient Writers at the Limits of their Texts. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Tomlinson, Gary. 1995. Music in Renaissance Magic. Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press.

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Voss, Angela. 1998. The Music of the Spheres: Marsilio Ficino and Renaissance Harmonia. Culture and Cosmos 2 (2): 16–38. ———. 2000. The Astrology of Marsilio Ficino: Divination or Science? Culture and Cosmos 4 (2): 29–45. ———. 2002. Orpheus Redivivus: The Musical Magic of Marsilio Ficino. In Marsilio Ficino, His Philosophy, His Theology, His Legacy, ed. Michael J.B. Allen and Valery Rees, 227–242. Leiden and New York: Brill. ———. 2006. Marsilio Ficino. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books. ———. 2009. A Methodology of the Imagination. Eye of the Heart Journal 3: 37–52. ———. 2011. God or the Daemon? Platonic Astrology in a Christian Cosmos. In Temenos Academy Review 14, 96–116. London: Temenos Academy. Walker, D.P. 1972. The Ancient Theology. London: Duckworth. ———. 2000. Spiritual and Demonic Magic from Ficino to Campanella. Stroud: Sutton Publishing. Watson, Gerard. 1986. Imagination and Religion in Classical Thought. In The Religious Imagination, ed. John Mackey, 9–54. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. ———. 1988. Phantasia in Classical Thought. Galway: Galway University Press. Wells, Vernon. 2010. Tempering Heaven: A Commentary on the First Chapter of Marsilio Ficino’s De vita coelitus comparanda. MA thesis, University of Kent. Yates, Frances. 1964. Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.

CHAPTER 3

The Transformation of the Notion of “Adept”: From Medieval Arabic Philosophy to Early Modern Alchemy Georgiana D. Hedesan

In the influential 1728 Chambers English Cyclopaedia, or, an Universal Dictionary of the Arts and Sciences, the term “adepts” has the following entry: Adepts, Adepti, a Denomination given to the Proficients in Alchymy; particularly those who pretend to the Secrets of the Philosopher’s Stone, and the Universal Medicine. See Alchymy, Philosopher’s Stone, Transmutation, Elixir, &c. Ripley, Lully, Paracelsus, Helmont, Hollandus, Centivoglio,1 &c 1  Centivoglio is probably a misspelling of the name of Michael Sendivogius (1566-1636), as there is no alchemist I found by that name. The other “adepts” are George Ripley (c. 1415-1490), Ramón Llull (c.1232-c.1315), actually Pseudo-Lull, Theophrastus von Hohenheim, called Paracelsus (1493-1541), Jan Baptist Van Helmont (1579-1644), and Isaac Hollandus (sixteenth century).

G. D. Hedesan (*) History Faculty, University of Oxford, Oxford, UK © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 G. D. Hedesan, T. Rudbøg (eds.), Innovation in Esotericism from the Renaissance to the Present, Palgrave Studies in New Religions and Alternative Spiritualities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-67906-4_3

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are the Principal among the Adepti. See Chymistry. The Word is Latin, Adeptus, form’d of the Verb adipiscor, I obtain.2

Thus, Cyclopaedia defines “adepts” as being associated with alchemy, and particularly with the quest for the philosophers’ stone and the universal medicine. It further provides a list of persons viewed as adepts, which includes both medieval and early modern alchemists. The alchemical connotation of the word “adept” is still encountered today,3 though, as it will be shown in the next section, the term commonly has a wider meaning. However, a quick review of medieval alchemical works reveals that the notion of “adept” was not common before the early modern period. Treatises like the Turba philosophorum or Rosarium philosophorum usually refer to accomplished alchemists as “sons of doctrine,” “sons of wisdom,” “the wise,” and, most of all, as “Philosophers.”4 It was this discrepancy between medieval and early modern alchemical terminology that first set me on the path of discovering the origin of the term “adept.” In-depth research has revealed an intriguing lineage of the word prior to its wholehearted adoption by early modern alchemical philosophers. This chapter analyzes the notion of “adept” in medieval Arabic and Latin philosophy, in the works of Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim, called Paracelsus (1493-1541), as well as in those of his followers Petrus Severinus (1542-1602) and Oswald Croll (1563-1609).

2  Ephraim Chambers, “Adepts,” in Cyclopædia, or, An Universal Dictionary of Arts and Sciences (London: Knapton et al, 1728), 33. 3  Lawrence M.  Principe, “Adept,” in Alchemie: Lexicon einer hermetischen Wissenschaft, eds. Claus Priesner and Karin Figala (Munich: Beck, 1998), 15. According to Principe, “The Adept is the highest rank amongst alchemists. He was generally credited with knowledge of the philosophers’ stone, as well as its preparation and application,” my translation (“Der A. nimmt unter den Alchemisten den höchsten Rang ein. Man schrieb ihm allgemein die Kenntnis des Steins der Weisen, seiner Bereitung und Anwendung zu”). Principe emphasizes the lore of unknown alchemists who would perform transmutations, like the one famously witnessed by Helvetius and transcribed in Vitulus aureus (1667), and discusses similar public transmutations by Michael Sendivogius and the legendary Alexander Seton. 4  For instance, sapientum, filii doctrinae, philosophi, in Julius Ruska, ed., Turba philosophorum:ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Alchimie (Berlin: Springer, 1931), 109, 111, 112, 116, 117, etc, filia sapientum, Philosophi, in Joachim Telle, ed, Rosarium philosophorum: ein alchemisches Florilegium des Spätmittelalters, 2 vols (Weinheim: VCH, 1992), I, 3-9, 13, 20, 99, and many others, see index.

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Defining “Adept” The English word “adept” (noun) is defined by the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) as: 1. Originally: a person who has attained knowledge of the secrets of alchemy, magic, and the occult, (now esp.) an initiate into the secrets of a particular hermetic order or occult organization. In later use also more generally: a person who has been initiated into any system of spiritual knowledge. 2. A person who is highly skilled or proficient at something.5 The online Collins English dictionary defines “adept” (noun) only as “a person who is skilled or proficient in something,” but attributes its use to the medieval Latin adeptus, meaning “one who has attained (the secret of transmuting metals).”6 According to its further historical note, The Latin noun adepti “those who have attained knowledge of the esoteric secrets of alchemy,” seems first to have appeared in the works of the Swiss physician and alchemist Paracelsus, and later, in the works of the Flemish chemist and physician Jan Baptista van Helmont.7

While this note does not bear any reference, it draws attention to the plural form of adeptus, adepti, as being particularly associated with alchemy and Paracelsianism. If we look back to the early dictionaries and encyclopedias, we find that it was indeed the plural noun “adepti” or “adepts” that appeared in them. One of the first encyclopedias, John Harris’s Lexicon Technicum, Or, An Universal English Dictionary of Arts and Sciences (1704) includes the entry “Adeptists, or Adepts,” which is defined as: such Alchymists as pretend to have gained the Secret of the Transmutation of Metals, or to make the Philosopher’s Stone: Of these Mystical, Invisible Gentlemen (they say) there are 12 always in being; which are kept supplied  “adept, n.,” OED Online, June 2020, https://ezproxy-prd.bodleian.ox.ac.uk:2360/view/Entry/290068?rskey=Wy3EQn&res ult=1&isAdvanced=false (behind paywall), accessed 30 June 2020. 6  “adept,” Collins English Dictionary - Complete & Unabridged 10th Edition http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/adept, accessed 20 June 2020. 7  “adept,” Collins English Dictionary. 5

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by new ones when any of the Fraternity pleaseth to die, or to translate himself to some place where he can make use of his Gold, for in this wicked world it will not procure them Shirts.8

This strange anecdote seems to originate from the lore of Rosicrucianism, although its founding document, Fama fraternitatis (1614), sets the number of Rosy Cross Brothers at eight, not twelve.9 A few years later (1732), the first of the 68 volumes of Johann Friedrich Zedler’s Grosses vollständiges Universal-Lexicon aller Wissenschafften und Künste (The Great and Complete Universal Lexicon of All the Sciences and Arts, 1732-1754) has no less than three entries related to “adept”: one for Adepti, one for Adepta (Philosophia) and one for Adeptus, the latter two directing to the first.10 According to Zedler, Adepti are those who claim “strange” or “extraordinary” knowledge (sonderbaren Wissenschaften) by the light of God alone. He identifies Paracelsus as the first to write about the adepts. Zedler thinks Paracelsus was one of them, and maintains that Jan Baptist Van Helmont (1579-1644) also described himself as an adept.11 He further adds that many alchemists or “gold-makers” (Goldmacher) have claimed to be adepts, only to die in extreme poverty or at the gallows.12 8  John Harris, “Adeptists, or Adepts,” in Lexicon Technicum, Or, An Universal English Dictionary of Arts and Sciences (London: Brown et al, 1704), unpaginated. 9  Fama Fraternitatis deß Löblichen Ordens des Rosenkreutzes (Kassel: Wessel, 1614), 27. The story of the 12 adepts also appears in the Chambers Encyclopaedia with reference to Harris. 10  Johann Friedrich Zedler, “Adepta (Philosophia),” “Adepti,” “Adeptus,” in Grosses vollständiges Universal-Lexicon aller Wissenschafften und Künste, 68 vols (Halle and Leipzig: Johann Heinrich Zedler, 1732-1754), I (1732), 490-91. 11  Zedler, “Adepti,” 491: “Paracelsus hat am ersten von solchen Leuten geschrieben, und sich selbst dafür ausgegeben...Helmontius, als des Paracelsi Discipel...giebt sich auch für einen Adeptum aus, und gratulirt ihm selbst von wegen solcher Gabe im Anfang seines Buchs der Physicae inauditae, col 3, s. 8.” In fact, Van Helmont did not directly claim to be an adept, stating only that “I am esteemed to be an adept [achiever] of Arcana” in a context that refers to vulgar opinion that takes him for a “Paracelsian hater” and “a deserter from Scholasticism”; “Etenim ab Osoribus Paracelsista vocor, scholarumque desertor, aestimorque tamen arcanorum aliquot Adeptus”; Jan Baptist Van Helmont, Ortus medicinae, id est, Initia physicae inaudita. Progressus medicinae novus in morborum ultionem ad vitam longam (Amsterdam: Ludovic Elzevir, 1648), 630. Despite this ambivalent statement, he did claim that he had acquired adept secrets; Ortus medicinae, 595, 596. 12  Zedler, “Adepti,” 491: “Wie den einige, ob sie gleich würcklich vor grossen Herren tingiret, und Gold gemacht haben sollen, letzlich in höchster Armuth, oder gar am Galgen gestorben.”

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The first volume of the famous Encyclopédie of Denis Diderot and Jean D’Alembert (1751) seems to reflect both Chambers’ definition and Zedler’s focus on Paracelsus. According to Diderot, “Adeptes” are those who occupy themselves with the art of metallic transformation and the search for a universal medicine.13 Encyclopédie goes further to cite from Paracelsus to the extent that this knowledge is received from heaven, not by instruction, an idea that Diderot criticizes as “enthusiasm.”14 Around this time, the word “Adepti” also entered the Latin dictionary. According to the 1766 Pierre Carpentier’s revision of the Latin dictionary compiled by Charles du Cange in 1678, “Adepti are called in the chemical art, Parac. & Helmont, Mystae or ἐπόπται.”15 In the 1778 English Cyclopaedia by Abraham Rees, fully published in 39 volumes by 1819, the term “adepts” has the following entry: Adepts, Adepti, from the verb adipsci, to obtain, a denomination given to the proficients in Alchemy, by which those chemists chose formerly to ­distinguish themselves who were engaged in experiments on the transmutation of metals, and researches after the universal medicine.16

Rees further attempts to establish an etymology of the noun: 13  This definition is probably taken from Chambers. The Encyclopédie was initially conceived as a French translation of Chambers’ popular work. 14  Denis Diderot and Jean D’Alembert, Encyclopédie (Paris: Briasson, David, Le Breton, Durand, 1751), I, 131 (http://enccre.academie-sciences.fr/encyclopedie/page/v1-p203/, accessed 20 June 2020): “Adeptes, adj. pris sub. (Philosoph.) C’est le nom qu’on donnoit jadis à ceux qui s’occupoient de l’art de transformer les métaux en or, & de la recherché d’un remède universel. Il faut, selon Paracelse, attendre la découverte de l’un & de l’autre immédiatement du Ciel. Elle ne peut, selon lui, passer d’un homme à un autre : mais Paracelse étoit apparemment dans l’enthousiasme lorsqu’il faisoit ainsi l’éloge de cette sorte de Philosophie, pour laquelle il avoit un extrême penchant : car dans des momens ou son esprit étoit plus tranquille, il convenoit qu’on pouvoit l’apprendre de ceux qui la possédoient. Nous parlerons plus au long de ces visionnaires à l’article Alchimie. Voyez ALCHIMIE.” 15  According to Pierre Carpentier, “adeptus, adde,” in Charles du Cange, Glossarium novum ad scriptores medii aevi, cum Latinos tum Gallicos, 4 vols (Paris: Le Breton, Saillant and Desaint, 1766), I, 59: “adeptus, adde. Adepti dicuntur in arte chimica, Parac. & Helmont, Mystae, imo ἐπόπται.” This definition did not exist in the first edition of 1678, which defined “adeptus” as “Exponitur δωρεὰν λαϐὼν, in Glos. Græc. Lat. Qui gratis accipit;” Charles du Cange, “adeptus,” in Glossarium ad Scriptores mediae & infimae Latinitatis, 3 vols (Lyon: Billaine, 1678), I, 56. 16  Abraham Rees, “Adepts,” in The Cyclopaedia, or, Universal Dictionary of Arts, Science, and Literature (London: Rivington et al., 1819), unpaginated.

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The appellation is derived, according to Paracelsus (de astronomia magna, lib. i.), from the Latin term philosophia adepta, philosophy acquired by contemplation, in opposition to that which was taught and transmitted in the schools philosophia elementaris…Originally, however, this flattering epithet was common to several sciences, for Paracelsus expressly mentions adept theology, adept geometry, adept medicine, &c. All these sublime distinctions are however fallen into neglect, and the believers in the philosopher’s stone have alone retained possession of the title of adepts.17

As this excerpt shows, Rees traces the term back to Paracelsus’s treatise Astronomia Magna (1637-1638). Rees’s reading of it leads him to note that the term was initially used as an adjective, not a noun, and that it applied to many fields of knowledge, not just to alchemy. By comparison to all the aforementioned entries, Samuel Johnson’s A Dictionary of the English Language (1755) shifts attention away from the alchemists, and expands the use of the term. Johnson indexes only the singular form “adept” (noun) and defines it as “He that is completely skilled in all the secrets of his art. It is, in its original signification, appropriated to the chymists, but is now extended to other artists.”18 From the review of these early encyclopedias and dictionaries we can draw the following conclusions: firstly, that most of its authors associated the nouns “adepti”/“adepts” and “adeptus”/“adept” as referring to alchemists, particularly those laying claims to the philosophers’ stone and universal medicine. Secondly, there was often a perceived link with Paracelsianism, particularly Paracelsus and Van Helmont. Finally,  Rees derived the etymology of the word from Paracelsus’s Astronomia Magna, noting its use in the form philosophia adepta or theologia adepta. What these early entries further suggest is that the noun adeptus, pl. adepti, was unknown, or at least unusual, in classical Latin. In Latin grammar, adeptus is the perfect participle of the verb adipiscor, meaning “to acquire” or “to obtain.”19 The terms adeptus (masculine), adepta

 Rees, “Adepts.”  Samuel Johnson, “Adept (noun),” in A Dictionary of the English Language: A Digital Edition of the 1755 Classic by Samuel Johnson, ed. Brandi Besalke, last modified: 15 January 2014, https://johnsonsdictionaryonline.com/adept-noun/, accessed 27 June 2020. 19  According to Carlton T.  Lewis and Charles Short’s A Latin Dictionary (Oxford: Clarendon, 1879), adipiscor is a compound verb made up of ad and apiscor, the latter meaning “to reach, attain to, get, gain.” 17 18

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(feminine), or adeptum (neuter) would roughly translate as “attained,” “accomplished,” “achieved.” In order to transform adeptus into a noun, the quality of being adeptus had to be associated with, or applied to, a specific category of individuals. This means that a person could essentially be defined by the quality of having achieved something: he or she would “embody” the qualifier adeptus. How did this philological transformation come about? I would argue that the process commenced with the participle adeptus taking on a specific, philosophical meaning that distinguished it from ordinary uses of the word. Yet adeptus does not seem to have had a special connotation prior to the High Middle Ages. During this period, it started to be used in the translation of an Arabic philosophical notion, that of the “acquired intellect.” The Latin term intellectus adeptus reflected the Arabic term used by Al Farabi (c. 870-950), Avicenna (Ibn Sina, 980-1037), and Averroes (Ibn Rushd, 1126-1198) to refer to the superior state of the human intellect which had received illumination from the “active intellect.”20

Intellectus Adeptus in Medieval Arabic and Latin Philosophy It is a well-known historical fact that ancient Greek philosophy was received by the Latin West mainly via translations from Arabic. Not only were these translations instrumental in the West’s appropriation of philosophy, but the Latin understanding of Greek ideas was influenced by Arabic interpretation. In particular, Avicenna and Averroes were regarded as major interpreters of the thought of Aristotle (385-323 BCE). It was only later that Western scholars realized that the speculations of Avicenna and Averroes were sometimes idiosyncratic, or based on  Neoplatonic interpretations of Aristotelian ideas. Such was the case with the concept of the intellectus adeptus, or “acquired intellect.” The notion was drawn on the doctrine of the “active intellect” (or “agent intellect”), itself based on Aristotle’s De anima.21 In 20  For Al Farabi and Avicenna’s use of the term, see Herbert A.  Davidson, Alfarabi, Avicenna and Averroes on Intellect (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), 48-62, 83-94. 21  Aristotle, De anima, III.5 430a17-25, in The Complete Works of Aristotle, 2 vols (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991), I, 54.

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this treatise, Aristotle had speculated on an “immortal and eternal” intellect, which is “impassible” but “active.” In Arabic reception, Aristotle’s views were, however, mixed with Neoplatonic speculations on a celestial intelligence that “activated” the human intellect (as present in the pseudo-­ Aristotelian Theology of Aristotle). The notion of the “acquired intellect” was a further innovation on Aristotle: it reflected Arabic translations of two commentaries on Aristotle by the Greek interpreter Alexander of Aphrodisias (fl. 200 CE).22 The Arabic term may have also been inspired by a similar use in a passage of Plotinus’s Enneads on the intellect received from heaven.23 Based on these precedents, Al Farabi postulated the existence of three types of human intellect: the rational faculty, which is the “material intellect” that belongs to all human beings, the “actual intellect” (the intellect engaged by the active intellect), and the “acquired intellect,” which is the intellect perfected with all possible thoughts.24 Later, Avicenna took a more dualistic stance by differentiating three types of “potential” intellect (that is, “material,” in habitu, and “actual”) from the “acquired” (“actual”) intellect, which is obtained when the mind connects with the active intellect.25 In turn, Averroes emphasized the intellectus adeptus extensively. According to his views, When the material intellect is united with us insofar as it is actualized through the agent intellect, we are then united with the agent intellect. This disposition is called acquisition (adeptio) and the acquired intellect (intellectus adeptus).26

Averroes further claimed that the acquired intellect would possess divine knowledge.27

 Davidson, Alfarabi, Avicenna and Averroes, 11.  Plotinus, The Enneads, trans. A.  H. Armstrong, 7 vols (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984), V, 6.4, 208-11. 24  Davidson, Alfarabi, Avicenna and Averroes, 49. 25  Davidson, Alfarabi, Avicenna and Averroes, 84-86. As Davidson, 212, further points out, the Arabic term for acquired intellect, ‘aql mustafâd, was initially rendered in Latin in two versions, intellectus accommodatus and intellectus adeptus. The latter translation eventually prevailed. 26  Averroes (Ibn Rushd) of Cordoba, Long Commentary on the De Anima of Aristotle, trans. Richard C.  Taylor (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2009), III.5, 328. The Latin term is emphasized in the translation. 27  Averroes, Long Commentary, III.5, 303-329, III.36, 381-401. 22 23

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These Arabic speculations became part of the Scholastic discourse due to their appropriation by the German philosopher Albertus Magnus (1193-1280). Albertus Magnus similarly posited that the acquired intellect, intellectus adeptus, became God-like by contact with the active intellect, citing Averroes.28 Yet his views were controversial. Albertus’s pupil Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274) rejected the idea that this type of perfect knowledge was possible during one’s lifetime.29 For a long time, Aquinas’s views prevailed and the notion of the intellectus adeptus became uncommon among medieval Scholastics. However, the strong revival of Averroism in the Renaissance led to a reaffirmation of the notion of the acquired intellect.30 Pietro Pomponazzi (1462-1525) referred to fellow Averroists who, having acquired the intellectus adeptus, “have dinner with God and know everything.”31 The notion of the intellectus adeptus or the variant notion of the mens adepta recurs in the writings of the Florentine philosopher Marsilio Ficino (1433-1499)32 and the Christian Cabalist Johannes Reuchlin (1455-1522).33 The latter probably drew it from Jewish philosophers and Kabbalists like Yohanan Alemanno (c.1435-c.1504), the teacher of Giovanni Pico della Mirandola (1463-1494).34 The Jewish filiation of the notion of intellectus adeptus may have partially been separate from the Latin one, as Moses Maimonides (1138-1204) was himself influenced by Arabic philosophy to postulate that God as active intellect could overflow into the human intellect.35 28  Albertus Magnus, De anima, in Beati Alberti Magni Ratisbonensis Episcopi Ordinis Praedicatorum (Opera omnia), 21 vols (Lyon: Prost et al, 1651), III, 3.3.11, 166-68; see also Alain de Libera, Métaphysique et noétique: Albert le Grand (Paris: Vrin, 2005), 325-27, Davidson, Alfarabi, Avicenna and Averroes, 216. 29  Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae, I, q.84 a.7, Opera omnia, https://aquinas.cc/la/ en/~ST.I.Q84.A7, accessed 30 June 2020. 30  On this topic, see Bruno Nardi, Saggi sull’aristotelismo padovano (Florence: Sansoni, 1958) and Guido Giglioni, “Introduction,” in Renaissance Averroism and Its Aftermath: Arabic Philosophy in Early Modern Europe, eds. Anna Akasoy and Guido Giglioni (Dordrecht: Springer, 2013), 1-36. 31  Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Paris, MS Lat. 6535, 120r-v, cited in Nardi, 257. 32  Marsilio Ficino, Epistolae (Venice: Matteo Capcasa, 1495), 42. 33  Johannes Reuchlin, De verbo mirifico (Tübingen: n.p., 1514), [21]. 34  Israel Zinberg, Italian Jewry in the Renaissance Era, trans. Bernard Martin (New York: Ktav Pub, 1974), 34. 35  Sarah Pessin, “The Influence of Islamic Thought on Maimonides,” in The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Spring 2016 Edition), ed. Edward N. Zalta, https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2016/entries/maimonides-islamic/, accessed 20 June 2020.

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It is probably the Renaissance revival of the notion of intellectus adeptus and mens adepta that reached Paracelsus. It is difficult to say how much he knew of its philosophical background; in any case, he was clearly favorable to the possibility of achieving a perfect kind of knowledge originating from above. He may also have been influenced by a separate tradition that advocated superior knowledge: medieval alchemy. For instance, the so-­ called Testament of Morienus Romanus, translated from Arabic to Latin in 1144, also places an emphasis on “achieving” a higher form of knowledge.36 We may be tempted to speculate that the Testament’s frequent use of variants of the adipiscor and adeptus in regards to knowledge (scientia) reflects the application of the Arabic philosophical notion of the intellectus adeptus to the subject of alchemy. Indeed, the Arabic concept chimes well with alchemy’s insistence that it represents God-given or inspired knowledge. In his introductory sermon, Morienus talks about the legendary Hermes Trismegistus as one who had mastered the knowledge of the entire philosophy. After his death, his disciples studied his books and precepts diligently and were able to obtain (adipisci possent) his knowledge. Later, a philosopher called Adfar Alexandrinus (apparently the Byzantine alchemist Stephen of Alexandria, seventh century) read the book of Hermes, and eventually came to attain its knowledge (…scientiam ad plenum est adeptus). Morienus became the pupil of Adfar and “acquired the magistery of Hermes” (…magisterium Hermetis est adeptus).37 Sought out by King Khalid ibn Yazid (c. 668–704) of Egypt, he exhorted him to pray to God to obtain the magistery (…huius magisterij scientiam…adipisci).38 The magistery, also called “the secret of secrets” of God, is clearly an alchemical product, similar to the philosophers’ stone in its supreme character.39

36  Morienus, “Liber de Compositione Alchemiae, quem edidit Morienus Romanus, Calid Regi Aegyptiorum: quem Robertus Castrensis de Arabico in Latinum transtulit,” in Artis auriferae quam chemiam vocant, 2 vols (Basel: Offizin, 1593), II, 3-54. On the topic, see also Lee Stavenhagen, “The Original Text of the Latin Morienus,” Ambix 17, no.1 (1970): 1-12. 37  Morienus, “Liber de Compositione Alchemiae,” 8. 38  Morienus, “Liber de Compositione Alchemiae,” 14. 39  Morienus, “Liber de Compositione Alchemiae,” 39: “magisterium nihil aliud est nisi arcanum & secretum secretorum Dei altissimi & magni.” The reference is to the Secretum secretorum of Pseudo-Aristotle, an Arabic treatise of the ninth or tenth centuries, which in some versions included references to alchemy.

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Mentions of “Adept” in Paracelsus’s Works Paracelsus must be ranked among the most misunderstood and mysterious of all early modern thinkers.40 Raised in the Swiss Alps at the end of the fifteenth century, he made a career as medical doctor. After a stint teaching at the University of Basel, where he burned the books of traditional medicine and was promptly evicted from the school, he ended up living an errand life. Paracelsus had a fearsome temper, throwing colorful vituperations at his enemies and incurring wrath in his path. When he died in 1541, his reputation was checkered, and it took almost 30 years for his writings to start having an impact across the continent. By then, his authentic corpus had started to accrete many pseudo-Paracelsian treatises, which passed as genuine for most contemporaries.41 The Paracelsian corpus is very large and abstruse. Despite scholarly efforts to offer a comprehensive view of it, it still remains profoundly enigmatic.42 Paracelsus’s work straddles the boundaries of most disciples of thought with an ease that seems unsettling, but is also profoundly innovative. He wrote extensively on medicine, astronomy, magic, philosophy, alchemy, morality, theology, and religion, touching on almost all of the intellectual pursuits of his age. Paracelsus’s theories have sometimes been decried as inconsistent, but there is a growing understanding of his intellectual development throughout his writing career. Hence, in reviewing Paracelsus’s use of the term

40  Henry E. Sigerist, A History of Medicine (New York: Oxford University Press, 1951; 2nd ed, 1955), I: “Primitive and Archaic Medicine,” 12, summarizes the reception of Paracelsus by observing that “Paracelsus was sometimes looked upon as a magician and quack and sometimes as a physician of genius.” 41  On this topic, see Didier Kahn and Hiro Hirai, “Introduction: Pseudo-Paracelsus: Forgery and Early Modern Alchemy, Medicine and Natural Philosophy,” Early Science and Medicine 24 (2019): 415-18, and the contributions published in that special issue. 42  See in particular: Karl Sudhoff, Versuch einer Kritik der Echtheit der Paracelsischen Schriften, 2 vols (Berlin: Georg Reimer, 1894, 1899), Walter Pagel, Paracelsus: an Introduction to Philosophical Medicine in the Era of the Renaissance (Basel: S. Karger, 1958); Kurt Goldammer, Paracelsus in neuen Horizonten: Gesammelte Aufsätze (Vienna: Verband der wissenschaft lichen Gesellschaft en Osterreichs, 1986); Andrew Weeks, Paracelsus: Speculative Theory and the Crisis of the Early Reformation (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1997); Charles Webster, Paracelsus: Medicine, Magic & Mission at the End of Time (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2008).

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“adept,” we must take into consideration that it is possible that his view of the notion changed throughout his life. The first mentions of the term “adept” occur in Paracelsus’s works of 1530-1531, Opus Paramirum and Paragranum. In Opus Paramirum, the term makes an almost inconspicuous appearance in the treatise on the cause and origin of diseases. Before advancing his theory of a new disease called “tartar,” Paracelsus maintains that only a superior physician can see what is found potentially and invisibly in a being (the so-called ultima materia).43 For instance, Paracelsus claims, visible water contains invisible stones, and vice versa. This ability of “seeing” what is yet invisible is described by Paracelsus as the Philosophia adepta Sagax.44 Commenting on this expression, Andrew Weeks notes that: this hints at a very different sort of book than one encounters in Philosophia Sagax or Astronomia Magna of 1537-38. The qualifier “adepta” here confirms the impression that a work of alchemy is intended.45

However, it is not entirely clear that the adjective “adept” necessarily meant “alchemical” in this instance. In Paragranum, Paracelsus employs the unusual noun adepti: “There will be geomantici. There will be adepti. There will be archei. There will be spagyrici.”46 Without any explanation, Paracelsus here converts the adjective adeptus into the plural noun adepti. It is unclear whether Paracelsus is the source of this innovation, or he encountered it elsewhere. It would not in fact be surprising if he made this change himself, as he often inserted Latin terms into the vernacular German text, and his use of Latin is sometimes cavalier. Yet by using adepti as a noun, Paracelsus also 43  On Paracelsus’s views on this topic, see Massimo Luigi Bianchi, “The Visible and the Invisible. From Alchemy to Paracelsus,” in Alchemy and Chemistry in the 16th and 17th Centuries, eds. Piyo Rattansi and Antonio Clericuzio (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1994), 17-50. 44  Andrew Weeks, ed., Paracelsus: Essential Theoretical Writings (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 519: “Where is there one who [can recognize] water in a stone? There is none. Only the physician can do that. Accordingly, it is for him to seek further in places where what is [latently] present cannot [readily] be found, for example, in the oil the wood, in the water a stone. This amounts to the Philosophia adepta Sagax.” In the original German, 518: “Welcher im stein Wasser? Keiner / allein der Artzt. So muß er auch widerumb darinn suchen das es nicht ist das da sey / das ist / im Oel holtz / im Wasser ein Stein: Das ist nun Philosophia adepta Sagax.” 45  Weeks, Paracelsus, 518, n. b. 46  Weeks, Paracelsus, 96-98, 97-99: “Sie werden Geomantici sein, sie werden Adepti sein / sie werden Archei sein / sie werden Spagyri sein...”

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implies that the quality of adeptus is embodied in individuals (adepti) possessing it. Nevertheless, his use of the term adepti here is shrouded in mystery. What does it actually mean? How are the adepti different from practitioners of spagyrics (the art of alchemical separation) or from practitioners of geomancy? Paracelsus does not explain this any further. His statement is written in the context of a defense against detractors, which contrasts the old style of medicine with a new, revolutionary one, based on magic, Christian Cabala and alchemy. In the heat of polemics, Paracelsus does not bother to define his individual terms. A few chapters later in the Paragranum, under the subject of the Proprietas (“virtue”) of the physician, Paracelsus also uses the Germanized term Adepterey.47 Once again the qualifier adeptus is used as a noun, except here it does not refer to persons, but to a type of knowledge or art. Adepterey is related to medicine, but seems to transcend it, since Paracelsus describes its domain to include questions such as: what is above natural, what is visible and invisible, what is tasty, what is death, what is God, what the difference is between white and black? The manner in which Paracelsus discusses these matters seems to imply that the answers to these problems emerge from experience rather than from rational inquiry. The term “adept” appears more frequently in the latter part of Paracelsus’s writing career. There is first the tantalizing mention of the Adepta Philosophia in Grosse Wundartzney (The Great Surgery, published in 1536), where Paracelsus maintains that he was mentored in this “most secret and abstruse” philosophy by his father, Wilhelm von Hohenheim, and by a number of select personalities, including the bishop of Stettgach, the bishop of Yppon, the abbot of Sponheim and Sigmund Fugger, described as a great and noble alchemist.48 The reference to the “abbot of  Weeks, Paracelsus, 284; Weeks translates this as “adept arts” (285).   Philippus Theophrastus Bombast von Hohenheim Paracelsus gennant, “Grosse Wundartzney” in Chirurgische Bücher und Schriften, ed. Johannes Huser (Strasbourg: Lazarus Zetzner, 1605), 1-148 (101-102): “Von Kindheit auff habe ich die ding getriben / und von guten Underrichtern gerlernet / die in der Adepta Philosophia die ergrundesten warend / und den Künsten mächtig nachgründeten. Erstlich Wilhelmus von Hohenheim / meine Vatter / der mich nie verlassen hat. Demnach und mit sampt ihm ein grosse Zal / die nit wol zunennen ist / mit sampt vilerley Geschrifften der Alten und der Newen / von etlichen herkommen / die sich groB gemühet habend: Als Bischoff Scheyt von Stettgach / Bischoff Erhart / und Vorfahren von Lavantall / Bischoff Nicolaus von Yppon / Bischoff Matthaeus Schacht / Suffraganeus Phrysingen. / Und vil Ept also von Spanheim...” The bishops were shown by Kurt Goldammer to have been real people, that is, Matthias Scheit of 47 48

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Sponheim” was taken by many to mean that he was a pupil of the notorious occult philosopher Johannes Trithemius (1462-1516), but there is no direct proof that this is whom Paracelsus meant.49 This short paragraph on the Adepta Philosophia fed speculations on the provenance of Paracelsus’s teachings from previous philosophers.50 Unfortunately, Paracelsus does not detail what the Adept Philosophy actually was, though we may presume that it included alchemy.51 Mentions of “adept” appear in other Paracelsus’s works of this period. In De Peste Libri Tres (dated c.1536 by Karl Sudhoff), Paracelsus briefly mentions a Sophia Adepta, again without clarifying the term. The use of the Greek word Sophia emphasizes its wisdom claims.52 In the introduction to The Book on Tartar Diseases (Drey Bucher an die Landtschafft Kärnten: Das Buch von den Tartarischen krankheiten, 1537/1538), Paracelsus complains to his friend, pastor Johann von Brandt of Eferdingen, of the disinterest of the youth of his age in the “Adept Philosophy”

Seckau (1481-1503), Erhard Baumgartner of Lavant (1487-1508), Nicolaus Kaps of Hippo, Gurk and Pettau (d. 1491) and Matthias Schach of Freising and Salona (1459-1515); see Kurt Goldammer, “Die bischöflichen Lehrer des Paracelsus,” Archiv für Geschichte der Medizin und der Naturwissenschaften 36 (1953): 235-45. 49   On the debates surrounding Paracelsus’s relationship with Trithemius, see Noel L. Brann, “Was Paracelsus a Disciple of Trithemius?” The Sixteenth Century Journal 10, no.1 (1979): 70-82. Paracelsian supporters like Jacques Gohory (1520-1576) and Gerard Dorn (c.1530-1584) seemed to have embraced this lineage. 50  At the apex of Paracelsus legends, some followers went as far as to invent a philosopher by the name of Salomon Trismossin, who was supposed to be the real teacher of Paracelsus. On this topic, see Georgiana Hedesan, “Inventing an Alchemical Adept: Splendor Solis and the Paracelsian Movement,” in Splendor Solis: The World’s Most Famous Alchemical Manuscript, eds. Stephen Skinner et al. (London: Watkins, 2019), 63-92. 51  The nature of this Adepta Philosophia has been the subject of scholarly debate; Goldammer thought it was a secret philosophy that was focused on logic and metaphysics, like that of Nicholas of Cusa (1401-1464), rather than on alchemy; Kurt Goldammer, Paracelsus-Studien (Klagenfurt: Geschichtsverein fur Kärnten, 1954), 26. Pagel, however, thought of it as a kind of “pansophic” knowledge; Pagel, Paracelsus, 9. It is important to note that these speculations were tied in with certain presumptions, including those that the abbot of Spanheim was Trithemius, and that the Adepta Philosophia mentioned in this brief passage is somehow detectable in (if not necessarily the same as) Paracelsus’s own philosophy. 52  Philippus Theophrastus Bombast von Hohenheim Paracelsus gennant, “De Peste Libri Tres,” in Der Bücher und Schrifften, ed. Johannes Huser (Basel: Conrad Waldkirch, 1589), III, 159: “Wie nuhn also den Menschen sein Imagination nit alle mal hindurch gehen mag durch den andern / das dann Sophia Adepta beweist / unnd baβ erklert.”

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(Adepta Philosophia).53 Implicit in his statement is the idea that Adept Philosophy is an older form of knowledge that has fallen into misuse. Paracelsus is perhaps referring to the same thing as the Grosse Wundartzney’s Adepta Philosophia, but we cannot know for sure. Finally, the term “adept” appears at length in Astronomia Magna (1637-1638). The Astronomia Magna or Philosophia Sagax, the Great Astronomy or Wise Philosophy, dated 1637 or 1638, has been called Paracelsus’s magnum opus, the culmination of his ideas and philosophy.54 It is a profoundly innovative attempt at creating an overarching summa of the sciences of his age within a Christian theological framework. Astronomia Magna posits two sources of knowledge: the heavens (called the Light of Nature) and God (or the Light of the Holy Ghost): “Whatever is divine is learnt from God; whatever concerns the perishable is learnt from the heavens (Firmament).”55 Astronomy, which for Paracelsus is the art of understanding not only how the heavens work but also how they influence the world below, “is the mother of all other arts.”56 The existence of two knowledge sources does not mean Paracelsus is a dualist. In fact, he clarifies that God is the source of the Light of Nature

53  Philippus Theophrastus Bombast von Hohenheim Paracelsus gennant, “Das Buch von den Tartarischen krankheiten,” in Der Bücher und Schrifften, ed. Johannes Huser (Basel: Conrad Waldkirch, 1589), II, 244: “jetzundt zu diesen zeiten ist die Jugent der Adeptae Philosophiae gar nicht anhengig;” see also 246, 322. The mention on page 322 suggests that there is a connection between this “Adept Philosophy” and alchemy, since Paracelsus states that mercury is not considered a metal in the Philosophia Adepta. 54  Most recently Dane T. Daniel, “Invisible Wombs: Rethinking Paracelsus’s Concept of Body and Matter,” Ambix 53, no.2 (2006): 130. Previously, such views have been expressed by Will-Erich Peuckert, Theophrastus Paracelsus (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1943). The only monograph-sized analysis of the subject is Dane T. Daniel’s unpublished dissertation thesis, “Paracelsus’ Astronomia Magna (1537/38): Bible-Based Science and the Religious Roots of the Scientific Revolution” (PhD diss., Indiana University, 2003). 55  Whenever possible, I am using Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke’s translation of parts of “Astronomia Magna”; Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke, ed., “Astronomia Magna,” in Paracelsus: Essential Writings (Wellingborough: Aquarian Press, 1990), 110; Philippus Theophrastus Bombast von Hohenheim Paracelsus gennant, “Astronomia Magna, oder die gantze Philosophia sagax der Grossen und Kleinen Welt,” in Der Bücher und Schrifften, ed. Johannes Huser (Basel: Conrad Waldkirch, 1591), X, 3: “Was auff sein theil gehört in Göttlichen wandel / wirdt auß Gott gelernet: was aber zu dem Tödtlichen dient / das lernet das Firmament.” 56  Goodrick-Clarke, ed., “Astronomia Magna,” 110; Paracelsus, “Astronomia Magna,” X, 3: “die Astronomia ein Mutter sey anderer Künsten aller.”

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just as of the supernatural one.57 Indeed, Paracelsus strongly affirms his belief in a Christian philosophy borne out of the Bible: Holy Scripture represents the beginning of all philosophy and natural science…Consequently, if a philosopher is not born out of theology, he has no cornerstone upon which to base his philosophy. For truth springs from theology, and cannot be discovered without its help.58

Paracelsus further formulates his ideal vision of the Christian natural philosopher as a “wise man” (Weißmann) who “lives by divine wisdom and is an image of Him in whose likeness he was created. The wise man rules over both bodies, the sidereal and the elemental.”59 This Weißmann, whom Paracelsus also calls Magus, is illuminated from above and through the power of the Spirit can effect wondrous things on earth.60 The method for doing this is by acquiring a thorough knowledge of the four types of astronomy (natural, supernal, Olympi novi, and inferorum), each of which contains nine members. Among the nine members one can find Adept Medicine, Philosophy, and Mathematics.61 It is here that we can learn more about what the “adept” knowledge might include. Paracelsus posits that there are two kinds of medicine: of the elements and of the “stars” (Gestirn).62 He further explains that the 57  See also Hartmut Rudolph’s remark that this work offers a natural philosophical viewpoint “that is theological in a Christian sense,” Hartmut Rudolph, “Hohenheim’s Anthropology in the Light of his Writings on the Eucharist,” in Paracelsus: The Man and his Reputation, His Ideas and their Transformation, ed. Ole Peter Grell (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 199. 58  Goodrick-Clarke, ed., “Astronomia Magna,” 116; Paracelsus, “Astronomia Magna,” X, 27: “die Heilig Geschrifft…die an dem orth allen Philosophis unnd Naturalibus den anfang legt / unnd anzeigt… Das ist / so ein Philosophus nicht auß der Theologey geboren wird / so hatt er kein Eckstein / darauff er sein Philosophey setzen mög: dann auß der Theologey gehet die Warheit / ohn sie mag sie nicht gefunden werden.” 59  Goodrick-Clarke, ed., “Astronomia Magna,” 117; Paracelsus, “Astronomia Magna,” X, 35: “der Weißmann / diese ist / der Mann der auß Göttlicher Weißheit lebet in dBildtnuß / derselbig herrschet uber den Gestirnten und Elementischen Leib.” 60  On this topic, see Rudolph, “Hohenheim’s Anthropology,” 197. 61  Paracelsus, “Astronomia Magna,” X, 67. 62  Paracelsus, “Astronomia Magna,” X, 81: “daß sie ist die Artzney / die da auß dem Gestirn entspringt.” As Didier Kahn has shown, Gestirn does not actually mean the visible body of the stars, but their spiritual, invisible side; Didier Kahn, “Paracelsus’ Ideas on the Heavens, Stars and Comets,” in Unifying Heaven and Earth: Essays in the History of Early

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former deals with tangible bodies, while the latter is purely spiritual. Medicina Adepta refers to the Gestirn medicine only, and comprises “stellar physics” (Physica Stellarum) and “stellar surgery” (Chirurgia Stellarum). For Paracelsus, the heavens are capable of producing internal and external disease, particularly pestilence.63 In turn, heavenly disease cannot be cured by physical medicine but by spiritual remedies (among these Paracelsus lists, rather obscurely, metallina constellata—“stellated metals” and incorporata lignea—“incorporeal wood”). In turn, Philosophia Adepta refers to the  knowledge of the heavenly virtue found within physical bodies.64 According to Paracelsus, common philosophers can identify the natural virtues, but Adept Philosophers can understand the heavenly ones.65 Adept Philosophy is a special art of alchemical composition that yields exotic medicine such as celestial theriac or Olympian mithridates.66 Philosophia Adepta creates spiritual products that are counterpart to physical ones: for instance, it can produce invisible keys.67 Finally, Mathematica Adepta is the knowledge that creates instruments for other forms of astronomy.68 Just as Adept Medicine and Philosophy, it is different from “elemental” mathematics as it deals with insubstantial bodies. It comprises geometry, cosmography, algorithm, and arithmetic. We are told that

Modern Cosmology, eds. Miguel A. Granada, Patrick J. Boner and Dario Tessicini (Barcelona: Universitat de Barcelona, 2016), 107-110. 63  Paracelsus, “Astronomia Magna,” X, 82. On this see also my article, Georgiana D.  Hedesan, “Alchemy, Potency, Imagination: Paracelsus’s Theories of Poison,” in It All Depends on the Dose: Poisons and Medicines in European History, eds. Ole Peter Grell, Andrew Cunningham and Jon Arrizabalaga (London: Routledge, 2018), 81-102. 64  Paracelsus, “Astronomia Magna,” X, 83. 65  That is because Gestirn is not only present in the stars but also in the earth, and it is also found in human beings as a rational, invisible body; Kahn, “Paracelsus’ Ideas,” 110. 66  Theriac and mithridates were traditional medicines against poison originating from Antiquity. See Christiane Nockels Fabbri, “Treating Medieval Plague: The Wonderful Virtues of Theriac,” Early Science and Medicine 12, no.3 (2007): 247–83; Laurence M. V. Totelin, “Mithradates’ Antidote – A Pharmacological Ghost,” Early Science and Medicine 9, no. 1 (2004): 1–19 and the classical study of Gilbert Watson, Theriac and Mithridatium: A Study in Therapeutics (London: Wellcome Historical Medical Library, 1966). 67  Paracelsus, “Astronomia Magna,” X, 84. 68  Paracelsus, “Astronomia Magna,” X, 85.

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universal mathematics is the first beginning of the other eight members [of astronomy], and the more thoroughly it is understood, the more effective are the other eight members.69

Such passages make it seem that for Paracelsus the term “adept” refers to knowledge that originates from the heavens and regards spiritual or invisible things. However, he later complicates the subject. Thus, he claims that Paul was an “Adept Theologian” (Theologus Adeptus).70 Here Paracelsus implies that not only philosophy, but also theology can have an “adept” form. “Adept” is now associated with the term “super-earthly” (Uberirrdisch). By this unusual notion, Paracelsus appears to  conflate whatever has either a heavenly or a divine origin. Furthermore, Paracelsus ties the notion of “adept” with the concept of the gift of God. Although he admits that all forms of knowledge are a type of divine gift, the “perfect” gift is that of supreme knowledge, such as that given by God to Paul and the other Apostles.71 Consequently, Paracelsus rejects discursive knowledge, which originates from man, not from God; only from the divine source one can truly learn Adept Philosophy. Paracelsus calls Christ the supreme Adept Philosopher, as He teaches human beings how to obtain higher knowledge. From this elaborate but sometimes abstruse discourse, we can surmise that Paracelsus considers adept knowledge anything that is higher than, and often opposed to, “earthly” knowledge. He refers to this as a “higher school” (Hohen Schul), which draws its source directly from Uberirrdisch sources.72 Paracelsus seems to envisage a scale of knowledge, which begins with “elemental” or “earthly” knowledge, represented by the Philosophus Terrenus, continues with heavenly knowledge, and ends with divine knowledge. The latter two are comprised under the term Adeptus. It is clear, however, that divine knowledge is more powerful than the heavenly one: Christ foremost and Paul next to him are Paracelsus’s supreme models.

69   Goodrick-Clarke, Paracelsus: “Astronomia Magna,” 133; Paracelsus, “Astronomia Magna,” X, 86: “Darauff so wissendt / daß Mathematica Universalis d’erste anfang ist der andern acht Membra: Und jhe gründlicher die Mathematica Universalis verstanden wird / jhe kräfftiger seind die andern Membra.” 70  Paracelsus, “Astronomia Magna,” X, 167. 71  Paracelsus, “Astronomia Magna,” X, 168. 72  Paracelsus, “Astronomia Magna,” X, 168.

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Moreover, Paracelsus affirms that all human beings have an “Adept Philosopher” within them, though they are not always aware of it. As Paracelsus puts it: Now it is necessary that we know what the Philosophical Adept is so that we can learn from him. It is known that he is intangible, invisible, immune and is yet with us and lives with us, in all forms. As Christ says “I am with you to the end of the world” but no one sees him, no one grasps him yet he is still with us, so too is the Philosophical Adept with us.73

Paracelsus’s choice of constantly talking about the inner “Adept Philosopher” in relation with Christ suggests that in some sense he views this higher self as a manifestation of Christ within. Paracelsus does not go as far as to express the equivalence of the inner spirit with Christ, but it is clear that he understands the inner adept as a form of divine presence. In addition to the long tradition of the “inner man” originating from Paul,74 we can perhaps glimpse here a similitude with the Arabic concept of the “acquired intellect,” the intellectus adeptus. We may conclude the analysis of Paracelsus’s use of the term “adept” here by noting the change between the subdued mentions of the word in his earlier works and the extended description in the Astronomia Magna. It is clear that, although other treatises reference “Adept Philosophy” and “adepts,” the meaning of the terms is undeveloped. The mention of adepti in Paragranum is striking, and might well be the first time the noun occurs in print, but its meaning is obscure. By comparison, the Astronomia Magna is a watershed for the Paracelsian notion of the “adept.” Here the term refers to heavenly and divine knowledge that allows the sage to produce wondrous or even miraculous effects on earth. It is “acquired” from higher sources by a process that often lies at the boundary between mysticism and magic. What is also remarkable is 73  Paracelsus, “Astronomia Magna,” X, 173: “Nun ist von nöhten / daβ wir wissen / was der Philosophus Adeptus sey / damit wir von ihm lernen. So wissendt / er ist ungreifflich / unsichtbar / unentpfindtlich / und ist bey uns / und wohnet bey uns in aller gestallt / wie Christus spricht: Ich bin bey euch biβ zu endt der Welt. Und aber niemandts sicht ihn / niemandts greifft ihn / noch ist er bey uns. Also ist auch der Philosophus Adeptus bey uns.” 74  The term used by Paul is o εσο ανθρωπος; 2 Corinthians 4:16, Romans 7:22, Ephesians 3:16. Paracelsus may have been influenced by the German mystical tradition, which developed this notion based on Pauline and Augustinian precedents; see Bernard McGinn, The Harvest of Mysticism in Medieval Germany (New York: Crossroads Publishing, 2005).

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that there is no mention of the Adept Philosophy as being transmitted, as in the case of the Grosse Wundartzney or Das Buch von den Tartarischen krankheiten. Although we cannot exclude the possibility that the Adept Philosophy of the Astronomia Magna could have a taught element (e.g. the technique of achieving higher wisdom), such a reconciliation of the texts must remain speculative. Furthermore, we can further note that adept knowledge is not necessarily alchemical, though alchemy is certainly a favored Paracelsian subject and seems to be directly connected to the notion of “Adept Philosophy”. However, “adept” can also refer to mathematics, medicine, theology, law, and generally all fields of knowledge of the era. It is fundamentally a form of scientia that originates from above, and, importantly, is not embodied in a single product like the philosophers’ stone or the universal medicine. Looking back to the early definitions of the noun “adept,” it now appears that Rees’ etymological analysis was fundamentally correct. The term as popularized had its chief origin in Paracelsus’s Astronomia Magna, although the mentions of Adepta Philosophia in Grosse Wundartzney must have also influenced the Paracelsian reception of the term. However, as all the early encyclopedias and dictionaries showed, adeptship became increasingly associated with alchemy, a process already evident in the writings of Petrus Severinus.

The Philosophia Adepta in the Work of Petrus Severinus (1540-1602) The image of the sage who possesses the “Adept Philosophy” or the “Adept Medicine” could not but endear the sympathetic reader. The Astronomia Magna was first published in its entirety in 1571 by the early Paracelsian Michael Toxites (c.1515-1581).75 That same year (or the year before), the influential Danish physician Petrus Severinus (Peder Sørensen) published a short Epistola scripta Theophrasto Paracelso, which purported to summarize the method of the “Adept Philosophy.”76 75  Michael Toxites, “Vorrede,” in Philippus Theophrastus Bombast gennant Paracelsus magnus, Astronomia Magna, oder, Die gantze philosophia sagax der grossen und kleinen Welt (Franckfurt am Mayn: Hieronymi Feyerabends, 1571), unpaginated. Prior to Toxites’s edition some fragments were published in Aureolus Theophrastus von Hohenhaim, Paracelsus genandt, Astronomica et astrologica, ed. Balthasar Flöter (Cologne: Byrckman, 1567). 76  Petrus Severinus, Epistola scripta Theophrasto Paracelso. In qua ratio ordinis, & nominum, adeóque totius Philosophiae Adeptae Methodus, compendiosè & eruditè ostenditur (Basel: Henricpetri, 1570/1), [1]-[4] (unpaginated). On Peter Severinus, see Jole Shackleford, A Philosophical Path for Paracelsian Medicine: The Ideas, Intellectual Context, and Influence of

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The epistle, addressed to Paracelsus (dead 30 years before), is essentially a panegyric, the Swiss physician being praised for his “divine genius.” Severinus maintains that Paracelsus had united in himself the piety of Orpheus, the knowledge of Pythagoras, the humanity of Socrates, the eloquence and subtlety of Plato. Written in eloquent Latin, Severinus’s letter portrays Paracelsus’s philosophy as a guide to true knowledge. Although Severinus uses the term “Adept Philosophy” only in the title, it is clear that for him it stands for the entire Paracelsian system. Yet Severinus understood Paracelsus’s concepts idiosyncratically. A physician trained at the University of Paris, Severinus was imbued with the ideas and concepts of Renaissance medicine, particularly those of Jean Fernel (1497-1558). Fernel was a foremost proponent of the notion of a prisca theologia in the medical field,77 and his ideas had a strong impact on the young Danish doctor. The result was that Severinus enthusiastically adopted the concept of the prisca theologia in his works.78 Consequently, Severinus cast Paracelsus as an illustrious representative of a line of ancient philosophers who possessed true knowledge. In line with Fernel, Severinus’s lineage included Hermes Trismegistus, Pythagoras, Plato, and a number of Neoplatonic philosophers. Yet Severinus also gave prisca theologia a strong alchemical tone. A number of medieval alchemists were included in the sacred line: Geber, Senior, Zosimos, Morienus, Arnald of Villanova, Isaac Hollandus, and Ramón Llull.79 These are called

Petrus Severinus, 1540-1602 (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 2004) and Ole P.  Grell, “The Acceptable Face of Paracelsianism: The Legacy of Idea medicinae and the Introduction of Paracelsianism in Early Modern Denmark,” in Paracelsus: The Man and his Reputation, His Ideas and their Transformation, ed. Ole Peter Grell (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 245-69. On the Epistola, see Wilhelm Kühlmann and Joachim Telle, eds., Corpus Paracelsisticum, 4 vols (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2001-2013), III.1 (2013), no. 109, 323-49. 77  For the topic of prisca theologia in the medical field, see Hiro Hirai, “‘Prisca Theologia’ and Neoplatonic Reading of Hippocrates in Fernel, Cardano and Gemma,” in Hiro Hirai, Cornelius Gemma: Cosmology, Medicine and Natural Philosophy in Renaissance Louvain (Rome: Serra, 2008), 91–95. Important treatments of the prisca theologia in general include Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann, Philosophia Perennis: Historical Outlines of Western Spirituality in Ancient, Medieval and Early Modern Thought (Dordrecht: Springer, 2004), D.P. Walker, The Ancient Theology (London: Duckworth, 1972) and Charles Schmitt, “Prisca Theologia e Philosophia Perennis: due temi del Rinascimento italiano e la loro fortuna,” in Il pensiero italiano del Rinascimento e il tempo nostro: Atti del V Convegno Internazionale di Centro di studi umanistici, Montelpuciano, 1968 (Florence: Leo S. Olschki, 1970), 211–36. 78  Petrus Severinus, Idea medicinae philosophicae (Basel: Henricpetri, 1571), 20, 87-88; Shackleford, A Philosophical Path, 147-51, 154-55. 79  Severinus, Epistola, [4].

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“the sons of wisdom” (sapientiae filiis) and are contrasted with the worldly and degenerate alchemists who only seek gold.80 Severinus further believed that the true philosophy should lead to the cognition of God, described as the “all good” (summum bonum), the fountain and principle of all things, and the Sun.81 He mentions the union with the divine as the source of true knowledge. This union is possible because of the permanent connection between our soul and the primordial unity and Ideas. Severinus describes how the purified mind could reach the truth that lies beyond the shadows and penetrate the inner core, or treasure, of created things.82 This is achieved by quieting the turbid mind.83 Consequently, the adept philosophers are those who, separating their mind from the body, experience the divinity and immortality of their own soul, and accede to the knowledge of all things (rerum omnium scientiam).84 This knowledge, Severinus explains, is found hidden within things, and can be penetrated by the son of wisdom, who is also called “Magus” or “hero.” In contrast to Paracelsus’s Astronomia Magna, Severinus considers that one of the outcomes of divine illumination is the acquisition of something he calls “natural Balsam.”85 This Balsam was the true subject of the ­writings of alchemists like Geber, Zosimos, or Hollandus, who then communicated this knowledge in metaphors, allegories, and enigmas. Severinus does not clearly explain in Epistola what the Balsam is, but it seems he bestows unto it a similar role to that played by the traditional philosophers’ stone.86 80  Severinus, Epistola, [3]: “Sapientiae filiis ista scripsit, non sophisticis & auri fame fascinates Alchymistis, non auri fabris, non fodinariis metallorum fusoribus, non nominum, linguarum, & externarum superficierum satellitibus.” 81  Severinus, Epistola, [4]. The Platonic source of Severinus’s speculation has been emphasized in Shackleford’s monograph. 82  Severinus, Epistola, [1]: “Surgamus itaque musarum filij quibus veritas curae est, & diuturna patientia caliginem impuritatemque animorum exuamus; mens enim purificata fulminis instar, penetralia rerum attingit, superatis umbris.” 83  Severinus, Epistola, [3]. 84  Severinus, Epistola, [2]. 85  Severinus, Epistola, [3]. The Balsam appears prominently in Paracelsus’s Grosse Wundartzney, where he describes it as being an innate substance that preserves and restores the body; see Philippus Theophrastus Bombast von Hohenheim Paracelsus gennant, “Grosse Wundartzney,” in Chirurgische Bücher und Schriften, ed. Johannes Huser (Strasbourg: Lazarus Zetzner, 1605), 2, 81, 85. 86  The subject of Balsam is taken up again in Idea medicinae philosophicae, but there it is chiefly present as part of his matter theory. See Hiro Hirai, Le concept de semence dans les

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Some of these themes are further taken up in Severinus’s influential masterpiece, Idea medicinae philosophicae (1571). Here the term “Adept Philosophy” does not play a major role, appearing only twice to refer to the source of knowledge of nature.87 In spite of this, the influence of the Astronomia Magna is still conspicuous; Severinus describes in detail the astronomy of the higher and lower worlds, and affirms that the true philosophers are the legitimate interpreters and ministers of Nature, drawing their knowledge from the Astronomy of the Firmament (or heaven).88 Although Severinus did not write extensively on the Philosophia Adepta, his Epistola and Idea medicinae clearly popularized the notion among the followers of Paracelsus. Severinus however was one of the philosophers responsible for re-centering Paracelsus’s notion of Adept Philosophy on alchemy. Moreover, the Danish physician integrated Paracelsus in a line of ancient philosophers, particularly alchemists like Zosimos and Arnald. These innovations on Paracelsus’s original writings became highly influential for the next generation of Paracelsian philosophers. At the close of the sixteenth century, references to “Adept Philosophy” or variants are increasingly found among Paracelsians. In a letter to physician Johannes Willenbroch, Gerard Dorn (c.1530-1584) congratulates him for his knowledge of the “Adept Medicine and Philosophy.”89 Benedictus Figulus (b. 1567) mentioned the Philosophia unnd Medicina Adepta in the preface of his Pandora (1608) in connection with the true Christian philosophy that he and other Paracelsians were seeking.90 Heinrich Khunrath (1560-1605) referred to the secrets of the sublime Philosophia Adepta in his Amphitheatrum Sapientiae Aeternae of 1609.91 théories de la matière à la Renaissance, de Marsile Ficin à Pierre Gassendi (Turnhout: Brepols, 2005), 223-32. 87  Severinus, Idea medicinae philosophicae, 80: “Spinosiores videbuntur huiusmodi contemplationes rudioribus, & in Philosophia Adepta non versatis;”122: “Hae Generationes difficulter ab ijs comprehenduntur qui Cabalistice fontes non degustarunt, & in Philosophia Adepta etiamnum caecutiunt.” 88  Severinus, Idea medicinae philosophicae, 52-59, 74. 89  “Gerhard Dorn to Johannes Willenbroch, 1 April 1584,” in Corpus Paracelsisticum: Der Fruhparacelsismus, eds. Wilhelm Kühlmann and Joachim Telle, 4 vols, II (Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 2004), no. 89, 935. 90  Benedictus Figulus, “Prolocutrix sermo dedicatorius,” in Pandora magnalium naturalium aurea et Benedicta, De Benedicto Lapidis Philosoph. Mysterio (Strasbourg: Lazarus Zetzner, 1608), unpaginated. 91  Heinrich Khunrath, Amphitheatrum Sapientiae Aeternae (Hanau: Wilhelm Anton, 1609), 22. On Khunrath, see Peter Forshaw’s chapter in this volume.

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The “Adept” in Oswald Croll’s Basilica Chymica (1609) Perhaps the most influential treatment of the notion of the adept before Jan Baptist Van Helmont (1579–1644)92 was that of Oswald Croll in his “Admonitory Preface” to the Basilica chymica (1609).93 This work evinces a strong influence of Paracelsus’s Astronomia Magna,94 as well as  of Severinus, who is referred to on several occasions.95 Croll embraces Severinus’s notion of the prisca theologia, which includes, from the ancients, Democritus, Pythagoras, Plato, and Hermes Trismegistus,96 and from the Middle Ages, Roger Bacon, Morienus, Rhasis, Albertus Magnus, George Ripley, Denis Zachaire, Arnald of Villanova, and Ramón Llull, some of whom are present on the frontispiece of the 1609 Latin edition of the work.97 With Croll, the Adept Philosophy acquires a strong mystical dimension. The purpose of the true philosophy is to know God directly and become his image.98 Croll describes the process of becoming the image of God in rather prolix terms. According to him, the adepts are those who, by a quiet and religious meditation and with the help of divine Grace have been raised up out of the sepulcher of their body and out of the dead works of Darkness, could open the Light of their Heart and through the separation of the Mind from Earthly obstacles, be turned to God in the Sabbath of

92  On this topic, see Georgiana D. Hedesan, An Alchemical Quest for Universal Knowledge: The ‘Christian Philosophy’ of Jan Baptist Van Helmont (1579-1644) (London: Routledge, 2016), ch. 7 “Applied Philosophy: Alchemy and Medicine,” particularly 170-72. 93  Oswald Croll, “Prefatio admonitoria ad lectorem candidum,” in Basilica chymica (Frankfurt: Marnius & heredes Joannis Aubrii, 1609), 1-110. 94  Croll’s writing is clearly permeated by the philosophy of the Astronomia Magna; the work itself is cited on p. 25, where he also mentions the Medicina Adepta, on p. 35 where he refers to the Philosophia Adepta obtained from the stars of the Firmament, and also on pages 35 and 106 (Croll prefers the alternative title of the treatise, Philosophia Sagax). The “Prefatio admonitoria” was the object of Owen Hannaway’s classical study The Chemists and the Word (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1975), 1-74. 95  Croll, “Prefatio admonitoria,” 16, 19, 40. The influence of Severinus on Croll has been noted by Shackleford, A Philosophical Path for Paracelsian Medicine, 291-95; Shackleford points out that this was already evident to contemporaries such as Johann Hartmann (1568-1631) and Andreas Libavius (1555-1616). 96  Croll, “Prefatio admonitoria,” 18. 97  Croll, “Prefatio admonitoria,” 55, 72. 98  Croll, “Prefatio admonitoria,” 103.

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their Heart...[and could] see All in one, and in the Light of God or the mirror of eternity contemplate the beauty of the All Good.99

What Croll refers to is a mystical experience of the mind which results in the  direct knowledge of God and of  the self, mediated through the Jesus Christ that lies within the soul.100 The process is described as one of reunification of the mind whereby one can achieve an “intimate vision of God” (intima Dei visio).101 As this suggests, the emphasis falls on individual attainment, and on those that achieve superior knowledge by union with God. The references to the word “adept” become expansive, usually in the form Adeptus Philosophus,102 which seems to be synonymous with the terms “occult Secretaries” (occulti Secretarii) or “Secretaries of Nature” (Secretarii Naturae).103 “Adeptus” usually remains an adjective, but in at least one occasion Croll takes the step of turning it into a noun. Thus, on page 88, he states: Therefore the True Philosopher must never seek nor desire riches, but is more delighted in the mysteries of Nature, since the Adept…in God and with God can possess all things of the entire world as a Lord, and in the fear and service of God command all creatures.104

The change is operated by separating “Philosopher” from “Adept” in the sentence.105 In another, more ambiguous instance, Croll uses the  Croll, “Prefatio admonitoria,” 103: “…meditatione tranquilla & religiosa, è corporis sui sepulchre è mortuis Tenebrarum operibus Divina cooperante gratia excitati, potuerunt Lumina Cordis aperira & per separationem Mentis à Terrenis obstaculis in se ipso, in Sabatho Cordis ad Deum diverti… Omnia videre in uno & in DEI Lumine tanquam aeternitatis speculo contemplari pulchritudinem Summi Boni.” 100  Croll, “Prefatio admonitoria,” 104. 101  Croll, “Prefatio admonitoria,” 104. 102  Croll, “Prefatio admonitoria,” 88, 89, 91, 96, 103. 103  Croll, “Prefatio admonitoria,” 96, 97. 104  Croll, “Prefatio admonitoria,” 88: “Ideo Verus Philosophus nunquam divitias quaesivit, nec appetiit, sed potius in Naturae mysteries delectus est siquidem Adeptus Ideo Verus Philosophus nunquam divitias quaesivit, nec appetiit, sed potius in Naturae mysteriis delectus est siquidem Adeptus… in DEO & cum DEO legitime ceu totius mundi Dominus omnia possidere posssit, totique Creature DEI Timore & servitio imperare.” 105  By comparison, Croll’s English translator, Henry Pinnell, was not prepared to take this step and translated “Adeptus” as “he that is adept or hath attained the same”; Oswald Croll, “The Admonitory Preface of Oswald Crollie, Physitian: to the Most Illustrious Prince 99

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phrase “Adept, or perfect Philosopher” (Adeptus, seu consummatus Philosophus). While here “Adept” formally remains an adjective of “Philosopher,”106 the weight of the phrase clearly falls on “Adept;” as such, the passage can also be read as a definition of the “Adept” as “perfect Philosopher.”107 With Croll, the adept becomes clearly associated with one single product, described as “the most secret of secret secrets” (secretissimum secretorum arcanorum arcanum) and “that supreme and universal medicine” (summam illam ac universalem Medicinam).108 This greatest of secrets resembles the philosophers’ stone, as it both cures human bodies and transmutes metals; it also bestows wondrous (though inexplicit) celestial and super-celestial powers to the true philosopher.109 Croll’s views represent a stark departure from Paracelsus’s all-­ encompassing view of knowledge. Paracelsus’s overarching framework of Astronomy included many forms of knowledge and did not climax with the acquisition of a specific secret. By comparison, Croll believed that the apex of philosophy was the one supreme universal medicine. Consequently, its possession became the mark of the true adept.

Conclusions Van Helmont’s autobiography in Ortus Medicinae (1648) conveys his lifelong desire to become an adept. From early youth, he recalls, “I persuaded myself, relying on hope, that by the mere gift of God, I should at some point attain the knowledge of the adepts.”110 The Flemish physician disagreed with Croll that the highest secret of Adept Philosophy was the Christian Anhaltin,” in Philosophy Reformed and Improved in Four Profound Tractates, trans. Henry Pinnell (London: M.S. for Lodowick Lloyd, 1657), 183. 106  Croll, “Prefatio admonitoria,” 91. 107  Croll, “Prefatio admonitoria,” 91. Pinnell renders this as “Adept and compleat Phylosopher;” “Admonitory Preface,” 190; the translation clearly uses “Adept” as an adjective. 108  Croll, “Prefatio admonitoria,” 86. 109  Croll, “Prefatio admonitoria,” 86: “…omnem enim Sulphureitatem extraneam & immundam Terrestreitatem à metallicis & humanis corporibus segregat….ad sanitatem laborantem & deperditam humani corporis, igneo suo vigore restituendam ac conservandam, mira imo omnia fiant, ut nunc praeter infinita alia usum taceam Magicum & supracoelestem.” 110  Van Helmont, Ortus medicinae, 11: “Ipse fretusque spe, me aliquando ex mera Dei gratuitate, potiturum scientia Adepti; mihi persuasi.”

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universal medicine: for him it was the medicine for the prolongation of life, which he distinguished from both the “universal medicine” and the “philosophers’ stone.” Yet, with Van Helmont as with Croll, the greatest adept secrets were alchemical. By the time Johann Friedrich Schweitzer, called Helvetius (1630-1709), wrote his famous Vitulus aureus (1667), the supreme secret of the adept had clearly become the philosophers’ stone, which transmuted metals or minerals into “artificial” gold.111 Helvetius describes how he was visited one day by a mysterious adept (symbolically named Elias Artista112), who asked him whether he knew the “highest secret, that is, the philosophers’ stone” (Summum Secretum, scilicet Lapidem Philosophorum).113 Helvetius confessed his ignorance, pointing out that he had read about it in the works of such adepts as Paracelsus, Van Helmont, Basil Valentine, and Sendivogius.114 In response, the visitor made a projection of the philosophers’ stone in front of him, but did not impart his secret. Helvetius’s belief that the adept’s supreme art lay in the production of the philosophers’ stone became the standard view of the period, shared by the likes of Isaac Newton (1642-1727).115 This perspective was later captured in the eighteenth-century encyclopedias and dictionaries. This alchemical interpretation of the term “adept” might have surprised Paracelsus. Similarly, he might have frowned at the grand prisca theologia lineages drawn by Severinus and Croll. These were innovations on his concept that sought to align it back with Renaissance views of an ancient wisdom.116 It is true that, in certain treatises, Paracelsus referred to “Adept Philosophy” as an older form of knowledge that was in some sense transmitted. Yet it is by no means clear that his Adepta Philosophia was commensurate to a prisca theologia, or had anything to do with the philosophers mentioned by his followers. Moreover, in the Astronomia Magna, he made no mention of adept knowledge as being received in any manner. 111  Johann Friedrich Helvetius, Vitulus aureus, Quem Mundus adorat & orat (Amsterdam: Johannes Jansonius, 1667), 15. 112  On the myth of Elias Artista among the Paracelsians, see Antoine Faivre, “Elie Artiste, ou le Messie des Philosophes de la Nature,” Aries 2 (2002): 119–52. 113  Helvetius, Vitulus aureus, 28. 114  Helvetius, Vitulus aureus, 28. 115  On this standard view of adepts, and Isaac Newton’s firm belief in it, see William R. Newman, Newton the Alchemist: Science, Enigma, and the Quest for Nature’s “Secret Fire” (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2018), 20-44. 116  On this subject, see also Tim Rudbøg’s chapter in this volume.

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Instead, he emphasized direct knowledge from the heavens and from God as being the source of adept wisdom. Incidentally, this view was philosophically aligned with the medieval Arabic and Latin notion of the intellectus adeptus. This is not to say that Severinus and Croll completely departed from Paracelsus in their views of Adept Philosophy. They still upheld the essential role of personal illumination and experience in the acquisition of true wisdom. However, they also attempted to accommodate Paracelsus with Renaissance and medieval views of an ancient philosophical tradition, particularly skewed toward alchemy. More generally, what we see with the terms “adept” and “Adept Philosophy” is a historical process of continuous innovation upon a central and constant principle, which is that of divine illumination. This persistent element is captured by the term “adept,” be it adjective or, eventually, a noun. The notion of acquiring some form of knowledge from “above” or “without” remains fundamental to the term during the medieval and early modern periods. It is only with Samuel Johnson’s definition of 1755 that the notion loses its religious or otherworldly connotation. Yet its meaning as implying a contact with a sacred realm continues to survive in esoteric circles to this very day.

References “adept, n”. OED Online. https://ezproxy-­prd.bodleian.ox.ac.uk:2360/view/Ent ry/290068?rskey=Wy3EQn&result=1&isAdvanced=false (behind paywall). Accessed 30 June 2020a. ———”. Collins English Dictionary  - Complete & Unabridged 10th Edition. http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/adept. Accessed 20 June 2020b. Magnus, Albertus. 1651. De anima. In Beati Alberti Magni Ratisbonensis Episcopi Ordinis Praedicatorum (Opera omnia). Vol. 21 vols, III. Lyon: Prost et al. Aristotle. 1991. De anima. In The Complete Works of Aristotle, 2 vols, I. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Aquinas, Thomas. Summa theologiae, I, q.84 a.7. Opera omnia, https://aquinas. cc/la/en/~ST.I.Q84.A7. Accessed 30 June 2020. Averroes (Ibn Rushd) of Cordoba. Long Commentary on the De Anima of Aristotle. Trans. Richard C. Taylor. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2009. Bianchi, Massimo Luigi. 1994. The Visible and the Invisible. From Alchemy to Paracelsus. In Alchemy and Chemistry in the 16th and 17th Centuries, ed. Piyo Rattansi and Antonio Clericuzio, 17–50. Dordrecht: Kluwer. Bibliothèque Nationale de France. Paris. MS Lat. 6535.

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Brann, Noel L. 1979. Was Paracelsus a Disciple of Trithemius? The Sixteenth Century Journal 10 (1): 70–82. du Cange, Charles. 1678. Adeptus. In Glossarium ad Scriptores mediae & infimae Latinitatis, 3 vols, I, 56. Lyon: Billaine. Carpentier, Pierre. 1766. Adeptus, adde. In Charles du Cange, Glossarium novum ad scriptores medii aevi, cum Latinos tum Gallicos, 4 vols, I, 59. Paris: Le Breton, Saillant and Desaint. Croll, Oswald. n.d. The Admonitory Preface of Oswald Crollie, Physitian: to the Most Illustrious Prince Christian Anhaltin. In Philosophy Reformed & Improved in Four Profound Tractates, 1–226. Trans. Henry Pinnell. London: Lodowick Lloyd. ———. 1609. Prefatio admonitoria ad lectorem candidum. In Basilica chymica, 1–110. Frankfurt: Marnius & heredes Joannis Aubrii. Chambers, Ephraim. 1728. Adepts. In Cyclopædia, or, An Universal Dictionary of Arts and Sciences, 33. London: Knapton et al. Daniel, Dane T. 2006. Invisible Wombs: Rethinking Paracelsus’s Concept of Body and Matter. Ambix 53 (2): 129–142. ———. 2003. Paracelsus’ Astronomia Magna (1537/38): Bible-Based Science and the Religious Roots of the Scientific Revolution. PhD diss., Indiana University. Davidson, Herbert A. 1992. Alfarabi, Avicenna and Averroes on Intellect. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Diderot, Denis, and Jean D’Alembert. 1751. Encyclopédie I, 131. Paris: Briasson, David, Le Breton, Durand. http://enccre.academie-­sciences.fr/encyclopedie/ page/v1-­p203/. Accessed 20 June 2020. Fabbri, Christiane Nockels. 2007. Treating Medieval Plague: The Wonderful Virtues of Theriac. Early Science and Medicine 12 (3): 247–283. Faivre, Antoine. 2002. Elie Artiste, ou le Messie des Philosophes de la Nature. Aries 2: 119–152. Fama Fraternitatis deß Löblichen Ordens des Rosenkreutzes. Kassel: Wessel, 1614. Ficino, Marsilio. 1495. Epistolae. Matteo Capcasa: Venice. Figulus, Benedictus. 1608. Prolocutrix sermo dedicatorius. In Pandora magnalium naturalium aurea et Benedicta, De Benedicto Lapidis Philosoph. Mysterio, unpaginated. Strasbourg: Lazarus Zetzner. “Gerhard Dorn to Johannes Willenbroch, 1 April 1584.” In Corpus Paracelsisticum: Der Fruhparacelsismus edited by Wilhelm Kühlmann and Joachim Telle, II, no. 89, 932-47. Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 2004. Giglioni, Guido. 2013. Introduction. In Renaissance Averroism and Its Aftermath: Arabic Philosophy in Early Modern Europe, ed. Anna Akasoy and Guido Giglioni, 1–36. Dordrecht: Springer. Goldammer, Kurt. 1953. Die bischöflichen Lehrer des Paracelsus. Archiv für Geschichte der Medizin und der Naturwissenschaften 36: 235–245.

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———. 1986. Paracelsus in neuen Horizonten: Gesammelte Aufsätze. Vienna: Verband der wissenschaft lichen Gesellschaft en Osterreichs. ———. 1954. Paracelsus-Studien. Klagenfurt: Geschichtsverein für Kärnten. Goodrick-Clarke, Nicholas, ed. 1990. Astronomia Magna. In Paracelsus: Essential Writings, 109-44. Wellingborough: Aquarian Press. Grell, Ole P. 1998. The Acceptable Face of Paracelsianism: The Legacy of Idea medicinae and the Introduction of Paracelsianism in Early Modern Denmark. In Paracelsus: The Man and his Reputation, His Ideas and their Transformation, ed. Ole Peter Grell, 245–269. Leiden: Brill. Hannaway, Owen. 1975. The Chemists and the Word. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Harris, John. 1704. Adeptists, or Adepts. In Lexicon Technicum, Or, An Universal English Dictionary of Arts and Sciences, unpaginated. London: Brown et al. Hedesan, Georgiana. 2019. Inventing an Alchemical Adept: Splendor Solis and the Paracelsian Movement. In Splendor Solis: The World’s Most Famous Alchemical Manuscript, ed. Stephen Skinner, Rafal T.  Prinke, Georgiana Hedesan, and Joscelyn Godwin, 63–92. London: Watkins. Hedesan, Georgiana D. 2018. Alchemy, Potency, Imagination: Paracelsus’s Theories of Poison. In It All Depends on the Dose: Poisons and Medicines in European History, ed. Ole Peter Grell, Andrew Cunningham, and Jon Arrizabalaga, 81–102. London: Routledge. ———. 2016. An Alchemical Quest for Universal Knowledge: The ‘Christian Philosophy’ of Jan Baptist Van Helmont (1579-1644). London: Routledge. Helvetius, Johann Friedrich. 1667. Vitulus aureus, Quem Mundus adorat & orat. Amsterdam: Johannes Jansonius. Hirai, Hiro. 2005. Le concept de semence dans les théories de la matière à la Renaissance, de Marsile Ficin à Pierre Gassendi. Turnhout: Brepols. ———. 2008. ‘Prisca Theologia’ and Neoplatonic Reading of Hippocrates in Fernel, Cardano and Gemma. In Cornelius Gemma: Cosmology, Medicine and Natural Philosophy in Renaissance Louvain, ed. Hiro Hirai, 91–95. Rome: Serra. Kahn, Didier. 2016. Paracelsus’ Ideas on the Heavens, Stars and Comets. In Unifying Heaven and Earth: Essays in the History of Early Modern Cosmology, ed. Miguel A.  Granada, Patrick J.  Boner, and Dario Tessicini, 59–116. Barcelona: Universitat de Barcelona. Kahn, Didier, and Hiro Hirai. 2019. Introduction: Pseudo-Paracelsus: Forgery and Early Modern Alchemy, Medicine and Natural Philosophy. Early Science and Medicine 24: 415–418. Khunrath, Heinrich. 1609. Amphitheatrum Sapientiae Aeternae. Hanau: Wilhelm Anton. Kühlmann, Wilhelm, and Joachim Telle, eds. 2001-2013. Corpus Paracelsisticum, 4 vols. Berlin: de Gruyter.

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Johnson, Samuel. 2014. Adept (noun). In A Dictionary of the English Language: A Digital Edition of the 1755 Classic by Samuel Johnson, edited by Brandi Besalke. Last modified: January 15. https://johnsonsdictionaryonline.com/ adept-­noun/. Accessed 27 June 2020. Lewis, Carlton T., and Charles Short. 1879. A Latin Dictionary. Oxford: Clarendon. Libera, Alain de. 2005. Métaphysique et noétique: Albert le Grand. Paris: Vrin. McGinn, Bernard. 2005. The Harvest of Mysticism in Medieval Germany. New York: Crossroads Publishing. Morienus. 1593. Liber de Compositione Alchemiae, quem edidit Morienus Romanus, Calid Regi Aegyptiorum: quem Robertus Castrensis de Arabico in Latinum transtulit. In Artis auriferae quam chemiam vocant, 2 vols, II, 3–54. Basel: Offizin. Newman, William R. 2018. Newton the Alchemist: Science, Enigma, and the Quest for Nature’s “Secret Fire.”. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Nardi, Bruno. 1958. Saggi sull’aristotelismo padovano. Florence: Sansoni. Pagel, Walter. 1958. Paracelsus: an Introduction to Philosophical Medicine in the Era of the Renaissance. Basel: S. Karger. Paracelsus gennant, Philippus Theophrastus Bombast von Hohenheim. 1605. Grosse Wundartzney. In Chirurgische Bücher und Schriften, ed. Johannes Huser, 1–148. Strasbourg: Lazarus Zetzner. ———. 1591. Astronomia Magna, oder die gantze Philosophia sagax der Grossen und Kleinen Welt. In Der Bücher und Schrifften, ed. X. Johannes Huser, 1–491. Basel: Conrad Waldkirch. ———. 1589. De Peste Libri Tres. In Der Bücher und Schrifften, ed. Johannes Huser III, 150–207. Basel: Conrad Waldkirch. Paracelsus gennant, Philippus Theophrastus Bombast von Hohenheim. Das Buch von den Tartarischen krankheiten. In Der Bücher und Schrifften, ed. Johannes Huser, II, 244-342. Basel: Conrad Waldkirch. Paracelsus genandt, Aureolus Theophrastus von Hohenhaim. 1567. In Astronomica et astrologica, ed. Balthasar Flöter. Byrckman: Cologne. Pessin, Sarah. The Influence of Islamic Thought on Maimonides. In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Spring 2016 Edition), ed. Edward N. Zalta. https:// plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2016/entries/maimonides-­islamic/. Accessed 20 June 2020. Peuckert, Will-Erich. 1943. Theophrastus Paracelsus. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Plotinus. 1966-1967. The Enneads. Trans. A.  H. Armstrong. 3 vols. London: Heinemann. Rees, Abraham. 1819. Adepts. In The Cyclopaedia, or, Universal Dictionary of Arts, Science, and Literature, I. London: Rivington et al. Reuchlin, Johannes. 1514. De verbo mirifico. Tübingen, n.p..

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Rudolph, Hartmut. 1998. Hohenheim’s Anthropology in the Light of his Writings on the Eucharist. In Paracelsus: The Man and his Reputation, His Ideas and their Transformation, ed. Ole Peter Grell, 187–207. Leiden: Brill. Principe, Lawrence M. 1998. Adept. In Alchemie: Lexicon einer hermetischen Wissenschaft, ed. Claus Priesner and Karin Figala, 15. Munich: Beck. Ruska, Julius, ed. 1931. Turba philosophorum: ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Alchimie. Berlin: Springer. Schmidt-Biggemann, Wilhelm. 2004. Philosophia Perennis: Historical Outlines of Western Spirituality in Ancient, Medieval and Early Modern Thought. Dordrecht: Springer. Schmitt, Charles. 1970. Prisca Theologia e Philosophia Perennis: due temi del Rinascimento italiano e la loro fortuna. In Il pensiero italiano del Rinascimento e il tempo nostro: Atti del V Convegno Internazionale di Centro di studi umanistici, Montelpuciano, 1968, 211–236. Florence: Leo S. Olschki. Severinus, Petrus. 1571. Idea medicinae philosophicae. Basel: Henricpetri. ———. 1570/1. Epistola scripta Theophrasto Paracelso. In qua ratio ordinis, & nominum, adeóque totius Philosophiae Adeptae Methodus, compendiosè & eruditè ostenditur. Basel: Henricpetri. Shackleford, Jole. 2004. A Philosophical Path for Paracelsian Medicine: The Ideas, Intellectual Context, and Influence of Petrus Severinus, 1540-1602. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press. Sigerist, Henry E. 1955. A History of Medicine, I: Primitive and Archaic Medicine. 2nd ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 1951. Stavenhagen, Lee. 1970. The Original Text of the Latin Morienus. Ambix 17 (1): 1–12. Sudhoff, Karl. 1899. Versuch einer Kritik der Echtheit der Paracelsischen Schriften, 2 vols. Berlin: Georg Reimer, 1894. Van Helmont, Jan Baptist. 1648. Ortus medicinae, id est, Initia physicae inaudita. Progressus medicinae novus in morborum ultionem ad vitam longam. Amsterdam: Ludovic Elzevir. Telle, Joachim, ed. 1992. Rosarium philosophorum: ein alchemisches Florilegium des Spätmittelalters, 2 vols. Weinheim: VCH. Totelin, Laurence M.V. 2004. Mithradates’ Antidote – A Pharmacological Ghost. Early Science and Medicine 9 (1): 1–19. Toxites, Michael. 1571. Vorrede. In Astronomia Magna, oder, Die gantze Philosophia sagax der grossen und kleinen Welt, unpaginated, ed. Paracelsus magnus, Philippus Theophrastus Bombast, gennant. Franckfurt am Mayn: Hieronymi Feyerabends. Watson, Gilbert. 1966. Theriac and Mithridatium: A Study in Therapeutics. London: Wellcome Historical Medical Library. Walker, D.P. 1972. The Ancient Theology. London: Duckworth.

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CHAPTER 4

A Necessary Conjunction: Cabala, Magic, and Alchemy in the Theosophy of Heinrich Khunrath (1560–1605) Peter J. Forshaw

Although Giovanni Pico della Mirandola (1463–1494) is often considered “the first among Latin scholars to refer directly to the kabbalah”1 and Jean Thenaud (1480–1542) is the first known author to write of a “Christian”

1  Gershom Scholem, “The Beginnings of the Christian Kabbalah,” in The Christian Kabbalah: Jewish Mystical Books & Their Christian Interpreters, ed. Joseph Dan (Cambridge, MA.: Harvard College Library, 1997), 21. This is corroborated by Johannes Reuchlin, De Arte Cabalistica: On the Art of the Kabbalah, trans. Martin and Sarah Goodman (New York: Abaris Books, 1983; repr. Lincoln and London: University of Nebraska Press, 1993), 89, who tells us that “the use of the term ‘Kabbalists,’ or ‘Kabbalics,’ was first introduced to the Latin by Pico della Mirandola. Before him it was unknown.”

P. J. Forshaw (*) University of Amsterdam, Amsterdam, The Netherlands e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 G. D. Hedesan, T. Rudbøg (eds.), Innovation in Esotericism from the Renaissance to the Present, Palgrave Studies in New Religions and Alternative Spiritualities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-67906-4_4

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Kabbalah,2 it is Heinrich Khunrath’s 1609 edition of the Amphitheatrum Sapientiae Aeternae (Amphitheatre of Eternal Wisdom) that was to be the first published work explicitly described as “Christian Kabbalist.” Indeed, the Amphitheatre’s full title contains three neologisms, the compound words Christiano-Kabalisticum, Divino-Magicum, and Physico-Chymicum (“Christian Kabbalist,” “Divinely Magical,” and “Physico-Chymical”). These neologisms are to be understood together as part of a grand system already foreshadowed in his major work on magic in relation to alchemy, De Igne Magorum Philosophorumque (On the Fire of the Mages and Philosophers, 1608), where Khunrath declares not only the reciprocity and interconnectedness of his three practices, but his utter conviction that “Kabala, Magic and Alchemy conjoined, should and must be used together with and alongside one another.”3 Although in Alchemy and Kabbalah (1997, 2006) the great scholar of Jewish Kabbalah, Gershom Scholem, misses the mark with the argument that Khunrath is positing an “identification of Kabbalah with alchemy,” he is right to single him out as responsible for a “definitive blending” of alchemy, Cabala, and magic.4 While some of Khunrath’s favored sources do emphasize the interdisciplinary nature of occult philosophy, none are quite so emphatic about their “necessary conjunction.” Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa (1486–1535) comes closest to him, when he points out that it is not a case of picking one faculty of magic and neglecting the others, for without knowledge of all three (natural, celestial, ritual) no one can possibly “understand the rationality of magic. For there is no work that is done by mere magic, nor any work that is merely magical, that doth not comprehend these three faculties.”5 This chapter considers Khunrath’s evident fascination with new experimental combinations, composites, and conjunctions in his idiosyncratic blend of early modern occult theosophy. It argues that Khunrath 2  Joseph Blau, The Christian Interpretation of the Cabala in the Renaissance (New York: Columbia University Press, 1944), 89ff; Robert J.  Wilkinson, Tetragrammaton: Western Christians and the Hebrew Name of God: From the Beginnings to the Seventeenth Century (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 337–38; François Secret, Les Kabbalistes Chrétiens de la Renaissance (Paris: Dunod, 1964), 153ff. 3  Heinrich Khunrath, De Igne Magorum Philosophorumque secreto externo & visibili (Strasbourg: Lazarus Zetzner, 1608), 87: “Kabala, Magia, Alchymia Conjugendae, Sollen und müssen mit und neben einander angewendet werden.” 4  Gershom Scholem, Alchemy and Kabbalah, trans. Klaus Ottmann (Putnam, CT: Spring Publications, 2006), 88–91. 5  Henry Cornelius Agrippa, Three Books of Occult Philosophy, ed. Donald Tyson, trans. James Freake (St. Paul, MN: Llewellyn Publications, 1993; repr. 1997), 6.

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was an innovative thinker who believed that there needed to be far more interplay and more conjunctions and unions between Cabala, magic, and alchemy in order to achieve true wisdom. In 1595, the 35-year-old “Doctor of both Medicines and faithful Lover of Theosophy,” Heinrich Khunrath of Leipzig (1560–1605), declared his combined interest in Cabala, magic, and alchemy in the first edition of the Amphitheatre. There, with the aid of four innovative circular “Theosophical Figures,”6 Khunrath sets forth his notion of the divine wisdom to be found in the “Three Books” of God, Man, and Nature. He emphasizes the utility of Cabala, magic, and alchemy as handmaids of Wisdom,7 and above all the joint necessity of prayer in the oratory and work in the laboratory.8 Khunrath modified his description of Wisdom’s three handmaids between the two editions of the Amphitheatre (the second edition appearing posthumously in 1609). In the 1595 edition they appear on the title page as Cabala, Mageja, and Alchemia, with Alchemia being glossed a few lines further down as Physicochemicum (Fig. 4.1). Khunrath explicitly states that the theosopher is required to be a “greatly experienced and expert manual practitioner in the works of Physical Chemistry.”9 This seemingly anodyne term may not look much, but at the time it was a neologism; indeed, it may come as a surprise to historians of chemistry to discover that the term “Physical Chemistry,” usually credited to Mikhail Lomonosov (1711–1765) for his “A Course in True Physical Chemistry” (1752), was invented over a century earlier by a theosophical alchemist.10 6  Heinrich Khunrath, ‫צבאות אלהים יהוה‬, Totique, celestis exercitus spiritualis, militiae; proximo suo fideli, et sibimetipsi; naturae atque arti; Amphitheatrum Sapientiae aeternae, solius verae … Cabalisticum, Magejcum, Physicochemicum, Tertriunum, Catholicon (Hamburg: Jacob Lucius the Younger, 1595), title page: “OPVS, θεορητικὸν και πρακτικὸν, eximium, recens absolutum, exornatum figuris quatuor Theosophicis, forma Regali in aes affabre scalptis ….” 7  Heinrich Khunrath, Amphitheatrum Sapientiae Aeternae, Solius Verae: ChristianoKabalisticum, Divino-Magicum, nec non Physico-Chymicum, Tertriunum, Catholicon (Hanau: Guilielmus Antonius, 1609), Part II, 158. “mediantibus ancillis suis fidelioribus aut virginibus quasi cubicularibus.” 8  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1609), II, 14, 41, 71, 73, and so on, “Orando & Laborando.” 9  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1609), II, 212–13: “Practicus manualis in Physicochemiæ laboribus, multum exercitatus atque expertus.” 10  Edgar Heilbronner and Foil A. Miller, A Philatelic Ramble through Chemistry (Zurich: Verlag Helvetica Chimica Acta/Wiley-VCH, 1998), 107. Even the acerbic Thorndike briefly acknowledges that Khunrath “lauds Physico-Chemia,” and observes that “the very fact that these words were included in the title of his theosophical ecstasies and cabalistic reveries is a rather noteworthy sign that physics and chemistry were coming into their own in the thought

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Fig. 4.1  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1595), Title Page (Courtesy of the Department of Special Collections, Memorial Library, University of Wisconsin, Madison)

Apparently dissatisfied with existing alchemical terminology, such as the classical Greek chrysopoeia (the Art of gold-making), or the Paracelsian neologism spagiria (the Art of separating and reuniting),11 Khunrath of the time—even in the muddiest and most stagnant and most occult thought”; Lynn Thorndike, A History of Magic and Experimental Science (New York: Columbia University Press, 1958), VII, 274. 11  As a follower of Paracelsus, Khunrath would have been well aware of the various works seeking to cast light on Paracelsus’s often puzzling neologisms, such as Michael Toxites’s Onomastica II.  I Philosophicum, Medicum, Synonymum ex varijs vulgaribusque linguis.

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invents the neo-Latin copulative compound Physico-chemicus.12 Anna Granville Hatcher, a specialist in the history of word formation, highlights Khunrath’s verbal creativity, which flowered in the second, fuller edition of the Amphitheatre: in his first title, containing the compound physico-chymicus, the inventive Khunrath was only warming up for the triple hurdle he was to take in his title of 1609: “Amphitheatrum sapientiae aeternae, solius, verae; Christiano-Cabbalisticum, divino-magicum, physico-chymicum, ter-triunum catholicum.”13

The first two compound words on the 1609 title page, ChristianoKabalisticum and Divino-Magicum (hybrids of Latin and Hebrew, and Latin and Greek, respectively), well express the interdisciplinary conjunctions and combinations in Khunrath’s oratory and laboratory. The title page drives this message home in various ways (Fig. 4.2). Firstly, the foundations of the two Egyptian obelisks bear the famous message of mutuality and reciprocity from the Emerald Tablet of Hermes Trismegistus: “Id quod inferius sicut quod superius” (“That which is below is like that which is above”).14 Secondly, the work is polyglot, including words in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew (mixed together in a manner that was doubtlessly horrifying to linguistic purists). Thirdly, the Pythagorean Tetraktys15 II. Theophrasti Paracelsi: hoc est, earum vocum, quarum in scriptis eius solet usus esse, explicatio (Strasbourg: Bernhard Jobin, 1574) or Gerard Dorn’s Dictionarium Theophrasti Paracelsi (Frankfurt: [Christoff Rab], 1583), much of which was plagiarized for Martin Ruland’s Lexicon Alchemiae (Frankfurt: Zacharias Palthenius, 1612). 12  Anna Granville Hatcher, Modern English Word-Formation and Neo-Latin: A Study of the Origins of English (French, Italian, German) Copulative Compounds (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1951), 83. 13  Granville Hatcher, Modern English Word-Formation, 83. Unfortunately, she slightly spoils the effect with a few typos: the correct terms are physico-chemicus (not chymicus), Christiano-Kabalisticum, and tertriunum catholicon. 14  This quote originates from the translation of the Emerald Tablet in Chrysogonus Polydorus, ed., De alchimia (Nuremberg: Johannes Petreius, 1541), 363. 15  On the Tetraktys (τετρακτύς), a triangle formed of ten points arranged in four rows, representing the entire numerological perfection from monad to denary (1 + 2 + 3 + 4 = 10), symbol of cosmogenesis, and kernel or epitome of Pythagorean wisdom, see Walter Burkert, Lore and Science in Ancient Pythagoreanism, trans. E.L. Minar Jr. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1972), 72, 186–88 and Robert Meurant, “The Tetraktys of Polyhedra,” in Space Structures 4:1, eds. G.A.R.  Parke and C.M.  Howard (London: Thomas Telford, 1993), 1140.

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Fig. 4.2  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1609), Title Page (Credit: Wellcome Collection)

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containing the divine Hebrew name IHVH at the top of the image is echoed by the triangular mound at the base, with the signs for Khunrath’s three main protagonists in the generation of the Philosophers’ Stone (Sol, Luna, and Mercurius). The Amphitheatre’s “Theosophical Figures,” which remain the same between the two editions, save for one or two minor changes, seem to follow the title’s sequence: certainly Figure 1 of Christ Cruciform (here Fig. 4.3) primarily focuses on Christian Cabala, while Figure 3 of the Rebis or Hermaphrodite (here Fig.  4.5) addresses Physico-Chemical alchemy. The image of Adam Androgyne, Figure 2 (here Fig. 4.4), gives us a first intimation of how Khunrath relates these two disciplines, for it references both Cabala and alchemy, with the distinct sense that man as theosopher is the divinely magical conduit between the two activities. The fourth and final, best-known figure (here Fig.  4.6), summarizes the totality of Khunrath’s theosophical work with a scene that shifts from the twodimensional representation of the preceding images to an impressive deeply perspectival image of the adept at work.16 The messages of Khunrath’s four original engravings were reinforced and supplemented in the 1609 edition of the Amphitheatre with five large rectangular “Hieroglyphic Figures,” the elaborate title page, and a portrait of the author. This highly original collection of occult themes constitutes what art historian Urszula Szulakowska considers to be the “first Paracelsian illustrative cycle.”17 In his fourth circular figure of the Oratory-Laboratory, we discover the theosophical adept in prayer or meditation before the altar table of his Oratory, the focal point for his Christian Cabala and divine magic, while alchemical ingredients are being cooked in and on the laboratory furnaces opposite. As the focus of this chapter is Khunrath’s innovative terms and combinations, it would be useful to provide more context. After a brief description of his life, following the sequence in the Amphitheatre’s title, let us start with Christian Cabala.

16  Khunrath never mentions the figure in the Oratory, but later authors like Eliphas Lévi (Alphonse Louis Constant, 1810–1875) associate him with adept knowledge. See Eliphas Lévi, Histoire de la Magie (Paris: Germer Baillière, 1860), 369. On the term “Adept,” see also Georgiana D. Hedesan’s contribution in this volume. 17  Urszula Szulakowska, The Alchemy of Light: Geometry and Optics in Late Renaissance Alchemical Illustration (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 5.

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Fig. 4.3  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1595), Theosophical Figure  1, center (Courtesy of the Department of Special Collections, Memorial Library, University of Wisconsin, Madison)

Khunrath: A Brief Introduction Lauded as “one of the great Hermetic philosophers,”18 Khunrath, son of a wealthy merchant family, first studied at the University of Leipzig before graduating with highest honors at the Basel Medical School in 1588. He   “Vorbericht des Herausgebers,” in Heinrich Khunrath, De Igne Magorum Philosophorumque (Leipzig: Adam Friedrich Böhmen, 1783), 2: “eines der großen hermetischen Philosophen.” 18

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Fig. 4.4  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1595), Theosophical Figure  2, center (Courtesy of the Department of Special Collections, Memorial Library, University of Wisconsin, Madison)

subsequently practiced as a doctor of both internal and external medicine in Magdeburg, Hamburg, and Trebon, and spent time at the court of Emperor Rudolf II (1552–1612) in Prague, numbering Rudolf’s secondin-command, Count Vilém Rožmberk (1535–1592), among his clientele. Khunrath died in Dresden in 1605, leaving behind a collection of occult and medical works published during the 1590s and early 1600s. These included Vom hylealischen Chaos (On Primaterial Chaos, 1597),

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Fig. 4.5  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1595), Theosophical Figure  3, center (Courtesy of the Department of Special Collections, Memorial Library, University of Wisconsin, Madison)

concerning the matter required for creating the Philosophers’ Stone and warnings against laboratory error and fraud, and the aforementioned De Igne Magorum Philosophorumque (1608).19 The Amphitheatre, however, is 19  For academic work on Khunrath, see Umberto Eco, Lo Strano Caso della Hanau 1609 (Milan: Bompiani, 1989), Ralf Töllner, Der unendliche Kommentar (Hamburg: Peter Jensen Verlag, 1991), Szulakowska, The Alchemy of Light, and Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann, Geschichte der christlichen Kabbala (Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: frommann-holzboog, 2013). The 2014 publication of an eighteenth-century manuscript translation of the Amphitheatrum

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Fig. 4.6  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1595), Theosophical Figure  4, OratoryLaboratory (Courtesy of the Department of Special Collections, Memorial Library, University of Wisconsin, Madison)

into German as Schauplatz der ewigen allein wahren Weisheit, accompanied by learned essays by Carlos Gilly, Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann, Anja Hallacker, and Hanns-Peter Neumann added new dimensions to Khunrath studies; Heinrich Khunrath, Amphitheatrum Sapientiae Aeternae—Schauplatz der ewigen allein wahren Weisheit, eds. Carlos Gilly et al. (StuttgartBad Cannstatt: frommann-holzboog, 2014). For other insightful articles, see Hereward Tilton, “Of Electrum and the Armour of Achilles: Myth and Magic in a Manuscript of Heinrich Khunrath (1560–1605),” Aries 6, no. 2 (2006): 117–57, Vladimir Karpenko, “Heinrich Khunraths Vom Hylealischen Chaos: Chemische Aspekte,” Studia Rudolphina 15 (2015): 88–107, Ivo Purš, “Perspective, Vision and Dream: Notes on the Plate “OratoryLaboratory” in Heinrich Khunrath’s Amphitheatrum sapientiae aeternae,” in Latin Alchemical Literature of Czech Provenance, eds. Tomás Nejeschleba and Jirí Michalík (Olomouc: Univerzita Palackého v Olomouci, 2015), 50–89, and Martin Zemla, “Heinrich

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Khunrath’s best-­known work, having been praised as “the Theosophical Bible”;20 indeed, as “one of the most important books in the whole literature of theosophical alchemy and the occult sciences.”21

Khunrath’s Fields of Knowledge Christian Cabala The Italian Count Giovanni Pico della Mirandola famously introduced the Jewish mystical tradition of Kabbalah to the Christian West in his 900 Conclusiones Philosophicae Cabalisticae et Theologicae (Philosophical, Cabalistical and Theological Conclusions, 1486), its prefatory Oration, later titled “On the Dignity of Man,” and the Heptaplus, On the Sevenfold Narration of the Six Days of Creation (1489).22 Chaim Wirszubski argues that Pico viewed the Jewish mystical tradition of Kabbalah from an entirely new standpoint, stating that “he is the first Christian who considered cabala to be simultaneously a witness for Christianity and an ally of natural magic.”23 Pico’s work marks a watershed in the history of Hebrew and Aramaic studies in Europe, leading both Wirszubski and G. Lloyd Jones to call him the Khunrath and His Theosophical Reform,” Acta Comeniana 31 (2017): 43–62. See also my forthcoming monograph The Mage’s Images: Heinrich Khunrath in his Oratory and Laboratory (Leiden: Brill). 20   “Vorbericht des Herausgebers,” in Heinrich Khunrath, Warhafftiger Bericht von Philosophischen Athanore (Leipzig: Adam Friedrich Böhmen, 1783), 12: “Dieses Werk, das einige die Theosophische Bibel nennen.” 21  Denis I. Duveen, Bibliotheca Alchemica et Chemica (London: E. Weil, 1949), 319. 22  For translations of the Oration, see Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, Oration on the Dignity of Man, trans. Elizabeth Livermore Forbes, in The Renaissance Philosophy of Man, eds. Ernst Cassirer, Paul Oskar Kristeller and John Herman Randal (Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press, 1948), 223–54; On the Dignity of Man, On Being and the One, Heptaplus, trans. Charles Glenn Wallis, Paul J. W. Miller, and Douglas Carmichael (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing Company, 1998). See also Brian P. Copenhaver, “The Secret of Pico’s Oration: Cabala and Renaissance Philosophy,” Midwest Studies in Philosophy 26 (2002): 56–81; Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke, The Western Esoteric Traditions: A Historical Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 41–46. 23  Chaim Wirszubski, Pico della Mirandola’s Encounter with Jewish Mysticism (Cambridge, MA.: Harvard University Press, 1989), 151. On Pico and Kabbalah, see Secret, Les Kabbalistes Chrétiens, Cap. III “Pic de la Mirandole et le Milieu Italien de la Kabbale Chretienne”; Klaus Reichert, “Pico della Mirandola and the Beginnings of Christian Kabbala,” in Mysticism, Magic and Kabbalah in Ashkenazi Judaism, eds. Karl Erich Grözinger and Joseph Dan (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1995), 195–207. On Pico as creator of the “first true Christian Cabala,” see Bernard McGinn, “Cabalists and Christians: Reflections on Cabala in Medieval and Renaissance Thought,” in Jewish Christians and Christian Jews: From the Renaissance to the Enlightenment, eds. Richard H. Popkin and Gordon M. Weiner (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1994), 11–34.

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“Father” of Christian Cabala.24 Khunrath was familiar with Pico’s work, but was far more influenced by the German humanist Johann Reuchlin (1455–1522), “one of the key figures of European scholarship and intellectual life at the turn of the sixteenth century.”25 Reuchlin was author of two of the most influential books of Christian Cabala, the De verbo mirifico (On the Wonder-Working Word, 1494), published the year of Pico’s death,26 and the De arte cabalistica (On the Cabalistic Art, 1517). Although both Pico and Reuchlin speculate on the potential for Christians to make use of “Cabalistic” exegetical techniques to convince Jews of the truth of Christianity, neither of them ever explicitly writes of a specifically “Christian” Cabala. Such an idea can first be found in the Traité de la Cabale or Traité de la Cabala chrétienne (Treatise on the Cabala or Treatise on Christian Cabala, c.1521), by the French Franciscan monk Jean Thenaud (1480–1542); however, the work remained in manuscript.27 Thus it is the case that Khunrath’s 1609 Amphitheatre is the first published work explicitly described as “Christian Kabbalist” (Christiano-Kabalisticum).28 In contrast to the unillustrated works of Pico and Reuchlin, Khunrath presents the summary of his Cabala in a figurative engraving, his first “Theosophical Figure,” where we see a cruciform, resurrected Christ (Fig. 4.3), with a fiery phoenix beneath his feet,29 surrounded by tongues of fire that contain a pentagram with the five Hebrew letters of the Pentagrammaton, IHSVH, which was Reuchlin’s Christian-­Cabalist “wonder-working” name for Christ. From that central image radiate outwards the Hebrew Shemoth or divine names, the Cabalistic Sephiroth (divine emanations or enumerations), the Hebrew alphabet, and the angelic orders, with the Hebrew text of the ten Commandments on the circumference. Khunrath describes this figure as the Sigillum Dei (“Seal of God”) or Sigillum Emes (“Seal of Truth”), which of course allude to Christ’s 24  Wirszubski, Pico della Mirandola’s Encounter, 185; G. Lloyd Jones, “Introduction,” in Reuchlin, De Arte Cabalistica, 16. 25  Charles Zika, “Reuchlin’s De Verbo Mirifico and the Magic Debate of the Late Fifteenth Century,” The Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 39 (1976): 104. On Reuchlin, see also Moshe Idel, “Johannes Reuchlin: Kabbalah, Pythagorean Philosophy and Modern Scholarship,” Studia Judaica 16 (2008): 30–55. 26  Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann, “Einleitung: Johannes Reuchlin und die Anfänge der christlichen Kabbala,” in Christliche Kabbala, ed. Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann (Ostfildern: Thorbecke, 2003), 9. 27  Blau, The Christian Interpretation of the Cabala, 89ff; Wilkinson, Tetragrammaton, 337–338; Secret, Les Kabbalistes Chrétiens, 153ff. 28  The title page of the 1595 Amphitheatre simply uses the adjective “Cabalisticum.” 29  On the identification of this bird as a phoenix, see, for example, Jörg Völlnagel, Alchemie. Die Königliche Kunst (Munich: Hirmer Verlag, 2012), 148.

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declaration in John 14:6: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life,” but also hold great significance for scholars of the English magus John Dee (1527–1608/9). Khunrath met Dee in Bremen in 1589,30 while the latter was returning home from several years spent on the Continent, performing many “Actions with Spirits” with his scryer Edward Kelley (1555–c.1597) and their own Sigillum Dei.31 With this, we connect with Khunrath’s second neologism on the 1609 title page, Divino-Magicum (Divinely Magical). Physical and Hyperphysical Magic In the Amphitheatre, Khunrath writes more generally of “physical” and “hyperphysical” magic, that is, practices natural and supernatural, showing himself familiar with the cutting-edge natural magic of the famous Italian natural philosopher, Giovanni Battista Della Porta (1535–1615), as well as the varieties of magic presented in Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa’s De occulta philosophia (1533) and in Theophrastus Paracelsus’s Astronomia Magna (1537–38). While physical magic deals with bodies and spirits in the sense of sensible animating principles of life, hyperphysical magic means for Khunrath “pious and useful conversation, as much when awake as when sleeping, mediately and immediately, with God’s fiery ministers, the good angels.”32 Khunrath also expresses an interest in Theomagia (divine magic), another term which appears to be a new coining by him, later to be adopted in the Anthroposophia Theomagica (1650) of the Welsh alchemist and magus Eugenius Philalethes (Thomas Vaughan, 1621–1666),33 and in John Heydon’s Restoration guidebook for Rosicrucian magicians, Theomagia, or the Temple of Wisdome (1663).34 Khunrath was undoubtedly 30  James Orchard Halliwell, ed., The Private Diary of Dr. John Dee (London: Camden Society, 1842), 31. 31  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1609), II, 11, 155. See John Dee, Libri Mysteriorum, London, British Library, Sloane Ms. 3188, f.12v. For more, see Stephen Clucas, “‘Non est legendum sed inspicendum solum’: Inspectival knowledge and the visual logic of John Dee’s Liber Mysteriorum,” in Emblems and Alchemy, eds. Alison Adams and Stanton J.  Linden (Glasgow: Glasgow Emblem Studies, 1998), 109–32. 32  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1609), II, 147: “Hyperphysicomageia (respectu Naturalis & Doctrinæ causa, sic dicta) est cum Angelis bonis, flammeis Dei ministris, sub modo delegatæ à Deo administrationis, tam vigilando quàm dormiendo, mediatè & immediatè, pia & vtilis conuersatio.” 33  See Garth D. Reese, The Theomagical Reformation of Thomas Vaughan: Magic and the Occult in Early British Theology (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 2014). 34  Ryan J. Stark, Rhetoric, Science, and Magic in Seventeenth-century England (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2009), 95.

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familiar with Agrippa’s epistolary exchange with his fellow German occult philosopher, abbot Johannes Trithemius (1462–1516), on the degenerated status of magic and the way to reinstate it to a respectful status in the Christian world.35 In the Amphitheatre we find several calls for the restorative and renewing reformation of magic and the extirpation of Nigromancy (i.e., necromancy). This indeed is a major message of the OratoryLaboratory engraving.36 Agrippa, one of Khunrath’s favored sources, provides probably the best clue to what Khunrath intends by the term “Divino-Magicum” in De incertitudine & vanitate scientiarum (On the Vanity and Uncertainty of the Sciences, 1531). Here, Agrippa equates divine magic with the theurgy discussed by Neoplatonist philosophers Porphyry (c.234–c.305) and Iamblichus (c.245–c.325), by which “the soul of man may be fitted to receive spirits, and angels, and to see God.”37 Although not immediately apparent, Figure  2 of Adam Androgyne (Fig. 4.4) contains two “ladders”, one being grades of cognition taken from Aristotle’s De Anima, the other a sequence of steps leading to Conjunction and Union with God. The two combined give us a sense of the ultimate significance of Khunrath’s divine magic, which concerns itself with the cognitive ascent from matter to spirit, aiming at the deification of man. Alchemy Khunrath’s alchemical interests span a broad spectrum, ranging from the traditional medieval transmutational art of gold-making, through investigation of the properties of plants, to the use of chemical medicines made from toxic substances like minerals and metals. His spagyric work, Quaestiones Tres (Three Questions, 1607), discusses philosophical saline solutions of gems and stones as treatment for Tartar-related ailments, which was a major concern of Paracelsian physicians. He is also interested in laboratory technology and writes of his invention of a special alchemical 35  See Noel L. Brann, Trithemius and Magical Theology: A Chapter in the Controversy over Occult Studies in Early Modern Europe (New York: S.U.N.Y. Press, 1999), 153–54. 36  See Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1609), II, 210 and 104 (mispaginated as 92). 37  Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa, De incertitudine & vanitate scientiarum declamatio invective (Cologne: Melchior Novesianus, 1531), Cap. XLVI. De theurgia, sig. [hvir]; sig hviv: “Verum de hac theurgia sive divinorum magia plura disputans Porphyrius, tandem concludit theurgicis consecrationibus posse quidem animam hominis idoneam reddi, ad susceptionem spirituum & angelorum, ad videndos deos, reditum vero ad deum hac arte praestari posse inficiatur omnino.” English translation from Agrippa, Three Books of Occult Philosophy, 699.

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furnace with a transparent glass cover in the Warhafftiger Bericht Vom Philosophischen Athanore (Truthful Report Concerning the Philosophical Athanor, 1599), and the same consideration of the importance of fire for alchemy also appears in De Igne Magorum Philosophorumque (1608). With the term “Physico-Chemical” introduced in the Amphitheatre, Khunrath is emphasizing his interest in the investigation of the properties of matter and the secrets of nature, as a complement to his engagement in “Physical Medicine” (Physico-­Medicina).38 At the same time, in the very same work, Khunrath broaches what has now become a contentious subject: the consideration of alchemy as a model for personal spiritual transformation.39

Interdisciplinary Combinations Khunrath’s Youthful Support of Paracelsian Alchemy, Cabala, and Magic Anyone who had paid careful attention to Khunrath’s 1588 graduation theses at the University of Basel would have noticed that he had quietly but bravely declared not just his advocacy of the notoriously unorthodox Paracelsian alchemical medicine, but also adherence to the Christian Cabalist ideas of Reuchlin. Khunrath’s 28 theses De Signatura Rerum Naturalium (On the Signatures of Natural Things, Fig. 4.7)40 have been described as a precious document of the academic recognition of the Paracelsian-alchemical interpretation of nature in the Basel Medical Faculty, and as support for the revolutionary Paracelsian call for a reform 38  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1609), II, 147: “Physicomedicina est ars cognoscendi Librum Naturae (Macro & MicroCosmicè) magnum: ita, vt legere possis (tam vniuersaliter, quàm particulariter) Temetipsum in Mundo maiore; & contra Mundum maiorem in Teipso: ad humani corporis sanitatem tuendam, morbosque profligandos.” 39  Useful discussions of this subject can be found in Daniel Merkur, “The Study Of Spiritual Alchemy: Mysticism, Gold-Making, and Esoteric Hermeneutics,” Ambix 37, no. 1 (1990): 35–45, Hereward Tilton, The Quest for the Phoenix: Spiritual Alchemy and Rosicrucianism in the Work of Count Michael Maier (1569–1622) (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2003), and Mike A.  Zuber, “Spiritual Alchemy from the Age of Jacob Boehme to Mary Anne Atwood, 1600–1900” (PhD diss., University of Amsterdam, 2017). For the most influential argument against most claims of spiritual alchemy earlier than the nineteenth century, see Lawrence M. Principe and William R. Newman, “Some Problems with the Historiography of Alchemy,” in Secrets of Nature: Astrology and Alchemy in Early Modern Europe, eds. William R. Newman and Anthony Grafton (Cambridge, MA.: MIT Press, 2001), 385–431. 40  Heinrich Khunrath, De Signatura Rerum Naturalium Theses (Basel Typis Oporinianis, 1588).

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Fig. 4.7  Khunrath, De signatura rerum naturalium theses (1588), Title Page (Courtesy of Universitätsbibliothek Basel)

of medicine.41 In the Amphitheatre, Khunrath expresses the pride he felt at being the first in Germany to have promulgated the doctrine of signatures (often considered Paracelsian), just before the publication of the 41  Manuel Bachmann and Thomas Hofmeier, eds. Geheimnisse der Alchemie (Basel: Schwabe & Co. AG. Verlag, 1999), 157–58.

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Phytognomonica (Interpretations of Plants, 1588) by Della Porta.42 Khunrath clearly saw himself as a promoter of this influential new (or revived) doctrine, which was soon to be adopted by iatrochemical thinkers such as Joseph Du Chesne (1544–1609)43 and Oswald Croll (1563–1609).44 The presence of Reuchlin’s wonder-working Christian-Cabalist name of Christ, IHSVH, at the conclusion of the 1588 theses (Fig. 4.8) proves that Khunrath was already influenced by Reuchlin’s work in his twenties, long before the publication of the Amphitheatre.45 What most readers probably didn’t know, however, is that the name IHSVH was embedded in a phrase taken from a fifteenth-century manuscript of Christianized ritual magic, the De Arte Crucifixi Pelagii Solitarij (Pelagius the Hermit’s On the Art of the Crucifix): “Ihsvh veritatas aeterna ostende veritatem” (“Jesus, Eternal Truth, Show the Truth”). Repetition of these words before sleep would enable the suitably prepared practitioner to see a vision of Christ in a dream.46 This is an early indication of Khunrath’s readiness to cross, blur (or transgress) disciplinary boundaries. These are not simply references to Cabala and magic, but an implication that both are relevant in the context of Paracelsian alchemy and medicine. 42  Giovanni Battista Della Porta, Phytognomonica (Naples: Horatius Salvianus, 1588). For references to Della Porta’s Phytognomonica, see Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1609), II, 152. On Della Porta, see William Eamon, Science and the Secrets of Nature: Books of Secrets in Medieval and Early Modern Culture (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994), especially Chap. 6 “Natural Magic and the Secrets of Nature.” 43  Joseph Quercetanus [Du Chesne], De Priscorum Philosophorum veræ medicinæ materia (St Gervais: Heirs of Eustathius Vignon, 1603), 88 for reference to Della Porta. 44  Oswald Croll, Basilica Chymica (Frankfurt: Claude de Marne & the heirs of Johann Aubry, 1609), 14. 45  See Khunrath, De signatura rerum, sig. Avir: “Ihsvh veritas aeterna ostende veritatem” (IHSVH Eternal Truth, Show [us] the Truth). The same phrase appears in a manuscript connected with Khunrath: London, British Library, MS.  Sloane 181 “Tabulae Theosophiae Cabbalisticae.” See Peter J.  Forshaw, “‘Behold, the Dreamer Cometh’: Hyperphysical Magic and Deific Visions in an Early-Modern Lab-Oratory,” in Conversations with Angels: Essays Towards a History of Spiritual Communication (1100–1700), ed. Joad Raymond (Palgrave: Basingstoke, 2009), 175–200. 46  See Julien Véronèse, “La notion d’‘auteur-magicien’ à la fin du Moyen Age: Le cas de l’ermite Pelagius de Majorque,” Médiévales 51 (2006): 119–38, esp. 133–34; Julien Véronèse, “Magic, Theurgy, and Spirituality in the Medieval Ritual of the Ars Notoria” in Invoking Angels: Theurgic Ideas and Practices: Thirteenth to Sixteenth Centuries, ed. Claire Fanger (University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2012), 37–78, and Stephen Clucas, “Regimen Animarum et Corporum: The Body and Spatial Practice in Medieval and Renaissance Magic,” in The Body in Late Medieval and Early Modern Culture, eds. D. Grantly and N. Taunton (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2000), 113–29.

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Fig. 4.8  Khunrath, De signatura rerum naturalium theses (1588), Final Page (Courtesy of Universitätsbibliothek Basel)

Binary Conjunctions and Underlying Symmetries Khunrath’s message of combinations, composites, compounds, and conjunctions is driven home by the dominant images in each of the circular engravings. In Theosophical Figure  1 (here Fig.  4.3) we have Christ as

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Theanthropos, god and man, or divine man. Furthermore, in contrast to most depictions of Christ in Reformation art, the Amphitheatre’s Christ is naked47; and, when examined closely, curiously hermaphroditic.48 This is in keeping with Khunrath’s presentation of Wisdom in the Amphitheatre as both the female figure of Sophia or Sapientia in the Old Testament and as Christ as the “Eternal Wisdom of the Father” in the New Testament.49 In Figure 2 (here Fig. 4.4), Adam is androgynous, a single body with two heads; this is Adam before the division into Adam and Eve, before Original Sin and the Fall. In Figure 3 (here Fig. 4.5), we see the hermaphroditic conjunction of Mercury and Sulphur for the production of the Philosophers’ Stone. As already mentioned, Figure  4 (Fig.  4.6) is the combination and summation of the preceding engravings in the symbolic space of the Oratory-Laboratory. These conjunctions underpin the whole message of Khunrath’s oeuvre. Closer scrutiny of these images brings out parallels and congruencies between Oratory and Laboratory. In a discussion of sympathies existing between the cosmos and man, the macrocosm and the microcosm, Khunrath explains that there are indeed two “Lesser Worlds” or microcosms, one, the human being, created from the slime of the earth and the breath of God; the other, the alchemical microcosm, the closed vessel in the laboratory, in which the Philosophers’ Stone is created.50 A comparison of the figures of Khunrath’s Androgyne (Theosophical Figure 2—here Fig. 4.4) and Hermaphrodite (Theosophical Figure 3— here Fig.  4.5) reveals underlying symmetries and symbolic geometries connected with the quaternary of the four elements, the ternary of body, spirit, and soul, the binary of opposites, and unity. In Theosophical Figure 2 (Fig. 4.4), we have both the generation of the four elements of the macrocosm and the creation of Adam Protoplast, 47   See Kathryn Moore Heleniak, “Naked/Nude,” in Encyclopedia of Comparative Iconography, Vol.2, M-Z, ed. Helene E. Roberts (Chicago, IL: Fitzroy Dearborn Publishers, 1998), 643. 48  James Elkins, What Painting Is: How to Think about Oil Painting, Using the Language of Alchemy (New York/London: Routledge, 2000), 180: “Here Jesus is nude, like the unfinished hermaphrodites and homunculi.” See also Leah DeVun, “The Jesus Hermaphrodite: Science and Sex Difference in Premodern Europe,” Journal of the History of Ideas 69, no. 2 (2008): 193–218. 49  See Bernard McGinn, ed., Meister Eckhart, Teacher and Preacher (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1986), 267 on Christ as the “Eternal Wisdom of the Father.” 50  Khunrath, De Igne Magorum Philosophorumque, 50: “in Laboratorio aut Athanore Physico-Chymico hoc est, Microcosmo, ita loquendo, nostro artificiali.”

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Fig. 4.9  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1595), Adam-Androgyne detail: AnimaSpiritus-Corpus (Courtesy of the Department of Special Collections, Memorial Library, University of Wisconsin, Madison)

first-formed man. Adam Androgyne is enclosed within a square that is surrounded by the four elements (Fig. 4.9): earth at the bottom, water to the right, air to the left, and fire above. Inside this square there is a triangle, on the sides of which we see (highlighted in red) the words: Corpus (Body) at the bottom, Anima (Soul) on the left, male side of the Androgyne, and Spiritus (Spirit) on the right, female side; Adam and Eve constitute the binary that is united as the Androgyne. The Cabalistic nature of this image

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Fig. 4.10  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1595), Rebis or Hermaphrodite detail: Anima-Spiritus-Corpus (Courtesy of the Department of Special Collections, Memorial Library, University of Wisconsin, Madison)

is emphasized by the words (in green): “Linea viridis Cabalistarum girans universum” (“The Green Line of the Cabalists encircling the universe”).51 These geometries and key terms are echoed in Theosophical Figure  3 (Fig. 4.5), in which the Hermaphrodite is a Rebis, literally res bina (a “twothing”); holding the circular Philosophers’ Stone (Fig.  4.10). Inscribed within the Stone we see yet again a square, containing a triangle: the four elements and three principles of life, which have identical placements to those in Theosophical Figure 2.  On this topic, see more below in Section “An Instance of Commonality: Greenness.”

51

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Thus, what may at first glance appear to be separate activities, with different places of practice, in Khunrath’s perspective share common ground, although he is careful to assert analogy rather than identity.52 The necessary combination of alchemy with spiritual (and physical) purification is brought together in a novel way in Theosophical Figure  2 (Fig.  4.4), where we discover that the Cabalistic Androgyne is surrounded by the four elements, which contain a message of the purification of the adept in alchemical language. As a Physico-Chymist, Khunrath is by no means reducing his work to a “Spiritual Alchemy.” Although A.E. Waite is justified in asserting the Amphitheatre’s importance as the very first work to intimate of such a kind of practice,53 this in an undeniable instance of a practicing alchemist making use of alchemical, mineralogical, and cabalistic language to express self-transformation, through a penitential process described in terms of an alchemical rotation of the elements.54 At the base of the figure, for example, we read, Exsolve ‫[ אדם‬Adam], ΜΙΚΡΟΚΟΣΜΟΝ [the Microcosm], ἀνδρογυνον [the androgyne], universal [καθολικον] in nature and form, [but] earthly in person, base and impure on account of his sins, by grinding with the fiery pestle of the ΔΕΚΑΛΟΓΟΥ [Dekalogue, 10 Commandments] of Contrition, into a powdery mass, growing green with the fertile Salt of Conversion.55

Khunrath progresses through Water and Air, until finally, at the top of the square of the elements, we read of man’s purgation and perfection by Fire: “Let καθολικος [universal] Fiery-Minded ‫[ אדם‬Adam], thrice 52  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1609), II, 203: “Quod, in Cabala, est hominis ad Monadis simplicitatem reducti, cum Deo, Vnio: id in PhysicoChemia ad Lapidis nostri plusquamperfecti & gloriosi, cum Macrocosmo, in partibus eius, Fermentatio” (That which, in Cabala, is the Union of man reduced to the simplicity of the Monad with God, is, in Physico-Chemistry, the Fermentation of our glorious and surpassingly perfect Stone with the Macrocosm, in its parts). 53  Joscelyn Godwin, The Golden Thread: The Ageless Wisdom of the Western Mystery Traditions (Wheaton, IL: Quest Books, 2007), 118. 54  Heinrich Khunrath, Vom hylealischen, Das ist pri-materialischen catholischen oder Algemeinem natürlichen Chaos der Naturgemessen Alchymiae und Alchymisten (Magdeburg: Heirs of Andreas Genen, 1597), 127. 55  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1595 & 1609), Circular Figure  2: “‫ םדא‬ΜΙΚΡΟΚΣΜΟΝ, ἀνδρόγυνον, et formatione et naturâ καθολικον, personâ terrenum, ob peccata vilem atque immundum, flammeo ΔΕΚΑΛΟΓΟΥ contritionis pistillo, in glebam pulveream, conuersionis sale foecundo viridantem, reverberando exoluito.”

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re-united, evil being abandoned, be sublimated by being regenerated.”56 As stated earlier, Khunrath conceived of two microcosms, Man and the Philosophers’ Stone, presumably on the understanding that the same elements present in the Stone are also present in the human being; both have a tripartite division of body, spirit, and soul, and must undergo similar processes of purification toward perfection. Khunrath’s analogous thinking (or parallel-processing) is evident in a novel comparison that he draws between Theosophical Figure 1 (Fig. 4.3) of Christ and Figure  3 (Fig.  4.5) of the Philosophers’ Stone. This was already noted by the Swiss psychologist Carl Jung (1875–1961), who argued in Alchemical Studies (1968, 1983) that the Stone may be understood as “a symbol of the inner Christ,” pointing out that “Khunrath formulated for the first time the ‘theological’ position of the lapis: it was the filius macrocosmi as opposed to the ‘son of man,’ who was the filius microcosmi.”57 According to Khunrath, cited by Jung, Without blasphemy I say: In the Book or Mirror of Nature, the Stone of the Philosophers, the Preserver of the Macrocosm, is the symbol of Jesus Christ Crucified, Saviour of the whole race of men, that is, of the Microcosm. From the Stone you shall know in natural wise Christ, and from Christ the Stone.58

Again, this is not an expression of identity, but an  analogy between Christ, Son of the microcosm, savior and redeemer of mankind, and the stone, Son of the Macrocosm, redeemer and restorer of nature.59 56  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1595 & 1609), Circular Figure  2: “Derelicto malo, trireunitus, regenerando sublimetur, mentignevs, καθολικος, ‫םדא‬.” 57  Carl Gustav Jung, Alchemical Studies, trans. R.F.C.  Hull (New York: Princeton/ Bollingen, 1968, repr. 1983), 96. 58  Jung, Alchemical Studies, 126. The original is in Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1609), II, 197. 59  Jung was one of the first to discuss comparisons between Christ and the Philosophers’ Stone, originally in an Eranos lecture “Die Erlösungsvorstellungen in der Alchemie,” EranosJahrbuch 1936 (Zürich: Rhein-Verlag, 1937), 13–111, and then more extensively in Psychologie und Alchemie (1944, 1952). See Psychology and Alchemy, trans. R.F.C. Hull (New York: Bollingen Foundation, 1953; 2nd ed. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1968; 1st paperpack 1980), Part III, Chap. 5 The Lapis-Christ Parallel, 345–431. Khunrath is mentioned on various occasions, for example, Khunrath’s novel notion of the Stone as filius macrocosmi or Son of the Macrocosm (313); A.E. Waite’s opinion that Khunrath was “the first author to identify the stone with Christ” (357); Khunrath’s Oratory-Laboratory engraving (291). For more on comparisons of Christ with the Stone, see Leah DeVun, Prophecy, Alchemy and the End of Time: John of Rupescissa in the Late Middle Ages (New York: Columbia

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Kabala, Magia, Alchymia Coniungendae All these examples, however, still represent binary, dyadic thinking, drawing comparisons or analogies between two of Khunrath’s areas of practice, be that between the two microcosms, Man and the Philosophers’ Stone, or Christ and the Stone. Yet, as any astrologer knows, there can be stelliums, conjunctions of several planets coming together in the heavens; likewise alchemical compounds frequently had more than just two ingredients. An Instance of Commonality: Greenness There are passages where Khunrath intimates of more extended commonalities or congruencies between his practices; one such appears in a rhapsodic passage in the Amphitheatre on the color green: Oh Blessed Greenness, making all things grow. Contemplate [this] Greenness, in the first, second and third figures of this Amphitheatre, [and], oh Theosopher, you will find the Ruah Elohim [Spirit of the Lord]; you, oh Cabalist, the Green Line, encircling the Universe; you, Mage, Nature; [and] you, Physical-Chemist, The Green Lion, Duenegh Viride; Adrop, The Quintessence.60

This correspondence was evidently important for Khunrath, for he recycles the message two years later in On Primaterial Chaos (1597): I saw the Green Catholic Lion of Nature and the natural alchemists: the green Duenech: Catholic Venus of the Philosophers, that is, the fruitfulness of Nature, coming to and in all natural things, synoptically-universally: … I have with care catholically taken the Green Line of the Cabalists, catholically naturally penetrating the whole world: I have smelt and tasted the blessed natural Green of Natural Magicians, that naturally cultivates all natural things, induces their growth and ripening.61 University Press, 2009), 109–16 who provides examples from Petrus Bonus’s Pretiosa margarita novella, Arnald of Villanova’s De lapide philosophorum, and John of Rupescissa’s Liber lucis. 60  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1609), II, 67: “O Benedicta viriditas, faciens res cvnctas germinare. Contemplare viriditatem, figuris Amphitheatri huius prima, secunda, & tertia, reperies tu TheoSophe, Rvah Elohim: Cabalista, Lineam viridem, girantem vniversvm: Mage, Natvram: PhysicoChemista, Leonem viridem; Dvenegh viride; Adrop; Essentiam qvintam.” See also Amphitheatrum (1595), 8. 61  Khunrath, Chaos (1597), 91–93: “ich sahe den GRUNEN Catholischen LÖWEN der NATUR und Naturgemessen Alchymisten: Das grüne DUENECH: VENEREM

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Here the clear message of commonalities and correspondences is expressed in words: we are told to note the presence of greenness in the first three circular Theosophical figures. For the theosopher, intent on divine wisdom, it is represented by the Hebrew Ruach Elohim, the Spirit of God that hovered over the waters at the moment of creation in the book of Genesis (Gen. 1:2). Certain Cabalists wrote of the Green Line that encircles the universe, interpreting it, for example, as Heaven or the Neoplatonic Anima Mundi (“Soul of the World”).62 For the magician, greenness represents the power of Nature, which Khunrath equates with the Ruach Elohim and also with the Anima Mundi. Finally, for the alchemist or physico-chymist working with matter in the laboratory, it is the Green Lion, best known from the image of the Rosarium Philosophorum (1550), where it is seen devouring the Sun, denoting either philosophical Mercury or Vitriol dissolving gold. Khunrath is not simply comparing philosophical systems, he is implying that there is an essential underlying unity among them. Hybrid Sciences: Existing Models for Conjunction Khunrath is anything but explicit on what he intends by the insistence that alchemy, magic, and Cabala be practiced together, but let us consider existing models, with which he was familiar, for combining at least two Philosophorum Catholicam, das ist/ die Fruchtbarkeit der NATUR/zu und in alle Natürliche dinge kommende/ kurtzbegrifflich-Universalisch: … Das ich hab in acht genommen die GRUNE die gantze Weld Catholisch durchgehende Naturliche LINEAM der Cabalisten/Catholisch: Das ich habe gerochen und geschmedet die GESEGNETE der Naturgemessen Magorum Natürliche GRUNE/ so alle Natürliche dinge Natürlich zeuget/ in jhr wachsen und grünen treibet.” 62  For Pico della Mirandola’s references to the Green Line, see S. A. Farmer, Syncretism in the West: Pico’s 900 Theses (1486)–The Evolution of Traditional Religious and Philosophical Systems (Tempe, AR: Medieval & Renaissance Texts & Studies, 1998), 349: “When Solomon says in his prayer in the Book of Kings, Hear O heaven, by heaven we should understand the green line that circles the universe.” For other references to this Green Line, see Secret, Les Kabbalistes chrétiens, 97, 319 and Wirszubski, Pico della Mirandola’s Encounter, 26, 181, who equates it with the third Sephirah, Binah. See also Chaim Wirszubski, “Francesco Giorgio’s Commentary on Giovanni Pico’s Kabbalistic Theses,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 37 (1974): 154 on how Francesco Giorgio “correctly grasped the implication of the interrelation between the view that a green line (Intelligence) encircles the universe and that God is everywhere and nowhere.” On the Green Line as Anima Mundi, see Arcangelo da Borgonuovo, Cabalistarum selectiora obscurioraque Dogmata (Venice: Franciscus Franciscius, 1569), 210r; 217v.

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practices before we speculate on the possible harnessing of all three. The easiest connection to make is between Cabala and magic. In his Conclusiones, Pico della Mirandola had stressed the value of combining the two arts, as in his notorious declaration that “There is no science that assures us more of the divinity of Christ than magic and Cabala,”63 as well as in other statements regarding the privileged status of the Hebrew language in relation to magic.64 Inspired by Pico, Reuchlin wrote of the virtue of Hebrew as the original language of Creation, supremely necessary in magical operations, particularly in the writing of characters on images. These syncretic tendencies were reinforced by Agrippa in De occulta philosophia, in which Cabala was related to natural, astral, and ritual forms of magic. Another of Khunrath’s sources, the Venetian priest Giovanni Agostino Pantheo (fl. 1517–1535), developed a hybrid “Cabala of Metals” in the Ars transmutationis metallicae (Art of Metallic Transmutation, 1518), published with a Commentarium Theoricae Artis Metallicae Transmutationis (Commentary on the Theory of the Art of Metallic Transmutation), dated 1519, and the Voarchadumia contra alchimiam (Voarchadumia against Alchemy, 1530).65 In these works Pantheo promoted a cabalistic reading of alchemical texts and a cabalistic investigation of the secrets of alchemical substances and processes.66 Paracelsus also showed himself intrigued by the possibilities of this new art, and its relevance to both alchemy and magic.67 In what is now considered a pseudonymous work, the Archidoxis Magicae (Chief Teachings of Magic, first published in 1570),68 Paracelsus provides a recipe for the creation of electrum magicum (“magical electrum”), that is, an alloy made of all the seven planetary metals,69 and  Farmer, Syncretism in the West, 497 (9>9).  Secret, Les Kabbalistes chrétiens, Cap. III; Reichert, “Pico della Mirandola and the Beginnings of Christian Kabbala,” 195–207. 65  Giovanni Agostino Pantheo, Ars transmutationis metallicae (Venice: Giovanni Tacuino, 1519); Giovanni Agostino Pantheo, Voarchadumia contra Alchi’miam: Ars distincta ab Archimi’a, et Sophia (Venice: n.p., 1530). 66  Peter J. Forshaw, “Cabala Chymica or Chemia Cabalistica—Early Modern Alchemists and Cabala,” Ambix 60, no. 4 (2013): 371ff. 67  Forshaw, “Cabala Chymica or Chemia Cabalistica,” 376f. 68  The first editor of Paracelsus’s complete philosophical works, Johannes Huser (c.1545– c.1601), was uncertain about the authenticity of this treatise, while the modern editor of Paracelsus’s works, Karl Sudhoff (1853–1938), rejected it as spurious. Nevertheless, Khunrath made use of it and apparently considered it genuine, or at least relevant to his work. 69  Tilton, “Of Electrum and the Armour of Achilles,” 129. 63 64

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then goes on to provide detailed instructions on how to fashion a magical mirror. Magic mirrors were part and parcel of medieval catoptromancy (mirror divination), being used for scrying—seeing visions of spirits—as an alternative to the crystallomantic use of beryl stones and crystal balls. A mirror fashioned of electrum probably required knowledge of alchemy as much as metallurgy. Paracelsus also wrote of a necromantic bell that he saw in Spain: when the magician wrote various words and characters on the bell and then rang it, all sorts of spirits and specters appeared.70 The Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna possesses a small handbell (Fig. 4.11), considered to be of electrum, made for Emperor Rudolf II around 1600,71 covered with images of the seven planetary deities, Sun, Mercury, Venus, and so forth, with their related astrological signs, and names for the planetary angels in Arabic or Syriac,72 Greek script on the inside of the bell and Hebrew on the clapper. Here we have an object, made of metal, province of alchemy, covered in symbols, including the Hebrew of Cabala, undoubtedly intended for ritual magic purposes; as such an expression of the ideas found in the Archidoxis Magicae.73 Triune Conjunction in Consilium de Physico-Magica (1597) The Archidoxis Magicae brings us closer to Khunrath’s three-headed chimera, his triune conjunction. In an unpublished manuscript, the Consilium 70  See Paracelsus, Archidoxis Magicae, in Paracelsus, Bücher und Schrifften, ed. Johann Huser (Frankfurt: Johann Wechels Erben, 1603), X, 319–59, especially Liber Sextus, De compositione metallorum, concerning the necromantic bell and Virgil’s bell, at the sound of which all the adulterers at the court of King Arthur fell into the river, pushed by an invisible force. On this, see John Webster Spargo, Virgil the Necromancer: Studies in Virgilian Legends (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1934), 209–10. 71  See Beket Bukovinská and Ivo Purš, “Die Tischglocke Rudolfs II: über ihren Urheber und ihre Bedeutung,” Studia Rudolphina 10 (2010): 89–104; Domagoj Akrap, Klaus Davidowicz, and Mirjam Knotter, eds. ‫ הלבק‬Kabbalah (Bielefeld: Kerber Verlag, 2018), 136–39. See also the article by Corinna Gannon, “The Alchemical Hand Bell of Rudolf II—A Touchstone of Art and Alchemy,” Studia Rudolphina 19 (2019): 81–98. 72  Bukovinská and Purš, “Die Tischglocke Rudolfs II,” 94. See also Ivo Purš, “Rudolf II’s Patronage of Alchemy and the Natural Sciences,” in Alchemy and Rudolf II: Exploring the Secrets of Nature in Central Europe in the 16th and 17th Centuries, eds. Ivo Purš and Vladimir Karpenko (Prague: Artefactum, 2016), 181 for higher quality close-ups of Rudolf’s bell. 73  For more, see Hereward Tilton, “Bells and Spells: Rosicrucianism and the Invocation of Planetary Spirits in Early Modern Germany,” Culture and Cosmos: A Journal of the History of Astrology and Cultural Astronomy 19, no. 1–2 (2015): 5–26.

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Fig. 4.11  Alchemical table bell of Rudolf II, Courtesy of Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien, ©KHM-Museumsverband

de Physico-­Magica Vulcani fabrefactione armorum Achillis (Counsel concerning Vulcan’s Natural-Magical Forging of the Arms of Achilles), in a dramatic mixture of magic, metallurgy, and metal-smithing,74 Khunrath provides details of the production of electrum magicum for the fashioning of armor. He employs Paracelsus’s recipe for creating the alloy, then 74  Swedish Royal Library, Stockholm, Ms. Rai 4, Consilium de Vulcani magica Fabrefactione Armorum Achillis (1597). Khunrath refers to this work in De Igne Magorum, 37: “Consilium oder Rhatsames Bedencken/ bey und uber Vulcanischer auch natürlich Magischer Fabrefactione Armorum Achillis.”

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describes the smithing of the armor and the striking of a sigil of Mars into it, the latter designed in accordance with instructions found in Agrippa’s De occulta philosophia.75 This is accompanied by a verbal “magical” or “cabalistic” performance: a Latin incantation to be recited (or rather growled or bellowed) during the striking of the sigil, one that simultaneously draws down the powers of the macrocosmic stars and their intelligences through the recitation of verses expressing the requisite star’s qualities, and draws on the stars of the inner microcosmic heaven within the adept.76 The “Necessary” Triune Conjunction: The Philosophers’ Stone In the Amphitheatre and On Primaterial Chaos, Khunrath’s focus is on stones, both universal and particular, so let us conclude with a brief consideration of their significance for him. In addition to the alchemical production of metals for magical objects, we also find one of the major promoters of full-spectrum Paracelsian philosophy, Gerard Dorn (c.1530–1584), writing of artificially creating gemstones in the laboratory, which can then be used for making magical talismans.77 One of the most famous instances of the discussion of magical stones in an alchemical context is surely the Theatrum Chemicum Britannicum (1652), in which Elias Ashmole (1617–1692) describes “supernatural stones” conferring “special intellectual or spiritual powers.”78 One of these stones, the “magical” one, has the power both to present any part of the world to the adept’s vision and to endow them with the capacity to understand the language of animals. While this stone relates to animals and the sublunary world of creation, the “angelical stone”

 Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa von Nettesheim, De occulta philosophia libri tres (Cologne: Johannes Soter, 1533), Book 2, Chapter 22, CL. 76  Khunrath, Consilium de Vulcani magica Fabrefactione Armorum Achillis, 36: “Sonderlich aber soltu keinesweges vergessenn Cooperation oder mitwirckung Microcosmischen innerlichen gestirnes, astrorum coeli Microcosmi darneben anzuwenden, ohne welche in arte Magicorum man zu keinem vollenkommen ende gereichen noch kommen kann.” 77  Gerard Dorn, Artificii Chymistici Physici, Metaphysicique, Secunda pars & Tertia. (N.p., 1569), II, 376–86; Gerard Dorn, De Lapidum preciosorum structura, in Theatrum Chemicum I (Strasbourg: Heirs of Eberhard Zetzner, 1659), 485–90. 78  Principe and Newman, “Some Problems with the Historiography of Alchemy,” 399. 75

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is so subtill … that it can neither be seene, felt, or weighed; but Tasted only. … A Stone, that will lodge in the Fire to Eternity without being prejudiced. It hath a Divine Power, Celestiall, and Invisible, above the rest; and endowes the possessor with Divine Gifts. It affords the Apparition of Angells, and gives a power of conversing with them, by Dreames and Revelations: nor dare any Evill Spirit approach the Place where it lodgeth. Because it is a Quintessence wherein there is no corruptible Thing: and where the Elements are not corrupt, no Devill can stay or abide. 79

It is not unusual to find alchemists talking about three kinds of stone, usually with each relating to a different kingdom of nature: Animal, Vegetable, and Mineral.80 As far as I know, however, Khunrath’s presentation of the threefold use of the Philosophers’ Stone, which works on macrocosmic, microcosmic, and divine levels of being, is unique. In the band of text surrounding the central image of the 1595 OratoryLaboratory engraving (Fig. 4.6), we read that Macrocosmically, the Stone transmutes metals, creates artificial gemstones, makes metals and gems potable, cures animals, revives plants, and makes a perpetually burning water.81 Microcosmically, it is the best medicine for mankind, routing all internal and external maladies of body, spirit, or soul, conferring long life; it stimulates the mind, exalts the memory, and removes melancholy.82 Finally, on a Divine level, it is the “‫ אורים‬Urim and ‫ תמים‬Thummim by which Thrice Great YHVH Cabalistically gives an answer, speaks and utters his sayings about great and hidden things, to the Theo-Sopher.”83

79  Elias Ashmole, Theatrum Chemicum Britannicum (London: J. Grismond for Nathaniel Brooke, 1652), B2v. See Matthew D Rogers, “The Angelical Stone of Elias Ashmole,” Aries 5, no. 1 (2005): 61–90. 80  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1609), II, 199: “Vegetabilis, quoque, Animalis & Mineralis est & dicitur.” On the three kinds of stones discussed in George Ripley’s Medulla, see Jennifer M.  Rampling, “The Alchemy of George Ripley, 1470–1700” (PhD thesis, University of Cambridge, 2009), 29. 81  In the 1609 edition, this information appears in the Isagoge (Introductory Commentary) to Figure 3. See Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1609), II, 204–5. 82  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1609), II, 204 and Khunrath, Warhafftiger Bericht Vom Philosophischen Athanore auch Brauch unnd Nütz desselbigen (Magdeburg, n.p., 1603), 18–20. 83  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1609), II, 204: “Est enim ‫ םירוא‬Urim, per quod, presente, & ‫ םימת‬Thummim ‫ הוהי‬ter maximvs de maximis & abstrusis, Cabalicè dat TheoSopho responsa, loquitur & vocem emittit suam.”

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Conclusion Invited to discuss innovation in the context of Khunrath’s works, we began this chapter with his three neologisms, the compound adjectives in the 1609 title of the Christian-Cabalist, Divinely-Magical, and PhysicoChemical Amphitheatre. Representing Khunrath’s readiness to alchemically reduce and reconstitute matter and cabalistically deconstruct and refashion language, these are the verbal hybrid counterparts to his visual program of circular Theosophical figures representing various kinds of conjunction, be that the hermaphroditic compound of Mercury and Sulphur, the prelapsarian androgynous unity of Adam and Eve, or the theanthrophic union of Christ’s divine and mortal natures. We looked at what he meant by Christian Cabala, magic, and alchemy, and then considered a few models for his experimental combinations of these three fields of knowledge, initially in binary form, but culminating in his novel assertion that the three must necessarily be conjoined. While the rhapsodic passages on the polysignificance of the color green offer us insight into underlying correspondences in his worldview, and the brief account of the fashioning of magical armor provides some performative sense of his approach, the most substantial evidence for what Khunrath intends by his “necessary” conjunction is when he discusses the Philosophers’ Stone, such as when he declares that “Our Stone is One” and at the same time “Triune, namely, Terrestrial, Celestial and Divine.”84 This is undoubtedly what Khunrath intended with his unusual assertion about the absolutely necessary conjunction of the three arts, the three handmaids of Wisdom. Let’s end this chapter in memory of Nicholas, who offered me so much support in my early career, and helped me bring together some of my ideas, with a passage from Khunrath’s most alchemical work, On Primaterial Chaos, in which he encourages and exhorts his fellow seekers after knowledge, inspiration, and wisdom: I speak too with you both, Christian Cabalist and Divine Mage, who should theosophically seek and find a true and heavenly Revelation of past, present and future things, in the Stone of the Wise. Urim.85

84  Khunrath, Amphitheatrum (1609), II, 199: “Vnde Lapis noster Trinus existit & Vnus, h.e. Triunus, videlicet, Terrestris, Cælestis atque Divinvs.” 85  Khunrath, Chaos (1597), 313–14: “Ich rede auch mit euch beiden/ du Christlicher CABALIST und Göttlicher MAGE/ die jhr/ eine wahre und Himlische APOCALIPSIN/

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CHAPTER 5

The Rosicrucian Diaspora in the Seventeenth Century Christopher McIntosh

The transformation of Rosicrucianism from a relatively localized phenomenon into an international one would not have taken place had it not been for certain key figures who carried the Rosicrucian message outward from its German birthplace. This chapter attempts to throw some light on this process by looking at some of the routes of transmission of the Rosicrucian current and some of the people involved in what one might call the “Rosicrucian diaspora.” However, before dealing with the dissemination of Rosicrucianism, it may be useful to recapitulate briefly some essential facts regarding its origin.1  For a more thorough treatment of the inceptions of Rosicrucianism, see works by Tobias Churton, Invisibles. The True History of the Rosicrucians (Hersham, UK: Lewis Masonic, 2009); Roland Edighoffer, Les Rose-Croix (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2005); Carlos Gilly, ed., Rosenkreuz als europäisches Phänomen im 17. Jahrhundert (Amsterdam: 1

C. McIntosh (*) University of Exeter, Exeter, UK © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 G. D. Hedesan, T. Rudbøg (eds.), Innovation in Esotericism from the Renaissance to the Present, Palgrave Studies in New Religions and Alternative Spiritualities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-67906-4_5

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The Rosicrucian movement was born in the early seventeenth century in the German-speaking lands of Central Europe during a period of religious ferment and prophetic expectation. The Lutheran Reformation had taken place a century earlier, dividing Central Europe into Catholic and Protestant camps between which tension was high and soon to erupt into the Thirty Years War (1618–1648). At the same time many felt that the Reformation had not produced the spiritual renewal that it had initially promised. In this atmosphere many people turned to millenarian expectations of a coming new age, based on a tradition dating back to the writings of the twelfth-century Calabrian mystic Joachim of Fiore (1135–1202). According to Fiore, history was divided into three ages, corresponding to the three persons of the Trinity: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.2 The Age of the Holy Spirit, a golden age of peace and universal love, lay in the future, but was believed to be imminent. To determine when it was due to begin, prophetic writers produced endless numerological calculations, and astrologers scanned the heavens for portents. Another important idea that fed into the Rosicrucian movement was that of a perennial philosophy.3 A further key ingredient in the worldview evinced Bibliotheca Philosophica Hermetica, 2001); Christopher McIntosh, The Rosicrucians (York Beach, MA: Samuel Weiser, 1997); Roland Edighoffer, “Rosicrucianism: From the Seventeenth to the Twentieth Century,” in Modern Esoteric Spirituality, eds. Antoine Faivre, Jacob Needleman and Karen Voss (New York: Crossroad, 1992); Roland Edighoffer, RoseCroix et société idéale selon Johann Valentin Andreae, 2 vols. (Paris: Editions Arma Artis, 1982–1987); Hans Schick, Das ältere Rosenkreuzertum. Ein Beitrag zur Entstehungsgeschichte der Freimaurerei (Berlin: Nordland Verlag, 1942), republished as Die geheime Geschichte der Rosenkreuzer (Schwarzenburg: Ansata, 1980); J.  W. Montgomery, Cross and Crucible: J. V. Andreae (1586–1654), Phoenix of Theologians, 2 vols. (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1973); Will-Erich Peuckert, Das Rosenkreuz (Berlin: Erich Schmidt Verlag, 1973); Frances Yates, The Rosicrucian Enlightenment (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1972); A. E. Waite, The Brotherhood of the Rosy Cross (London: Rider, 1924); A. E. Waite, The Real History of the Rosicrucians (London: George Redway, 1887). On the first supporter of the Rosicrucian movement, Adam Haslmayr, see Carlos Gilly, Adam Haslmayr. Der erste Verkünder der Manifeste der Manifeste der Rosenkreuzer (Amsterdam: Bibliotheca Philosophica Hermetica, 1994), and Carlos Gilly, “‘Theophrastia Santa’—Paracelsianism as a Religion in Conflict with the Established Churches,” in Paracelsus, the Man and His Reputation, His Ideas and Their Transformation, ed. Ole Peter Grell (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 151–85. 2  See Marjorie Reeves, Joachim of Fiore and the Prophetic Future (London: SPCK, 1976). 3  On this topic, see Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann, Philosophia Perennis: Historical Outlines of Western Spirituality in Ancient, Medieval and Early Modern Thought (Dordrecht: Springer, 2004) and D.P. Walker, The Ancient Theology (London: Duckworth, 1972).

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in the Rosicrucian manifestos was the philosophy of the physician and alchemist Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim, known as Paracelsus (1493–1541), with his notion of the “two lights,” the Light of Nature and the Light of the Spirit. It was out of this constellation of ideas and historical conditions that Rosicrucianism made its appearance in 1614 with the publication in Kassel of a mysterious text in German entitled Fama Fraternitatis deß Löblichen Ordens des Rosenkreutzes (Manifesto of the Fraternity of the Most Praiseworthy Order of the Rosy Cross).4 While the authorship was anonymous, the evidence points to its having originated in a circle in Tübingen that included the Protestant theologian Johann Valentin Andreae (1586–1654),5 the lawyer and Paracelsian physician Tobias Hess (1558–1614) and the legal scholar Christopher Besold (1577–1638). Andreae is generally considered to have been the main author of the work. The Fama Fraternitatis was followed in 1615 by a second Rosicrucian manifesto, the Confessio Fraternitatis, which first appeared in Latin, also at Kassel.6 Then, in 1616, a third Rosicrucian text, Die Chymische Hochzeit Christiani Rosenkreuz Anno 1459 (The Chemical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreuz 1459) appeared at Strasbourg7; this treatise is usually included among the manifestos although in fact it is a kind of allegorical novella, probably written by Andreae in his youth.8 4  Fama Fraternitatis deß Löblichen Ordens des Rosenkreutzes (Kassel: Wessel, 1614). For modern editions and translations, see Donate Pahnke McIntosh, trans. Fama Fraternitatis, Manifest des hochlöblichen Ordens des Rosenkreuzes, intr. Christopher McIntosh (Lilienthal: Vanadis Texts, 2014) and Pleun Van der Kooij and Carlos Gilly, eds., Fama Fraternitatis. Das Urmanifest der Rosenkreuzer Bruderschaft zum ersten Mal nach den Manuskripten bearbeitet, die vor dem Erstdruck von 1614 entstanden sind durch Pleun van der Kooij. With a modern German version of the Fama, trans. Käte Warnke-Specht (Haarlem: Rozenkruis Pers, 1998). 5  On Andreae, besides the work of Montgomery, Cross and Crucible: J.  V. Andreae (1586–1654), see also Carlos Gilly, ed. Das Erbe des Christian Rosenkreuz. Johann Valentin Andreae 1586–1986 und die Manifeste der Rosenkreuzerbruderschaft 1614–1616 (Amsterdam: Bibliotheca Philosophica Hermetica, 1986, reprinted 1988). 6  Confessio Fraternitatis R.C.  Ad eruditos Europae, in Phillip à Gabella, Secretioris philosophiae consideratio brevis à Philippo à Gabella philosophiae st. conscripta, et nunc primum una cum confessione fraternitatis (Kassel: Wessel, 1615). 7   Johann Valentin Andreae, Chymische Hochzeit: Christiani Rosencreuz Anno 1459 (Strasbourg: Zetzner, 1616). 8  For modern editions of all three Rosicrucian texts, see Johann Valentin Andreae, Gesammelte Schriften, Band 3: Rosenkreuzerschriften: Allgemeine Reformation der gantzen weiten Welt (1614)—Fama Fraternitatis R. C. (1614)—Confessio Fraternitatis R. C. (1615)—

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What precisely sparked off the whole movement has been the subject of much debate. Frances Yates, in The Rosicrucian Enlightenment, argues that the Rosicrucian manifestos reflect the philosophy of the English philosopher and magus John Dee (1527–1608/1609), and as one piece of evidence she adduces the fact that the same symbolic hieroglyph appears both in the Chymische Hochzeit and in John Dee’s work the Monas hieroglyphica.9 However, Yates’s claim about the role of John Dee has been overtaken by subsequent research, for example, that of Carlos Gilly, who firmly rejects Yates’s “bizarre theory that the Rosicrucian movement can be traced to the influence of John Dee and that the word “Rosicrucian” should be regarded as an ‘export article’ of Elizabethan England.”10 Yates is more convincing, as we shall see, when she deals with the later transmission in the reverse direction, that is, the Rosicrucian influence in England. While the German-speaking lands were the birthplace of Rosicrucianism and the initial arena of the controversy set off by the Rosicrucian ­manifestos, interest in the movement subsided in Germany after the beginning of the Thirty Years War in 1618, and it was not until the following century that it was to see a revival in the country of its birth. Meanwhile, however, it had rapidly been transmitted to other parts of Europe. I propose to follow certain particular threads within it, examining how it manifested itself in Sweden, Britain, France, the Netherlands and Italy.

Chymische Hochzeit Christiani Rosencreütz (1616), ed. Roland Edighoffer (Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: Frommann-Holzboog, 2010), also Johann Valentin Andreae, Fama Fraternitatis— Confessio Fraternitatis—Chymische Hochzeit Christiani Rosencreütz. Anno 1459, ed. Richard Van Dülmen (Stuttgart: Calwer Verlag, 1973). 9  Frances Yates, The Rosicrucian Enlightenment. See cover of John Dee, Monas hieroglyphica (Antwerp: Sylvius, 1564). 10  Carlos Gilly, ed., Cimelia Rhodostaurotica: Die Rosenkreuzer im Spiegel der zwischen 1610 und 1660 entstandenen Handschriften und Drucke, Austellung der Bibliotheca Philosophica Hermetica Amsterdam und der Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel (Amsterdam: de Pelikaan, 1995), 22.

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The Swedish Connection The first thread that I would like to follow leads to Sweden. Relevant here is a prophecy attributed (probably falsely) to Paracelsus, which said that there would come a time of great turbulence, during which there would appear a “Lion of Midnight.” The prophecy reads as follows: And thus it shall occur, that at this time a yellow Lion will proceed from Midnight, and appear, and he will pursue the Eagle and, after some time, overcome it. He will bring all of Europe, and parts of Asia and Africa, under his domain. He will be of good, Christian faith, and all the people will pay deference to him… When this Lion from the North has completed his pursuit, and blunted the Eagle’s claws, thereupon peace and unity will abound. Unruliness shall be no more, and the End will be close at hand, when GOD the LORD shall come in great majesty.11

The motifs of the Lion and the Eagle also appear in the second Rosicrucian manifesto, the Confessio Fraternitatis, where, in the 1617 edition, there is a passage saying that the Pope “shall be scratched in pieces with nails, and an end made of his Asses cry by the new voice of a roaring lion,”12 and another passage says that there are still “some Eagles Feathers in our way, the which do hinder our purpose.”13 The Eagle was widely taken to be a symbol for the Habsburg Empire and the Papacy. “Midnight” was taken to mean the North. So who was the Lion? Many people thought this Lion of the North was in fact King Gustav Adolph of Sweden (reigned 1611–1632), who intervened in the Thirty Years War (1618–1648) on the Protestant side. He appeared to confirm the pseudo-Paracelsian prophecy about the Lion of the North as well as those passages in the Confessio. This has been written about in detail by the Swedish historian Susanna Ǻkerman in her book Rose Cross over the Baltic, where she focuses in particular on Johannes Bureus (1568–1652), a royal archivist who became tutor and confidant of King Gustav Adolph.14 11   Stefan Donecker, trans., Extract Magischer Propheceyung vnnd Beschreibung, von Entdeckung der 3. Schätzen Theophrasti Paracelsi (1549), in Johan Nordström,“Lejonet från Norden,” Samlaren: Tidskrift för svensk litteraturhistorisk forskning N. F. 15 (1934): 37–39, http://www.inst.at/trans/17Nr/4-5/4-5_donecker.htm (accessed 15 July 2020). 12  As translated by Eugenius Philalethes (Thomas Vaughan), in The Fame and Confession of the Fraternity of R:C: (London: Calvert, 1642), 43. 13  Philalethes, The Fame and Confession, 49. 14  Susanna Ǻkerman, Rose Cross over the Baltic (Leiden: Brill, 1998).

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Bureus is also the subject of a Swedish study by Thomas Karlsson, Götisk kabbala och runisk alkemi: Johannes Bureus och den götiska esoterismen (Gothic Kabbalah and Runic Alchemy: Johannes Bureus and Gothic Esotericism).15 Bureus believed that there had been an ancient civilization in the north, possessing a precious hyperborean tradition of wisdom,16 a kind of Nordic Kabbalah, which was encoded in the runes and had at some time in the past been transmitted southwards, influencing all the main esoteric traditions of Europe. He even believed that the Christian revelation had been foreshadowed in the Nordic pantheon. For example, the Trinity was foreshadowed by the three Nordic deities Odin, Thor and Freya.17 Bureus had studied Dee’s Monas hieroglyphica and, subsequently, tried to create something similar in the form of a symbol that he called the Adulruna, a kind of runic monad, constituting a matrix from which all the runes could be derived.18 It also contained numerous different symbolic levels, including an alchemical aspect, as Bureus was also an alchemist. The Swedish philosopher tied all this in with the Rosicrucian vision of a new age, which he enthusiastically adopted when the Rosicrucian manifestos were published. Inspired by the first Rosicrucian manifesto, the Fama Fraternitatis, he wrote a work entitled F. R. C. FaMa e sCanzia reDUX.19 This millenarian work quotes biblical passages pointing to the dawning of the new age and draws attention to portents like the appearance of the new stars in the constellations of Serpentarius and Cygnus, as the Rosicrucian Fama had done. Bureus also believed in the Lion of Midnight prophecy, and was active in promoting a scenario in which Sweden was to lead a revival of the hyperborean civilization. King Gustav Adolph was to take on the role of the Lion of Midnight and the leader of the Protestant cause.20 Bureus had wide contacts outside Sweden. One of them was the German scholar, polymath and Rosicrucian enthusiast Joachim Morsius

15  Thomas Karlsson, Götisk kabbala och runisk alkemi: Johannes Bureus och den götiska esoterismen (Gothic Kabbalah and Runic Alchemy: Johannes Bureus and Gothic Esotericism) (Stockholm: Stockholms universitet, 2009). 16  A term meaning “beyond the north wind, Boreas,” that is, from the far north. 17  Karlsson, Götisk kabbala, 121. 18  Karlsson, Götisk kabbala, 140–41. 19  Johannes Bureus, F. R. C. FaMa e sCanzia reDUX (Stockholm, 1616). 20  Karlsson, Götisk kabbala, 247–50.

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(1593–1644).21 Morsius was someone of a typically Rosicrucian cast of mind, being steeped in the Hermetic-alchemical tradition, in search of hidden wisdom, and prepared to travel far and wide to find it. His search took him to many places, including to England, where he received an MA from Cambridge University. Morsius was one of the people caught up in the Rosicrucian craze. In 1624, he went specially to Sweden to meet Bureus. They discussed Bureus’s Rosicrucian writings, his runic Kabbalah, the search for the philosophers’ stone, and the Lion of Midnight prophecy. There were in fact deep political motives behind this meeting. Men like Morsius were involved in the use of prophetic writings to influence political events. Jumping forward for a moment to the twentieth century, we know that false Nostradamus prophecies were distributed in Nazi Germany by British intelligence in an attempt to undermine German morale. Something similar was evidently going on in the Thirty Years War, where men like Morsius were using the Lion of the North prophecy, other prophetic writings and the legend of the Rosicrucian Brotherhood to influence the course of the war. Around 1625, Morsius was in touch with Duke August of Anhalt (1575–1653), who had played a key role in the transmission of the Rosicrucian writings.22 Bureus in his diaries records a correspondence with both Morsius and Duke August, in which a plan was discussed to print and distribute massive numbers of the Lion prophecy in north Germany. Accordingly, Morsius had the prophecy printed in Hamburg in 1625 with an added text by himself, in which he refers to Bureus’s prophetic Rosicrucian work FaMa e sCanzIa reDUX. To this Morsius adds a prediction that “the art of theosophists, kabbalists and chemists will … ensure the rise of a metallic kingdom in the far north.”23 By a “metallic kingdom” he presumably means one based on alchemical and Paracelsian principles. Another person involved in this international Rosicrucian network was Abraham von Franckenberg (1593–1652), a Silesian writer and member of a circle of mystics including the poet Angelus Silesius (1624–1677). Although not strictly speaking part of the Rosicrucian diaspora, since he traveled very little, Franckenberg nourished the diaspora through his 21  On Joachim Morsius, see Heinrich Schneider, Joachim Morsius und sein Kreis: Zur Geistesgeschichte des 17. Jahrhunderts (Lübeck: Otto Quitzow Verlag, 1929). 22  Churton, Invisibles, 219. 23  As quoted by Åkerman, Rose Cross over the Baltic, 140.

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writings and correspondence. He possessed a manuscript copy of a Rosicrucian poem entitled Ara Foederis Theraphici F.X.R. (Altar of the Theraphic Brotherhood of the Rosy Cross), which had been edited by Bureus and published in Sweden in 1616. This text affirmed the existence of the Rosicrucian Brotherhood. One verse contains the lines: “Whoever has doubts about the Fraternity of the Rosy Cross, let him read this and having read the poem, he will be certain,” to which Bureus had added the line: “Rosa est nova et vetus crux”—“the rose is new, the cross is old.”24

The Diaspora in Britain With Frankenberg, the network widens out even further. One of the people whom Frankenberg was in touch with was Samuel Hartlib (1600–1662), a Prussian émigré living in England, to whom Franckenberg passed a copy of Bureus’s work FaMa e sCanzIa reDUX.25 Hartlib was a polymath and tireless disseminator of scientific knowledge, as well as a key figure in the vibrant movement for reform in England in the period leading up to the Commonwealth. He was arguably one of the people who prepared the ground for the formation of the Royal Society. Hartlib’s near contemporary, the chemist Robert Boyle (1627–1691) writes in his correspondence about a scientific group that he calls the Invisible College, which may refer to a circle surrounding Hartlib. Frances Yates sees in Boyle’s remark as a clear reference to the Invisible College of the Rosicrucians.26 Hartlib was also a friend of the Bohemian refugee Jan Amos Comenius (1592–1670), the great educational reformer, who was also in England at the same. Comenius had initially been enthused by the Rosicrucian writings and then disenchanted by the subsequent furore, but he continued to dream of introducing an enlightened utopia based on a complete reform of education, learning and society. He had joined with Johann Valentin Andreae and others in founding a society called the Societas Christiana, which had a certain resemblance to the Rosicrucian Brotherhood in the universal nature of its vision, embracing religion, 24  As quoted in Susanna Åkerman, “Three Phases of Inventing Rosicrucianism in the Seventeenth Century,” in The Invention of Sacred Tradition, eds. James R. Lewis and Olaf Hammer (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 158–76. 25  Åkerman, Rose Cross over the Baltic, 45. On Samuel Hartlib, see Mark Greengrass, Mark Leslie, and Timothy Raylor, eds. Samuel Hartlib and Universal Reformation: Studies in Intellectual Communication (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994). 26  Yates, The Rosicrucian Enlightenment, 183.

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politics and the sciences.27 He carried on a correspondence with Andreae, and there is a letter from Andreae to Comenius, dated 16 September 1629, in which Andreae refers to the Societas Christiana, which they had founded eight years earlier, but which now had only a few members left.28 He goes on to say that it was a mistake to choose members only from Germany, and that all nations should be involved in this endeavor, and that Comenius should take this to heart.29 Another important name in this connection is the physician and alchemist Michael Maier (1569–1622), one of the main apologists for Rosicrucianism in Germany, who visited England and probably met his fellow physician and alchemist Robert Fludd (1574–1637), a key figure in English Rosicrucianism. In 1616, Fludd published a work entitled Apologia Compendiaria Fraternitatem de Rosea Cruce—the full English title reads: A Compendius Apology for the Fraternity of the Rosy Cross, pelted with the mire of suspicion and infamy but now cleansed with the waters of truth. As one can see from the title, the Rosicrucians had both their opponents and their defenders in England. In connection with Fludd, it is worth mentioning the intriguing possibility that the Rosicrucian current gave rise to Freemasonry, and that Fludd may have been the key missing link between the two, as was argued by the German historian Johann Gottlieb Buhle (1763–1821) in his Über den Ursprung und die vornehmsten Schicksale der Orden der Rosenkreutzer und Freymaurer30 (On the Origin and Noble Destinies of the Rosicrucian and Freemasonic Orders) and later by the English writer Thomas de Quincey (1785–1859).31 De Quincey says that Fludd eventually stopped using the word Rosicrucian because it had fallen into disrepute, but still believed in the Rosicrucian ideal and wished to promote it. In the Fama, de Quincey adds, Fludd found reference to the Rosicrucian Brethren’s headquarters, the House of the Holy Spirit, and concluded that it was not a house of stone but rather a spiritual building that each Rosicrucian builds  Yates, The Rosicrucian Enlightenment, 151–52.  Early Modern Letters Online, “16 Sep 1629: Andreae, Johann Valentin, 1586–1654 (Calw, Baden-Württemberg) to Komenský, Jan Amos, 1592–1670 (Leszno, Greater Poland Voivodeship, Poland),” tinyurl.com/yalxeanp (accessed 16 July 2020). 29  Early Modern Letters Online, “16 Sep 1629.” 30  Johann Gottlieb Buhle, Über den Ursprung und die vornehmsten Schicksale der Orden der Rosenkreutzer und Freymaurer (Göttingen: Röwer, 1804). 31  Thomas de Quincey, Historico-Critical Inquiry into the Origin of the Rosicrucians and Freemasons, in Thomas de Quincey, Essays (London: Ward Lock, [1886?]). 27 28

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for himself. This idea, according to de Quincey, then became the basis for a new movement, Freemasonry, using King Solomon’s Temple as a metaphor for the inner temple that each Freemason strives to build. Freemasonry, according to this scenario, is in effect Rosicrucianism as adapted and transplanted to England. Whether or not one accepts the argument of Buhle and de Quincey, England was arguably the place where the Rosicrucian current flowed most strongly during the period when it was largely dormant in its homeland. As Frances Yates writes, it was towards an England restored to its Elizabethan role [as champion of Protestant Europe] that Hartlib and his friends turned for support for their ideals of universal reformation, their continuation of the Rosicrucian dream under other names.32

Yates also convincingly argues that Francis Bacon (1561–1626) was influenced by the Rosicrucian manifestos in writing his utopian work the New Atlantis (first published posthumously in 1627).33 Clearly the availability of English translations of the manifestos was an important factor in the transmission of the Rosicrucian current to Britain. There are several surviving English manuscript translations of the Fama Fraternitatis.34 One, for example, belonged to the Scottish nobleman Sir David Lindsay, Earl of Balcarres (1587–1642), who also translated the Fama into Scottish dialect. Strangely enough, no printed translation of the Fama and Confessio appeared until 1652 in an edition edited by the Welsh mystical writer and alchemist Thomas Vaughan (1621–1666).35 Not until nearly four decades later did a translation of the Chemical  Yates, The Rosicrucian Enlightenment, 155.  Yates, The Rosicrucian Enlightenment, 125–29. 34  Adam McLean, “The Manuscript Sources of the English Translation of the Rosicrucian Manifestos,” in Rosenkreuz als europaisches Phänomen im 17. Jahrhundert, eds. Carlos Gilly and Friedrich Niewoehner (Amsterdam: de Pelikaan, 2002). 35  Philalethes, Eugenius [Thomas Vaughan], trans., The Fame and Confession of the Fraternity of the R: C: Commonly, of the Rosie Cross. With a Praeface annexed thereto, and a short Declaration of theïr Physicall Work (London: Giles Calvert, 1652), re-issued in facsimile with introduction and notes by F.N. Pryce (Margate: W.J. Parrett, 1923. Reprinted 1988). For a modern translation of the Fama, see McIntosh, Christopher, and Donate Pahnke McIntosh, trans., Fama Fraternitatis, Manifesto of the Most Praiseworthy Order of the Rosy Cross, annotated by Christopher McIntosh and Donate Pahnke McIntosh, with an introduction by Christopher McIntosh (Lilienthal: Vanadis Texts, 2014). On Thomas 32 33

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Wedding appear, namely the one by Ezechiel Foxcroft (1633–1676), published in 1690.36 The history of English Rosicrucianism would fill several volumes, but let it suffice here to mention two further names: Elias Ashmole (1617–1692) and John Heydon (1629–c.1670). Ashmole was an antiquarian, historian, alchemist and founder of the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford. Not surprisingly, Rosicrucianism featured strongly among his interests. Among his papers are translations of the Fama and Confessio, copied out in his own hand, as well as a letter written by him to the Brothers of the Rosy Cross, asking to be admitted to their number.37 John Heydon was a somewhat more dubious character—lawyer, adventurer, astrologer, occult philosopher and self-styled Rosicrucian. Interestingly, in his book The Voyage to the Land of the Rosicrucians (1660), he links Bacon’s New Atlantis to the Fama Fraternitatis. Other works in which Heydon trumpeted his Rosicrucian message included A New Method of Rosicrucian Physick (1658) and The Wise-Mans Crown, or, The Glory of the Rosie-­ Cross (1664).

The Rosicrucian Furore in France Meanwhile across the English Channel, in France, Rosicrucianism was receiving a stormy reception.38 We know about its impact there largely through the writings of anti-Rosicrucian polemicists. One of these was Gabriel Naudé (1600–1653), a scholar, polymath and librarian, who spent many years running the library of Cardinal Jules Mazarin (1602–1661). In 1623, placards were said to have been posted in Paris announcing the presence of the Brethren of the Rosy Cross, and in the same year Naudé published an attack on the Rosicrucians, Instruction à la France sur la Vaughan, see Alan Rudrum, “Thomas Vaughan (Eugenius Philalethes),” in Dictionary of Gnosis and Western Esotericism, eds. Wouter Hanegraaff et al. (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 1157–59. 36  Ezechiel Foxcroft, trans., The Hermetic Romance, or The Chymical Wedding, Written in High Dutch by C.R. (London: Sowie, 1690). For a modern translation, see Godwin, Joscelyn, trans., The Chemical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreuz, with introduction and commentary by Adam McLean. Magnum Opus Hermetic Sourceworks 18 (Grand Rapids, MI: Phanes Press, 1991). 37  Yates, The Rosicrucian Enlightenment, 194. 38  On this topic, see Didier Kahn, “The Rosicrucian Hoax in France (1623–1624),” in Secrets of Nature: Astrology and Alchemy in Early Modern Europe, eds. William R. Newman and Anthony Grafton (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2001), 235–344.

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vérité de l’histoire des Frères de la Rose-Croix (Instruction to France on the truth about the history of the Brethren of the Rosy Cross). The interesting thing is that Naudé was very well informed. He had a first-hand knowledge of the Fama and other Rosicrucian works, and he wrote that the Fama had been making a great impression in France, arousing hopes of a great new advance in knowledge. He also gives a list of the authors who are approved of by the Rosicrucians. These include Paracelsus, Johannes Trithemius (1462–1516) and John Dee with his Monas hieroglyphica. So clearly the Rosicrucians were perceived in France, as they were in Germany and elsewhere, as part of the Paracelsian-Hermetic-Kabbalistic tradition. As such, they were vehemently opposed by certain members of the Catholic Church, such as the Jesuit François Garasse (1585–1631), who wrote a violent attack against them, La doctrine curieuse des beaux esprits de ce temps (The Curious Doctrine of the Clever Minds, or Wits, of Our Time), also published in 1623. He writes that some Rosicrucians have recently been condemned as sorcerers. In spite of their appearance of piety, they are all wicked, dangerous to religion and state, and deserve to be broken on the wheel or hanged from the gallows.39 Another French critic of the Rosicrucians was the Minim friar Marin Mersenne (1588–1648), a theologian, philosopher and mathematician. Again in 1623 he published Questiones in Genesim (Questions Relating to Genesis), attacking the whole Hermetic, Neoplatonic, magical, alchemical tradition—including the Rosicrucian movement. In this work he writes: With diligence I wish to admonish the judges, and with earnestness the princes, that they shall not let these monsters of false opinion rage within the sphere of their influence. Rather should they completely eradicate these brothers of hell, these Brothers of the Rosicrucians, who on almost every market-day at Francfort introduce their writings, stinking of godlessness, telling about their false and mysterious Father R.C. and his cave, presenting these before the people of the Christian world.40

We are dealing here with a profound clash between two different worldviews. For people like Mersenne there were only two real sources of truth. There was the truth of religion, transmitted through the Church 39  François Garasse, La doctrine curieuse des beaux esprits de ce temps (Paris: Sebastien Chappelet, 1623), 83ff. 40  As translated in Paul M. Allen, ed., A Christian Rosenkreutz Anthology (Blauvelt, NY: Rudolf Steiner Publications, 1958), 352–53.

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and the Scriptures; and there was the truth of science, which was attained by rational enquiry and objective observation of the world. By comparison, the Hermetic tradition said that there was a correspondence between divine knowledge and knowledge of the material world, because divine truths were imprinted in the world. Among certain German Pietist writers, such as Daniel Czepko (1606–1660), is to be found the notion that the Holy Trinity not only pertains to God but pervades the whole of creation.41 For example, there is a correspondence between the Trinity and the three Paracelsian principles of Salt, Sulphur and Mercury. This kind of idea was anathema to people like Mersenne, so he carried out a fierce crusade against all things Hermetic and Rosicrucian. In particular, he and his friend the scientist and priest, Pierre Gassendi (1592–1655), repeatedly attacked Robert Fludd, who was completely steeped in the Hermetic worldview. Fludd counter-attacked, and there was a long controversy between them, which marked one of the peaks of the conflict between these two worldviews.

The Dutch Connection The next thread that I would like to follow leads to the Netherlands, which plays an important part in the story because it was a crossroads and a nodal point in the nexus of millenarianism, mystical Christianity, the Protestant cause in the Thirty Years’ War and the Hermetic-alchemical tradition—in a word everything that we associate with the early Rosicrucian movement. As in France, Rosicrucianism had strong repercussions in the Netherlands, and as in France it had its champions and its opponents. The first Dutch-language edition of the Fama Fraternitatis appeared in 1615, that is, only a year after the original German edition. Interestingly, it was printed not in the Netherlands but in Frankfurt. There were also various anti-Rosicrucian writings that appeared in Dutch, such as Spieghel der Broeders van de roose Kruysse (Mirror of the Brothers of the Rosy Cross), published in Amsterdam in 1623. That year is significant because it was also the peak of the Rosicrucian controversy in France. The author of this pamphlet describes the Rosicrucians as blasphemers, heretics and 41  See Ferdinand von Ingen, “Jacob Böhme und die schlesischen Dichter Daniel von Czepko, Johannes Scheffler und Quirinus Kuhlmann,” in Heterodoxie in der frühen Neuzeit, ed. Hartmut Laufhütte (Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 2006), 245–65.

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worshippers of Satan. One of the people he mentions as being a Rosicrucian was an artist called Johannes Symonsz van der Beeck (1589–1644) also known as Torrentius, a painter of still life works and erotica.42 Torrentius was arrested in 1627 in Haarlem, tried for being a Rosicrucian, tortured and imprisoned. Another person connected with Rosicrucianism in Holland was a Bohemian émigré named Andreas Haberweschl von Haberfeld (first half of the seventeenth century). A reference to him can be found in a letter from an unknown person, writing to Hartlib on 15 May 1643 from Paris, in which describes a meeting with an Austrian Baron who practiced alchemy. His letter further states: The same Gentl. told me likewise of a most wonderfull & remarkable story of 2. Persons of quality, lately arrived in the Low Countries out of the Indies, who are lodged with Dr. Haberfeld at the Hague. They are said to inform, that in a certaine place in the Indies, there is a choice & godly society of Christians, which affect not as Fratres Rosae Crucis imaginaria et umbratica [imaginary and shadowy things], but have their owne policy and peculiar King, stiling themselves by the name of Societas Coronae Equestris Ordinis [the Society of the Equestrian Order of the Crown]. This new Christian Common wealth, sent out the forenamed persons (which are skilled almost in all languages) to view and observe exactly the present state of Europe, & to take speciall notice of the condition of all Gods faithful people therein, that professe the Protestant Religion, & if they find them in great necessities & miseries to make an offer unto them for the supplying of all their wants. For they superabound there in great treasures of gold and other riches.43

Although the writer says that this society is not the Rosicrucian Brotherhood, nevertheless, what he is describing is something very similar, and here we have a fascinating early example of the idea of an exalted, secret fraternity living somewhere in the far east and sending out emissaries into the world to do good works. The story may have partly been based on the medieval legend of Prester John, the Christian priest and emperor who had a kingdom somewhere in the East. At any rate, it foreshadows 42  See the article “Johannes Torrentius,” in Dawn of the Golden Age: Northern Netherlandish Art, 1580–1620, eds. Ger Luijten, Ariane van Suchtelen and Michael Hoyle (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1993), 319. 43  Early Modern Letters Online, “15 May 1643: unknown author/sender (Paris, Île-deFrance, France) to Hartlib, Samuel, 1600–1662 (London, England),” tinyurl.com/ y769u4kr (accessed 17 July 2020).

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the later development of the mystique of the orient, with the Shambhala and Agartha legends and the Mahatmas of Madame Blavatsky. Holland was also the home of the exiled Frederick V, Elector Palatine and former King of Bohemia (1596–1632), and his wife Elizabeth (1596–1662), daughter of James I of England. Frances Yates, in The Rosicrucian Enlightenment,44 links the Rosicrucian movement with Frederick’s court at Heidelberg and his move to seize the crown of Bohemia, which led to his defeat by the Habsburg forces in 1620, after which he went into exile at the Hague. From there he made repeated attempts to regain the Palatinate, and he continued to have contacts throughout Europe, many of whom were connected with the Rosicrucian movement. For example, one of the people who visited him at the Hague was Daniel Stolcius (1600–1660), a Bohemian physician, alchemist and creator of emblems, who had been a pupil of Michael Maier.45 Stolcius went to the Hague and met Frederick, then went on to England where he met, among others, Robert Fludd and the Dutch scientist and inventor Cornelis Drebbel (1572–1633), who, under the pseudonym of Julianus de Campis, was one of the respondents to the Fama and Confessio.46 Drebbel had worked at the court of the Emperor Rudolf II in Prague, but spent most of the latter part of his life in England. He invented, among other things, a microscope, a perpetual motion machine, and the first navigable submarine, which was tested on the Thames in 1620. Drebbel is interesting in his preoccupation with technology and ingenious inventions, which was very typical of the whole Rosicrucian milieu. This is already present in the Rosicrucian manifestos as well as in Andreae’s utopia Christianopolis.47 As Frances Yates writes about Christianopolis: The description of the city is a fascinating mixture of the mystical and the practical … While extreme piety reigns in the city, the culture of the city is predominantly scientific. Mechanics and mechanical arts are much cultivated and there is a large, educated, artisan class… Natural science, chemistry-­alchemy are taught, and there is great emphasis on medicine.48  Yates, The Rosicrucian Enlightenment.  Åkerman, Rose Cross over the Baltic, 145. 46  Churton, Invisibles, 207. 47  Johann Valentin Andreae, Christianopolis, trans. Edward H. Thompson, International Archives of the History of Ideas 162 (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1999). 48  Yates, The Rosicrucian Enlightenment, 172. 44 45

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The Rosy Cross in Italy Italy is not usually thought of as being a very Rosicrucian place, but there are a few interesting seventeenth-century connections. One of them is through Federico Gualdi, a mysterious figure, probably of German origin, who lived in Venice in the 1660s and 1670s, where he was active as a mining engineer and alchemist. During this period he is reported to have been a member of a circle of Hermeticists and alchemists called the “Aurea Croce” or “Aurea Rosa.”49 He was also a member of the circle of ex-­ Queen Christina of Sweden (1626–1689), who had abdicated, moved to Rome and become a Catholic. In Rome, she had surrounded herself with a circle of Hermeticists and alchemists, and she possessed a large library of esoteric books. Another member of her circle was the Marquis Massimiliano Palombara (1614–1680). He was a Hermeticist, and between 1678  and  1680 he erected, in the grounds of his villa in Rome, the so-called Porta Magica, the “Magical Door,” which has alchemical symbols carved into the stonework.50 Another interesting thing about the Marquis of Palombara is that he wrote a Hermetic work in prose and verse called La Bugia (The Candle),51 and in this work he says that “its message is sung by a voice in a hidden grotto known only to a select fraternity.” He goes on to mention the legendary and probably fictional seventh-century alchemist Morienus Romanus, after whom there arose in the world “a company of the Rose Cross or otherwise known as the Golden Cross.”52 Possibly we have here a “missing link” between the original Rosicrucianism of the early seventeenth century and the revival in the eighteenth century with the appearance in Germany of the Order of the Golden and Rosy Cross53—a name strikingly similar to that of the fraternity mentioned by Palombara. If so, precisely how the transmission across the Alps occurred would provide an intriguing subject for further research, as would further developments of the diaspora as it spread across the globe. 49  See Alexandre Dánann, Un Rose-Croix méconnu entre le XVIIe et le XVIIIe siècles: Federico Gualdi (Milan: Arché, 2006). 50  See Mino Gabriele, Il giardino di Hermes: Massimiliano Palombara alchimista e rosacroce nella Roma del Seicento (Rome: Editrice Ianua, 1986). 51  See Anna Maria Partini, ed., Massimiliano Palombara. La Bugia. Rime ermetiche e altri scritti (del codice Reginense del sec. xvii), Biblioteca ermetica 13. (Rome: Edizione Mediterranee, 1983). 52  Susanna Åkerman, Queen Christina of Sweden and her Circle (Leiden: Brill, 1991), 275. 53  On this topic, see Christopher McIntosh, The Rose Cross and the Age of Reason (Leiden: Brill, 1992, new edition, New York: SUNY Press, 2011).

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Conclusion We may conclude that the spread of Rosicrucianism outside of Germany was key to the survival and expansion of the movement, at a time when the Holy Roman Empire was engulfed in a devastating war. When we look at the figures involved in this Rosicrucian diaspora, the picture that emerges is that of a widely spread network of thinkers, scientists, philosophers, polymaths, social reformers and theologians, many of whom knew each other and shared a similar worldview involving ideas of a new age, a reform of learning, a perennial wisdom, and a mystical type of Christianity—in a word, what one might loosely call a Rosicrucian worldview. These figures moved in the borderland between religion, politics, mysticism, science and millenarian thinking. The Rosicrucian diaspora was therefore a complex and many-dimensional phenomenon, which perpetuated the message and principles of the initial manifestos into the eighteenth century, when it once again thrived in the German lands.

References Åkerman, Susanna. 1972. Rose Cross Over the Baltic. Leiden: Brill. ———. 1991. Queen Christina of Sweden and her Circle. Leiden: Brill. ———. 2007. Three Phases of Inventing Rosicrucianism in the Seventeenth Century. In The Invention of Sacred Tradition, ed. James R.  Lewis and Olaf Hammer, 158–176. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Allen, Paul M., ed. 1968. A Christian Rosenkreutz Anthology. Blauvelt, NY: Rudolf Steiner Publications. Andreae, Johann Valentin. 1616. Chymische Hochzeit: Christiani Rosencreuz Anno 1459. Strasbourg: Zetzner. ———. 1973. Fama Fraternitatis—Confessio Fraternitatis—Chymische Hochzeit Christiani Rosencreütz. Anno 1459. Edited by Richard Van Dülmen. Stuttgart: Calwer Verlag. ———. 1999. Christianopolis. Translated by Edward H. Thompson. International Archives of the History of Ideas, 162. Dordrecht: Kluwer. ———. 2010. Gesammelte Schriften. Band 3: Rosenkreuzerschriften: Allgemeine Reformation der gantzen weiten Welt (1614)—Fama Fraternitatis R.  C. (1614)—Confessio Fraternitatis R.  C. (1615)—Chymische Hochzeit Christiani Rosencreütz (1616). Edited by R.  Edighoffer. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: Frommann-Holzboog. Buhle, Johann Gottlieb. 1804. Über den Ursprung und die vornehmsten Schicksale der Orden der Rosenkreutzer und Freymaurer. Göttingen: Röwer. Bureus, Johannes. 1616. F. R. C. FaMa e sCanzia reDUX. Stockholm.

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Churton, Tobias. 2009. Invisibles. The True History of the Rosicrucians. Hersham, UK: Lewis Masonic. Confessio Fraternitatis R.C. 1615. Ad eruditos Europae. In Secretioris philosophiae consideratio brevis à Philippo à Gabella philosophiae st. conscripta, et nunc primum una cum confessione fraternitatis, ed. Phillipà Gabella. Kassel: Wessel. Dánann, Alexandre. 2006. Un Rose-Croix méconnu entre le XVIIe et le XVIIIe siècles: Federico Gualdi. Milan: Arché. Dee, John. 1564. Monas hieroglyphica. Antwerp: Sylvius. Donecker, Stefan, trans. (1934). Extract Magischer Propheceyung vnnd Beschreibung, von Entdeckung der 3. Schätzen Theophrasti Paracelsi (1549). In Johan Nordström, “Lejonet från Norden,” Samlaren: Tidskrift för svensk litteraturhistorisk forskning N.  F. 15, 37–39. Accessed 15 July 2020. http:// www.inst.at/trans/17Nr/4-­5/4-­5_donecker.htm. Early Modern Letters Online. 2020a. “16 Sep 1629: Andreae, Johann Valentin, 1586–1654 (Calw, Baden-Württemberg) to Komenský, Jan Amos, 1592–1670 (Leszno, Greater Poland Voivodeship, Poland).” Accessed 16 July 2020. http://tinyurl.com/yalxeanp. ———. 2020b. “15 May 1643: Unknown Author/Sender (Paris, Île-de-France, France) to Hartlib, Samuel, 1600–1662 (London, England).” Accessed 17 July 2020. tinyurl.com/y769u4kr. Edighoffer, Roland. 1982–1987. Rose-Croix et société idéale selon Johann Valentin Andreae. Vol. 2. Paris: Editions Arma Artis. ———. 1992. Rosicrucianism: From the Seventeenth to the Twentieth Century. In Modern Esoteric Spirituality, ed. Antoine Faivre, Jacob Needleman, and Karen Voss. New York: Crossroad. ———. 2005. Les Rose-Croix. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Fama Fraternitatis deß Löblichen Ordens des Rosenkreutzes. 1614. Kassel: Wessel. Foxcroft, Ezechiel, trans. 1690. The Hermetic Romance, or The Chymical Wedding, Written in High Dutch by C.R. London: Sowie. Gabriele, Mino. 1986. Il giardino di Hermes: Massimiliano Palombara alchimista e rosacroce nella Roma del Seicento. Rome: Editrice Ianua. Garasse, François. 1623. La doctrine curieuse des beaux esprits de ce temps. Paris: Sebastien Chappelet. Gilly, Carlos, ed. 1986. Das Erbe des Christian Rosenkreuz. Johann Valentin Andreae 1586–1986 und die Manifeste der Rosenkreuzerbruderschaft 1614–1616. Amsterdam: Bibliotheca Philosophica Hermetica. Reprinted 1988. ———, ed. 1994. Adam Haslmayr. Der erste Verkünder der Manifeste der Manifeste der Rosenkreuzer. Amsterdam: Bibliotheca Philosophica Hermetica. ———, ed. 1995. Cimelia Rhodostaurotica: Die Rosenkreuzer im Spiegel der zwischen 1610 und 1660 entstandenen Handschriften und Drucke, Austellung der Bibliotheca Philosophica Hermetica Amsterdam und der Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel. Amsterdam: de Pelikaan.

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———. 1998. ‘Theophrastia Santa’—Paracelsianism as a Religion in Conflict with the Established Churches. In Paracelsus, the Man and His Reputation, His Ideas and Their Transformation, ed. Ole Peter Grell, 151–185. Leiden: Brill. ———, ed. 2001. Rosenkreuz als europäisches Phänomen im 17. Jahrhundert. Amsterdam: Bibliotheca Philosophica Hermetica. Godwin, Joscelyn, trans. 1991. The Chemical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreuz, with introduction and commentary by Adam McLean. Magnum Opus Hermetic Sourceworks, 18. Grand Rapids, MI: Phanes Press. Greengrass, Mark, Mark Leslie, and Timothy Raylor, eds. 1994. Samuel Hartlib and Universal Reformation: Studies in Intellectual Communication. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. von Ingen, Ferdinand. 2006. Jacob Böhme und die schlesischen Dichter Daniel von Czepko, Johannes Scheffler und Quirinus Kuhlmann. In Heterodoxie in der frühen Neuzeit, ed. Hartmut Laufhütte, 245–265. Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag. “Johannes Torrentius”. 1993. Dawn of the Golden Age: Northern Netherlandish Art, 1580–1620. Edited by Ger Luijten, Ariane van Suchtelen, and Michael Hoyle, 319. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Kahn, Didier. 2001. The Rosicrucian Hoax in France (1623–1624). In Secrets of Nature: Astrology and Alchemy in Early Modern Europe, ed. William R. Newman and Anthony Grafton, 235–344. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Karlsson, Thomas. 2009. Götisk kabbala och runisk alkemi: Johannes Bureus och den götiska esoterismen (Gothic Kabbalah and Runic Alchemy: Johannes Bureus and Gothic Esotericism). Stockholm: Stockholms universitet. Kienast, Richard. 1926. Johann Valentin Andreae und die vier echten Rosenkreutzer-­ Schriften. Leipzig: Mayer und Müller. McIntosh, Christopher. 1992. The Rose Cross and the Age of Reason. Leiden: Brill. New edition, New York: SUNY Press, 2011. ———. 1997. The Rosicrucians. York Beach, MA: Samuel Weiser. McIntosh, Donate Pahnke, trans. 2014. Fama Fraternitatis, Manifest des hochlöblichen Ordens des Rosenkreuzes. Introduction by Christopher McIntosh. Lilienthal: Vanadis Texts. McIntosh, Christopher, and Donate Pahnke McIntosh, trans. 2014. Fama Fraternitatis, Manifesto of the Most Praiseworthy Order of the Rosy Cross. Introduction by Christopher McIntosh. Lilienthal: Vanadis Texts. McLean, Adam. 2002. The Manuscript Sources of the English Translation of the Rosicrucian Manifestos. In Rosenkreuz als europaisches Phänomen im 17. Jahrhundert, ed. Carlos Gilly and Friedrich Niewoehner. Amsterdam: de Pelikaan. Montgomery, J.W. 1973. Cross and Crucible: J. V. Andreae (1586–1654), Phoenix of Theologians. Vol. 2. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff.

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Partini, Anna Maria, ed. 1983. Massimiliano Palombara. La Bugia. Rime ermetiche e altri scritti (del codice Reginense del sec. xvii), Biblioteca ermetica 13. Rome: Edizione Mediterranee. Peuckert, Will-Erich. 1973. Das Rosenkreuz. Berlin: Erich Schmidt Verlag. Philalethes, Eugenius [Thomas Vaughan], trans. 1923. The Fame and Confession of the Fraternity of the R: C: Commonly, of the Rosie Cross. With a Praeface Annexed Thereto, and a Short Declaration of theïr Physicall Work. London: Calvert, 1652. Re-issued in facsimile with introduction and notes by F.N.  Pryce. Margate: Parrett. Reprinted 1988. de Quincey, Thomas. 1886. Historico-Critical Inquiry into the Origin of the Rosicrucians and Freemasons. In Essays, ed. Thomas de Quincey. London: Ward Lock. Reeves, Marjorie. 1976. Joachim of Fiore and the Prophetic Future. London: SPCK. Rudrum, Alan. 2006. Thomas Vaughan (Eugenius Philalethes). In Dictionary of Gnosis and Western Esotericism, ed. Wouter Hanegraaff, Antoine Faivre, Roelof van den Broek, and Jean-Pierre Brach, 1157–1159. Leiden: Brill. Schick, Hans. 1942. Das ältere Rosenkreuzertum. Ein Beitrag zur Entstehungsgeschichte der Freimaurerei. Berlin: Nordland Verlag. Republished as Die geheime Geschichte der Rosenkreuzer. Schwarzenburg: Ansata, 1980. Schmidt-Biggemann, Wilhelm. 2004. Philosophia Perennis: Historical Outlines of Western Spirituality in Ancient, Medieval and Early Modern Thought. Dordrecht: Springer. Schneider, Heinrich. 1929. Joachim Morsius und sein Kreis: Zur Geistesgeschichte des 17. Jahrhunderts. Lübeck: Otto Quitzow Verlag. Van der Kooij, Pleun, and Carlos Gilly, eds. 1998. Fama Fraternitatis. Das Urmanifest der Rosenkreuzer Bruderschaft zum ersten Mal nach den Manuskripten bearbeitet, die vor dem Erstdruck von 1614 entstanden sind durch Pleun van der Kooij. With a modern German version of the Fama, translated by Käte Warnke-Specht. Haarlem: Rozenkruis Pers. Waite, A.E. 1887. The Real History of the Rosicrucians. London: George Redway. ———. 1924. The Brotherhood of the Rosy Cross. London: Rider. Walker, D.P. 1972. The Ancient Theology. London: Duckworth. Yates, Frances A. 1972. The Rosicrucian Enlightenment. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.

CHAPTER 6

John Henderson (1757–1788) and Changing Attitudes to the Occult in Enlightenment England Jonathan Barry

Few readers of this chapter will have heard of John Henderson (1757–1788), who, in the words of John Wesley (1703–1791), “with as great talents as most men in England, had lived two-and-thirty years, and done just nothing.”1 Yet in his lifetime, and for some decades after, Henderson achieved substantial fame as an “extraordinary genius,” a largely self-taught child prodigy, polymath and brilliant conversationalist, admired by the leading intellectuals of the 1780s. His eccentric lifestyle attracted rival accounts in the Gentleman’s Magazine, and his death prompted yet more, generating a series of biographical essays well into the nineteenth century. He intrigued the early Romantics: Robert Southey (1774–1843) urged Joseph Cottle (1770–1853) to write his biography, a 1

 Henry Moore, Life of the Rev. John Wesley, 2 vols (London: Kershaw, 1825), II, 360–61.

J. Barry (*) University of Exeter, Exeter, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 G. D. Hedesan, T. Rudbøg (eds.), Innovation in Esotericism from the Renaissance to the Present, Palgrave Studies in New Religions and Alternative Spiritualities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-67906-4_6

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work which Samuel Coleridge (1772–1834) also contemplated.2 There were indeed many parallels between Coleridge and Henderson, including opium’s role in preventing both from completing numerous projects, to their friends’ despair. Most notably, Henderson had a deep interest in the “occult sciences,” which made his legacy a deeply ambivalent one, even to those who wished to memorialize his genius. I will consider Henderson’s immersion in traditions of esoteric knowledge, how unusual (or not) this was regarded as being in the late eighteenth century, and how far such learning was regarded as compatible with new forms of enlightened knowledge. Henderson’s sources of knowledge demonstrate the continuing importance of ancient and medieval writings, as well as the particular legacy of Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa (1486–1535), Theophrastus von Hohenheim, called Paracelsus (1493–1541) and Jacob Boehme (1575–1624). They illustrate the vitality of the “occult Enlightenment” Paul Monod has highlighted,3 and take its story beyond London into both Oxford and the West Country. Apart from a few letters, no Henderson papers survive, and his published output only amounts to a few dozen pages. As the Analytical Review observed in 1789: The reader will be naturally led to enquire what this extraordinary genius has written; to which we can answer, that when engaged in the business of education, he compiled several elementary treatises; he wrote also sermons, tracts on different subjects, some translations, commentaries on the scriptures, a treatise on the two covenants, in which were many new ideas and original views, an answer to Jonathan Edwards on the Freedom of the Will, a commentary on J. Behmen extracted from Porphyry, Plotinus, Jamblicus and the modern Platonists, a discourse on Christian Sanctification, an answer 2  Kenneth Curry, ed., New Letters of Robert Southey (New York and London: Columbia University Press, 1965), 126–27, 367; Brian Goldberg, The Lake Poets and Professional Identity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 34–45, 149; Nicholas Roe, ed., English Romantic Writers and the West Country (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010); Paul Cheshire, “Genius and Its Abuses: Southey’s Wary Fascination with John Henderson,” Wordsworth Circle 42, no. 1 (2011): 17–22. I am very grateful to Paul Cheshire for sharing his findings on Henderson with me. 3  Paul Monod, Solomon’s Secret Arts: The Occult in the Age of the Enlightenment (New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press, 2013). See also Jane Shaw, Miracles in Enlightenment England (New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press, 2006); Jonathan Barry, Witchcraft and Demonology in South-West England c.1640–1789 (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012).

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to Mr. Crouch’s Sermon on the Eternity of Punishments, an admirable Tract on Miracles, the P. S. to the Dissertation on Eternal Punishments, in Mr. Matthews’s third volume, and a philosophical treatise on the derivation and grammatical meaning of particular words in the English language, somewhat on the plan of Home Tooke’s late publication, but more extensive. These were some of his labors, but he seemed to dislike writing. His chief delight was in study, thinking, and conversation. A strange sort of fatality attended what he has written; for a great part of the Mss. which we have mentioned was destroyed by the carelessness of a servant; he himself destroyed more; and a lady, for whom he had the sincerest affection, and who was in possession of a literary correspondence by him, that would have filled some volumes on the most interesting subjects, and written, as we have been informed, in the most masterly style, ordered the whole to be burnt in compliance with his own desire, just before her death. Some fragments, however, are left; and many interesting anecdotes, letters, minutes of conversations (which perhaps were equal, if not superior, in every respect to what he wrote) still remain in the possession of his friends, which we hope to see published, with such additional memoirs as they may be enabled to supply; for we consider the life of John Henderson, on various accounts, as forming an interesting era in the history of the human mind.4

Henderson’s Contacts Until recently, biographies have portrayed Henderson solely as an Oxford eccentric, whose intellectual career was defined by his arrival at Pembroke College in 1781 and death there seven years later.5 Although this accurately reflects the published accounts during and shortly after his life, it obscures the impact of his pre-Oxford upbringing in the Bath-Bristol area. Prior to attending Pembroke, Henderson taught for a decade in his father’s boarding school at Hanham near Bristol. Both before and after taking his degree in February 1786, he alternated between Oxford and Hanham, spending long periods in the house that  his father had (since 1780) converted into a lunatic asylum. Henderson was well known to many 4  “F,” “Art. X: A Sermon Occasioned by the Death of the Celebrated Mr J. Henderson B.A. of Pembroke College,” Analytical Review 3 (1789): 297–309. I cannot establish the identity of “F,” who reviewed regularly. Versions were reprinted in New Lady’s Magazine 4 (1789): 252–55 and The Bee 12:100 (1792): 32–40. 5  Douglas Macleane, A History of Pembroke College Oxford (Oxford: Oxford Historical Society 33, 1897), 397–406 epitomises this approach, reflected also in his DNB and revised ODNB entries.

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Bristol intellectuals, including Hannah More (1745–1833), her sister Patty and three close friends of theirs, Sir James Stonehouse (physician and clergyman, 1716–1795), Josiah Tucker (Rector of St Stephens, and Dean of Gloucester, 1713–1799) and James Newton (Baptist pastor and classical tutor at the Bristol Baptist College, 1732–1790), who lived with the Cottle family. Their son Joseph attended Henderson’s school and fell under John’s spell: his “Monody” on Henderson, published with a sketch of Henderson’s character, introduced Henderson’s example to Southey, Coleridge and their circle in 1790s Bristol, though only William Gilbert (1763–1824), author of The Hurricane (1797), knew Henderson personally. Gilbert had been treated in his father’s asylum in 1788, where John encouraged Gilbert’s astrological speculations on the number 666.6 The biographies portray John as a solitary reader, absorbing ideas from books, especially the works of the “Schoolmen,” such as Duns Scotus (1256/66–1308) and Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274), and forming his own intellectual system. This, however, underplays his debt to the intellectuals around him. Henderson belonged to two local philosophical societies. The first was the Burnham Society, founded by Richard Locke of Burnham in Somerset in 1772, a curious amalgam of friendly society and debating group which attracted an extraordinary range of religious thinkers, including the universalist George Stonehouse (Sir James’s cousin), the future Swedenborgian leader Robert Hindmarsh (1759–1835), and Methodists John Fletcher (1729–1785) and John Wesley. Locke’s 6  William Gilbert, “Explanation of the Number 666,” Conjuror’s Magazine 1, no. 7 (1792): 220–24; Joseph Cottle, Poems (Bristol: n.p., 1795), 108–22; Joseph Cottle, Poems (2nd edition, Bristol: n.p., 1796), 99–122; Joseph Cottle, Malvern Hills, 2 vols (Bristol: for Cadell, 1829), I, 349–71 and II, 339–46; Joseph Cottle, Reminiscences of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey (London: Houlston and Stoneman, 1847), II, 42–43, 53–66, 340–41, 488–99; Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Poems (2nd edn, Bristol: n.p., 1797), 248; John Watkins, The Peeper; A Collection of Essays Moral, Biographical and Literary, To Which are Added Biographical Memoirs of Mr John Henderson, A.B. and the Rev. Mr Samuel Badcock (2nd edn, London: Allen, 1798), 298–300; William Roberts, ed., Memoirs of the Life and Correspondence of Mrs Hannah More, 2 vols (3rd edn, London: Seeley and Burnside, 1835), I, 194–96, 216–21, 261–62, 277, and vol. 2, 140; John M.  Traherne, “Letters of Miss Hannah More etc,” Gentleman’s Magazine (1840): 132–36; H.J. Foster, “John Henderson, Dean Tucker and Hannah More,” Wesleyan Historical Society Proceedings 3 (1901–1902): 162–65; Timothy Whelan, “Joseph Cottle the Baptist,” Charles Lamb Bulletin 111 (2000): 96–108; Roe, English Romantic Writers; Paul Cheshire’s William Gilbert Website at www. williamgilbert.com, accessed 10 July 2020. Anne Stott, Hannah More (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), does not mention John Henderson, though More’s visits to his father’s asylum are described on 55–57.

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publication in 1798 of selected materials (primarily of universalist theology) from their proceedings includes a long letter by Henderson.7 The second was the Bath Philosophical Society (1779–1787), started by Henderson’s close friend the Quaker Edmund Rack (1735–1787), of which Henderson was one of 25 members. William Matthews (1747–1816), another Bath Quaker, was also a member, and Henderson contributed a “postscript” to the “dissertation on eternal punishment” in a volume on the nature of spirits by Matthews. Like his Burnham letter, this postscript expresses a universalist belief that a loving God must ultimately intend the redemption of all mankind, so that the punishments of hell are purgatorial, not eternal. Henderson argued that human beings were originally fallen angels, to whom God in his infinite mercy had offered the choice of becoming mortal and being redeemed through the merits of Jesus Christ. Both these groups were self-consciously ecumenical, determined to put philosophical truth-seeking ahead of denominational distinctions. Henderson concluded his Burnham letter “your affectionate brother, in the land of free enquiry.”8 Nevertheless, John was primarily a product of Wesleyan Methodism, itself still an ecumenical movement rather than a settled church. His father Richard came over from Ireland in 1762 as a Wesleyan itinerant preacher, moving around southern England until 1771, when he opened his school. He (or his wife Charlotte, from a family of Welsh gentry) clearly tired of itinerancy. This, combined with the fact that Richard was very keen on books and philosophy, made Methodist biographer Charles Atmore consider that Richard had wasted his evangelical talents through over-­ intellectualism. Atmore judged that his family tragedies had perhaps been divine punishment.9 Yet Richard remained close to both John and Charles Wesley (1707–1788). John Wesley’s diaries show twice-yearly visits to 7  [Richard Locke], The Pre-existence of Souls and Universal Restitution Considered as Scripture Doctrines (Taunton: Norris, 1798), 15–19; Robert Southey, Life of Wesley (London: Longman et al, 1846), II, 597; H.J. Foster, “Burnham Society, Somerset,” Notes and Queries 9, no. 224 (1908): 291–92; F.M. Ward, ed., Supplement to Collinson’s History of Somerset by Richard Locke (Taunton: Barnicotts, 1939), 16–19; Geoffrey Rowell, “A Note on the History and Doctrine of the Burnham Society,” Wesleyan Historical Society Proceedings 37 (1969): 10–16. 8  William Matthews, The Miscellaneous Companion (Bath: Cruttwell, 1786), III, 111–15, reprinted in Robert Southey, Letters Written during a Short Residence in Spain and Portugal (Bristol: Bulgin and Rosser, 1797), 529–32; Lawrence Klein, “Hierarchy and the Techniques of the Mediator,” Cultural & Social History 10 (2013): 489–510; Lawrence Klein, “The Bath Philosophical Society,” http://www.brlsi.org/node/18149, accessed 10 July 2020. 9  Charles Atmore, The Methodist Memorial (Bristol: Edwards, 1801), 183–85.

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Richard at Hanham; Wesley publicly praised Richard’s piety, humanity and skill in caring for the insane (including several people from Methodist backgrounds, such as William Gilbert). Despite his subsequent damning verdict on John’s wasted life, Wesley was full of compassion for his father’s grief. The Hendersons were even closer to Charles Wesley and his family, who lived in Bristol from the mid-1750s to the mid-1770s and frequently visited thereafter. There was talk of marriage of John to his daughter Sally, though Cottle denied that John was more attached to her than to several other women. Sally recalled that Charles loved John Henderson “as a son.”10 John himself attended Wesley’s Kingswood School, where by age eight he was teaching the other pupils. When nearby Trevecca College was opened for the adult education of promising evangelical itinerants, John, aged 12 or 13, became the classics teacher! In 1771, when the College was riven by a dispute between Calvinism and Arminianism, John left along with (anti-Calvinist) principal John Fletcher. Perhaps he left to help his father with his new school, or perhaps Richard established the school to give his prodigious son a secure occupation with his family. If so, such security was shattered by John’s mother’s death in 1775: the young man never recovered. His biographies mention a deeply troubled childhood and, as a teenager, John (like his father) underwent a period of religious seeking. He stated later that he owed his escape from “some prejudices of

10  [John Henderson], “Letter CCCCXLI. From Mr J.H. to the Rev. J. Wesley. Hannam– Green, Oct. 1, 1775,” Arminian Magazine 10 (1787): 662–63; John Rylands Library, Methodist Archives GB 133 DDPr 1/36-8; Cottle, Reminiscences, 212–13; H.J.  Foster, “Richard Henderson and his Private Asylum at Hanham,” Wesleyan Historical Society Proceedings 3 (1901–1902): 158–60; John Telford, ed., Letters of the Rev. John Wesley AM (London: Epworth Press, 1931), VIII, 87, 107, 230; C.  Roy Hudleston, “Richard Henderson of Hanham,” Notes and Queries 175 (1938): 409–10; W.  R. Ward and R.P.  Heinzrater, eds, The Works of John Wesley vol. 23 Journal and Diaries VI (1776–86) (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995), 224, 230–32, 297, 377, 462–63, 479, 500, 535, 572; id., ed., The Works of John Wesley vol. 24 Journal and Diaries VII (1787–91) (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 2003), 108, 123, 156, 275. For the Wesleys and the occult, see Henry D. Rack, Reasonable Enthusiast: John Wesley and the Rise of Methodism (London: Epworth Press, 1989); Henry D. Rack, “Charles Wesley and the Supernatural,” Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester 88 (2006): 59–79; Robert Webster, Methodism and the Miraculous (Asbury: Emeth Press, 2013).

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education” to “the candour of my father who, though he inculcated his own principles on me, left me to my own judgment.”11 A final influence was another “seeker,” John Till Adams (1748–1786), described as “a worthy and ingenious physician, by profession a Quaker, with whom and Mr Henderson an intimacy subsisted closer than is usually to be found between brothers and which continued undiminished till death.”12 Till Adams came to Bristol in the late 1770s, after apprenticeship as a surgeon-apothecary, but took up physic (obtaining an Aberdeen MD in 1780): controversially, he and his wife Ann (nee Fry) ran a druggist’s shop even after he became a physician. Till Adams worked closely with the Baptist physician Abraham Ludlow (d. 1807), a close friend of Charles Wesley’s family, who attended John when he fell seriously ill in 1787, informing Richard admiringly that John “is all mind.”13 A Paracelsian, Till Adams was deeply interested in astrology and alchemy. Both he and John displayed Paracelsus’s disdain for normal medical practices, reflected in Till Adams’s insistence on supplying his own prescriptions and meeting the needs of the poor free. They treated the sick poor together in Bristol and Henderson continued to do so in Oxford, selling his cherished polyglot Bible to fund medicines he prescribed during a fever epidemic. Henderson notoriously tried out numerous dangerous medications, including musk and mercury, on himself (again, a Paracelsian practice), and his opium addiction may have originated thus (Till Adams’s widow’s druggist firm later specialized in the opium-based medicine, nepthalene).14 Till Adams, like many other Quakers, was influenced by mystic traditions such as Behmenism and Swedenborgianism, as was his friend Ebenezer Sibly (1751-c.1799), who lived at Bristol between 1784 and 1787. Under his influence, Sibly developed from being an astrologer into a Paracelsian medical practitioner before moving to London. The final volume of Sibly’s 11  Watkins, Peeper, 294–99; A.C.H.  Seymour, Life and Times of Selina Countess of Huntingdon (London: Painter, 1844), II, 197; Luke Tyerman, Wesley’s Designated Successor (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1882), 145; Alan Harding, Countess of Huntingdon’s Connexion (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), ch. 5. 12  Joseph Priestley, “Original Letters from Mr Henderson to Dr Priestley,” Gentleman’s Magazine 59 (1789): 287; Watkins, Peeper, 300–01; Walter Churchey, “The Character of Mr Henderson More Fully Delineated,” Gentleman’s Magazine 59 (1789): 504; Madge Dresser, ed., The Diary of Sarah Fox nee Champion (Bristol: Bristol Record Society 55, 2003), 65–66. 13  John Rylands Library, 1/37. 14  “J. L.,” “Anecdotes of Agathos Pais of Taunton,” The Weekly Entertainer 14 (1789): 59–61 refers to Henderson healing a Taunton youth.

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New and Complete Illustration of Astrology (1784–1788) includes a nativity of Henderson explaining his “strong taste for scientific knowledge … consideration of abstruse and occult reasoning, and to the investigation of mystical divinity.”15 Despite meeting the astrological conditions for brilliance in all three learned professions, Henderson’s Mercury-­derived aversion to monetary profit had prevented him from achieving greatness and would continue to do so unless he took action. Sibly presents himself as an admirer, offering Henderson astrological advice, though he wrongly entitles him “the Rev. John Henderson” (unless this is an in-­ joke referencing Henderson’s aversion to taking orders). Although his brother Manoah became a Swedenborgian minister, Sibly remained uncommitted, drawing eclectically on traditions such as Behmenism and animal magnetism (which led many to Swedenborg), but also on older occult sources. The same is true of Henderson, who was widely read in, and sympathetic to, Boehme, William Law (1686–1761) and Emanuel Swedenborg (1688–1722), but did not become a disciple.16

Henderson’s Involvement in the Occult In order to explore Henderson’s occult views, we must examine the surviving sources for Henderson’s opinions, in the absence (except in three cases, each problematic) of his own statements. Those commenting on his involvement in the occult sciences do so from a hostile, or at least very ambivalent, perspective. For example, Richard Locke’s 1798 Burnham publication reprints the following comment (in a question and answer section on spirits and demonology): you know, sir, by the evidence of your own senses, that Jack Henderson has been in the habit of calculating nativities, and that his predictions have not failed,” so prompting the question “what is your opinion of judicial astrology?17

The anonymous answer provided is that judicial astrology hath very properly received its death-wound … but astrology, as a science, stands upon firm ground; and could we sever it from  Ebenezer Sibly, A New and Complete Illustration (London: n.p., 1784–1788), 798–800.  Jonathan Barry, Raising Spirits (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 81–87. 17  [Locke], The Pre-existence of Souls, 50. 15 16

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the horrible arcana of magic, which the vulgar blend with it, religion would not suffer by the study of it.18

However carefully general laws drawn from the influence of the moon, stars or planets might be made to apply to specifics “so as to draw probable deductions from it, yet they had better not be known to the vulgar. No man, therefore, should be censured for believing, or not believing, this well-nigh exploded science.” 19 This suggests that it was appropriate for an intellectual seeker like Henderson to explore such arcana, but that both the opprobrium of appearing vulgar, and the danger of influencing the vulgar through one’s predictions, meant that such knowledge should never be professionally applied. A similar anxiety was expressed by Josiah Tucker. Hannah More and Tucker sought to direct Henderson toward a professional career worthy of his talents, despairing at his refusal either to settle to a major scholarly project or take up a clerical, legal or medical vocation. Their friends offered him opportunities: Edmund Burke (1729–1797) an entrée to a legal career and William Wilberforce (1759–1833) a clerical living. They debated the best means to get this “voluptuary in learning” to knuckle down to a productive life, speculating whether Dr. Johnson might be able to talk sense into him. In 1783, Tucker wrote to More reporting on “our little philosopher:” I find that I have been truly informed concerning him, that he believes in witches and apparitions, as well as in judicial astrology. And though he bears the raillery very well, and joins in it with a good grace, yet I do not find that any thing that can be said, has any influence to make him change his opinion.20

Before proposing to set “this eccentric genius on some work … pleasant to himself, as well as useful to the public,” Tucker indulges in a flight of fancy: Should all other schemes fail, you and your female friends at Oxford have it in your power to make him as rich as a nabob, by giving out that he is the true original conjuror, whom Shakspeare [sic] consulted on all occasions when he introduced witches; and that he has made so many voyages to the  [Locke], The Pre-existence of Souls, 50.  [Locke], The Pre-existence of Souls, 50. 20  Roberts, ed., Memoirs, I, 217. 18 19

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stars since that time, that there is not a Madam Hotspur throughout the kingdom, whose fortune he could not tell at the shortest notice. A handsome genteel set of apartments somewhere about St. James’s, with a white wand and a long artificial beard, would be all the accoutrements necessary, (with such good assistance,) to set him up in high life both above stairs and below. Such a hint might be improved upon, and a female genius is particularly happy in the necessary embellishments on such occasions.21

Setting aside the gender stereotyping here (of astrology as appealing to fashionable female folly, as well as vulgar female credulity), Tucker clearly had an anxiety, expressible only in humor, that Henderson might follow the very career that Sibly (and Gilbert, briefly) adopted.

Wesleyan Perspectives on Henderson’s Occult Interests Charles Wesley’s seven hymns written during Henderson’s illness in 1787 also address his occultism. Within his overall theme that this was a God-­ sent opportunity for John to redeem his life, Charles wishes God to “lead him on From all the arts of hell secure, To make his glorious calling sure.”22 Later, in a hymn written as if spoken by John himself, he admits: Idle I in the vineyard stood, Or vain philosophy pursued, Eager, athirst to know The mysteries of earth and sky, And skill’d in curious arts to pry Into the depths below. But lo! I from this moment turn To Thee.23

Asking God to “Explain the language of thy Rod” (i.e. the meaning of his illness), John wonders: Is it some unacknowledg’d sin That forces mercy to chastise? I fear the secret Cause to know, But cannot from thy sight conceal; Omniscient God the Evil show, The mysteries of Hell reveal. In an angelical disguise, If Satan did my soul deceive Thou canst detect his specious lies And wisdom to thy Servant give: Against the Israelitish race, In vain the fiend his pow’r exerts

 Roberts, ed., Memoirs, I, 217.  Duke University, Methodist Archive and Research Centre, MS MA 1977/594/1. 23  Duke University. 21 22

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Thy Spirit shall the Demon [“Sorcerer” is written above this in the manuscript as a possible alternative] chase, And baffle all his curious arts.24

He continues: “After my Lord resolv’d to go, And do whate’er thy laws require, I trample on th’infernal Foe, And cast his books into the fire: Thy Book my Rule and Study still.” Sally Wesley added a note below this particular hymn: Before John Henderson died (on whom and for whom these Lines were written by the Revd Charles Wesley) He earnestly entreated that all his Books on Magic might be burnt. He expressed the utmost self-abasement, and whole dependence on the blessed Redeemer, without whom (he said) Heaven would be no Heaven to him.25

In this Wesleyan reading, John’s pursuit of “the curious arts” was a diabolic temptation from which he required redemption. This view found crude re-statement in the biography published in the Wesleyan Arminian Magazine in 1793: He descended into the depths of Jacob Behmen’s wild philosophical divinity, and became an admirer of the profound nonsense that abounds in the dark regions of mysticism. He not only expended much precious time in the study of Lavater’s Physiognomy, but, what was far more reprehensible, he attained to a considerable knowledge of the occult sciences of Magic and Astrology! His library was well stored with the magical and astrological books of the last century! He has, at times, ventured to declare the possibility of holding a correspondence with separate spirits, upon the strength of his own experience!26

However, a leading Wesleyan of the next generation, Adam Clarke (1762–1832), offers a crucial account of Henderson’s involvement in magic, written not in condemnation but reflecting Clarke’s own occult interests. Clarke, also from Ireland, attended Kingswood School briefly in 1782 before becoming a Methodist itinerant and the most respected Wesleyan scholar of the early nineteenth century. Indeed, Clarke fulfilled the promise that Henderson had only shown: armed with a polyglot Bible  Duke University.  Duke University. 26  Anon, “Anecdotes of John Henderson, B.A.,” Arminian Magazine 16 (1793): 140–44. 24 25

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and a largely self-taught grasp of numerous languages and bodies of knowledge, he combined impeccable evangelical achievement with an extensive learned output. Yet Clarke’s autobiographical notes, published posthumously, reveal his childhood fascination with books of magic, including a long search for Agrippa’s Occult Philosophy. While rejoicing that providence saved him from trying its spells, Clarke justified his youthful enthusiasm for enchantments and spirits as a healthy alternative to the “modern Sadducean system,” preparing his mind for the higher spiritual truths of the Scriptures.27 His autobiography does not mention the Hendersons (though the day he left Kingswood, he went to Hanham) but their links emerge in the account in Adam Clarke Portrayed (1843) by James Everett. When asked his “serious opinion of Magic,” Clarke replied: “There is scarcely an error, Sir, but what has something of truth for its origin or foundation and scarcely a truth that has not been abused. Magic has been abused.”28 When another person described the belief that spirits can be raised as “too ridiculous to be believed,” Clarke responded by telling them about his visit (in 1789–1790) to the father of the celebrated John Henderson, who kept a seminary near Bristol. He never looked up after the death of John, and never could advert to it without the most acute pain. He had everything belonging to him, locked up. I was permitted one day to see John’s library, which was no common privilege. I saw books there, on Magic &c, which I had never seen before; they were extremely rare; I could almost have stolen them, had I known how to come at them. Dr Priestley once asked John very pointedly, “Did you ever see a spirit?” he replied, —“I cannot say, I never did.” There the subject rested between them. John used to take the lantern and candle, go out into the fields at night, fix his rods, form his circles, &c.29

Clarke’s own deep fascination by (if not belief in) magic was “confirmed by the books he purchased on several of the hidden arts,” demonstrated by the printed catalog of his library, from which Everett cites “treatises on alchemy, astrology, witchcraft, chiromancy, magic, conversations with

27  J.B.B. Clarke, ed., An Account of the Religious and Literary Life of Adam Clarke (New York: Mason and Lane, 1837), 66–67. 28  Clarke, An Account, 146. 29  Clarke, An Account, 218.

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spirits &c.”30 Everett equivocates, wishing not to “condemn such pursuits in one, who, when Christianized, guarded against the abuses made of them by many others,” but being unwilling to promote Clarke’s example, given that most people drawn to such pursuits would not be able to avoid abuses.31

The Testimonies of Joseph Priestley (1733–1804) and Thomas Cooper (1759–1839) Clarke’s anecdote reveals that Henderson’s father, or someone else in his circle, believed that John had actually attempted conjuration. His reference to Priestley leads us to the surviving source where Henderson himself discussed his practices. Clarke’s statement suggests this was a conversation leading to a clear admission: in fact it was an exchange of letters, and the outcome is highly equivocal. Joseph Priestley, who lived at Calne in Wiltshire from 1773 to 1780, was a member of the Bath Philosophical Society; as early as 1774 John corresponded with him, and Priestley lent and gave him books. In April 1789, Priestley responded to a request for “information concerning the late Mr Henderson’s pretension to intercourse with spirits, &c” by sending the Gentleman’s Magazine two of Henderson’s letters, partly to clear himself of the imputation that he was the “Doctor, whom the writer of Mr Henderson’s life represents as believing he had this power.” This accusation occurred in the review of William Agutter’s (1758–1835) funeral sermon for Henderson in the Analytical Review, which states: so prevalent was the opinion of his skill in this occult science [magic] with many, that a popular doctor, who is still living, and whose name, therefore, it may be proper to conceal, wrote a letter to Mr Henderson, informing him, that he was assured, from undoubted authority, he had the power of raising spirits, and therefore earnestly requested to be favoured with a specimen of his skill; for which purposes he was ready to meet him in any part of the kingdom. Henderson could not suppress a good-natured smile on receiving this ludicrous epistle, and after having mentioned it to some of his

30  James Everett, Adam Clarke Portrayed, 2 vols (London: Hamilton, Adams and Co., 1843), I, 74–79. 31  Everett, Adam Clarke Portrayed, I, 74–79.

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intimate friends, returned the learned, but credulous doctor, such an evasive answer, as was calculated to leave him perfectly in doubt on the subject.32

Priestley explains that, after publishing his Disquisitions relating to Matter and Spirit (1777), I received an anonymous letter from Bristol about some intercourse with spirits; and hearing that Miss Hannah More had said that the letter probably came from Mr Henderson, I wrote to him about it.33

He asked the friend carrying the letter to Oxford to tell Henderson “that if he could call up any spirit, my friend was willing to be disposed of as he should think proper for the purpose.” Priestley considers the letter to show “that Mr Henderson did not consider me as very credulous on the subject.”34 In his (undated) letter, Henderson denies all knowledge of the anonymous letter from Bristol, but understands why it had aroused the “curiosity especially of one so incredulous.” Henderson confirms unequivocally that he believes in spirits: 1. I have no reason to think them absurd or impossible. 2. They are commonly asserted in all ages. 3. And generally believed. 4 I find myself more at ease in believing them: my notions are suitable. Thence, it may be on bad proof, I assent there are such things. You will less wonder at such a belief, when I add, that I not only assent to spirits, apparitions, magic and witchcraft, but that I allow Behmen’s philosophy and Swedenborg’s visions: Yea, I hardly deny anything of that sort.35

As to whether “I would be willing to demonstrate their truth sensibly” he gives four responses, all implying a negative: I. I do not know that I can give any such exhibition. 2. The faith itself is not interesting, nor have I the least wish to convince to any. 3. My conscience is not clear that such acts are innocent. 4. They would not be, at least, may not, demonstrations [sic].36  Priestley, “Original Letters,” 287–89.  Priestley, “Original Letters,” 287–89. 34  Priestley, “Original Letters,” 287–89. 35  Priestley, “Original Letters,” 287–89. 36  Priestley, “Original Letters,” 287–89. 32 33

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He explains the last point by saying that, even if a sensible man was temporarily convinced by what he saw, “afterward I would think you had frighted me out of my senses.” He next considers why people might think he had such a power: Many people have known that I studied astrology, geomancy, and magic, and was of an abstract mind. They surmised. Common things looked extraordinary. Little things were greater. I was reported a conjuror. I was teased to tell fortunes, raise spirits, and sometimes to cast out a devil. Some pretended to a graver curiosity, and asked me for a positive answer to “Have you seen and raised a spirit?” I always replied, “I will tell you any thing about them out of books, but as to my own experience I will not say.” “Can you deny it?” I said “I will not deny it.” Hence they affirmed it abroad. To sum up all: 1. I believe, 2. I think I have reason. 3 No one was ever witness to any appearance with me. 4. I never told anyone that ever I raised a spirit. 5. I will not deny it, I have said sometimes, that I thought I had seen a spirit. As I take it your main wish is to know 1. If I believe such an exhibition possible? I do. 2. If I have done it? I never did say, nor mean to say, that I have; but (for some reason) I will not deny it. 3. If I can do it? I do not know that I can. 4. If I be willing to try? I had rather be excused.37

Rather than a deliberately “evasive answer” intended to tease Priestley (as the Analytical Review proposes), the letter’s careful distinctions should be taken literally. His assurance that Priestley “need not be in any apprehensions for your philosophy on account of any experimental knowledge of mine” seems an honest one. As Henderson notes, people tended to ask if he had “seen and raised a spirit” [my italics] as if these were the same things. If Henderson believed that he had “seen a spirit,” but had not succeeded in “raising a spirit,” although he had made at least one attempt, presumably using the methods mentioned by Clarke, we can reconcile all his statements. The distinction is explored in the second source for Henderson’s views, namely Thomas Cooper’s 1790 essay on physiognomy in the third volume of Essays of the Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society. The radical Cooper had been in Oxford briefly in 1779–1780 (before Henderson arrived): in 1794 he left anti-revolutionary England for exile in the United States with Priestley. How Cooper knew Henderson is unknown (unless he was Priestley’s unnamed friend, entrusted with the letter to Oxford?), but  Priestley, “Original Letters,” 287–89.

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Henderson was famed for knowledge of, and skills in, physiognomy, developed before Johann Kaspar Lavater (1741–1801) made the subject fashionable and partially respectable. Indeed, his ability to read character from the face (and handwriting) contributed to his reputation as a “conjuror:” Southey records how a dishonest servant refused to serve Henderson at table because she had heard he was a conjuror and would detect her thefts.38 Cooper’s avowed purpose was to identify information on physiognomy contained in literary texts since the classical period, which could furnish experimental knowledge to complement the new discoveries of Lavater and others. This required disentangling it from the “occult sciences” with which it had been associated, especially in the early modern period;  yet this led Cooper, paradoxically, to lengthy discussion of those related occult sciences. In his appendix of “Observations on the Temporary Connection of Physiognomy with the Occult Sciences,” discussing how “magicians are distinguished into diviners with, or without, communications or conjurations of spirits,” Cooper notes: “I owe a part of this communication to my deceased friend John Henderson of Pembroke College, Oxford.”39 One section seems characteristically Hendersonian in its numbered account of alternative positions and possibilities. Magic “without spiritual communication” could be of four types: “working of wonders”; “divining from natural signatures”; “from the stars i.e. astrology” or sortilegy. Alternatively, if magicians worked “by the help of spirits,” this could take three forms: when a spirit voluntarily attaches itself to a man “this is indifferent”; “when a man conjures them, either without compact, which is held indifferent, or with compact, which is evil if with evil spirit, though indeed most condemn all kinds of conjuration”; or “by divine commission, as in the case of the prophets, apostles etc—this of course is held good.” The voluntary attachment of spirits (to which may be referred the second sight) was commonly deemed unfortunate and all magic but the divine, unlawful … Conjuration by means of spirits was fourfold. I. Necromantic. II.  By circulatory invocations when at due astrological hours and with proper ceremonies, spirits are made visible round a circle. III By opening a consecrated book on the name of the spirit wanted. IV By calling at a sign a compacted familiar; this last is usually termed witchcraft. To these may be  Robert Southey, Madoc, 2 vols (3rd edn, London: Longman et al., 1812), II, 266.  Thomas Cooper, “Observations Concerning the History of Physiognomy,” Memoirs of the Literary and Philosophical Society of Manchester 3 (1790): 408–62. 38 39

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added the consecrated glass or crystal in which on invocation may be seen the persons or things required; the operations on the bodies of absent persons by means of images of wax or clay; and that species of witchcraft employed to counteract malicious designs of those who injure others by assistance of a familiar (white witches).40

A footnote refers the reader to Dr. John Dee’s (1527–1608/9) works for the consecrated glass and to Agrippa’s “fourth book” for the consecrated hour and circulatory invocations. This summary is an elegant, if unoriginal, ordering of the magical tradition and how its magic was regarded—it could certainly have been derived purely from books. Its only unorthodoxy lies in its equivocation about whether conjuration of non-evil spirits was to be condemned, and its provision of a category of conjuration “without compact”—most demonologists argued that all conjuration involved at least an implicit compact. Perhaps it was these two provisos which had allowed Henderson to experiment with raising spirits.

The Opinions of John Watkins (1765–1831) Henderson’s views are further revealed in the essay on him in John Watkins’s The Peeper (1797, but preface dated June 1796), a volume dedicated to Hannah More. Watkins had a long literary career in London from 1794 as a devoted Anglican, publishing numerous memoirs and biographical dictionaries, and editing several magazines, including the Orthodox Churchman’s Magazine. But Watkins, born at Bideford in Devon in 1765, was a dissenter until 1787, and must have met Henderson while at a dissenting academy in Bristol (probably Newton’s Baptist College). A regular contributor to the European Magazine from 1788, he provided a brief memoir of Henderson in September 1792, claiming that: The magical, astrological and chemical treatises, so fashionable at the middle of the last century, engaged a considerable part of his study; and he has, at times, ventured to declare the possibility of holding a correspondence with separate spirits, upon the strength of his own experience. At one time I remember to have found him profoundly plunged in the study of the writings of the illumined Jacob Behmen, and he then and afterwards very

 Cooper, “Observations,” 408–62.

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warmly vindicated the system (if system it may be called) of that wonderful man.41

In his brief entry on Henderson in his biographical dictionary of 1800, Watkins noted laconically that “he delighted in astronomy, alchemy and those occult arts which are wont to dignify the adept with the name of conjuror.”42 Given that Watkins condemned belief in witches in his account of the 1682 Bideford witch trial, his enlightened rejection of Henderson’s occultism seems unequivocal.43 But Watkins’s account in The Peeper is much more nuanced, perhaps out of respect for More. After recording Henderson’s avid reading of “books on the occult sciences,” especially on astrology and alchemy, Watkins notes that “he brought to the study of this science (if science it may be called) an extensive knowledge of Astronomy, and ancient and modern physics,” adding that if surprised at such interests we should recall Robert Boyle’s respect for alchemy and John Flamsteed’s and Isaac Newton’s “astrological schemes.”44 In fact, “he proceeded still farther, and penetrated into the mysterious arcana of Magic.” Watkins now discusses the possibility of “a communication with the habitants of the aerial sphere,” which “all ages and nations have witnessed.” He summarizes the “sentiments of John Henderson,” while noting “I am incapable of doing justice to the strength and clearness of his reasoning upon the subject.” Moreover, he added, The belief of unembodied and disembodied spirits assuming to themselves the appearance of the human form, or becoming audible and conversable, has a wonderful effect in raising the mind to a contemplation of that world for which the present is but a probation. Those beings though they are superior to us in perception and activity, are yet parts of the same great system of intelligence with ourselves, and having an alliance with us, may feel 41  “W.” [John Watkins], “Farther Anecdotes of John Henderson, B.  A.,” European Magazine 22 (1792): 177–78. 42  John Watkins, Universal Biographical and Historical Dictionary (London: Davison and Gillet, 1800), 501; John Watkins, Biographical Dictionary of the Living Authors of Great Britain and Ireland (London: for Colburn, 1816), 375. See also John Watkins, “Account of John Watkins,” London Free Mason’s Magazine (1794): 167–69; Jacqueline Livesey, “Peeping John,” History Today 58, no. 8 (2008): 4–5. 43  John Watkins, An Essay towards a History of Bideford in the County of Devon (Exeter: Grigg, 1792), 267. 44  Watkins, Peeper, 301–05.

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so interested in our welfare as to render themselves occasionally visible. History has recorded numerous instances of these appearances, and the greatest and best of men have witnessed to the truth of them: - so that however fashionable scepticism on the subject may be, yet those who are believers, ought not to be branded either as credulous or superstitious. They who deny the possibility of this communion may see good grounds for so doing, and may notwithstanding their unbelief be very sincere Christians; but I cannot help thinking that, as the contrary persuasion has the tendency to create an awfulness in the mind, to give the imagination lofty scope for exercise, and to raise in the soul an elevation of sentiment by anticipating its future union with beings unconfined in earthen vessels; - the cause of morality is hereby strengthened, and Faith and Hope have a more abundant spring of joy and consolation.45

Having supplied a theologically respectable version of Henderson’s arguments for “communication between the material and immaterial world,” Watkins draws a very firm line. “It should be observed that the possibility or reasonableness of a communication with spiritual beings does not at all support the doctrine of incantations,” since “that rules or methods should subsist among us to compel invisible beings to embody themselves, or to become conversable, and obedient of command is neither so easy of credit, nor justly to be accounted of.” He concluded: [T]hat John Henderson maintained the reality of this communication, and that too on the ground of his own experience is well known among his friends, but whether he believed in compulsory magic is not certain. All that I can assert upon this point is that he amassed all the books that have professed this profound subject, and that have pretended to set forth rules by which to open the jaws of unwilling spirits, and to make even hell’s king tremble at the word of man. I have often been amused in conversation with him on the magic spell and necromantic rite, but it never settled a conviction on my mind that he himself did in reality yield to the belief of them.46

Watkins may also have written the biographical essay on Henderson in the Imperial Magazine for 1834, which offers a detailed account of Henderson as a child:

 Watkins, Peeper, 301–05.  Watkins, Peeper, 301–05.

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His greatest delight was in reading, for study it could not be called, such books as are little known, or which the voice of the learned had agreed in consigning to oblivion. Among these obsolete productions were the recondite disquisitions of Picus Mirandula, Robert Fludd, and Jacob Behmen. His favourite divine was Dr. Henry More, upon whose catechetical expositions of the Scriptures he set a very high value, as he also did upon the writers of the Hutchinsonian school, particularly Bate and Catcott. But amidst all this lumber of rusty and abstruse reading, the stores of his familiar acquaintance with the mystical writers did not make him an enthusiast.47

Noting his interests in physiognomy at Oxford, the writer claims: “he was very much against reducing this kind of study to a system, or recommending it to practice.” The essay summarizes: That a reciprocal intercourse may be kept up between bodied and disembodied spirits, was the fixed persuasion of John Henderson, who, had he lived before the eighteenth century, would have been enrolled by Naudseus in his catalogue of magicians. Upon this subject the recluse of Pembroke College delighted to converse; and in the third volume of papers published by the Philosophical Society at Manchester, some of his speculations on magical practices may be found. Such were the vagaries of a young man, possessed of an enlightened understanding, and qualified to shine among the brightest luminaries of the first seat of learning in England, or perhaps in the world.48

Controversy in the Periodical Press The question of Henderson’s involvement in the occult resonated throughout the public discussions of his character and legacy. As “O.P.Q.” disarmingly put it in 1789: “we wish to trace his eccentric meanderings through the regions of magic; the wide and extensive compass that he took in the mysterious wilds of divinity and physic” and be informed of “the various authors that he conversed with in his penetration of those obscure regions, unknown to the more confined genius.”49 Before James Boswell (1740–1795) met Henderson with Dr. Samuel Johnson (1709–1784) in 1784, he knew he was “celebrated for his wonderful 47  Anon, “Some Account of John Henderson BA formerly of Pembroke College Oxford,” Imperial Magazine 2nd series, no. 4 (1834): 311–15. 48  Anon, “Some Account,” 311–15. 49  “O.P.Q.,” “Mr Henderson,” Gentleman’s Magazine 59 (1789): 201–02.

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acquirements in Alchymy, Judicial Astrology, and other abstruse and curious learning,” though Boswell “found him a very learned and pious man.”50 His early detractor “Oxoniensis” notes in 1786: during his education at school he was remarkable for his credulity in spirits and other supernatural appearances, as is evident from several of his accounts relating to such phaenomena,51

to which John Loveday responds: If by a ‘credulity in spirits’ is meant a belief in the reality and agency of invisible beings herein Mr H. is not singular, but is supported by the opinions of many of the wisest and best men, and perhaps of the majority of mankind in all ages and nations.52

“C.T.” notes how rarely Henderson “defended his real opinions” but that “if he condescended to support any visionary hypothesis, his arguments were generally enforced with that cool irony that puzzles an antagonist and equally excites envy and admiration.”53 William Agutter’s funeral sermon largely ignored this subject, simply noting that “he would not join the indolent cry of Ignorance and Affectation to brand with odium the occult sciences, before he had examined them for himself.”54 This did not convince the anti-Methodist Richard Gough (1735–1809), whose review observed drily that he was a most orthodox Christian, and carried his credulity to its utmost excess in theology and everything else (for he believed in witchcraft,

50  G.B.  Hill and L.F.  Powell, eds., Boswell’s Life of Johnson, 6 vols (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1934–64), IV, 151, 286, 298–99. 51  “Oxoniensis,” “The character of the present Mr Henderson,” Gentleman’s Magazine 56 (1786): 555–57. 52  “Academicus” [John Loveday the Elder or Younger], “Genuine Character of the Present Celebrated Mr. [John] Henderson,” Gentleman’s Magazine 56, no. 2 (1786): 677–79. 53   “C.T.,” “The Character of Mr Henderson Vindicated from Misrepresentation,” Gentleman’s Magazine 56 (1786): 679–80. 54  William Agutter, A Sermon Occasioned by the Death of the Celebrated Mr J. Henderson B.A. of Pembroke College (Bristol: Bulgin and Rosser, 1788), 5 (though 4–6, 13 and 25 indicate Agutter’s belief in higher beings, angels, an invisible world and God communicating without using “the outward sense”).

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­ emonology, judicial astrology and the philosopher’s stone) … This was the d natural consequence of his being a teacher in the college of Treveka.55

This intervention drew two responses. The first, from a fellow student at Pembroke, Charles Coote, dealt largely with Henderson’s personal qualities and merely noted: He pretended to a knowledge of the occult sciences of magic and astrology. Whether this was, or was not, a mere pretence, I leave to the judgement of the enlightened reader. Suffice it to remark, that his library was well stored with the magical and astrological books of the last century.56

But Walter Churchey (1747–1805), a Wesleyan lawyer, responded directly to Gough’s accusation. Henderson, he claimed, kept his own real sentiments upon metaphysical subjects to an excess in reserve; so that it may be difficult for us to prove, that he was credulous to excess in witchcraft, demonology, judicial astrology, and that pretty fable the philosopher’s stone; not to add, as you say, in theology, and everything else.57

However, I can bring one instance of his caution on the subject of demonology myself. I applied to him, to know his thoughts on a late affair in Bristol, in which Mr Easterbrook was concerned, whose religious, moral and rational character, there, is too well established to be shaken by pointless ridicule from that or any other quarter. Mr H. so far from showing his credulity, gave me no reply.58

Churchey then carefully distances himself from vulgar or female credulity (aunts’ and grandmothers” tales of “Hobgoblins, Jack-o’lanterns, Will-o’-whisps, and Jack-o’-Kent”), arguing that Henderson would not risk his reputation

55  [Richard Gough], “Review of William Agutter’s A Sermon occasioned by the Death of the celebrated Mr. J. Henderson,” Gentleman’s Magazine 59 (1789): 151–52. 56   C[harles] C[oote], “Anecdotes of Mr Henderson,” Gentleman’s Magazine 59 (1789): 295–97. 57  C[oote], “Anecdotes,” 295–97. 58  This refers to the exorcism of George Lukins in 1788: see Barry, Witchcraft, 206–55.

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to give credit to any tale, unsupported by stubborn facts, exceedingly well-­ attested … But supposing he had believed in the present possibility of witchcraft and demonology, or even in the appearance of disembodied spirits, no less a precedent than Mr Addison seemed to go very near such credulity, if you must attach that name to such sort of faith … If Mr H. was or was not fond of, or did or did not understand, any thing of judicial astrology, it matters not; it maybe a science of curiosity for inquisitive minds; and he had as much right to study it, as others have to blame him for so doing … I blame no man for trying all things, if he holds fast that which is best, viz. the love of God and man.59

The other review of Agutter’s sermon, in the liberal Analytical Review, offered a different justification, suggesting that Henderson’s “delight was to wander through fields of literature which have been long since deserted—and which are considered, in general, as the mere waste lands of intellect.”60 It added: “His mind was too great,” says Mr. A[gutter] “to reject truth when presented to him in any form; and he would not join the indolent cry of Ignorance and Affectation to brand with odium the occult sciences, before he had examined them for himself.” But we are assured, notwithstanding the many idle stories that have been circulated, which he would never take the trouble to contradict, but which were a subject of amusement to him, that the result of his enquiries was disapprobation. It must not be concealed, however, that he firmly believed in the operation and visible appearance of beings from the spiritual world; and it has been asserted, by a friend who heard it from his own declaration, that he had received ocular demonstration to confirm his belief. He was likewise an Alchymist, and had read every treatise that could be procured on magic.61

The review then presents the anecdote about Priestley, before discussing other features of Henderson’s character (including his addictions, treated sympathetically), before returning indirectly to the occult: Another imperfection in the character of John Henderson, which we shall not attempt to palliate, was the unbounded licence which he took in serious and argumentative conversation. He would very often defend opinions on  Churchey, “Character,” 503–07.  “F.,” “Art. X: A Sermon.” 61  “F.,” “Art. X: A Sermon.” 59 60

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the most important subjects that were not his own, merely for the sake of exercising his powers, or trying the strength of his opponent. … [I]t was the means of fixing on Henderson many improper and ridiculous opinions; For instance, if any one spoke against Magic, he would vindicate the art by quoting books, which no one had ever read, except himself, and after reasoning with wonderful subtilty, would ask his opponent, perhaps, if he had ever studied its principles, or consulted Magnus Albertus, Gadbury, Lemnius, &c. In the same manner he would occasionally be an advocate for the science of Dæmonology, and among other ridiculous doctrines, would maintain, that spirits were confined in their agency within episcopal dioceses. In short, there is nothing so extravagant which he would not sometimes defend; and even on religious subjects, he would support doctrines one day, which he controverted the next. So that it was extremely difficult for any but his intimate friends, to know what his real sentiments were on almost any subject. Hence, by his superior advantages, he poisoned the minds of many, perhaps, with scepticism, he perplexed the understanding of the young and inexperienced, and turned some from the paths of truth.62

Other biographical accounts essentially reproduce the responses considered above.63

Conclusions Despite their differences, a number of common themes emerge in both the condemnations and the defenses of Henderson’s behavior, and particularly in the efforts to strike a balance between the two. These include the distinction between scholarly exploration of the occult tradition, appropriate both to a “genius” and to a dedicated scholar, and the possible misuse of this knowledge if disseminated to those incapable of avoiding its abuse. The latter could include students and others led astray by Henderson’s Socratic practices, but concern focused on the professional exploitation of this knowledge by “the conjuror” (or astrologer), preying on the credulity either of the fashionable or the vulgar, and especially (as represented here) by women. What could be discussed safely in male  “F.,” “Art. X: A Sermon.”  For example, Anon, “An Account of John Henderson, B.A.,” European Magazine 22 (1792): 3–5; Anon, “Moral and Instructive Biography no 1: The Life of John Henderson, B.A.” The Juvenile Library 1 (1800–1801): 17–23; John Evans, The Ponderer (London: Longman et al, 1812), 164–71; [John] Tay[lor] jr., “Art. VIII The Ponderer” Monthly Review (1813): 306–12. 62 63

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circles of philosophical enlightenment (many of them deeply religious) would be dangerous if disseminated. This concern overlapped with a second requirement, namely that Henderson should put his learning to the public good, either through scholarly output or through a vocation as a cleric/preacher (preferably both, as Clarke managed), subordinating a selfish pursuit of knowledge for its own sake to higher ends. This was associated with a distinction between that aspect of esoteric knowledge which could be turned to pastoral profit, namely its testimony regarding the nature of God’s spiritual creation and purposes, and that aspect which involved the illicit attempt to pry into, even control, the spirits themselves, potentially for self-­ advancement. Here again, the “conjuror,” who attempted the conjuration of spirits using ritual methods, was the unacceptable face, but the man of God who was open to the voluntary communication of knowledge and guidance from the spiritual world, and was willing to testify to the reality of this “world of spirits” against the claims of infidelity and materialism, was a different matter. Of course, the exact nature and import of this spiritual communication, and its significance compared to other sources of knowledge, was highly debated both between and within different religious traditions. It was generally more valued by the pietistic and evangelical traditions than by those content with the established pastoral provision of the Church, and perhaps least valued by the liberal Unitarian tradition, which questioned the scriptural and classical sources of knowledge on which this esoteric tradition drew heavily, though these “liberals” might uphold the right of free inquiry. But these distinctions were not hard and fast ones, and could be overridden by personal interests and ties, by the pressure of circumstances (especially during the millenarian anxieties and hopes of the period 1776–1815), and by contradictions within the esoteric tradition itself. At the heart of these lay anxiety about whether reliable testimony of the spirit world could indeed be obtained, given the ever-present threat posed by the “father of lies,” the Devil. Willingness to take this risk depended on a difficult balancing act reflecting, ultimately, one’s sense of how God’s providence operated. Pessimists (like Charles Wesley) feared God’s justice toward sinning man would permit him to allow the Devil to mislead even the best-intentioned: optimists (like the universalist Henderson) hoped that God’s mercy would ensure that their good intentions would keep them safe. Yet both traditions knew they were treading a narrow path. The life of a man like Henderson was fascinating precisely because it offered an

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intriguing example of someone treading this path, whose early death left the meaning of his life profoundly open-ended. His contemporaries used his example to think about the place of the esoteric tradition in Enlightenment England, and so can we.

References “Academicus” [John Loveday the Elder or Younger]. 1786. Genuine Character of the Present Celebrated Mr. [John] Henderson. Gentleman’s Magazine 56 (2): 677–679. Agutter, William. 1788. A Sermon Occasioned by the Death of the Celebrated Mr J. Henderson B.A. of Pembroke College. Bristol: Bulgin and Rosser. Anon. 1792. An Account of John Henderson, B.A. European Magazine 22: 3–5. ———. 1793. Anecdotes of John Henderson, B.A. Arminian Magazine 16: 140–144. ———. 1800–1801. Moral and Instructive Biography No 1: The Life of John Henderson, B.A. The Juvenile Library 1: 17–23. ———. 1834. Some Account of John Henderson BA formerly of Pembroke College Oxford. Imperial Magazine 2nd series, no. 4: 311–315. Atmore, Charles. 1801. The Methodist Memorial. Bristol: Edwards. Barry, Jonathan. 2012. Witchcraft and Demonology in South-West England c.1640–1789. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. ———. 2013. Raising Spirits. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. “C.T.” 1786. The Character of Mr Henderson Vindicated from Misrepresentation. Gentleman’s Magazine 56: 679–680. C[oote], C[harles]. 1789. Anecdotes of Mr Henderson. Gentleman’s Magazine 59: 295–297. Cheshire, Paul. 2011. Genius and Its Abuses: Southey’s Wary Fascination with John Henderson. Wordsworth Circle 42 (1): 17–22. ———. William Gilbert Website. www.williamgilbert.com. Accessed 10 July 2020. Churchey, Walter. 1789. The Character of Mr Henderson More Fully Delineated. Gentleman’s Magazine 59: 504. Clarke, J.B.B., ed. 1837. An Account of the Religious and Literary Life of Adam Clarke. New York: Mason and Lane. Coleridge, Samuel Taylor. 1797. Poems. 2nd ed. Bristol: n.p. Cooper, Thomas. 1790. Observations Concerning the History of Physiognomy. Memoirs of the Literary and Philosophical Society of Manchester 3: 408–462. Cottle, Joseph. 1795. Poems. Bristol: n.p. ———. 1796. Poems. 2nd ed. Bristol: n.p. ———. 1829. Malvern Hills. 2 vols. Bristol: for Cadell.

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———. 1847. Reminiscences of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey. London: Houlston and Stoneman. Dresser, Madge, ed. 2003. The Diary of Sarah Fox nee Champion. Bristol: Bristol Record Society 55. Duke University. Methodist Archive and Research Centre. MS MA 1977/594/1. Evans, John. 1812. The Ponderer. London: Longman et al. Everett, James. 1843. Adam Clarke Portrayed. 2 vols. London: Hamilton, Adams and Col. “F.” 1789a. Art. X: A Sermon Occasioned by the Death of the Celebrated Mr J. Henderson B.A. of Pembroke College. Analytical Review 3: 297–309. ———.” 1789b. Art. X: A Sermon Occasioned by the Death of the Celebrated Mr J. Henderson B.A. of Pembroke College. New Lady’s Magazine 4: 252–255. ———.” 1792. Art. X: A Sermon Occasioned by the Death of the Celebrated Mr J. Henderson B.A. of Pembroke College. The Bee 12 (100): 32–40. Foster, H.J. 1901–1902. John Henderson, Dean Tucker and Hannah More. Wesleyan Historical Society Proceedings 3: 162–165. ———. 1901–1902. Richard Henderson and His Private Asylum at Hanham. Wesleyan Historical Society Proceedings 3: 158–160. ———. 1908. Burnham Society, Somerset. Notes and Queries 9 (224): 291–292. Gilbert, William. 1792. Explanation of the Number 666. Conjuror’s Magazine 1 (7): 220–224. Goldberg, Brian. 2007. The Lake Poets and Professional Identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. [Gough, Richard]. 1789. Review of William Agutter’s A Sermon occasioned by the Death of the celebrated Mr. J. Henderson. Gentleman’s Magazine 59 (1789): 151–152. Harding, Alan. 2003. Countess of Huntingdon’s Connexion. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Henderson, John. 1787. Letter CCCCXLI. From Mr J.H. to the Rev. J. Wesley. Hannam–Green, Oct. 1, 1775. Arminian Magazine 10: 662–663. Hill, G.B., and L.F.  Powell, eds. 1934–1964. Boswell’s Life of Johnson. 6 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hudleston, C.  Roy. 1938. Richard Henderson of Hanham. Notes and Queries 175: 409–410. “J.  L.” 1789. Anecdotes of Agathos Pais of Taunton. The Weekly Entertainer 14: 59–61. John Rylands Library. Methodist Archives. GB 133 DDPr 1/36-8. Kenneth, Curry, ed. 1965. New Letters of Robert Southey. New York and London: Columbia University Press. Klein, Lawrence. 2013. Hierarchy and the Techniques of the Mediator. Cultural & Social History 10: 489–510.

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———. The Bath Philosophical Society. http://www.brlsi.org/node/18149. Accessed 10 July 2020. Livesey, Jacqueline. 2008. Peeping John. History Today 58 (8): 4–5. [Locke, Richard]. 1798. The Pre-existence of Souls and Universal Restitution Considered as Scripture Doctrines. Taunton: Norris. Macleane, Douglas. 1897. A History of Pembroke College Oxford. Oxford: Oxford Historical Society 33. Matthews, William. 1786. The Miscellaneous Companion. Bath: Cruttwell. Monod, Paul Kleber. 2013. Solomon’s Secret Arts: The Occult in the Age of the Enlightenment. New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press. Moore, Henry. 1825. Life of the Rev. John Wesley. 2 vols. London: Kershaw. “O.P.Q.” 1789. Mr Henderson. Gentleman’s Magazine 59: 201–202. “Oxoniensis.” 1786. The Character of the Present Mr Henderson. Gentleman’s Magazine 56: 555–557. Priestley, Joseph. 1789. Original Letters from Mr Henderson to Dr Priestley. Gentleman’s Magazine 59: 287–289. Rack, Henry D. 1989. Reasonable Enthusiast: John Wesley and the Rise of Methodism. London: Epworth Press. ———. 2006. Charles Wesley and the Supernatural. Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester 88: 59–79. Roberts, William, ed. 1835. Memoirs of the Life and Correspondence of Mrs Hannah More. 2 vols., 3rd ed. London: Seeley and Burnside. Roe, Nicholas, ed. 2010. English Romantic Writers and the West Country. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Rowell, Geoffrey. 1969. A Note on the History and Doctrine of the Burnham Society. Wesleyan Historical Society Proceedings 37: 10–16. Seymour, A.C.H. 1844. Life and Times of Selina Countess of Huntingdon. London: Painter. Shaw, Jane. 2006. Miracles in Enlightenment England. New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press. Sibly, Ebenezer. 1784–1788. A New and Complete Illustration. London: n.p. Southey, Robert. 1797. Letters Written during a Short Residence in Spain and Portugal. Bristol: Bulgin and Rosser. ———. 1812. Madoc. 2 vols., 3rd ed. London: Longman et al. ———. 1846. Life of Wesley. London: Longman et al. Stott, Anne. 2003. Hannah More. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Tay[lor], [John], Jr. 1813. Art. VIII The Ponderer. Monthly Review: 306–312. Telford, John. 1931. Letters of the Rev. John Wesley AM. London: Epworth Press. Traherne, John M. 1840. Letters of Miss Hannah More etc. Gentleman’s Magazine: 132–136. Tyerman, Luke. 1882. Wesley’s Designated Successor. London: Hodder and Stoughton.

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“W.” [John Watkins]. 1792. Farther Anecdotes of John Henderson, B. A. European Magazine 22: 177–178. Ward, F.M., ed. 1939. Supplement to Collinson’s History of Somerset by Richard Locke. Taunton: Barnicotts. Ward, W.R., and R.P.  Heinzrater, eds. 1995. The Works of John Wesley vol. 23 Journal and Diaries VI (1776–86). Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press. ———, eds. 2003. The Works of John Wesley vol. 24 Journal and Diaries VII (1787–91). Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press. Watkins, John. 1792. An Essay towards a History of Bideford in the County of Devon. Exeter: Grigg. ———. 1794. Account of John Watkins. London Free Mason’s Magazine: 167–169. ———. 1798. The Peeper; A Collection of Essays Moral, Biographical and Literary, To Which are Added Biographical Memoirs of Mr John Henderson, A.B. and the Rev. Mr Samuel Badcock. 2nd ed. London: Allen. ———. 1800. Universal Biographical and Historical Dictionary. London: Davison and Gillet. ———. 1816. Biographical Dictionary of the Living Authors of Great Britain and Ireland. London: for Coburn. Webster, Robert. 2013. Methodism and the Miraculous. Asbury: Emeth Press. Whelan, Timothy. 2000. Joseph Cottle the Baptist. Charles Lamb Bulletin 111: 96–108.

CHAPTER 7

Psychic Disciplines: The Magnetizer as Magician in the Writings of Jules Dupotet de Sennevoy (1796–1881) Jean-Pierre Brach

A Magnetic Context During the third and fourth decades of the nineteenth century, as well as immediately around and after the exact middle of the same century, France and French society in general were struck by a number of political changes and social upheavals. In this respect, one has only to mention the 1830 July Revolution, the Republican insurrections of April 1832 and July 1835  in Paris and Lyon, the February 1848 Revolution, quickly followed  by the coup by Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte (1808–1873), ­

This chapter evolved from a paper originally delivered at the 1st International Conference on Contemporary Esotericism held at Stockholm University, 27–29 August 2012. J.-P. Brach (*) École Pratique des Hautes Études (Sorbonne), Paris, France e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 G. D. Hedesan, T. Rudbøg (eds.), Innovation in Esotericism from the Renaissance to the Present, Palgrave Studies in New Religions and Alternative Spiritualities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-67906-4_7

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“Prince-Président” in December 1851, which soon led to the foundation of the Second Empire in 1852. Within such a troubled context, the overall situation of Animal Magnetism is, unsurprisingly, a mixed one.1 On the one hand, Mesmerism could boast of a cultural presence within French medical and spiritualist circles already approaching, in 1850, 80 years of age. The spread of interest for this new form of medical treatment in France was conditioned by several factors: the almost continuous presence of Franz Anton Mesmer (1734–1815) himself in Paris from 1778 to 1785, and then again at intervals until 1800; the creation in 1784 of the initiatory but nevertheless very successful Société de l’Harmonie universelle (“Society of Universal Harmony”), whose declared goals were to disclose “Mesmer’s secret” for a hefty fee and, consequently, to preach the gospel of magnetic medicine; Mesmer’s Masonic affiliation, and the loud controversy over the scientific claims of Animal Magnetism, particularly from 1784 onwards. Many were attracted by its democratic and straightforward approach to therapeutic practice: any man, according to Mesmer, could cure another by transmitting a natural “fluid” which exists everywhere and is distinct from mineral magnetism. Thus, almost from the start, Animal Magnetism could claim a good measure of popular and literary success, as well as a continuous appeal to a fair number of successful writers, doctors and practitioners belonging to all ranks of society.2 Needless to say, an important number of books, pamphlets, plays and literary novels appeared over the years, either supporting or debunking Animal Magnetism, and sometimes showering it with ridicule or sarcasm on purportedly scientific or moral grounds.3 While popular opinion was so divided, Animal Magnetism quickly ran afoul of the French scientific and medical establishment, because it 1  Adam Crabtree, From Mesmer to Freud. Magnetic Sleep and the Roots of Psychological Healing (New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press, 1993), 38–105; from a socio-­ political perspective, Robert Darnton, Mesmerism and the End of the Enlightenment in France (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1968) (French translation: La Fin des Lumières. Le mesmérisme et la Révolution, Paris: Perrin, 1984); Nicole Edelman, “Somnambulisme, médiumnité et socialisme,” Politica Hermetica 9 (1995): 108–17. 2  Anne-Marie Baron, Balzac occulte (Lausanne and Paris: L’Age d’Homme, 2012), 29–77; Ernst Leonardy, Marie-France Renard, Christian Drösch, Stéphanie Vanasten, eds., Traces du mesmérisme dans la littérature européenne du XIXè siècle (Brussels: Publications des Facultés universitaires Saint-Louis, 2001). 3   See Adam Crabtree’s annotated bibliography, https://www.esalen.org/ctr-archive/ animal_magnetism.html#title, accessed 27 March 2017.

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attempted to emancipate itself from the tutelage of the institutional practitioner and his academic training.4 Moreover, the physical reality of a universal fluid circulating everywhere and permeating mankind as well as our entire universe, including the celestial spheres, was considered to be lacking empirical evidence. The all-pervading existence of this “subtle,” yet quasi-material fluid, was nevertheless essential to Mesmer himself, who understood it in an altogether materialistic way, going as far as to consider it a central element of the mutual relations and equilibrium between the celestial bodies,5 as well as between men. Illnesses, therefore, resulted from the imbalance or the excess of the so-called fluid in the human body, and the magnetic cure consisted in restoring the equilibrium in this respect. By using certain techniques (mainly hand passes), the magnetizer “channeled” and transmitted the right amount of fluid to another person (or subtracted it from her), thus acting as the surrogate source of the fluid which allegedly worked through the human nervous system. These basically materialistic tenets, which verge as much on the physical as on the medical side of things, were very soon relatively over-shadowed by several reinterpretations of Mesmerism according to a spiritualist stance, the most well-known being that brought about by Armand Marie Jacques de Chastenet de Puységur (1751–1825).6 Unlike Mesmer, Puységur viewed his own magnetic agency as purely instrumental, in the sense that he felt his role to be merely that of empowering his patients with the ability to cure themselves. According to Puységur, the fluid provoked a specific, altered state of consciousness, called by him the “somnambulic sleep” or trance, which was very different from Mesmer’s notion of “crisis”7 and left no trace in the mind of the magnetized subjects after the “séance.” This “lucid sleep” and the kind of “clairvoyance” it supposedly induced 4  During the eighteenth century, the French medical establishment had gradually wrenched from the Church the monopoly of therapeutic practice(s) and was consequently in no mood to relinquish its hard-won official hold on it; see Franklin Rausky, Mesmer et la révolution thérapeutique (Paris: Payot, 1977). 5  In this respect, one of its original names was “gravitational magnetism,” in an attempt to conflate it with Isaac Newton’s famous discovery of universal attraction and, thus, to confer it an even higher degree of scientific relevance. 6  Armand Marie Jacques de Chastenet de Puységur, Mémoires pour servir à l’histoire et à l’établissement du magnétisme animal (Paris: Dentu, 1784 [3rd most complete edition, 1820]). 7  That is, the agitated, almost “hysterical” patterns of behavior induced—as part of the cure—in the patients undergoing treatment around the famous baquet de Mesmer.

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were indeed far remote from the manner of Mesmer’s original cures, which he claimed to have occurred by means of a purely physiological process. Puységur’s dissent was not unusual for Mesmerism, which had had to deal with internal debates and conflicting schools from the very beginning. Nobody really agreed with anyone else about the basic tenets and claims of the new therapy, including those put forward by Mesmer himself who, from the start, criticized some of his disciples, such as Charles Nicolas d’Eslon (1750–1786), as early as 1782, for misrepresenting his medical ideas. In particular, there were those who, while experimenting with Animal Magnetism, denied or expressed skepticism about the actual existence of the magnetic fluid itself, and substituted other, often psychical means of magnetic agency (such as the imagination) for the reality of the observations and of the cures supposedly carried out on behalf of the patients. Another early tendency was to interpret Animal Magnetism not in the sense of a strictly medical practice but, more widely, as a gateway into the realm of spiritualism proper: the so-called somnambulic sleep was thus conceived of mainly as a state of consciousness that enabled contact with supernatural beings (spirits, angels, etc.). These, in turn, achieved the cure of illnesses through prayer, and dispensed revelations of all kinds, quite beyond the scope of mere scientific therapy. Although he did not belong to this extreme “spiritualist” school himself, the fact that Puységur was nevertheless in contact with members of the French Masonic-Illuminist milieu, whose interest in the psychic/ spiritual dimension of Magnetism was strong in the early 1780s,8 naturally helped conflate his brand of Mesmerism with what would, somewhat later, be termed “psychic research.” From the outside, Animal Magnetism was frequently seen as a set of controversial theories and practices and, as such, enjoyed almost no degree of official recognition or acceptance in France, whether medical, scientific or academic in general.9 From this institutional perspective, it also suffered 8  Alice Joly, “J.-B.  Willermoz et l’Agent Inconnu des Initiés de Lyon,” in De l’Agent Inconnu au Philosophe Inconnu, eds. Robert Amadou and Alice Joly (Paris: Denoël, 1962), 11–154; Christine Bergé, “Le corps et la plume. Ecritures mystiques de l’Agent inconnu,” Revue d’histoire du XIXe siècle 38 (2009–2010): 41–59, https://rh19.revues.org/3867, accessed 20 September 2015. 9  Bertrand Méheust, Somnambulisme et médiumnité, 2 vols, I (“Le défi du magnétisme”) (Paris: Synthélabo, 1999).

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from being associated with liberal political ideas and with “irrationality,” in the midst of an increasingly secular, rationalistic and conservative bourgeois society,10 wary of civil and ideological unrest. Following the definitive rejection of Animal Magnetism as a topic worthy of scientific discussion by the French Academy of Medicine in 1842,11 a certain degree of reaction manifested itself among magnetizers against what was perceived as the excessive arrogance and iron rule of hardline official science. In this context, therefore, spiritualism in general and the kind of “psychic research” that  certain currents of French Mesmerism had come to be associated with, and had indeed more or less evolved into,12 came to be seen as an effective and credible means of counteracting the influence of the materialistic and empirical view of nature sustained by ordinary science. It is true that some sort of a cautious epistemological middle ground was held by a growing number of practitioners, such as the famous Joseph Philippe François Deleuze (1753–1835), who insisted on the sole admission of natural principles in magnetic cures, renouncing supernatural agency as a valid scientific explanation of them without denying its eventual ultimate reality. Nevertheless, by the end of the 1840s, a new set of magnetizers began to embrace the doctrines of American Spiritualism, frequently linked to a 10  John Warne Monroe, Laboratories of Faith. Mesmerism, Spiritism and Occultism in Modern France (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2008), 64–94; French translation: Laboratoires de la foi. Mesmérisme, spiritisme et occultisme en France de 1853 à 1914 (Pessac: Presses Universitaires de Bordeaux, 2013). 11  In this particular case, the Academy intended to denounce what it perceived as Mesmerism’s shoddy principles – such as the Nervengeist or “nerve fluid,” for instance, and unsound therapeutical practices (on the Nervengeist as a later, naturphilosophisch elaboration, see Antoine Faivre, “Recherches sur les courants ésotériques dans l’Europe moderne et contemporaine,” Annuaire de l’Ecole pratique des hautes études  – Sciences religieuses 115 (2006–2007): 327–28; Nicole Edelman, “Un savoir occulté ou pourquoi le magnétisme animal ne fut-il pas pensé « comme une branche très curieuse de psychologie et d’histoire naturelle»?,” Revue d’histoire du XIXe siècle 38 (2009–2010): 115–32, http://rh19.revues. org/3877, accessed 19 July 2015). 12   With authors such as Puységur, Deleuze, Alexandre Bertrand (1795–1831). See Méheust, Somnambulisme et médumnité, I; Crabtree, From Mesmer to Freud, 171–280; Jean-­ Pierre Peter, “De Mesmer à Puységur. Magnétisme animal et transe somnambulique, à l’origine des thérapies psychiques,” Revue d’histoire du XIXe siècle 38 (2009–2010): 19–40, http://rh19.revues.org/3865, https://doi.org/10.4000/rh19.3865, accessed 2 September 2015. For a parallel study of this evolution in Great Britain, Janet Oppenheim, The Other World: Spiritualism and Psychical Research in England, 1850–1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988).

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popularized kind of Swedenborgianism.13 Soon afterward, these tenets mingled with theories about table-turning and contacting the souls of the deceased, in an attempt to establish the empirical reality of life after death, and of an independent life of the spirit or of the soul, just as solidly steeped into the nature of things as corporeal matter itself.14 That such a life of the soul—its existence, meaning and goal—should be evidenced by practical experimentation with Animal Magnetism was the more important since, by the late 1830s, most of the physical or physiological tenets claimed by Mesmerism (including of course the mere reality of the “fluid” itself) as its theoretical basis and as the rationale behind its alleged efficacy, were in fact discredited for the most part in the eyes of the medical establishment. It was therefore essential that some new principles should be substituted for these doctrinal foundations, which were now considered wanting and insufficiently convincing from a medical or scientific perspective. It is consequently unsurprising that it is precisely in this context that the provocative expression of “magnetic magic” was first introduced (in 1847/1848) by the already famous practitioner of Animal Magnetism, Jules Dupotet.

The Magic of the Soul? Born in northern Burgundy (Yonne), Jules-Denis Dupotet, baron de Sennevoy (1796–1881), belonged to a family of minor local nobility. He presented himself as having manifested a strong intolerance  to formal training in his youth and, therefore, as being essentially self-taught.15 13  Ann Taves, Fits, Trances, and Visions (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999), 136–48; John S. Haller Jr., Swedenborg, Mesmer and the Mind/Body Connection. The Roots of Complementary Medicine (West Chester, PA: Swedenborg Foundation, 2010). However, the historical connections between the doctrines of Swedenborg and Animal Magnetism are first documented in the 1780s. 14  Guillaume Cuchet, Les Voix d’outre-tombe. Tables tournantes, spiritisme et société (Paris: Le Seuil, 2012); Monroe, Laboratories of Faith, 15–63, 95–149. 15   Extended biographical details  (including Dupotet’s links in later life with the Theosophical Society) have already been discovered by Anne Jeanson and will appear in her forthcoming doctoral dissertation dedicated to Dupotet’s life and works. One cannot help noting, however, that Dupotet’s later claim (1852) of having been trained by the sole observation of Nature and of owing very little, if at all, to formal schooling is enough of a romantic commonplace to warrant suspicion, especially under the pen of an author constantly challenging institutional knowledge and lamenting the disdain of science for Animal Magnetism.

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Having arrived in Paris probably around 1820–1821, he claimed to have met with some of the most well-known French magnetizers of the time, the likes of Puységur, Deleuze, and Abbé Faria (1756–1819).16 He then practiced curative magnetism at the famous “Hôtel-Dieu” hospital in Paris and went on to organize, from 1826 onwards, public séances in the same city and throughout France, during which he explicitly aimed at exploring all facets of somnambulism.17 In 1837, Dupotet was in London, conducting magnetic experiments at University College Hospital, at the invitation of its director, the then-famous John Elliotson (1791–1868).18 Taking up the direction of what was soon to become one of the most influential periodicals devoted to Mesmerism, the Journal du Magnétisme, in 1845, Dupotet started exposing a theory of Animal Magnetism presented as “the magical influence of the soul,”19 and consequently dubbed certain experiments with somnambulism (of a non-curative nature), “experiments of magnetic magic” (expériences de magie magnétique).20 It is a fact that the idea according to which Animal Magnetism was actually not much more than a mere re-hashing of assumptions about “magnetic cure”21 and “occult medicine” dating back to the early modern period, and of the doctrines of Theophrastus Paracelsus (1493–1541), J. B. van Helmont (1579–1644), Robert Fludd (1574–1637), Athanasius Kircher (1602–1680), and so on, was not at all new. As early as 1784, opponents of the new therapy had leveled the accusation of plagiarism against Mesmer and attempted to discredit his theories by presenting

16  Considering the alleged dates, Dupotet is more likely to have attended Deleuze’s (and possibly Alexandre Bertrand’s) lectures, if anything, than to have actually studied Magnetism with Puységur or Faria. 17  This attitude was rather a novelty at the time, and of a kind which was sternly opposed by Deleuze or Puységur, who intended (after the fiasco of the Victor Race séances in Paris) to henceforth keep the practice of Animal Magnetism strictly in the therapeutic and private domains. 18  Alison Winter, Mesmerized: Powers of Mind in Victorian Britain (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1998); Crabtree, From Mesmer to Freud, 146–48. 19  Dupotet, Journal du Magnétisme II (Paris, 1845), 345. 20  Dupotet, Journal du Magnétisme, VII (Paris, 1848), 97. 21  An encyclopedic anthology of this literature can be found in Sylvester Rattray, ed., Theatrum sympatheticum (Nuremberg: Johan. Andream Endterum, & Wolfgangi junioris haeredes, 1662). See also Roberto Poma, Magie et guérison. La rationalité de la médecine magique (XVIe-XVIIe siècles) (Paris: Orizons, 2009).

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them as both unfounded and outdated.22 Although Mesmer himself strongly refuted such allegations, he had however been boastful enough to write that his system actually explained scientifically, in a new and definitive manner, the magical claims of the ancients and various types of hitherto unexplained phenomena, including cures operated at a distance. Such claims had of course already been made by the defenders of the “sympathetic cure” during the Renaissance, thus opening the door to the line of criticism we just evoked. Dupotet’s famous 1852 treatise, La magie dévoilée ou principes de science occulte (Magic Unveiled, or the Principles of Occult Science),23 is a detailed attempt at explaining and justifying the motives behind this overt but rather unexpected association of magic and Mesmerism.24 According to Dupotet, the “magnetic agent,” that is, of course, the hidden and active force supposedly at work behind magnetic phenomena, is no longer a “fluid” at all except metaphorically,25 neither of the near-physical type intended by Mesmer himself, nor of a nature more or less akin to that of the four other natural “fluids” recognized by science at the time.26 Instead, 22  Michel-Augustin Thouret, Recherches et doutes sur la magnétisme animal (Paris: Prault, 1784); Jean-Jacques Paulet, L’Antimagnétisme, ou Origine, progrès, décadence, renouvellement et réfutation du magnétisme animal (London, n.p., 1784); Koen Vermeir, “Guérir ceux qui ont la foi. Le mesmérisme et l’imagination historique,” in Mesmer et mesmérismes. Le Magnétisme animal en contexte, eds. Bruno Belhoste and Nicole Edelman (Paris: Omniscience, 2015), 119–46, https://halshs.archives-ouvertes.fr/halshs-01454109, accessed 8 May 2016. 23  Jules Dupotet, La magie dévoilée ou principes de science occulte (Paris: Imprimerie De Pommeret Et Moheau, 1852). An abbreviated English translation was published as Magnetism and Magic by A. H. E. Lee (London: Allen and Unwin, 1927). Interestingly, Arthur Hugh Evelyn Lee (1875–1941) was also the compiler of the famous anthology The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse (1916; still in print) and has equally written on the topic of alchemy with H. Price, A Modern Interpretation of Alchemy (London: The Quest, 1921). Lee also was a close friend—among many others—of the writer and occultist Charles Williams (1886–1945), see S.  Bray and R.  Sturch, eds., Charles Williams and his Contemporaries (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2009), 7 (article by G.  Lindop). Distribution of the original French edition was apparently limited to a very restricted number of signed copies of the volume, handed over to the elect few who could put up the handsome price asked for it by Dupotet, who was perhaps replicating here—on a much smaller scale, obviously—Mesmer’s fee for admission into his Société de l’Harmonie universelle, which was first intended to number only 100 members. 24  Crabtree, From Mesmer to Freud, 190–96. 25  Dupotet, Journal du Magnétisme VII, 24. 26  That is, terrestrial magnetism, heat, light and electricity; Jules Dupotet, La magie dévoilée, 3rd edition (Paris: Librairie Paul Vigot, 1893), 64.

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it is a unique “vital force,” which emanates from the operator himself. For Mesmer, of course, insofar as curing was concerned, the magnetizer was but a receptacle and transmitter of an otherwise universal, cosmic fluid. Such a “force vitale” is considered by Dupotet as actually capable of incorporating the operator’s thoughts via the creative imagination, and of being projected and directed, along with precise intentions, into objects or into another person’s mind, which it either substitutes or allies with, in order to suggest certain feelings or courses of action.27 What was until then called “trance,” “nerve fluid,” “somnambulic sleep,” and so on, is now being considered by Dupotet as “an occult power of the soul.” Magnetism, accordingly, should be renamed “magisme” (!), insofar as it commands to both the soul and body.28 The author of La magie dévoilée hesitates nevertheless between two definitions of the workings of magic: one in which the soul itself is the true magical agent (as, for instance, with Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa, 1486–1535), and the other, which postulates the existence of a separate, intermediary world, situated outside us, which we can communicate with through certain sets of practices.29 This plane is supposedly where the “magical agent” actually belongs and is to be found, the “magical element” which, according to Dupotet, gives life, supports it and receives it when matter is left behind.30 As we have seen, this “vital force” can be directed by the will upon or into objects, such as a “magic mirror” and enclosed within it, where it will eventually produce visions and bring forth the entities that one wishes to communicate with.31 The “first degree” of the “magical art” is thus to confer some sort of life and movement to creations of the imagination (anticipating, almost literally, our modern-day “thought-forms”) and to render them visible 27  Dupotet, La magie dévoilée, 220–23; in his Journal du Magnétisme II, 1845, 328, Dupotet writes for instance that “magnetized objects differ only by name from amulets or talismanic artefacts.” 28  Dupotet, La magie dévoilée, 203. This term was due to enjoy much success with later occultists, including Eliphas Lévi (1810–1875); see n. 39 below. 29  Dupotet, La magie dévoilée, 182. 30  Dupotet, La magie dévoilée, 184. 31  Dupotet, La magie dévoilée, 85; 124; 254. Our author had already drawn the attention to what he calls “magic mirrors” in his Journal du Magnétisme, in 1849–1851, that is, before A.-L.  Cahagnet’s (1809–85) pages on the same topic (Magie magnétique, Paris: Germer Baillère, 1854, 72ff.). About Cahagnet, but seen from a quite different perspective, see Wouter J. Hanegraaff, “The First Psychonaut? Louis-Alphonse Cahagnet’s Experiments with Narcotics,” International Journal for the Study of New Religions 7, no. 2 (2016): 105–23.

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and active by themselves. Magic, accordingly, is a force of attraction that moves both the natural and the supernatural orders, an occult power operating on both bodies and souls. This “agent” operates in all phenomena, extraordinary or otherwise, commendable or useless, and its efficacy is per se ethically neutral for Dupotet: it only bears the stamp of our own moral qualities and obeys our will, whatever our purpose may be.32

Magnetic Magic? Taking into account the preceding considerations, it is hard not to get the impression that Dupotet, in his Magie dévoilée, has in fact strayed from the general scope and tenets of what is (or was, at the time) commonly accepted as Animal Magnetism, even seen in a markedly spiritualist perspective. First of all—although Dupotet does not seem to have ever discarded it altogether—the curative dimension, which certainly was the dominant raison d’être of Mesmerism ever since its inception, seems almost entirely bypassed, as suggested by the complete title of La magie dévoilée.33 There is nevertheless a great deal of ambiguity and inconsistency in Dupotet’s work, insofar as the association of Animal Magnetism with magic, science and religion is concerned. In passing, one cannot help remark that such an association is certainly nothing new in the history of Mesmerism, the literature of which has in fact always combined scientific, religious and occult sources.34 In his La magie dévoilée, Dupotet not only makes repeated allusions to biblical miracles but claims to be paving the way for a new type of knowledge, transcending the limits of the physical world—while showing more actual respect to Nature than empirical science—and of discursive reason.35 We have already stated that, long before Dupotet’s time, 32  Dupotet, La magie dévoilée, 64. Some of the earlier magnetizers, such as Mesmer himself, Puységur or Deleuze, believed goodwill and moral rectitude on the practitioners’ part to be an absolute prerequisite of the curing power of mesmerism, which could not in principle be misused. 33  As well as by the author’s caveat at the outset of the book, where he states that reading it is superfluous to anyone craving merely to “do some good” with magnetism. 34  Crabtree, From Mesmer to Freud, 67–72. 35  Dupotet actually shares such claims with other writers on the topic of Mesmerism, such as his contemporary Henri Delaage, Le Monde occulte ou Mystères du Magnétisme (Paris: Dentu, 1856), passim, which has strong Catholic overtones.

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“magic” had found itself associated with Animal Magnetism, either by critics (as early as 1784),36 who intended to defame it as a mere rehash of archaic and scientifically disreputable doctrines and practices, or by magnetizers, including Mesmer himself, who claimed Mesmerism to be, on the contrary, the ultimate scientific explanation of ancient mysteries, such as magic and divination, and of mystical phenomena or biblical miracles. As a matter of fact, Dupotet’s sources do include a number of testimonials (which are presented as “ancient” material) belonging to magical and theosophical works.37 Such sources are obviously meant to convey the idea that the author, although professedly self-taught as stated above, is in fact familiar with a whole body of literature and ancient authorities supporting his claims of “magic” being in fact the underlying reality and driving force behind Animal Magnetism. Dupotet’s use of terms such as “magic” and “occult”38 is of course designed to enhance the nature and scope of magnetic practices. It is also meant to put them in a “historical” perspective and, most of all, to legitimate the hints at a superior kind of knowledge, supposedly reconciling and synthesizing the rational and empirical approach to Nature with the spiritualist and magical one—the “medical science” with the “esoteric tradition(s).”39  See the references given in note 21.  Without actually identifying its sources, Dupotet quotes in fact (La magie dévoilée, 11) passages from Agrippa’s Occult Philosophy, as quoted in turn  by Blaise de Vigenère (1523–1596) in his Traicté des chiffres (Paris: Abel L’Angelier, 1586), ff. 26v°-27v°. He also refers, without proper citation, to Keleph Ben Nathan’s (Jean-Philippe Dutoit-Membrini, 1721–1793) La Philosophie divine, 3 vols. (Lausanne: n.p., 1793), I, 53–57, on a fivefold classification of magic (Magie dévoilée, 167–68). He does, however, mention by name J. Ennemoser (1787–1854) and his book on the history of Animal Magnetism as early as 1845 and 1847 (i.e., before the appearance of the 1854 English translation of the Geschichte der Magie - first edition 1844) in the Journal du Magnétisme; on Ennemoser and his work, Wouter J.  Hanegraaff, “Joseph Ennemoser and Magnetic Historiography,” Politica Hermetica 25 (Special Issue “Esotérisme et romantisme”) (2011): 65–83. 38  Taken here in the sense of immaterial and invisible, yet capable of material efficacy. See C. Göttler and W. Neuber, eds., Spirits Unseen. The Representation of Subtle Bodies in Early Modern European Culture (Leiden: Brill, 2007). 39  As attempted, soon after Dupotet, by other writers such as H. Delaage, A.-L. Cahagnet, Magie magnétique or even Eliphas Lévi, whose famous Dogme et rituel de la haute magie (Paris, Germer Baillière, 1854–1856) owes a lot to Animal Magnetism and whose La clé des grands mystères (Paris: Germer Baillière, 1861) discusses Dupotet’s Magie dévoilée in several chapters (both books by Lévi have been translated into English, respectively by A. E. Waite in 1896 and Aleister Crowley); see Julian Strube, Sozialismus, Katholizismus und Okkultismus 36 37

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But there is in fact more to it than meets the eye, for it seems undeniable that Dupotet intends to level a “sacerdotal claim” for the magnetizer. In other words, Dupotet flaunts  his own brand of Animal Magnetism as capable of operating some of the very miracles described by Scripture, and presents the practitioners of Mesmerism, therefore, as the real priests, as opposed to an essentially Roman Catholic clergy whose discourses he considers actually devoid of “power” and, accordingly, of any real efficacy.40 Such a claim is certainly not new in Masonic, Pietist or Illuminist circles and it will also be taken up by many later occultists.41 Moreover, the idea that Magnetism will be an important aspect of the future evolution of Christianity, if not the very last stage of its historical becoming, is already familiar to Henri Delaage and other spiritualist exponents of Animal Magnetism. For these, in addition to the Christian tenets, the universal law of “sympathy” and “attraction”, once mastered, will finally come to exercise its beneficial effects over the entire human society.

Conclusions: Occult Mesmerism Seen from this perspective, Dupotet is obviously dragging mesmerism toward occultism42 and his own concept of “magic,” although he is somewhat wavering on the matter of the “fluid” between natural and spiritualist explanations.43 His notion of “magic” is in fact highly psychological, im Frankreich des 19. Jahrhunderts. Die Genealogie der Schriften von Eliphas Levi (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2016), 532–41. It is likely that Lévi’s strong insistence on “willpower” as essential to the magiste also stems from Dupotet, who—following the example of Mesmer himself, Puységur or Deleuze—is adamant in his upholding of the magnetizer’s unswerving concentration of will in order to achieve magical and/or magnetic results. 40  Dupotet, La magie dévoilée, 205ff; 222. 41  “Il y a des prêtres spirituels, qui ne le sont pas par l’ordination commune... mais ils sont faits et institués prêtres d’une façon immédiate par Dieu” (“There are spiritual priests who are not made such by way of common ordination... but are made and established as priests by the immediate action of God:” letter from Count F. de Fleischbein to Mademoiselle de Fabrice, 10/10/1769, quoted by Auguste Viatte, Les Sources occultes du romantisme, Paris: H. Champion, 1992, 2 vol (orig. ed. 1928); I, p. 24; “C’est (le magnétiseur) un prêtre au plus haut sens du mot;” “He (the magnetiser) is a priest in the highest sense of the word:” Oswald Wirth, L’imposition des mains et la médecine philosophale (Paris: Chamuel, 1897), 99 (our translations). 42  Although, to our knowledge, he never uses the word himself. 43  Along with Deleuze, Dupotet is nevertheless labelled a fluidiste (as opposed to the spiritualistes such as Cahagnet, Farra or Billot) in an article by Jules Lovy, published in L’Union Magnétique (1854–1861), 10 July 1857.

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inasmuch as it attempts to hold a middle ground between the physical and the supernatural and to confer to the “power of the soul,” which is supposedly the active force behind his magnetic practice, an individual dimension. It is well known that such a tendency to both individualize and psychologize the “action of the fluid” as well as that of the “spirits” belongs to the zeitgeist of the period and also affects the occultist worldview, as shown by Marco Pasi and others.44 Besides, by frequently presenting the “magnetic force” as an “internal fire,”45 Dupotet would possibly appear to anticipate the mainly Anglo-Saxon magical literature, which extolled a “celestial” or “spiritual fire” as the principal arcane of (sex) magic and/or internal alchemy.46 Nevertheless, we believe his purpose and worldview to actually differ significantly, in this respect and others, from those of writers such as Hargrave Jennings (1817–1890), Helena P. Blavatsky(1831–1891) or Paschal B. Randolph (1825–1875). Conversely, given the level of popularity enjoyed in the spiritualist milieu by Animal Magnetism and, most specifically, by Dupotet’s presentation of it during the second half of the nineteenth century, we cannot help thinking that his focus on themes like “clairvoyance” or the “magic mirror,” and their close relation to “magic” as he understood it, was at least partly responsible for their joint and pervasive presence in slightly later occultist literature and practices, including therapeutic ones. Finally, it is to be remarked that, considering what we wrote above, and contrarily perhaps to expectations, the expression and conceptual category of “magnetic magic” were not promoted by occultists wishing to appropriate Mesmerism. As a matter of fact, they came in fact prominently from magnetizers who, like Dupotet himself, actually intended to distance themselves from their colleagues, whom they perceived in general as overcautious and routinely incapable of actualizing the full scientific and spiritual potential they saw in Animal Magnetism. In order to achieve this ambitious goal, they called on “magic” in order to legitimate their art (or so they thought), sustain its theoretical basis, and enhance the scope and 44  Marco Pasi, “The Modernity of Occultism: Reflections on some Crucial Aspects,” in Hermes in the Academy. Ten Years’ Study of Western Esotericism at the University of Amsterdam, eds. Wouter J. Hanegraaff and Joyce Pijnenburg (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2009), 59–74. 45  Dupotet, La magie dévoilée, 234, 253. 46  John Patrick Deveney, Paschal Beverly Randolph. A Nineteenth Century Black American Spiritualist, Rosicrucian, and Sex Magician (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1997), 137–38; 276–78.

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prestige of its practical accomplishments. Considered from this perspective, Dupotet’s particular brand of Animal Magnetism may be viewed as yet another (although less conspicuous, until recently) chapter in the history of magical literature of the nineteenth century, a chapter well worth studying since, as Alison Butler aptly put it, “it is time to stop apologizing for magic.”47

References Baron, Anne-Marie. 2012. Balzac occulte. Lausanne and Paris: L’Age d’Homme. Ben Nathan, Keleph. 1793. La Philosophie divine. Vol. 3. Lausanne: n.p. Bergé, Christine. 2009–2010. Le corps et la plume. Ecritures mystiques de l’Agent inconnu. Revue d’histoire du XIXe siècle 38: 41–59. https://rh19.revues. org/3867. Accessed 20 Sept 2015. Bray, S., and R.  Sturch, eds. 2009. Charles Williams and his Contemporaries. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Butler, Alison. 2011. Victorian Occultism and the Making of Modern Magic. Invoking Tradition. London and New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Cahagnet, A.-L. 1854. Magie magnétique. Paris: Germer Baillère. Crabtree, Adam. 1993. From Mesmer to Freud. Magnetic Sleep and the Roots of Psychological Healing. New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press. ———. Bibliography. http://www.esalen.org/ctr-­archive/animal_magnetism. html#title. Accessed 27 March 2017. Cuchet, Guillaume. 2012. Les Voix d’outre-tombe. Tables tournantes, spiritisme et société. Paris: Le Seuil. Darnton, Robert. 1968. Mesmerism and the End of the Enlightenment in France. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Delaage, Henri. 1856. Le Monde occulte ou Mystères du Magnétisme. Paris: Dentu. Deveney, John Patrick. 1997. Paschal Beverly Randolph. A Nineteenth Century Black American Spiritualist, Rosicrucian, and Sex Magician. Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Dupotet, Jules. 1845, 1848. Journal du Magnétisme II and VII. ———. 1852. La magie dévoilée ou principes de science occulte. Paris: Imprimerie De Pommeret et Moheau. ———. 1893. La magie dévoilée ou principes de science occulte. 3rd ed. Paris: Librairie Paul Vigot. ———. 1927. Magnetism and Magic. Ed. A.H.E. Lee. London: Allen and Unwin.

47  Alison Butler, Victorian Occultism and the Making of Modern Magic. Invoking Tradition (London and New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), 7.

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Edelman, Nicole. 1995. Somnambulisme, médiumnité et socialisme. Politica Hermetica 9: 108–117. Faivre, Antoine. 2006–2007. Recherches sur les courants ésotériques dans l’Europe moderne et contemporaine. Annuaire de l’Ecole pratique des hautes études – Sciences religieuses 115: 321–328. Göttler, C., and W. Neuber, eds. 2007. Spirits Unseen. The Representation of Subtle Bodies in Early Modern European Culture. Leiden: Brill. Haller, John S., Jr. 2010. Swedenborg, Mesmer and the Mind/Body Connection. The Roots of Complementary Medicine. West Chester, PA: Swedenborg Foundation. Hanegraaff, Wouter J. 2011. Joseph Ennemoser and Magnetic Historiography. Politica Hermetica 25. (Special Issue “Esotérisme et romantisme”): 65–83. ———. 2016. The First Psychonaut? Louis-Alphonse Cahagnet’s Experiments with Narcotics. International Journal for the Study of New Religions 7 (2): 105–123. Joly, Alice. 1962. J.-B. Willermoz et l’Agent Inconnu des Initiés de Lyon. In De l’Agent Inconnu au Philosophe Inconnu, ed. Robert Amadou and Alice Joly, 11–154. Paris: Denoël. Lee, A.H.E., and H. Price. 1921. A Modern Interpretation of Alchemy. London: The Quest. Leonardy, Ernst, Marie-France Renard, Christian Drösch, and Stéphanie Vanasten, eds. 2001. Traces du mesmérisme dans la littérature européenne du XIXè siècle. Brussels: Publications des Facultés universitaires Saint-Louis. Lévi, Eliphas. 1854–1856. Dogme et rituel de la haute magie. Paris: Germer Baillière. ———. 1861. La clé des grands mystères. Paris: Germer Baillière. Méheust, Bertrand. 1999. Somnambulisme et médiumnité. Vol. 2, (I, “Le défi du magnétisme”). Oppenheim, Janet. 1988. The Other World: Spiritualism and Psychical Research in England, 1850–1914. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pasi, Marco. 2009. The Modernity of Occultism: Reflections on some Crucial Aspects. In Hermes in the Academy. Ten Years’ Study of Western Esotericism at the University of Amsterdam, ed. Wouter J. Hanegraaff and Joyce Pijnenburg, 59–74. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Paulet, Jean-Jacques. 1784. L’Antimagnétisme, ou Origine, progrès, décadence, renouvellement et réfutation du magnétisme animal. London: n.p. Peter, Jean-Pierre. 2009–2010. De Mesmer à Puységur. Magnétisme animal et transe somnambulique, à l’origine des thérapies psychiques. Revue d’histoire du XIXe siècle 38: 19–40. https://doi.org/10.4000/rh19.3865. http://rh19. revues.org/3865. Accessed 2 Sept 2015. Poma, Roberto. 2009. Magie et guérison. La rationalité de la médecine magique (XVIe-XVIIe siècles). Paris: Orizons.

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Puységur, Armand Marie Jacques de Chastenet de. 1784. Mémoires pour servir à l’histoire et à l’établissement du magnétisme animal. Paris: Dentu. (3rd most complete edition, 1820). Rattray, Sylvester, ed. 1662. Theatrum sympatheticum. Nuremberg: Johan. Andream Endterum, & Wolfgangi junioris haeredes. Rausky, Franklin. 1977. Mesmer et la révolution thérapeutique. Paris: Payot. Strube, Julian. 2016. Sozialismus, Katholizismus und Okkultismus im Frankreich des 19. Jahrhunderts. Die Genealogie der Schriften von Eliphas Levi. Berlin: De Gruyter. Taves, Ann. 1999. Fits, Trances, and Visions. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Thouret, Michel-Augustin. 1784. Recherches et doutes sur le magnétisme animal. Paris: Prault. Vermeir, Koen. 2015. Guérir ceux qui ont la foi. Le mesmérisme et l’imagination historique. In Mesmer et mesmérismes. Le Magnétisme animal en contexte, ed. Bruno Belhoste and Nicole Edelman, 119–146. Paris: Omniscience. https:// halshs.archives-­ouvertes.fr/halshs-­01454109. Accessed 8 May 2016. de Vigenère, Blaise. 1586. Traicté des chiffres. Paris: Abel L’Angelier. Winter, Alison. 1998. Mesmerized: Powers of Mind in Victorian Britain. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Wirth, Oswald. 1897. L’imposition des mains et la médecine philosophale. Paris: Chamuel.

CHAPTER 8

H. P. Blavatsky’s “Wisdom-Religion” and the Quest for Ancient Wisdom in Western Culture Tim Rudbøg

Helena Petrovna Blavatsky (1831–1891) spent most of her life in the quest for what she believed to be the source of all wisdom, an ancient universal tradition lost to modern man. As it will be shown, she often termed this source the “Wisdom-Religion.” Blavatsky was, however, not the first to engage in such a quest; in fact, since antiquity, many have sought to uncover a universal wisdom tradition. Narratives about such a wisdom and seekers who supposedly found it constitute a repeated story in Western intellectual culture and Western esotericism in particular. The goal of this chapter is to contextualize Blavatsky’s innovative notion of a “Wisdom-Religion” in the history of “ancient wisdom narratives,” especially in a particularly overlooked development that emerged among scholars of mythology and

T. Rudbøg (*) Department of Cross-Cultural and Regional Studies, University of Copenhagen, Copenhagen, Denmark e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 G. D. Hedesan, T. Rudbøg (eds.), Innovation in Esotericism from the Renaissance to the Present, Palgrave Studies in New Religions and Alternative Spiritualities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-67906-4_8

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religion in the seventeenth to the nineteenth centuries. This contextualization will then serve as a basis for analyzing how Blavatsky’s notion was an innovation of earlier versions, while at the same time being a continuation of studies in mythology and religion.1

Ancient Wisdom in Intellectual Culture and Esotericism It has been an ingrained aspect of modern intellectualism to look to the future for a more developed state of humanity; however, this preoccupation with future progress has not always dominated European thought.2 Already in the 1930s, the pioneering historians of ideas Arthur O. Lovejoy and George Boas demonstrated the pervasiveness of the idea of favoring the past over the present in Western culture from antiquity to the Middle Ages, terming it “primitivism” (in the sense of the “original” or the “first”).3 They divided this idea into two general types: “chronological primitivism” and “cultural primitivism.”4 “Chronological primitivism” in the most elaborate sense is a philosophy of history formulated to answer the question: “What is the temporal distribution of good, or value, in the history of mankind, or, more generally, in the entire history of the world?”5 Related to this question, Lovejoy and Boas uncovered many theories of history formulated since antiquity, such as the theory of world cycles, successive progress and decline, and so on. “Cultural primitivism” on the other hand is “the discontent of the civilized with civilization or with some conspicuous and characteristic feature of it.”6 Lovejoy and Boas thus convincingly showed how primitivism in one form or another has been a  This chapter is based on research carried out as part of Tim Rudbøg’s dissertation, supervised by Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke; Tim Rudbøg, “H.P. Blavatsky’s Theosophy in Context: The Construction of Meaning in Modern Western Esotericism” (PhD diss., University of Exeter, 2012). 2  For more on the idea of progress, see John Bagnell Bury, The Idea of Progress: An Inquiry into its Origin and Growth (London: Macmillan and Co., 1920), 144–77, 202–38; Robert Nisbet, History of the Idea of Progress (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers, 1994), 118–70. 3  Arthur O.  Lovejoy and George Boas, Primitivism and Related Ideas in Antiquity (Baltimore, MD and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997 [1935]); George Boas, Primitivism and Related Ideas in the Middle Ages (Baltimore, MD and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997 [1948]). 4  Lovejoy and Boas, Primitivism and Related Ideas in Antiquity, 1–11. 5  Lovejoy and Boas, Primitivism and Related Ideas in Antiquity, 1. 6  Lovejoy and Boas, Primitivism, 7. 1

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­ ominant conception in Western culture. However, Lovejoy and Boaz did d not particularly focus on conceptions of a superior ancient wisdom, which have been central to the history and study of esotericism. Before moving into discussions of some of the main scholarly works dealing with the idea of a superior ancient wisdom, the following concise survey of the idea, as it has been formulated and conveyed from antiquity to the Renaissance, will serve as a useful background.7 In ancient Greece, Hesiod (c. 750–650 BCE) famously formulated, in Works and Days, a mythological-historical account of an original Golden Age where the past was seen, in many ways, as superior to the present.8 Plato (c. 428–347 BCE) is also held to have been in Egypt in 393 BCE in search of a more ancient divine wisdom; and in Timaeus (20b–27) and Critias (108d) he writes about Solon’s visit to Egypt, stating that the priestly tradition has extended over 9000 years of history.9 In this context, he also mentions the tale of Atlantis. Isocrates (c. 385 BCE), a contemporary of Plato, also idealizes Egypt as the origin of philosophy (Busiris, 11.28).10 According to Iamblichus’ account, Pythagoras (c. 570–495 BCE) is also supposed to have spent twenty-two years in Egypt in his quest for original ancient wisdom and in order to be initiated into all their divine mysteries.11 Aristotle (384–322 BCE) thought along the same lines in the Metaphysics (1074a 5–14), where he stated that the ancient ancestors had left an ancient tradition for the benefit of humanity that was however shrouded in fable. Numerous other examples exist, of which we 7  I am not suggesting here that the same idea has travelled through history, but that different thinkers have produced versions of a narrative about an ancient sublime wisdom. 8  See Hesiod, Works and Days, 109–201, https://www.loebclassics.com/view/hesiod-­ works_days/2018/pb_LCL057.95.xml?result=1&rskey=tn0VKM, accessed 23 June 2020; see also Lovejoy and Boas, Primitivism and Related Ideas in Antiquity, 25–32. 9  See Plato, Complete Works, eds. Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1961). Some of the earliest references to Plato’s own alleged travel to Egypt are Cicero, De Republica 1.10.16, https://www.loebclassics.com/view/ marcus_tullius_cicero-de_re_publica/1928/pb_LCL213.33.xml, accessed 23 June 2020; Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers, 3.6, https://www.loebclassics.com/view/ diogenes_laertius-lives_eminent_philosophers_book_iii_plato/1925/pb_LCL184.281. xml?result=16&rskey=iOwTyc, accessed 23 June 2020. 10  Isocrates, Busiris, 11. 28, https://www.loebclassics.com/view/isocrates-­discourses_11_ busiris/1945/pb_LCL373.119.xml?result=1&rskey=36YlSb, accessed 23 June 2020. 11  See Iamblichus, “The Life of Pythagoras,” in The Pythagorean Sourcebook and Library, ed. and trans. Kenneth Sylvan Guthrie (Grand Rapids, MI: Phanes Press, 1987), 61; see also Erik Hornung, The Secret Lore of Egypt: Its Impact on the West (Ithaca, NY and London: Cornell University Press, 2001), 19–25.

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can’t enter into here, but it is worth noting that the Middle Platonist Celsus (second century CE), as a representative of Platonism and paganism, polemically argued against the Christians based on the view that, as they formulated a new religion, they had corrupted and abandoned the one unified ancient wisdom that had been “maintained by the wisest nations from the beginning.”12 Age, authority, knowledge, truth, tradition and purity went hand in hand in this context. In the early Christian context, the idea of ancient wisdom was also embraced as a powerful apologetic device. Instead of disregarding or criticizing pagan philosophies and religions, as Church Fathers such as Tertullian (c. 155–240 CE) and Irenaeus (c. 130–202 CE) did, some sought to polemically incorporate pagan teachings and thinkers within Christianity. Justin Martyr (103–165 CE), for example, argued that Christ is the Universal Logos (“reason,” “word”) and that the great pagan philosophers such as Heraclitus and Socrates got their wisdom from this same Universal Logos.13 In a similar line of thought, Augustine of Hippo (354–430) argued that Christianity existed among the ancients before the Incarnation of the Christ,14 while Clement of Alexandria (c. 150–215 CE) in the Paedagogus stated that “Homer is a prophet without being aware of it.”15 Pseudo-Justin in Cohortatio ad Graecos equally acknowledges the prophetic authority of Orpheus, the Sibyls and Hermes Trismegistus.16 Thus, even though this apologetic trend generally viewed paganism as somewhat distorted and Egypt no longer was the place to go to for ancient wisdom, the pagan sages were regarded as pre-incarnation divine messengers, who had acquired their wisdom if not directly from the Logos, then from the Hebrew Prophets or especially from Moses, as the prime ancient authority.17 12  See Henry Chadwick, “Introduction,” in Origen: Contra Celsum, trans. Henry Chadwick (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965), xvi–xvii. 13  Justin Martyr, Apologies, I, 46, II, 10, https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/0126.htm and https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/0127.htm, accessed 23 June 2020. 14  Augustine of Hippo, The Retractations, ed. Roy Joseph Deferrari, trans. Mary Inez Bogan, The Fathers of the Church 60 (Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 1968), I.xii.3, 52; see also Meredith F. Eller, “The ‘Retractationes’ of Saint Augustine,” Church History 18, no. 3 (1949): 176. 15  Clement of Alexandria, Paedagogus I, 6, 36, 1, quoted in Anonymi Monophysitae Theosophia: An Attempt at Reconstruction, ed. Pier Franco Beatrice (Leiden: Brill, 2001), xxi. 16  See Beatrice, Anonymi, xxi, n.52. 17  See Wouter J. Hanegraaff, “Tradition,” in Dictionary of Gnosis & Western Esotericism, eds. Wouter J. Hanegraaff et al, 2 vols (Leiden: Brill, 2005), II, 1125–35.

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This apologetic tradition and the ancient wisdom narrative continued into the Middle Ages. The Anonymi Monophysitae Theosophia manuscript (early sixth century) is a relevant example of an attempt to show that the oracles of the Greek gods, the theologies and philosophies of the Greek, Persian and Egyptian sages, and the oracles of the Sibyls agree with and can be read in concert with the Christian Scriptures.18 Many of the great names from the prisca theologia tradition, as it was formulated during the Renaissance, are already mentioned alongside each other in the Theosophia. In the thirteenth century, Roger Bacon (c. 1219–1292) likewise continued the ancient wisdom narrative in his major work Opus Majus, which was widely read by intellectuals for centuries to come.19 No wonder then that the Renaissance humanists continued this ancient wisdom narrative; as Wouter Hanegraaff has also noted, Platonism was already ingrained in Christianity and there had already been a significant apologetic tradition attempting to harmonize pagan and Christian knowledge from antiquity to the Late Middle Ages, leading up to the Renaissance.20 Thus, Gemistos Plethon’s (c.1355–1454) pagan revival, Marsilio Ficino’s (1433–1499) divine Christianity, Pico della Mirandola’s (1463–1494) syncretism and their genealogies of the prisci theologi, often regarded as the hallmarks of the ancient wisdom narrative tradition, basically continued the notion of, and quest for, ancient wisdom.21 In modern scholarship, Frances Yates, inspired by D.P. Walker and others, saw the syncretistic prisca theologia project of the Renaissance humanists or the attempt to unify a number of different traditions as a significant aspect of what she termed “the Hermetic tradition.”22 Antoine Faivre and the next generation of scholars, who moved on to use the term “Western esotericism,” maintained that the Renaissance period was of central importance, but the definition of “Western esotericism” as originally formulated  See Beatrice, Anonymi, xix.  Roger Bacon, Opus Majus, 2 vols (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1928), I, 52–68. 20  Hanegraaff, Esotericism and the Academy, 16. 21  See Daniel Pickering Walker, The Ancient Theology: Studies in Christian Platonism from the Fifteenth to the Eighteenth Century (London: Duckworth, 1972); Wilhelm Schmidt-­ Biggemann, Philosophia Perennis: Historical Outlines of Western Spirituality in Ancient, Medieval and Early Modern Thought (Dordrecht: Springer, 2004); Hanegraaff, Esotericism and the Academy, 5–76. 22  Frances A. Yates, Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1964), 14–19. 18 19

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by Antoine Faivre (1992) did not directly include the notion of ancient wisdom as a core defining factor.23 Similarly, Wouter Hanegraaff did not originally focus on the notion of ancient wisdom as defining for Western esotericism, while Kocku von Stuckrad emphasized the discourse of higher knowledge, polemics and the function of genealogies.24 Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke perceived esotericism as a particular worldview with perennial characteristics along the lines of Faivre, but also as an enduring autonomous tradition that interacts with other elements in society.25 Perhaps in this essentialist line of thought Goodrick-Clarke stated that Blavatsky’s Theosophy was a modern reformulation of the prisca theologia or the ancient wisdom tradition.26 Hanegraaff’s Esotericism and the Academy (2012), however, marked a general shift, as in this book the notion of ancient wisdom was placed at the core of what we term Western esotericism.27 Hanegraaff wrote: I have been arguing that the ancient wisdom narrative of the Renaissance, grounded in Platonic Orientalism and patristic apologetics, created the conceptual foundation of the initial “referential corpus” of Western esotericism.28

23  Antoine Faivre included, as is well known, the following four primary characteristics: (1) correspondences, (2) living nature, (3) imagination and mediation, (4) the experience of transmutation, and two circumstantial characteristics: (5) the practice of concordance and (6) transmission. Both (5) and (6) relate to the idea of ancient wisdom, but are not central components of Western esotericism. See Antoine Faivre, “Introduction I,” in Modern Esoteric Spirituality, eds. Antoine Faivre et al. (New York: Crossroad Publishing Company, 1992), xi–xxi. 24  Kocku von Stuckrad, Locations of Knowledge in Medieval and Early Modern Europe, Esoteric Discourse and Western Identities (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 25–42; Kocku von Stuckrad, “Western Esotericism: Towards an Integrative Model of Interpretation,” Religion 35, no. 2 (2005), 78–97. 25  Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke, Western Esoteric Traditions: a Historical Introduction (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2008), 13. 26   Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke, “The Coming of the Masters: The Evolutionary Reformulation of Spiritual Intermediaries in Modern Theosophy,” in Constructing Tradition: Means and Myths of Transmission in Western Esotericism, ed. Andreas B. Kilcher, Aries Book Series 11 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 114. 27  Wouter J.  Hanegraaff, Esotericism and the Academy: Rejected Knowledge in Western Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 73. 28  Hanegraaff, Esotericism and the Academy, 73.

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While Hanegraaff mentions that the wisdom narrative continued as a religious conviction and can still be found among newer religions today,29 his account generally follows earlier scholarly accounts of the prisca theologia that end the ancient wisdom narrative around the time of Isaac Casaubon (1559–1614), consequently turning his attention to its critics and dominant counter narratives.30 The following sections will, however, show how the ancient wisdom narrative continued beyond Casaubon’s philological punctuation of the argument that the Corpus Hermeticum was ancient Egyptian wisdom dating far into antiquity.31 First, the vastly overlooked studies of mythology and religion that emerged in the seventeenth to nineteenth centuries will be explored, and, thereafter, how the narrative, on this basis, innovatively reemerged as a prominent aspect of Blavatsky’s modern esotericism. The Continued Quest for the Ancient Wisdom (Seventeenth to Nineteenth Centuries) From the Italian humanists, the ancient wisdom narrative moved northward with Johannes Reuchlin (1455–1522) and Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa (1486–1535). In the following century, the Cambridge Platonist Ralph Cudworth’s (1617–1688) True Intellectual System of the Universe (1678 [completed in 1671]) became a bridge between the Latin concept of prisca theologia and the new preoccupation with antiquarianism and the study of ancient mythology and Orientalism that emerged around Europe at the time.32 The prisca theologia of Ficino and the extensive knowledge of ancient religions and philosophies informed Cudworth’s work in its attempt to disprove atheism and to prove the existence of a primeval monotheism common to all men.33 In her quest for ancient knowledge,  Hanegraaff, Esotericism and the Academy, 75–76.  See Hanegraaff, Esotericism and the Academy, chapters 2 and 3. 31  Florian Ebeling, The Secret History of Hermes Trismegistus: Hermeticism from Ancient to Modern Times, trans. David Lorton (Ithaca, NY and London: Cornell University Press, 2007), 91–93. 32  Ralph Cudworth, The True Intellectual System of the Universe, ed. J. L. Mosheim, trans. John Harrison [3rd edn], 3 vols (London: Thomas Tegg, 1845). 33  On this topic, see Charles C.  Taliaferro, Cambridge Platonist Spirituality (New York: Paulist Press, 2004), 20–25; Robin Atfield, “Cudworth, Prior and Passmore on the Autonomy of Ethics,” in Platonism at the Origins of Modernity: Studies on Platonism and Early Modernity: Studies on Platonism and Early Modern Philosophy, eds. Douglas Hedley et al (Dordrecht: Springer, 2008), 141. 29 30

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Blavatsky later used Cudworth’s work as an authority as it was virtually a gold mine of ancient knowledge and references.34 As part of the same trend of disproving atheism, several early eighteenth-century scholars such as Joseph-François Lafitau (1681–1746) and Andrew Michael Ramsay (1686–1753) furthered the idea of an ancient universal religion. In Moeurs des sauvages Ameriquains comparées aux moeurs des premiers temps (Manners of the American Indians Compared to the Customs of Early Times) (1724), Lafitau sought to explore the most ancient of religions35 and found that all religions, even those of more recent times and of the “Barbarians,” showed such great conformity that they all had to be based on the same principles.36 Lafitau believed that, even prior to Moses, a common “system” of a holy religion had existed, which had emanated directly from God to the first human forefathers; he argued that this “system” had to be as old as mankind itself.37 The primeval universal religious system, however, became distorted as it was handed down from generation to generation; still, despite such corruption, as humans spread across the globe they brought the fundamental principles with them.38 Like Cudworth, Ramsay, who was one of the first to study the Asian religions, argued for the existence of an original monotheism.39 In particular, Ramsay’s second part of his Les voyages de Cyrus, avec un discours sur la mythologie (The Voyages of Cyrus, with a Discourse on Mythology) (1727) was dedicated to the study of the universal principles of the “ancient theology” in the myths of all nations.40 Similar to like-minded thinkers, Ramsay argued that the original divine prediluvian theology had been distorted 34  See Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, “The Eastern Gupta Vidyā and The Kabbalah,” in Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, Collected Writings, XIV (Wheaton, IL: The Theosophical Publishing House, 1950–1991 (1995)) 167–91 (186), later references to Blavatsky’s Collected Writings will use the following abbreviation: HPB … in HPBCW; Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, The Secret Doctrine: The Synthesis of Science, Religion and Philosophy, 2 vols (London: The Theosophical Publishing Company, 1888), II, 159; Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled: A Master-Key To The Mysteries Of Ancient And Modern Science And Theology, 2 vols (New York: Bouton, 1877), I, 251. 35  Joseph-François Lafitau, Moeurs des sauvages Ameriquains comparées aux moeurs des premiers temps (Paris: Saugrain, 1724), 3. 36  Lafitau, Moeurs, 7. 37  Lafitau, Moeurs, 14. 38  Lafitau, Moeurs, 14, 15. 39  Andrew Michael Ramsay, Les voyages de Cyrus, avec un Discours sur la Mythologie, ed. Georges Lamoine (Paris: Honoré Champion, 2002 [1727]), 177. 40  Ramsay, Les voyages, 177; see also Walker, The Ancient Theology, 231–63.

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throughout history. He pointed to Plato’s theory of the three ages and regarded this as a universal notion.41 To Ramsay, the study of the ancient religions and myths of all nations was just as important as the Old Testament, because the closer one came to the origin of these, the closer one came to the purest form of religion.42 Ramsay furthermore argued that the religious texts of ancient India, which were common to many of the most ancient ideas of Persia, Egypt, China and Greece, were perhaps the oldest.43 In his very popular and influential work A New System, or, an Analysis of Ancient Mythology (1774–1776), Jacob Bryant (1715–1804) chose to base his study of ancient mythology on the stories narrated in Genesis, supported by the writings of the “gentiles.”44 To Bryant, as to his predecessors, most if not all of the world’s mythologies and rites were basically similar, and this similarity was due to their common origin.45 Bryant however argued that the common religion or mythology originated in historical or post-deluge times with the descendants of Noah’s son Ham, or the so-called Amonians, who had spread the basic system of religious truths and mythology across the world, and that most mythologies centered on the story of the deluge.46 Bryant also stated that the descendants of Ham had originally deified him as the Sun; thus, the Egyptian Sun worship of the god Amon was an early deification of Ham, hence the name “Amonians.”47 Each civilization that arose after Ham’s time might have had its own local formulation of the original religious ideas or myths, but Bryant believed that, through close analysis of the Babylonians, Chaldeans, Egyptians, Canaanites, Helladians, Ionians, Leleges, Dorians and Pelasgi, he could show their similarity and common origin. His scholarship intended to divest mythology of every foreign and unmeaning ornament; and to show, that all the rites and mysteries of the Gentiles were only so many

 Ramsay, Les voyages, 177, 200.  Ramsay, Les voyages, 210. 43  Ramsay, Les voyages, 210. 44  Jacob Bryant, A New System, or, an Analysis of Ancient Mythology, 3 vols (London: T. Payne, 1774–1776), I, v. 45  Bryant, A New System, I, vi–vii. 46  Bryant, A New System, I, vi–vii, xii–xiii. 47  Bryant, A New System, I, vii. 41 42

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memories of their ancestors; and of the great occurrences, to which they had been witnesses.48

Blavatsky used Bryant’s work in her discussions of ancient mythology, but criticized Bryant’s notion that Noah was the supposed prototype of all the sages who bestowed the original wisdom to mankind (including all the pagans such as Hermes, Orpheus, Cadmus, Asclepius, the demi-gods and heroes).49 Jean-Sylvain Bailly’s (1736–1793) important historical work Histoire de l’astronomie ancienne (History of Ancient Astronomy) (1775) was the first to propose the idea of an original “peuple instituteur” (“instructor people”) who once had taught mankind religion and the sciences.50 In his letters to Voltaire (1694–1778), he furthermore argued that the common cradle of man was in India, an idea Voltaire also entertained.51 The ancient Indians had thus been instructed by the original “instructor people” in a pure form of monotheism, a sublime philosophy; from ancient India, humanity had spread across the globe and brought their common traditions with them.52 The original wisdom had, however, degenerated into materialism and various distorted religious cults.53 Like others, Bailly believed that the original principles of the pure religion of the Golden Age and ancient India could be reconstructed through historical study.54 Bailly’s works and ideas were central to Blavatsky’s own construction of ancient knowledge and occult history. Particularly in The Secret Doctrine (1888), she discussed Bailly’s ideas and referred numerous times to his works.55 Bailly’s notions of an original “instructor people,” higher ancient knowledge, India as an early center of wisdom, the preservation of ancient  Bryant, A New System, I, xiii.  See Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, I, 359–60; II, 364, 444, 483. 50  This idea is of course ancient and can be found in both The Book of Enoch and Gilgamesh among many other ancient works; however, see also Manfred Petri, Die Urvolkhypothese: ein Beitrag zum Geschichtsdenken der Spätaufklärung und des deutschen Idealismus (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1990), 120; Jean Sylvain Bailly, Lettres sur l’origine des sciences, et sur celle des peuples de l’Asie (Paris: Debure, 1777), 204, see also 205, 208. 51  Bailly, Lettres, 204. 52  Bailly, Lettres, 203; Jean Sylvain Bailly, Histoire de L’Astronomie Ancienne (Paris: Debure, 1775), 17–18. 53  Bailly, Lettres, 205, 210. 54  Bailly, Lettres, 214. 55  In Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, II, 742–43. See also Blavatsky, The Secret Doctrine, II, 264–65. 48 49

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wisdom, and lost continents, entered Blavatsky’s own construction and innovations of the ancient wisdom narrative. The great Orientalist William Jones (1746–1794), who was also a great source of information on oriental religions for Blavatsky,56 had also keenly read many of the works of the above-mentioned scholars, especially the works of Bailly, and repeated many of their observations in his early article “On the Gods of Greece, Italy, and India” (1784).57 Jones argued that the different systems of polytheism witnessed in the religions of the ancient Greeks, Italians and Hindus (and those of Egypt, China, Persia, Phrygia, Phoenicia, Syria, America and the “Gothic system” of Northern Europe, which were basically the same, just in another dress), are too similar for them to be accidental.58 Thus, all the polytheistic religions and myths had a common source, which was not the true primeval religion but a deviation from it, because the original religion consisted of “the rational adoration of the only true GOD,” in other words, monotheism.59 Charles-François Dupuis (1742–1809) took another approach in his Origine de tous les Cultes, ou Religion Universelle (Origin of All Cults, or Universal Religion) (1795). Instead of seeking for a common origin in the biblical account of Noah or an original ancient people, he thought that all religious myths were derived from common astronomical observations.60 The well-known scholar of esotericism Joscelyn Godwin has noted that [i]n his earlier Mémoire, Dupuis had said that man’s first error—meaning the first divergence from a primordially revealed religion—was embodied in the first inscription on the temple of Isis at Saïs: “I am that which was, is, and will be. No mortal has yet lifted my veil.” He promised that his larger work 56  See Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, I, 57, 379, 380, 623; II, 48. Blavatsky was however also critical of Jones’ Christian interpolations of Hindu texts, see Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, I, xxx–xxxi. 57  This was written in 1784 and revised later, before publication in the first volume of the Asiatick Researches; however, see William Jones, “On the Gods of Greece, Italy, and India,” in The Works of Sir William Jones, ed. Anna Maria Jones-Shipley, 13 vols (London: John Stockdale, 1807), III, 319–97. 58  Jones, “On the Gods,” 319–20. 59  Jones, “On the Gods,” 320. For more on Jones and his reception of the idea of a primeval religion from many of the above-mentioned scholars, see Urs App, “William Jones’s Ancient Theology,” Sino-Platonic Papers 191 (2009): 1–125. Parts of the material and inspiration for this chapter have been derived from App’s excellent work. 60  Charles Dupuis, Origine de tous les Cultes, ou Religion Universelle, 3 vols (Paris: H. Agasse, An III [1795]).

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would develop the theme […] thus he stands first in the line of self-­ proclaimed unveilers of Isis, which would include Godfrey Higgins […,] J.C. Colquhoun […], W. Winwood Reade […], and H.P. Blavatsky.61

Dupuis’ astronomical approach no doubt initiated a whole series of works that sought the original principle of all religions in solar myths and phallicism.62 Blavatsky, however, did not agree with Dupuis’ emphasis that astronomy alone could explain all the esoteric symbolism of the ancients, as she came to believe that there were at least seven keys to their mysteries.63 In his highly acclaimed Philosophy of History (1829), Friederich von Schlegel (1772–1829) asserted, just as Blavatsky did later, that a primeval revelation of the highest intellectual wisdom had been given to mankind.64 According to Schlegel, this wisdom had, however, degenerated through history: As the sacred knowledge derived from revelation flowed on every side, and in copious streams over the succeeding generations of men, the ancient and holy traditions were soon disfigured and covered over with fictions and fables.65

The distortion of the primeval wisdom that followed led to the development of confused religious myths and symbols and to the so-called Babylonian confusion of languages.66 Yet, even after the Fall, it was possible to spot the common divine elements in the multifarious religious traditions.67 Schlegel operated within the Christian framework as most scholars did at the time, and therefore argued that the rise of Christianity during the first centuries of the Common Era was a restoration of the primeval wisdom revelation. It was the task of the modern science of history and of religion to recover and reconstruct the true ancient religion  Joscelyn Godwin, The Theosophical Enlightenment (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1994), 32.  Godwin deals with this extensively, see Godwin, Theosophical Enlightenment. 63  Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled, I, 24. See also Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, I, xxxviii, 155n, 310–11, 318, 323, 325, 341, 363; II, 99, 291n, 471, 517, 523, 632, 795, 797. 64  Frederick [Friederich] von Schlegel, The Philosophy of History: In a Course of Lectures delivered at Vienna, trans. James Burton Robertson (London: Henry G.  Bohn, 1859), 59–60. Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, II, 198, 351–78. 65  Schlegel, Philosophy of History, 59. 66  Schlegel, Philosophy of History, 59. 67  Blavatsky also asserted that one could spot the original religion behind the myths, Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, II, 449–641. 61 62

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from beneath the “heathen fictions”—a view which later Blavatsky fundamentally reversed in Isis Unveiled (1877).68 At the beginning of the nineteenth century, George Stanley Faber (1773–1854), the next great scholar of mythology, reoriented the quest for origins to the biblical account in his major work The Origin of Pagan Idolatry (1816). Like previous scholars and like Blavatsky later, Faber observed that [t]he various systems of Pagan Idolatry in the different parts of the world correspond so closely, that they cannot have been struck out independently in the several countries where they have been established, but must have all originated from a common source.69

Faber asked himself how this could have been possible, and concluded that it must have been because all nations “in their infancy of the world have been assembled together in a single region and in a single community” and thereafter they were dispersed to all quarters of the globe.70 Faber’s main focus was thus on the dispersion and the theology of the Gentiles after the period of the Tower of Babel.71 Blavatsky used Faber’s work and his arguments for a common religion to support her own view of an ancient and universal religion,72 and also used his first great work A Dissertation on the Mysteries of the Cabiri (1803)73 as a source of comparative mythology and ancient history; however, she did not agree with Faber that the myths of the Hindus were later perversions of the biblical account.74 Georg Friedrich Creuzer’s (1771–1858) Symbolik und Mythologie der alten Völker, besonders der Griechen (Symbolism and Mythology of the Ancient 68  Schlegel, Philosophy of History, 60. One of the purposes of Blavatsky’s Isis Unveiled (especially the second volume) was to show how Christianity had distorted ancient pagan wisdom and thereby altered the original wisdom-religion, see Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled, II, 97–109. 69   George Stanley Faber, The Origin of Pagan Idolatry Ascertained from Historical Testimony and Circumstantial Evidence, 3 vols (London: A. J. Valpy, 1816), I, vii. 70  Faber, Origin of Pagan Idolatry, I, viii, 60–82. 71  Faber, Origin of Pagan Idolatry, I, ix. 72  Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, II, 460n, 472. 73  Full title: A dissertation on the mysteries of the Cabiri; or, The great gods of Phenicia, Samothrace, Egypt, Troas, Greece, Italy, and Crete; being an attempt to deduce the several orgies of Isis, Ceres, Mithras, Bacchus, Rhea, Adonis, and Hecate, from a union of the rites commemorative of the deluge with the adoration of the hosts of heaven. 74  Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, II, 142–43, 264–65, 360.

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Peoples, Especially the Greeks) (1810–1812, 2nd edn 1819, 3rd edn 1837) was one of the last large-scale works to trace the common origin of all mythology and symbolism.75 In this work, which Blavatsky held in high regard, Creuzer argued, firstly, that the original common revelation was specifically located in ancient India; secondly, that the highest form of Greek religion, represented by the mysteries and Neoplatonism, was derived from India; and thirdly, that popular Greek religion was a degraded form of polytheistic mythology.76 Creuzer argued that the primeval revelation appeared in symbols; however, only the initiated wise men, the priests, were able to understand them. Symbolism was a high state of cognition in which spirit and matter still retained their unity just like when we learn directly, in an instant, by observing an image.77 The priests reformulated the divine symbolism into stories so that the masses would understand, thus creating various myths. Creuzer concluded that the myths had a common origin in the original divine symbolism, but were in reality only the exterior form of symbolism. Furthermore, while the symbols embody monotheism, the myths represent polytheism at a lower level of truth.78 Creuzer, whom Blavatsky called the “greatest of the symbologists of his time, the most learned among the masses of erudite German mythologists,” was clearly a great source of inspiration to her.79 Against the new generation of critics, Blavatsky would use Creuzer’s confirmation of the existence of ancient esoteric knowledge and initiated priests possessing it. His work had in fact sparked a new critical generation of classicists and philologists who would redefine the historical approach to mythology, the classics and ancient religion, such as Johann Gottfried Jakob Hermann (1772–1848), Johann Heinrich Voss (1751–1826), Karl Otfried Müller (1797–1840) and Christian Lobeck (1781–1860). 75  Georg Friedrich Creuzer, Symbolik und Mythologie der alten Völker, besonders der Griechen, 3 vols (Leipzig: Heyer und Leske, 1810–1812) [enlarged and corr. 2nd edn 1819; 3rd edn 1837]; Walter Burkert, Greek Religion: Archaic and Classical (Oxford: Basil Blackwell Publishers, 1985), 1. 76  Creuzer, Symbolik und Mythologie, I, 208–09; see also The Rise of Modern Mythology: 1680–1860, Burton Feldman et al (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1972), 388; Edward Allen Beach, The Potencies of God(s): Schelling’s Philosophy of Mythology (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1994), 21–23. 77  Feldman, Rise of Modern Mythology, 388. 78  Feldman, Rise of Modern Mythology, 388. 79  HPB, “The Denials and the Mistakes of the Nineteenth Century,” in HPBCW, XIII, 227, 228; Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, II, 285.

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Lobeck’s Aglaophamus, sive, De theologiae mysticae Graecorum causis libri tres (Aglaophamus, or, Greek Mystical Theology, Explained in Three Books) (1829) became particularly influential as, on one hand, it marked the beginning of the modern philology of Greek religion,80 and, on the other hand, it counteracted Creuzer’s most central theses—that the mysteries were derived from India and that a profound esoteric religion only understood by priests had existed. According to Lobeck, such esoteric religion had never existed in ancient Greece; the mysteries consisted of banalities and had not significantly influenced the early Greek philosophers; the Neoplatonists were charlatans, and the Oriental elements were merely later interpolations.81 Lobeck’s work thus demystified the ancient religions, especially the Greek, in much the same way as Casaubon had historically demystified the history and significance of the Corpus Hermeticum, central to the Renaissance prisca theologia, in his De rebus sacris et ecclesiasticis exercitationes XVI (Church Matters and Other Religious Practices 16) (1614).82 In rounding off this section of the continued quest for ancient wisdom among the scholars of mythology, religion and Orientalism, it is relevant to note that a number of related sub-contexts emerged, which continued the interest in the ancient wisdom and led directly up to Blavatsky’s innovations. Pagan revivalists, such as Thomas Taylor (1758–1835), the modern Platonist and translator of Aristotle and Plato, argued for the superiority of ancient pagan wisdom.83 Secret histories of magicians and ancient sages being the custodians of the absolute science of magic (“la haute science, la science absolue, c’est la magie”) rather than the science of the devil (“science du diable”) were also formulated by modern occultists such as Eliphas Lévi, as exemplified by his famous Histoire de La Magie (1860).84 Many 80  Chr. Augustus Lobeck, Aglaophamus, sive, De theologiae mysticae Graecorum causis libri tres (Königsberg: Fratrum Borntraeger, 1829); Walter Burkert, “Griechische Mythologie une die Geistgeschichte der Moderne,” in Les études classiques aux XIXe et XXe siècles: leur place dans l’histoire des idées, eds. O. Reverdin and B. Grange (Genève: Fondation Hardt, 1980), 162–63. 81  Lobeck, Aglaophamus, vi, viii, 4–10, 632–33. 82  See Florian Ebeling, The Secret History of Hermes Trismegitus: Hermeticism from Ancient to Modern Times, trans. David Lorton (Ithaca, NY and London: Cornell University Press, 2007), 91–114. 83  See Kathleen Raine, ed., Thomas Taylor the Platonist: Selected Writings (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1969). For Blavatsky’s praise of Taylor see Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled, II, 109. 84  Éliphas Lévi, Histoire de La Magie (Paris: Germer Baillére, 1860), 3, 9.

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works by so-called mythographers and nineteenth-century popularizers of the study of mythology, as explored in Jocelyn Godwin’s Theosophical Enlightenment (1994) and Rudbøg’s “H.  P. Blavatsky’s Theosophy in Context” (2012), such as Godfrey Higgins’ (1772–1833) Anacalypsis: An Attempt to Draw Aside the Veil of the Saitic Isis; or an Inquiry into the Origin of Languages, Nations and Religions (1833–1836) and Louis Jacolliot’s (1837–1890) La Bible dans l’Inde, ou la vie de lezeus Christna (1869), equally inspired Blavatsky and promoted the idea of an ancient wisdom during this time.85

Blavatsky’s Innovations in the Continued Quest for Ancient Wisdom At the core of Blavatsky’s work is a version of the ancient wisdom narrative that is directly informed by the above-mentioned context and sub-­ contexts. In relation to this, it is important to note that Blavatsky did not, as scholars of Western esotericism have commonly asserted, base her “Wisdom-Religion” on the concept of the prisca theologia as defined by Ficino, Pico and other humanists during the Renaissance.86 In fact, nowhere in her works does Blavatsky use the Latin terms, and she only 85  Godfrey Higgins, Anacalypsis: An Attempt to Draw Aside the Veil of the Saitic Isis; or an Inquiry into the Origin of Languages, Nations and Religions, 2 vols (New York: Macy-Masius Publishers, 1927 [1833–1836]), I, xx–xxi, 187–90, 204, 234, 308, 444, 518, 533, 629, 699, 700, 731–33, 755, 786, 796, 807, 808, 822, 825; II, 128, 307, 343, 441. Louis Jacolliot, La Bible dans l’Inde, ou la vie de lezeus Christna (Paris: Lacroix, 1869), 4–6. For the many mythographers during the nineteenth century, see Godwin, Theosophical Enlightenment; Rudbøg, “H.P. Blavatsky’s Theosophy in Context,” 198–200, 218–24. See also Hanegraaff, Esotericism and the Academy, 239–51. 86  Goodrick-Clarke, “The Coming of the Masters,” 114–15; Goodrick-Clarke, Western Esoteric Traditions, 212; Brendan French, The Theosophical Masters: An Investigation into the Conceptual Domains of H. P. Blavatsky and C. W. Leadbeater, 2 vols (PhD diss., University of Sydney, 2000), 57, 230–35; Jeffery D.  Lavoie, The Theosophical Society: The History of a Spiritualist Movement (Boca Raton, FL: BrownWalker Press, 2012), 169–70; Wouter J. Hanegraaff, New Age Religion and Western Culture: Esotericism in the Mirror of Secular Thought (New York: SUNY, 1998 [1996]), 390, n.32; James Santucci, “Does Theosophy Exist in The Theosophical Society,” in Ésotérisme, gnoses & imaginaire symbolique: mélanges offerts à Antoine Faivre, eds. Richard Caron et al., Gnostica 3 (Leuven: Peeters Publishers, 2001), 478, 484; see also Tim Rudbøg, “Helena Petrovna Blavatsky’s Esoteric Tradition,” in Constructing Tradition: Means and Myths of Transmission in Western Esotericism, ed. Andreas B. Kilcher, Aries Book Series 11 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 164; for more details on the prisca theologia see Hanegraaff, “Tradition,” 1125–35; Walker, Ancient Theology.

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mentions Marcilius Ficinus (Marsilio Ficino) a few times in Isis Unveiled (1877), always critically. Generally, she seems unaware of the wider implications of his work for the prisca theologia tradition.87 Furthermore, while many Renaissance humanists sought to harmoniously unify the so-called prisca theologia with Christianity, Blavatsky’s program was to some extent intended to prove the reverse, that is, that an ancient pure wisdom had existed before the advent of Christianity, and that the Christian dogmas, especially of the Roman Catholic Church, were, in fact, nothing but distorted imitations of the principles of this more ancient wisdom.88 Blavatsky was aware that the ancient wisdom narrative had fallen out of favor among the new philologists, but she did not approve of or accept this trend. Already in Isis Unveiled, Blavatsky responded to the new construction or reinterpretation of ancient religion and philosophy and was continually critical of the modern scholarly denial of esotericism in antiquity and of the low opinion which the new generation of scholars held of the ancients.89 The following poignant statement by Blavatsky in the “Introductory” to the posthumously published third volume of The Secret Doctrine (1897) concisely states Blavatsky’s general critique of modern authorities: According to the modest claims of contemporary authority on genuine Science and Philosophy, the Tree of Knowledge has only now sprung from the dead weeds of superstition, as a beautiful butterfly emerges from an ugly grub. We have, therefore, nothing for which to thank our forefathers. The Ancients have at best prepared and fertilized the soil; it is the Moderns who have planted the seeds of knowledge and reared the lovely plants called blank negation and sterile agnosticism.

 See Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled, I, 8, 244n, 385, 407.  See Tim Rudbøg, H.P. Blavatsky’s Theosophy, chapter 2.3. 89  See Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled, I, xii, “The philosophy of Plato, we are assured by Porphyry, of the Neoplatonic School was taught and illustrated in the MYSTERIES. Many have questioned and even denied this; and Lobeck, in his Aglaophomus, has gone to the extreme of representing the sacred orgies as little more than an empty show to captivate the imagination. As though Athens and Greece would for twenty centuries and more have repaired every fifth year to Eleusis to witness a solemn religious farce! Augustine, the papa-bishop of Hippo, has resolved such assertions. He declares that the doctrines of the Alexandrian Platonists were the original esoteric doctrines of the first followers of Plato, and describes Plotinus as a Plato resuscitated. He also explains the motives of the great philosopher for veiling the interior sense of what he taught.” 87 88

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Such, however, is not the view taken by Theosophists. […] It is not sufficient to speak of the “untenable conceptions of an uncultured past” (Tyndall); of the “parler enfantin” of the Vaidic poets (Max Müller); of the “absurdities” of the Neo-Platonists (Jowett [and Lobeck]); and of the ignorance of the Chaldaeo-Assyrian initiated Priests with regard to their own symbols, when compared with the knowledge thereon of the British Orientalist (Sayce). Such assumptions have to be proven by something more solid than the mere word of these scholars.90

Blavatsky was, however, bolder in her claims than her predecessors and contemporaries by asserting that her work, The Secret Doctrine (1888), actually contained elements of the original universal religious system, not just an indication of its existence. Blavatsky’s The Secret Doctrine was supposed to be the demonstration of the most ancient system, which previous generations of scholars had searched for and had tried to reconstruct for over a century. The way Blavatsky substantiated this claim was not only by employing the scholarly key of comparative analysis, but also by confidently asserting that the original “Wisdom-Religion” had been lost to the masses only. Throughout the ages, it had been preserved by initiates in secret brotherhoods and secretly handed down through history.91 Blavatsky’s “Wisdom-Religion” Blavatsky used a number of concepts that directly relate to the notion of ancient wisdom, including the term theosophy.92 However, the concept Blavatsky most directly and innovatively connected  to the notion of an ancient wisdom is the “Wisdom-Religion,” a concept first developed by Blavatsky in Isis Unveiled (1877) and elaborated on throughout her life. In Isis Unveiled, Blavatsky introduced the concept “Wisdom-Religion” already in its first pages: “Our work, then is a plea for the recognition of the Hermetic philosophy, the anciently universal Wisdom-Religion, as the only possible key to the Absolute in science and theology.”93 The idea introduced here is that the so-called Wisdom-Religion is an ancient tradition and the only solution to reconciling the nineteenth-century conflict 90  HPB, “Introductory,” in HPBCW, XIV, 5–6; see also HPB, “The Denials and the Mistakes of the Nineteenth Century,” HPBCW, XIII, 224–42. 91  Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, I, xx–xlvii, 272–73. 92  See Rudbøg, “H.P. Blavatsky’s Theosophy”, chapter 2.1. 93  Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled, I, vii.

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between science and religion. The “Wisdom-Religion” was, furthermore, presented as the primeval source from which all the world religions derived their ideas, and as the profoundest of all philosophies.94 According to Blavatsky, this “Religion” seems to be preserved in certain sacred books; it was and is kept secret, but still studied among initiates in the Orient95; it is somewhat identical to esoteric Buddhism; and its first traces in known history can be found in what Blavatsky termed pre-Vedic Brahmanism.96 She links the latter with a pre-schismatic Zoroastrianism in India, and claims it to be simultaneously identical to the secret doctrines of the “Magi,” the “Chaldean kabalists,” the “Jewish Nazars” and the “hierophants of the Egyptian Thoth or Hermes.”97 In her concluding remarks in Isis Unveiled, Blavatsky sums up her stance with regard to the Wisdom-Religion in the following way: Our examination of the multitudinous religious faiths that mankind, early and late, have professed, most assuredly indicates that they have all been derived from one primitive source [i.e. the wisdom-religion]. … As the white ray of light is decomposed by the prism into the various colors of the solar spectrum, so the beam of divine truth [i.e. presumably the wisdom-­ religion], in passing through the three-sided prism of man’s nature, has been broken up into vari-colored fragments called RELIGIONS.  And, as the rays of the spectrum, by imperceptible shadings, merge into each other, so the great theologies that have appeared at different degrees of divergence from the original source, have been connected by minor schisms, schools, and off-shoots from the one side or the other. Combined, their aggregate represents one eternal truth [i.e. the wisdom-religion]; separate, they are but shades of human error and the signs of imperfection.98

While Blavatsky’s concept here included the connotation of a transcendental divine wisdom directly based on Godfrey Higgins’ work 94  Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled, II, 39, 216. This idea is also found in The Letters of H. P. Blavatsky 1861–1879, eds. John Algeo et al. (Wheaton, IL: Quest Books, The Theosophical Publishing House, 2003), I, “Letter 58,” 201. 95  Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled, II, 392. 96  Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled, II, 142, 289, 392, 417. 97  Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled, II, 39, 142. 98  Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled, II, 639 [brackets are mine]. Compare with HPB, “Editor’s Note to ‘Drama of the Latter Days,’” in HPBCW, VI, 183; HPB, “Neo-Buddhism,” in HPBCW, XII, 347; Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, The Key to Theosophy (London: The Theosophical Publishing Company, [1889]), 58.

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(Anacalypsis) and concept of “wisdom,”99 the term is often, as shown above, used to express the first manifestation of this wisdom in history, or the historical source of all religions. This historical aspect is clearly expressed when Blavatsky writes: As cycle succeeded cycle, and one nation after another came upon the world’s stage to play its brief part in the majestic drama of human life, each new people evolved from ancestral traditions its own religion, giving it a local color, and stamping it with its individual characteristics. While each of these religions had its distinguishing traits, […] all preserved a common likeness to one prototype. This parent cult was none other than the primitive “wisdom-religion.”100

In this quote, the “wisdom-religion” is distinctly historical and of the highest value, as it was the original source of all religions. This is furthermore attested in Isis Unveiled when Blavatsky specifies that “In the sublime and profoundest of all philosophies, that of the universal “Wisdom-­ Religion,” the first traces of which, historical research now finds in the old pre-Vedic religion of India.”101 Blavatsky thus identified the first historical traces of the “wisdom-religion” as “pre-Vedic Brahmanism” and the “pre-­ Vedic religion of India.”102 Blavatsky laid great emphasis in Isis Unveiled on the importance of such a Pre-Vedic civilization as the source of the Egyptian and subsequent civilizations: It is on the strength of such circumstantial evidence—that of reason and logic—that we affirm that, if Egypt furnished Greece with her civilization, 99  See Higgins, Anacalypsis, I, xx–xxi, 187–90, 204, 234, 308, 444, 518, 533, 629, 699, 700, 731–33, 755, 786, 796, 807, 808, 822, 825; II, 128, 307, 343, 441. 100  Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled, II, 216. This idea was re-stated on multiple occasions thereafter, see for example HPB, “Editor’s Note to ‘Drama of the Latter Days,’” in HPBCW, VI, 183; HPB, “Re-classification of Principles,” in HPBCW, VII, 347; HPB, “Is Theosophy a Religion?,” in HPBCW, X, 166–67, 169; HPB, “Philosophers and Philosophicules,” in HPBCW, XI, 432; HPB, “Mistaken Notions on The Secret Doctrine,” in HPBCW, XII, 234; Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, The Theosophical Glossary (London: The Theosophical Publishing Society, 1892), 328. 101  Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled, II, 39, 142, 639. 102  The idea of an ancient Indian source of wisdom had been greatly emphasized by Louis Jacolliot, whose work Blavatsky used extensively, see Louis Jacolliot, Le Spiritisme Dans Le Monde (Paris: Librairie Marpon & Flammarion, 1892 [1875]), 1–3; Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled, II, 38, see also 263–65; Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke, Helena Blavatsky (Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books, 2004), 76.

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and the latter bequeathed hers to Rome, Egypt herself had, in those unknown ages when Menes reigned received her laws, her social institutions, her arts and her sciences, from pre-Vedic India; and that therefore, it is in that old initiatrix of the priests—adepts of all the other countries—we must seek for the key to the great mysteries of humanity.103

Blavatsky’s self-proclaimed project was to revive this original ancient wisdom—a project she continued in her second major work, The Secret Doctrine: “The aim of this work may be thus stated: to rescue from degradation the archaic truths which are the basis of all religions; and to uncover, to some extent, the fundamental unity from which they all spring.”104 Throughout the years, especially in The Secret Doctrine and articles published around the time of its publication, Blavatsky innovatively developed an esoteric historiography of the historical origin, development, demise, nature and historical traces of the so-called “Wisdom-Religion.”105 In The Secret Doctrine, Blavatsky maintained that the primeval source once was the common religion of all mankind,106 and that mankind also at an early point in history shared the same “universal mystery language.”107 This primeval source of all religions or the “Wisdom-Religion” is now the common inheritance of all mankind, the elements of which can still be found in the symbolism and mythologies of the religions and philosophies of antiquity, hence the great emphasis placed on the comparative method in the study of religions by Blavatsky and Theosophists in general.108 The scope of The Secret Doctrine, however, drops the Christian frame of previous narratives and stretches much deeper into an esoteric historiography by placing the origins and transmission of the “Wisdom-Religion” in

 Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled, I, 589; see also II, 435.  Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, I, viii. 105  By “esoteric historiography” is here meant Blavatsky’s construction of an account of history that was in accordance with her own belief system rather than following the accounts produced by the mainstream historical authorities of the time. 106   HPB, “The Esoteric Character of the Gospels,” in HPBCW, VIII, 182; HPB, “Philosophers and Philosophicules,” in HPBCW, XI, 432; HPB, “Neo-Buddhism,” in HPBCW, XII, 347; HPB, “The Babel of Modern Thought,” in HPBCW, XIII, 98; Blavatsky, Key to Theosophy, 1–15; Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, I, xxxiv, xxxviii; II, 760. 107  Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, I, xliii, 303–23; II, 760. 108  Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, I, xviii; 303–23, 379; II, 438. HPB, “Is Theosophy a Religion?” in HPBCW, X, 170. 103 104

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a narrative of cosmological implications.109 The Wisdom-Religion was first given by divine beings to men of the Third Root Race in Blavatsky’s scheme of seven Root Races that populated the earth during its fourth round in the theosophical cosmology.110 However, the “Wisdom-Religion” imparted by divine beings to the Third Root Race was abused by evil sorcery during the sway of the Fourth Root Race, which led to war and a catastrophe of their civilization found on the continent of Atlantis.111 Here the teachings became shrouded in secret symbols and maintained only in the inner sanctuaries of holy temples by the esoteric tradition of initiates and the Masters of the Wisdom.112 This protective measure, however, led to a division in religious wisdom between so-called esoteric and exoteric teachings.113 Therefore, the “Wisdom-Religion” was, at the beginning of what Blavatsky termed our present Fifth Root Race, no longer publicly available. She further claimed that during her own time only fragments of it could be found beneath the exoteric dogmas and symbols of the great world religions and ancient philosophies, many of which were established or inspired by teachers or great sages who under cyclic law came onto the world stage when righteousness had become corrupted by human ignorance.114 During documented history, Theosophy or the “Wisdom-Religion” could, according to Blavatsky, be to some extent traced in a specific line of descent. Initially, there was the ancient Veda religion Blavatsky alluded to in Isis Unveiled, stemming from the Pre-Vedic Brahmanism and

109  This is not the place to outline Blavatsky’s esoteric cosmology and anthropology. Suffice it to say here that Blavatsky envisioned seven great races called “Root Races” with additional sub-races, which systematically through cycles of time evolve on various related continents on this planet. Humanity is primarily at present in the cycle of the Fifth Root Race with four preceding it and two to follow it. 110  Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, I, 207–09; II, 198; HPB, “Is Theosophy a Religion?,” in HPBCW, X, 166–69. 111  Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, II, 494–95, 636–37, 760, 762, 771–72, 785. 112  HPB, “Preliminary Survey,” in HPBCW, XIV, 27–28; HPB, ”Spiritualism and Occult Truth,” in HPBCW, III, 472; Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, I, 270, 272–73; II, 124, 250, 375, 443, 763; Blavatsky, Key to Theosophy, 8; Blavatsky, Theosophical Glossary, 123. 113  Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, II, 124; HPB, “The Eastern Gupta Vidyā,” 180–81. 114  Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, I, xxii, 207–08, 378; II, 483; HPB, “The Doctrine of Avatāras,” in HPBCW, XIV (1995), 370–85 (372); HPB, “Cycles and Avatāras,” in HPBCW, XIV, 356; HPB, “The Doctrine of Avatāras,” in HPBCW, XIV, 372.

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Buddhism;115 as she repeated in The Secret Doctrine: “the Veda of the early Aryans, before it was written, went forth into every nation of the Atlanto-­ Lemurians, and sowed the first seeds of all the now existing old religions.”116 The subsequent development of the known religions of the world is set forth by Blavatsky in the following way: The oldest religions of the world—exoterically, for the esoteric root or foundation is one—are the Indian, the Mazdean, and the Egyptian. Then comes the Chaldean, the outcome of these—entirely lost to the world now, except in its disfigured Sabeanism as at present rendered by the archaeologists; then, passing over a number of religions that will be mentioned later, comes the Jewish.117

This concise account of Blavatsky’s concept “Wisdom-Religion” shows how she, like some of the  previous scholars of mythology, religion and antiquity, shared the interest in the source of all religions and narratives about how this source has been dispersed through the ages. Blavatsky also clearly inherited the interest in ancient India, which was almost absent in earlier Western versions of the ancient wisdom narrative. For her, India was in fact the most pure origin of the ancient wisdom in historical times. Blavatsky, however, also innovatively expanded upon the dimension of pre-historical narratives of the ancient wisdom by moving beyond the Christian narrative frame into accounts of lost continents and earlier forms of humanity that extended many thousands of years into pre-­historical times.

Conclusion This chapter has shown that the notion of an ancient wisdom has been recurrent in Western culture since antiquity, and that it in fact continued in various versions both within and without the scholarly community from the seventeenth century well into the late nineteenth century. In ancient Greece, a prehistoric golden age and especially Egypt were viewed as fountains of ancient wisdom. Among apologetic Christians, it was a divine logos that had inspired the ancient sages to be in concordance with Christianity. In the Renaissance, the syncretic project was continued in an attempt to harmonize paganism with Christianity. With the exploration of Asian and  Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled, II, 639.  Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, II, 483. 117  Blavatsky, Secret Doctrine, I, 10–11. 115 116

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American cultures that followed, the ancient wisdom narrative was reformulated as a way to fend off atheism, to prove ancient monotheism, and to explain the perceived similarity between many newly discovered pagan traditions from around the world and Christianity. Some like Bryant and Lafitau continued to work within biblical narratives to explain the similarities, but others such as Ramsay, Bailly, Jones and Creuzer began to emphasize India’s historical role as the possible common origin of wisdom. Hitherto, this post-Renaissance period of ancient wisdom narratives has not been particularly explored in relation to the study of Western esotericism. Yet, as I have shown in this chapter, the versions formulated during this rich period were important to Blavatsky’s quest in the nineteenth century. Blavatsky actually appeared unaware of the implications of the prisca theologia of the Renaissance humanists. Her work emerged as a continuation of the study of mythology in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and her use of the theme clearly relied on many of the scholarly studies on mythology discussed in this chapter. She used them selectively to prove her points, but this time around, the ancient wisdom narrative was not formulated to prove the truths of Christianity, but to provide a modern, yet ancient alternative to it. Blavatsky’s innovation can thus be said to consist in fusing a pagan revivalist trend with available mythological scholarship. As part of this, she purposely moved beyond the biblical narrative by emphasizing India as the primary historical origin of all later traditions and expanded the narrative by adding an elaborate esoteric universalist historiography of what she innovatively termed the “Wisdom-Religion.”

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———. 2012. H.P.  Blavatsky’s Theosophy in Context: The Construction of Meaning in Modern Western Esotericism. PhD diss., University of Exeter. Santucci, James. 2001. Does Theosophy Exist in the Theosophical Society. In Ésotérisme, gnoses & imaginaire symbolique: mélanges offerts à Antoine Faivre, Gnostica 3, ed. Richard Caron, 471–489. Leuven: Peeters Publishers. Schlegel, Frederick [Friederich] von. 1859. The Philosophy of History: In a Course of Lectures delivered at Vienna. Translated by James Burton Robertson. London: Henry G. Bohn. Schmidt-Biggemann, Wilhelm. 2004. Philosophia Perennis: Historical Outlines of Western Spirituality in Ancient, Medieval and Early Modern Thought. Dordrecht: Springer. Stocking, George W. 1982. Race, Culture, and Evolution: Essays in the History of Anthropology. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. von Stuckrad, Kocku. 2005. Western Esotericism: Towards an Integrative Model of Interpretation. Religion 5 (2): 78–97. ———. 2010. Locations of Knowledge in Medieval and Early Modern Europe, Esoteric Discourse and Western Identities. Leiden: Brill. Taliaferro, Charles C. 2004. Cambridge Platonist Spirituality. New  York: Paulist Press. Walker, Daniel Pickering. 1972. The Ancient Theology: Studies in Christian Platonism from the Fifteenth to the Eighteenth Century. London: Duckworth. Wilder, Alexander. 1876. Introduction. In The Symbolical Language of Ancient Art and Mythology, ed. Richard Payne Knight, xiii–xxvii. New  York: J. W. Bouton. Yates, Frances A. 1964. Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.

CHAPTER 9

Orientalist Aggregates: Theosophical Buddhism Between Innovation and Tradition Julie Chajes

This chapter explores interpretations of the Buddhist doctrine of “not-­ Self” (Sanskrit: anātman, Pali: anattā)1 in the early Theosophical Society, the influential occultist organization established in New York City in 1875 and spearheaded by Helena Petrovna Blavatsky (1831–1891) and Henry Steel Olcott (1832–1907). Anattā states that  there is no unchanging essential nature to a human being. Instead of a Self, Buddhist thought offers an exhaustive analysis of the individual as composed of five “heaps” or “aggregates” (skandhas/khandhas). The khandhas are five types of 1  I follow the convention of giving the term in Sanskrit first, then Pali. If I refer to a term in the body of the text, it is in Pali, that is, anattā. Where primary sources use divergent spellings, I retain them. Following Peter Harvey, I capitalize the term Self here to distinguish the type of Self that is said to be absent: one that is “permanent and free from all pain, however subtle – so as to be happy, self-secure, independent;” Peter Harvey, An Introduction to Buddhism: Teachings, History and Practices (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 58.

J. Chajes (*) University of Haifa, Haifa, Israel © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 G. D. Hedesan, T. Rudbøg (eds.), Innovation in Esotericism from the Renaissance to the Present, Palgrave Studies in New Religions and Alternative Spiritualities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-67906-4_9

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things that might (erroneously) be considered Self: bodily phenomena and four mental aspects: feelings, labeling and recognizing, volitions, and conscious awareness.2 Together with the doctrine of dependent origination (pratitya-samutpada/paticca-samuppdda), the khandhas explain the nature of the individual who lives, dies, and is reborn in saṃ sarā (“wandering,” or the round of rebirth) until they eventually achieve nirvana. Not-Self is such a central theme in Buddhist thought that, as Jungnok Park notes, it has “been used as a slogan that characterizes Buddhism.”3 Although it incorporated elements of Buddhism, Theosophy affirmed the existence of a permanent reincarnating entity or Self. How can we reconcile this affirmation of a Self with the Theosophical claim to represent true Buddhist teachings? A common but incomplete answer would be that we cannot; Theosophy represents a distortion of Buddhism influenced by Christianity, occultism, and a nineteenth-century scholarship itself full of Christian bias and misunderstanding. This chapter complicates such an answer. Although not-Self has always been what we might call the “orthodox” Buddhist position, viewpoints postulating the existence of some sort of Self or person have been attested, although it is a topic few scholars have devoted substantial attention to. As this chapter will show, there is evidence that the Theosophists were aware of Mahayana and Theravada doctrines of Self during the early years of the Society in Ceylon, and that these contributed to their depictions of Buddhism. An implication of this is that we must take great care when applying categories like “innovation” and “tradition” in the history of early Theosophy. Although it may be tempting to think that the Theosophists were simply imposing their preconceptions on Asian “traditions,” the reality was not one-dimensional. The Western philosophical bases of Theosophy have, quite rightly, been well established in the secondary literature, and it is undeniable that we should not represent Theosophy as

2  Harvey, Introduction, 57–62. Rupert Gethin, The Foundations of Buddhism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), 135–36. Works devoted to the topic of self and not-Self in Buddhist thought include Steven Collins, Selfless Persons: Imagery and Thought in Theravad̄ a Buddhism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999); Peter Harvey, The Selfless Mind: Personality, Consciousness and Nirvana in Early Buddhism (Abingdon: Routledge Curzon, 2004). 3  Jungnok Park, How Buddhism Acquired a Soul on the Way to China (Sheffield: Equinox, 2012), 1.

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embracing Buddhist thought in any straightforward sense.4 Nevertheless, an appreciation of Theosophy vis-à-vis its Asian influences must go beyond depictions of Theosophy as a distortion of Oriental traditions.

Theosophy and Orientalism The idea that Theosophy is a Western “distortion” of Hindu and Buddhist thought has found some currency in recent decades. This interpretation is based on Edward Said’s well-known notion of Orientalism as a master-­ narrative of Western imperialism that constructs and controls its subjugated “Other.”5 As J. J. Clarke observes, Theosophy has [...] come to be seen as misrepresenting its claimed oriental sources and, even from its very early days, the Society has been criticised on the grounds that it offered a distorted interpretation of eastern teachings. It was seen as promulgating an essentially westernised version of eastern wisdom, engineered solely as a vehicle for the purpose of propagating occultist ideas and practices, and encircled by a wall of mystification.6 4  See in particular Joscelyn Godwin, The Theosophical Enlightenment (Albany: SUNY Press, 1994), 378 and Wouter Hanegraaff, New Age Religion and Western Culture: Esotericism in the Mirror of Secular Thought (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 471. For an overview of Theosophy and its relation to Oriental sources, see Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke, “The Theosophical Society, Orientalism, and the ‘Mystic East:’ Western Esotericism and Eastern Religion in Theosophy,” Theosophical History 13, no. 3 (2007): 3–28 and Christopher Partridge, “Lost Horizon: H. P. Blavatsky and Theosophical Orientalism in Handbook of the Theosophical Current, eds. Mikael Rothstein and Olav Hammer (Leiden and Boston, MA: Brill, 2013). Studies that explore Theosophy’s Orientalism include Mark Bevir , “The West Turns Eastward: Madame Blavatsky and the Transformation of the Occult Tradition,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion, 62 (1994): 747–67; Stephen Prothero, “Henry Steel Olcott and ‘Protestant Buddhism,’” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 63 (1995): 281–302; Stephen Prothero, The White Buddhist: The Asian Odyssey of Henry Steel Olcott (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1996). 5  Edward W.  Said, Orientalism (London: Penguin, 2003), 3; see J.  J. Clarke, Oriental Enlightenment: The Encounter between Asian and Western Thought (London: Routledge, 1997), 8. Said has been criticized on a number of fronts, but his analysis remains influential. For example, he has been accused of bias, of being selective, and of ahistoricity. See Gyan Prakash, “Orientalism Now,” History and Theory 34 (1995): 199–212. Said responded to his challengers in Edward Said, “Orientalism Reconsidered,” Cultural Critique 1 (1985): 89–107. 6  Clarke, Oriental Enlightenment, 90. As an example of such a view, drawing on Pierre Bourdieu, and referring to Theosophy, Andrew Dawson argued that to misperceive the Westernization of Eastern themes involves the “collective misrecognition” of a prolonged act

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Without denying the presence of Orientalism, the most insightful recent analyses have emphasized the agency of Asian actors and the reciprocity of their relationships with their European and American colleagues. They have centered on the notion of “cultural entanglement,” a concept emerging from post-colonial studies that refers to a multidirectional process of cultural transfer in which all participants are a product of their encounter, at least partially.7 As Karl Baier writes, the history of the Theosophical Society in South Asia is an entangled one, not only with regard to the Society in its South Asian surroundings, but also within the Society itself. Theosophy functioned as a platform for transcultural processes in which South Asian and Anglo-American members were involved.8

In a similar fashion, Michael Bergunder highlights interrelated multidirectional discourses,9 and Wouter Hanegraaff maintains that Theosophists participated in “extremely complicated historical processes of imaginal construction and reconstruction that [took] place in a variety of specific local contexts.”10 This chapter is a case study of Theosophical entanglement in one specific local context: 1880s Ceylon.

of “symbolic violence.” Aspects of the Eastern “Other” are subordinated and rendered complicit with the established predilections of the Western habitus; Andrew Dawson, “East is East, Except when It’s West,” Journal of Religion and Society 8 (2006):10. Another study that emphasizes Theosophy as distortion is Isaac Lubelsky, Celestial India: Madame Blavatsky and the Birth of Indian Nationalism (Oakville, CT: Equinox 2012). 7  Karl Baier, “Theosophical Orientalism and the Structures of Intercultural Transfer: Annotations on the Appropriation of the cakras in early Theosophy,” in Theosophical Appropriations: Esotericism, Kabbalah, and the Transformation of Traditions, eds.  Julie Chajes and Boaz Huss (Beer Sheva: Ben-Gurion University Press, 2016); Michael Bergunder, “Experiments with Theosophical Truth: Gandhi, Esotericism, and Global Religious History,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 82, no. 2 (2014): 1–29, doi:10.1093/jaarel/ lft095; Kennet Granholm, “Locating the West: Problematizing the Western in Western Esotericism and Occultism,” in Occultism in a Global Perspective, eds. Henrik Bogdan and Gordan Djurdjevic (Acumen: Durham 2013), 17-36, and Wouter Hanegraaff, “Western Esotericism and the Orient in the First Theosophical Society,” in Theosophy Across Boundaries, eds. Hans Martin Krämer and Julian Strube, forthcoming. 8  Baier, Theosophical Orientalism, 343. 9  Bergunder, “Experiments with Theosophical Truth,” 398-426. 10  Wouter Hanegraaff, “Western Esotericism and the Orient.”

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Olcott and Blavatsky in Ceylon Henry Steel Olcott was an American lawyer, journalist, military officer, and founding member of the Theosophical Society. The Society’s  main theorist was Olcott’s good friend, the Russian émigré Helena Blavatsky.11 The two of them arrived in Ceylon in 1880, during the advanced stages of a Buddhist revival that had been initiated by Buddhist monks to counteract a decline in Buddhism that had been hastened by three centuries of colonialism. Ceylon had been predominantly Buddhist since the third century BCE, but even before the colonial period, the island was no longer the center of Buddhist learning it had once been. In the sixteenth century, it had been colonized first by the Portuguese (1505–1658), then by the Dutch (1658–1796).12 The colonial period brought with it Christian missionaries, and beginning in 1815, British colonization further strengthened the Christian presence.13 The British had initially pledged to protect Buddhism, but although the administrators had attempted to distance themselves from the missionaries, the Christians became very influential and eventually ran all the officially approved schools.14 To counter the condemnations of Buddhism increasingly coming from Christian churches, missionaries, schools, and publications, local monks established a pro-­ Buddhist movement. Already in the 1870s, Olcott sought contact with the Ceylonese while still in America, leading to his and Blavatsky’s invitation to the island in the hope they would contribute to the revival.15 Alongside many other elements (such as Hermeticism, Kabbalah, and Platonism), Buddhism had an important place within Blavatsky’s Theosophical synthesis as presented in her first major work, Isis Unveiled (1877). Divergent perspectives on Buddhist teachings notwithstanding, the Ceylonese monks thought the Theosophists would make good allies. Olcott and Blavatsky had been invited to Ceylon, as Olcott put it, as “white champions of their religion,

 For more on H.P. Blavatsky, see the preceding chapter by Tim Rudbøg.  Gethin, Foundations, 251–55. 13  Anne M.  Blackburn, Locations of Buddhism: Colonialism and Modernity in Sri Lanka (Chicago, IL and London: University of Chicago Press, 2010), x. 14  Harvey, Introduction to Buddhism, 377. 15  Henry Steel Olcott, Old Diary Leaves Second Series (London: Theosophical Publishing Society, 1900), 151. 11 12

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speaking of its excellence […] in the face of the Missionaries, its enemies and slanderers.”16 Cheering, flag-waving crowds greeted the Theosophists when they landed in Ceylon on 17th of May 1880. They arrived with an agenda to save Buddhism and set about working toward this goal as soon as they arrived. Their contribution to the pro-Buddhist movement was significant. They “took pansil” (publicly declaring themselves Buddhists) on 25th of May.17 In relating this event in his published diary Old Diary Leaves, Olcott wrote, speaking for [Blavatsky] as well as for myself, I can say that if Buddhism contained a single dogma that we were compelled to accept, we would not have taken the pansil nor remained Buddhists ten minutes.18

Olcott, therefore, considered himself a Buddhist through and through, despite the differences of opinion over anatta ̄ that would later come to light. On 26th of June, the Theosophists inaugurated the Colombo branch of the Society, and the headquarters became a place where leading Buddhist monks came to teach.19 The Theosophists pursued extended metaphysical discussions with them and published articles by monks in the pages of their periodical The Theosophist. They also wrote about Buddhism themselves. Crucially, as part of the revival, Olcott was instrumental in establishing a system of Buddhist schools.20 His Buddhist Catechism (1881)—certified by the leading Buddhist authority, Sumangala—became a textbook within these schools: just as Christian schools taught their Christian catechisms, Buddhist schools would now teach  theirs, thanks to Olcott. There is no doubt that  Olcott sometimes had a patronizing attitude toward the Ceylonese. Olcott’s biographer, Stephen Prothero, noted that although he ostensibly went to Ceylon as a student, within a short time Olcott had set himself up as a teacher with the task of educating the supposedly ignorant Ceylonese and reforming their traditions.21 His  Olcott, Old Diary Leaves Second Series, 165.  Olcott, Old Diary Leaves Second Series, 167. The officiating monk was Bulatgama. 18  Olcott, Old Diary Leaves Second Series, 168–69. 19  H.  N. S.  Karuanatilake, “The Local and Foreign Impact of the Pânadurâ Vadaya,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Sri Lanka 49 (2004): 72. 20  Karuanatilake, Pânadurâ Vadaya, 73. 21  Prothero, “Henry Steel Olcott,” 296. 16 17

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s­eemingly liberal agenda was therefore “at least vaguely imperialistic.”22 Even though from the point of view of the Ceylonese pro-Buddhist movement the impact of Theosophy was positive in several ways, as Christopher Partridge notes, ultimately, like all Orientalism, Theosophy still represented a form of colonialism.23 However, this was not the only thing that was going on. Although Olcott may have thought he understood the doctrine of anatta ̄ better than Hikkaduwe Sumangala (1827–1911), high priest of the temple of Sri Pada (Adam’s Peak) in Ceylon,24 Sumangala was no pushover, and would not capitulate over the presentation of that doctrine in Olcott’s Buddhist Catechism. In the dispute that followed, Sumangala won, and Olcott was forced to concede. Olcott believed in the continuing existence of a soul or Self in nirvana, whereas Sumangala, in accordance with the orthodox Theravada Buddhist perspective, insisted there was no such thing: the notion of a Self was simply a delusion based on the five aggregates. Although this may seem a simple case of Sumangala’s Theravada “tradition” gaining a victory over Olcott’s Orientalist “innovation,” the matter was not so straightforward. Olcott had a Ceylonese informant, a high-ranking monk named Potuwila Indajoti, who seems to have represented a minority Theravada Buddhist position maintaining the continuing existence of a Self in nirvana. Indajoti’s point of view resonated with (and may have been historically connected to) perspectives on the Self found in some East Asian Mahayana traditions (which Olcott also referred to in his affirmation of a Self in Buddhism), a matter which will be further analyzed in this chapter.25

 Prothero, The White Buddhist, 11–12.  Partridge, “Lost Horizon,” 315 and 327. 24  For more on Sumanagala, see K. N. O. Dharmadasa, Language, Religion, and Ethnic Assertiveness: The Growth of Sinhalese Nationalism in Sri Lanka (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1992), 99, 334 and Blackburn, Locations of Buddhism. 25  The earliest texts of the Mahayana began appearing around the first century CE and claimed to be sutras, that is, texts recounting the words of the Buddha. Although the Mahayana sutras had much in common with earlier forms of Buddhism, they challenged established Buddhist ways of understanding and advocated what they saw as a superior way. One feature of the Mahayana approach is the notion of the bodhisattva, one who aspires to achieve enlightenment for the benefit of all sentient beings. Mahayana Buddhism spread from India to South, East, and Southeast Asia, where it has become the dominant form. For an introduction, see Gethin, Foundations, 1–2, 57, and 224. 22 23

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Theosophy as Buddhist Modernism Theosophical perspectives on Buddhism were heavily indebted to the European academic study of Buddhism that had begun in the late-­ eighteenth century and reached a watershed around the time of Olcott’s arrival in Ceylon. As an indication of the relative upsurge in Western interest in all things Buddhist, in 1879, the year before Olcott stepped foot in Lanka, the journalist Edwin Arnold (1832–1904) noted in his celebrated poem about the life of Gautama Buddha, The Light of Asia, that in contrast to the present popularity of Buddhism, a generation previously, little or nothing had been known of it in Europe.26 The increase in interest was both popular and scholarly, with more people taking an interest in Buddhism as an alternative to Christianity and an increasing number of scholarly publications being produced. These included the landmark fifty-­ volume series Sacred Books of the East, edited by the German-born Oxford Orientalist Friedrich Max Müller (1823–1900), which began to appear in 1879, the same year as Arnold’s The Light of Asia. As Philip Almond has convincingly argued, it was this Western Orientalist scholarship that defined “Buddhism” during the first half of the nineteenth century. As a result of academic research, Almond maintained, Buddhism was “created and determined by the Victorian culture in which it emerged as an object of discourse.”27 By 1860, Buddhism had come to exist, not in the Orient, but in the Oriental libraries and institutes of the West, in its texts and manuscripts, at the desks of the Western savants who interpreted it. It had become a textual object, defined, classified, and interpreted through its own textuality. By the middle of the century, the Buddhism that existed ”out there” was beginning to be judged by a West that alone knew what Buddhism was, is, and ought to be. The essence of Buddhism came to be seen as expressed not “out there” in the Orient, but in the West through the West’s control of Buddhism’s own textual past. 28

The emergence of the category “Buddhism” and the West’s confidence of being able to define it were contributing factors in the emergence of what David McMahan has termed “Buddhist Modernism,”  Edwin Arnold, The Light of Asia (Boston, MA: Roberts Brothers: 1890), vii.  Philip C. Almond, The British Discovery of Buddhism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 4. 28  Almond, British Discovery, 13. 26 27

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a modern hybrid tradition with roots in the European Enlightenment no less than the Buddha’s enlightenment, in Romanticism and transcendentalism as much as the Pali canon, and in the clash of Asian cultures and colonial powers as much as in mindfulness and meditation. […Buddhist Modernism was, and is], a new form of Buddhism that is the result of a process of modernization, westernization, reinterpretation, image-making, re-vitalization, and reform that has been taking place not only in the West but also in Asian countries for over a century. This new form of Buddhism has been fashioned by modernizing Asian Buddhists and western enthusiasts deeply engaged in creating Buddhist responses to the dominant problems and questions of modernity, such as epistemic uncertainty, religious pluralism, the threat of nihilism, conflicts between science and religion, war, and environmental destruction.29

Although historical individuals each had their own distinct perspectives on Buddhism, there were certain tendencies modernizing interpreters— both Asian and Western—shared. They tended to distinguish between the Buddhism of the philosophical elite and the Buddhism of the masses, and sought to demythologize or “cleanse” Buddhism of what they perceived to be superstitious or populist accretions, with the goal of arriving at an original, “pure” essence.30 Modernizing interpreters also often depicted Buddhism as “scientific,” reasonable, and even psychological, and as a philosophy rather than a “religion.” In many cases, they portrayed Buddhism in perennialist or universalist terms.31 29  David L.  McMahan, The Making of Buddhist Modernism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 5. 30  On the “demythologization” of Buddhism, see Robert Sharf, “The Zen of Japanese Nationalism,” History of Religions 33, no. 1 (1993): 1–43 and Robert Sharf, “Whose Zen? Zen Nationalism Revisited,” in Awakenings: Zen, the Kyoto School, and the Question of Nationalism, eds. James W.  Heisig and John Maraldo Rude (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1995), 44–45. 31  On modernizing interpretations of Buddhism, see McMahan, Buddhist Modernism, and “Modernity and the Discourse of Scientific Buddhism,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 72:4 (2004): 897–933; Richard Gombrich and Gananath Obeyesekere, Buddhism Transformed: Religious Change in Sri Lanka (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1988), and Donald Lopez, ed, A Modern Buddhist Bible: Essential Readings from East and West (Boston, MA: Beacon Press, 2002). On intersections between Theosophy and modernizing interpretations of Buddhism, see Prothero, White Buddhist, and Sin’ichi Yoshinaga, “Theosophy and Buddhist Reformers in the Middle of the Meiji Period: An Introduction,” Japanese Religions 34, no. 2 (2009): 119-31, and “Three Boys on a Great Vehicle: ‘Mahayana Buddhism’ and a Trans-National Network,” Contemporary Buddhism: An Interdisciplinary Journal 14, no. 1 (2013): 52–65.

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The Theosophical Society was responsible for a particularly influential modernizing interpretation of Buddhism. Blavatsky’s early Buddhism, which was a strong influence on Olcott, was influenced, for example, by the scholarship of Max Müller, the works of amateur scholars such as Hargrave Jennings (1817–1890), and esoteric traditions, among other things.32 Stephen Prothero offers a compelling analysis of Olcott’s Buddhism as a mixture of Theravada Buddhism with academic Orientalism, under the influence of Olcott’s Presbyterian background. He demonstrates that Olcott’s social circumstances combined “Protestant Modernism”—a tendency toward a liberalism that sought to adapt religious ideas to modernity—and the proclivities of the “metropolitan gentility,” the cultural elite to which Olcott belonged. Members of this class tended to display a “genteel yearning for cohesion, unity, and order, and a didactic conviction that the way to achieve harmony was by civilizing the masses.”33 But as will see, as important as they were, these were not the only influences on Olcott’s perspective on anattā. There were Ceylonese individuals who contributed to the Theosophical affirmation of a Self in Buddhism.

The Ceylonese Protagonists Buddhist–Christian debates were an important part of the activities of Buddhist revivalists, and the first of them occurred in 1863.34 In 1873, a particularly important debate took place in the town of Panadura. The main participants were the Buddhist monk Migettuwatte Gunananda Thero (1823–1890) and the Reverend David de Silva, a Ceylonese Methodist minister. The debate lasted three days and it was as a direct 32  See Hanegraaff, New Age Religion, 443–55 and Godwin, The Theosophical Enlightenment. On the Western esoteric background of Theosophy, see Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke, “Western Esoteric Traditions and Theosophy,” in Handbook of the Theosophical Current, eds. Mikael Rothstein and Olav Hammer (Leiden and Boston, MA: Brill, 2013), 261-307. On the influence of philology and especially Max Müller on Theosophy, see Julie Chajes, “Blavatsky and Monotheism: Towards the Historicisation of a Critical Category,” Journal of Religion in Europe 9 (2016): 247-75. On the important place of Buddhism in Blavatsky’s early works, see Julie Chajes, “Construction Through Appropriation: Kabbalah in Blavatsky’s Early Works,” in Theosophical Appropriations: Esotericism, Kabbalah, and the Transformation of Traditions, eds. Julie Chajes and Boaz Huss (Beer Sheva: Ben-Gurion University Press, 2016): 33–72. 33  Prothero, Protestant Buddhism, 290. The biography is Prothero, The White Buddhist. 34  Karuanatilake, Pa ̄nadurā Vādaya, 69.

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result that the Theosophists came to Ceylon, after the Christian-minister-­ turned-Spiritualist-then-Theosophist James Martin Peebles (1822–1922) wrote an account of the debate based on available information in the press. Peebles’ book, Buddhism and Christianity Face to Face (1878), came to the attention of Olcott in America, who began a correspondence with Gunananda, resulting in his invitation to Ceylon.35 In his description of the debate, Peebles noted the presence of several Buddhist monks supporting Gunananda. Among them were two of the main protagonists of this story: Hikkaduwe Sumangala and Potuwila Indajoti.36 Gunananda, Sumangala, and Indajoti were all high-ranking monks with whom the Theosophists had contact.37 Gunananda was chief priest of the Dipaduttama temple in Colombo and had been anticipating the Theosophists’ arrival, greeting them when they arrived at the harbor.38 A translated article of Gunananda’s had appeared in The Theosophist already in 1879.39 Olcott described him as a “silver-tongued orator,” and “the boldest, most brilliant, and powerful champion of Sinhalese Buddhism and the leader (originator) of the present revival.”40 Introducing Gunananda and Hikkaduwe Sumangala (1827–1911) in an early issue of The Theosophist, the editors described them as “two of the most eminent priests of the religion of the Buddha now living.” Sumangala was characterized as “the most learned of all the representatives of his faith.” 41 He was indeed highly learned and well connected. President of Elu (an ancient form of Sinhalese), Sanskrit, and Pali at Vidyodaya College, he took part in the 1867 synod that fixed the text of the s ́a ̄stras (expository manuals) and pitakas (canonical scriptures). Highly revered by European scholars, Sumangala was a friend of Max Müller, Edwin Arnold, and many other prominent Orientalists. As Anne Blackburn writes, the British

 Karuanatilake, Pa ̄nadurā Vādaya, 72.  J. M. Peebles, Buddhism and Christianity Face to Face (Boston, MA: Colby and Rich, 1878), 22. 37  Olcott, Old Diary Leaves Second Series, 160. 38  He was with the Sinhalese Buddhist layman John Robert de Silva and some junior priests from the monastery of Megittuwatte; Olcott, Old Diary Leaves Second Series, 156. 39  Mohiwatte Gunanande, “The Law of the Lord Sakhya Muni,” The Theosophist 1, no. 3 (1879): 43–44. Translated from Sinhalese for The Theosophist. 40  Olcott, Old Diary Leaves Second Series, 157 and 296. 41  H.  S. Olcott and H.  P. Blavatsky, “Buddhist Exegesis,” The Theosophist 1, no. 2 (1879): 34. 35 36

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saw him as an archbishop of Canterbury-like figure, whom they considered a spokesman for Buddhist opinion on the island. Local Lankan Buddhists turned to him as one of a small handful of highly eminent Buddhist monks who helped them through the tumultuous years of colonial rule, with its substantial social and economic change.42

Sumangala wrote a few articles for The Theosophist.43 In 1885, he was appointed the honorary vice-president of the Theosophical Society.44 We know much less about Potuwila Indajoti, although he was clearly an important figure. He once traveled to Siam to bring back important information about the functioning of monastic orders there that would help monks in his own country.45 He also held some unorthodox views concerning the Self in nirvana that we will consider presently.

The Buddhist Catechism of Henry Steel Olcott As part of his project to save Buddhism, Olcott wanted to publish a Buddhist catechism.46 He intended it to be a presentation of the Buddhism of the “Southern Church” (i.e., Theravada Buddhism), “chiefly derived from first-hand (i.e. primary) sources,” and “written by Buddhists for Buddhists.”47 Despite his many Buddhist contacts, Olcott failed to find someone to write the catechism for him, so he undertook the task himself. He claimed to have read fifteen-thousand pages of Buddhist books in English and French translation to prepare him for this task.48 He structured the work “on the lines of the similar elementary handbooks so effectively used among Western Christian sects.”49 It was published in 1881 in English and Sinhalese versions and was eventually translated into twenty languages. Sumangala certified it as doctrinally accurate, and it became  Blackburn, Locations, xi.  H. Sumangala, “The Nature and Office of Buddha’s Religion I, IV,” The Theosophist 1, no. 2 and 2, no. 1 (1879–1880): 43, 7–8. 44  Godwin, Theosophical Enlightenment, 327. 45  Blackburn, Locations, 151–53 and 160–61. 46  For further background information on Olcott in Ceylon see Richard Gombrich, Theravada Buddhism: A Social History from Ancient Benares to Modern Colombo (London and New York: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1988), 36–38. 47  Preface in Henry Steel Olcott, The Buddhist Catechism (Colombo: Ministry of Cultural Affairs, 1908). 48  He says it is ten thousand in Olcott, Old Diary Leaves Second Series, 298–99. 49  Olcott, Old Diary Leaves Second Series, 298. 42 43

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very popular. For some weeks, the press could not print enough copies to meet demand. Sumangala himself ordered one hundred copies for the use of the pupils in his college. In addition to being used in his Buddhist schools, Olcott claimed the catechism found its way into every Sinhalese household.50 Following its publication, Olcott lectured, wrote pamphlets, and continued to build strong co-operative relationships with important Buddhists. His activities contributed to the establishment of further Buddhist educational institutions and organizations like the Maha Bodhi Society, founded in 1891 by Anagarika Dharmapala (David Hewavitharane, 1864–1933), of which Olcott became director and chief advisor.51 Olcott’s depiction of Buddhism in the catechism had the characteristics of a modernizing interpretation. Portraying Buddhism in a perennialistic and universalistic fashion, he wrote that his Buddhism “was that of the Master-Adept Gautama Buddha, which was identically the Wisdom Religion of the Aryan Upanishads, and the soul of all the ancient world-­ faiths.”52 He also depicted Buddhism as a scientific and reasonable doctrine compatible with psychology.53 He portrayed karma as evolutionary.54 In fact, the supposed affinity between Buddhism and science was so important to Olcott that he devoted an entire chapter of the catechism to it.55 Another trope (consistent with the modernizing idea of Buddhism’s “reasonableness”) was of Buddhism as a “philosophy” rather than a “religion.” Thus, summarizing the Theosophists’ beliefs, Olcott concluded, “our Buddhism was, in a word, a philosophy, not a creed.”56 This last statement has to be one of the hallmarks of modernizing interpretations of Buddhism. None of this seems to have bothered Sumanagala, but he did draw the line at Olcott’s initial expositions of the doctrines of nirvana and anattā  Olcott, Old Diary Leaves Second Series, 301–302.  The TS became estranged from the Society when the Theosophists’ interest in Hinduism became dominant; Adele M. Fiske, “Buddhism in India Today,” in Buddhism in the Modern World, ed. Heinrich Dumoulin (New York and London: Macmillan, 1976), 131. For more on Olcott, Dharmapala, and the Maha Bodhi Society, see “Stephen Prothero, Henry Steel Olcott, Anagarika Dharmapala and the Maha Bodhi Society,” Theosophical History 6, no. 3 (1996): 96-103, and Steven Kemper, Rescued from the Nation: Anagarika Dharmapala and the Buddhist World (Chicago, IL and London: University of Chicago Press, 2015). 52  Olcott, Old Diary Leaves Second Series, 169. 53  Prothero, Protestant Buddhism, 286–287. See also McMahen, Modernity, 897. 54  Olcott, Buddhist Catechism, 28, 29. 55  Olcott, Buddhist Catechism, 76f. 56  Olcott, Old Diary Leaves Second Series, 169. 50 51

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in the book. Sumangala and his assistant spent eight hours dwelling on six and a half pages. The impasse had been created by the definition of nirvana and the existence of some sort of subjective entity—a soul or Self—in that state.57 Sumangala threatened to withdraw his offer to certify the book if Olcott did not remove the offending passage. Olcott conceded, since the lack of the certificate would have made the book virtually useless.58 Ever since then, the passage has read as follows: Q. What is Nirva ̄ṅa? A. A condition of total cessation of changes, of perfect rest, of the absence of desire and illusion and sorrow, of the total obliteration of everything that goes to make up the physical man. Before reaching Nirvāṅa man is constantly being reborn; when he reaches Nirvāṅa he is born no more.59 Q. Does Buḍḍhism teach the immortality of the soul? A. It considers “soul” to be a word used by the ignorant to express a false idea. If everything is subject to change, then man is included, and every material part of him must change. That which is subject to change is not permanent: so there can be no immortal survival of a changeful thing. Q. What is so objectionable in this word “soul”? A. The idea associated with it that man can be an entity separated from all other entities, and from the existence of the whole Universe. This idea of separateness is unreasonable, not provable by logic, nor supported by science. Q.  Then there is no separate “I,” nor can we say “my” this or that? A. Exactly so.60

Sumangala was happy with this and finally gave his approval. The Catechism was published. It did not contain any statements about the existence of a soul or Self or of its survival after death. Apparently just to be on the safe side, in an 1882 article in The Theosophist, Sumangala clarified “the nature of Nirvana from the Southern Buddhist Point of View” with reference to the skandhas.

 Olcott, Old Diary Leaves Second Series, 299–300.  Olcott, Old Diary Leaves Second Series, 300. 59  Olcott, Buddhist Catechism, 26. 60  Olcott, Buddhist Catechism, 51. 57 58

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Question. – Does there remain anything of the human being in Nirvana? Answer. –The nature of Nirvana is extinguishment. As the being does not possess anything except the five skandas to constitute existence, and as the state of Nirvana is characterized by the absence of these skandas, it is not possible to conceive that there can remain, in their absence, anything whatsoever.61

Blavatsky published this article in her journal, The Theosophist, showing that she was prepared to provide a platform for Asian voices that dissented from Theosophical doctrines.

Tradition Versus Innovation? Was Sumangala’s victory a case of Buddhist tradition winning out over Orientalist, Theosophical innovation? Well, yes and no. Olcott described the incident as follows: [In the Catechism] I had drafted the reply to the question ‘What is Nirvana?’ in such a way as to just note that there was a difference of opinion among Buddhist metaphysicians as to the survival of an abstract human entity, […] Upon my citing to him the beliefs of the Tibetans, Chinese, Japanese, Mongolians, and even of a Sinhalese school of which the late Polgihawatte was leader, [Sumangala] closed our discussion by saying that, if I did not alter the text, he should cancel his promise to give me a certificate that the Catechism was suited to the teaching of children in Buddhist schools.62

Olcott’s insistence that Buddhism teaches the presence of some sort of subjective entity in nirvana can be contextualized, in part, in European Orientalist scholarship, which had some difficulty with the doctrine of anatta ̄. Sometimes this was the result of a plain lack of understanding. For example, the British diplomat and modernizing interpreter of Buddhism whose works influenced Theosophy, Henry Alabaster (1836—1884), could not understand the coexistence of the doctrines of reincarnation and anattā in Buddhist teaching. As he put it,

61  H. Sumangala, “The Nature of Nirvana from the Southern Buddhist Point of View,” The Theosophist 3 no. 36 (1882), 297. 62  Olcott, Old Diary Leaves Second Series, 300.

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The Buddhist tells me there is no soul, but that there is continuation of individual existence without it. I cannot explain his statement, for I fail thoroughly to understand it, or to appreciate the subtlety of his theory.63

Some commentators found a solution by arguing that Buddhist elaborations of anattā were the work of later scholastics who misunderstood what the Buddha had actually taught.64 This line of argument could be appealing when scholars wanted to avoid associating Buddhism with that bugbear of European philosophy: nihilism. Max Müller, for example, wished to combat such a “nihilistic” interpretation of nirvana, in which there was no possibility for the continuing existence of a “soul.” He maintained that the “nihilistic” interpretation appeared only in the theoretical system known as the Abhidharma (Pali: Abhidhamma). There was no evidence of it in the sutras (Pali: suttas—the discourses of the Buddha) or the vinaya (the monastic code). Furthermore, according to Müller, there were sayings of the Buddha in the sutras and the vinaya that directly contradicted the “nihilistic” interpretation.65 Müller argued that for the Buddha, nirvana had actually meant the “entrance of the soul into rest” and that the nihilistic interpretation of nirvana was a philosophical myth.66 After quoting a Buddhist “parable” he concluded, Gentlemen, this is a specimen of the true Buddhism; this is the language, intelligible to the poor and the suffering, which has endeared Buddhism to the hearts of millions,– not the silly, metaphysical phantasmagorias of worlds of gods and worlds of Brahma, or final dissolution of the soul in Nirvâna[sic],– no, the beautiful, the tender, the humanly true, which, like pure gold, lies buried in all religion, even in the sand of the Buddhist Canon.67

Although “entrance of the soul into rest” is a highly questionable translation, and even though his ideas were presented in clearly Orientalist

63  Henry Alabaster, Wheel of the Law: Buddhism illustrated by Siamese Sources. (London: Trübner and Co., 1871), xl. 64  Gethin, Foundations, 160. 65  Max Müller, Lectures on the Science of Religion (New York: Charles Scribner and Co., 1872), 140-41. 66  Müller, Lectures, 143-44. 67  Müller, Lectures, 147.

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terms, as we will see shortly, Müller’s claim that early Buddhist scriptures affirmed the continuation of a Self was not a fantasy.

The Self in Chinese Buddhism In Isis Unveiled (1877), Blavatsky quoted a conversation she had with Wong Chin Foo, the Chinese priest of a Californian Buddhist temple:68 It is not true that Gautama never taught anything concerning a future life, or that he denied the immortality of the soul. Ask any intelligent Buddhist his ideas on Nirvana, and he will unquestionably express himself, as the well-­ known Wong-Chin-Fu, the Chinese orator, now travelling in this country, did in a recent conversation with us about Niepang (Nirvana). “This condition,” he remarked, “we all understand to mean a final reunion with God, coincident with the perfection of the human spirit by its ultimate disembarrassment of matter. It is the very opposite of personal annihilation.” Nirvana means the certitude of personal immortality in Spirit.69

It is likely Wong Chin Foo had been influenced by Western interpretations and that his position exemplifies an entanglement of East Asian Buddhism with Orientalist scholarship (such as Müller’s) and Christian notions. Such entangled ideas were often then fed back to the West as “authentic” Buddhism.70 However, another element was likely at play too. In East Asian Mahayana Buddhism (and Olcott mentioned the Tibetans, Chinese, Japanese, and Mongolians when defending his position on the survival of the soul), the tathagatagarbha (Buddha nature) doctrines have sometimes been read in terms of a true Self. It is possible that Chinese Buddhist notions of a true Self functioned, for Wong Chin Foo, as what Karl Baier has termed a “welcoming structure,” a cultural presupposition or pattern of interpretation that generates a positive attitude toward the foreign element, in this case, Western notions of the “human spirit.”71 To put it another way, Wong Chin Foo’s views were probably not solely the outcome of Western influence. They were most likely the result of the

 Godwin, Theosophical Enlightenment, 325-26.  H. P. Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled, 2 vols (New York: Bouton, 1877), II, 319-20. 70  In the context of modern yoga, this process has been analyzed by Elizabeth De Michelis, A History of Modern Yoga: Patañjali and Modern Yoga (London: Continuum, 2006). 71  Baier, Theosophical Orientalism, 317. 68 69

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entanglement of specific elements within Chinese Buddhism with Western academic and religious influences. The specific elements within Chinese Buddhism that might make a nineteenth-century Asian interpreter receptive to Western notions of a “spirit” go back more than one thousand years, to the early centuries of Buddhism in India. Although always contentious, notions of Self have been documented throughout the history of Buddhist thought.72 As Potprecha Cholvijarn explains, the problem of the Buddhist doctrine of not-Self (anattā) is not a new problem. In the history of Buddhist thought many debates and controversies over the understanding of this doctrine have occurred and on some occasions have led to the emergence of new doctrinal schools.73

Affirmation of the existence of a Self or person was a position documented among the early schools of Indian Buddhism (third to eleventh century CE) termed the Pudgalava ̄da by their opponents.74 The Pudgalavādins argued the Self is the doer of deeds and the experiencer of their results. According to these schools, the Self exists over and above the five aggregates and is supported by them, reincarnating from life to life. Other early Buddhist schools strongly opposed this doctrine as a distortion of the Buddha’s teaching.75 Jungnok Park details the philosophical underpinnings of such views within Indian Buddhism, from the earliest Buddhist texts through Abidharma, Prajnaparamita-Madhyamaka and Yogacara Buddhism. Confirming the previously-quoted observation of Max Müller (at least “in spirit”), in some of the major nikayas and agamas (collections of early Buddhist texts) there are discussions that can be interpreted as affirmations of a true Self or the existence of an eternalist atman in the style of 72  S.  K. Hookham, The Buddha Within: Tathagatagarbha Doctrine According to the Shentong Interpretation of the Ratnagotravibhaga (Delhi: Sri Satguru Publications, 1992), 104 and Paul Williams, Mahāya ̄na Buddhism: The Doctrinal Foundations, 2nd edition (Abingdon: Routledge, 2009), 125. For an introduction to the tathagatagarba in Chinese Buddhism, see Sallie B. King, Buddha Nature (Delhi: Sri Satguru, 1992). 73  Potprecha Cholvijarn, Nibba ̄na as True Reality beyond the Debate: Some Contemporary Thai discussions, (Damnoen Saduak District, Rajburi Province 70130, Thailand: Wat Luang Phor Sodh Dhammakayaram, 2011), 1. 74  Cholvijarn, Nibba ̄na as True Reality, 1. 75  Cholvijarn, Nibba ̄na as True Reality, 2.

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Upanishadic thought. These contradict the doctrine of anatta ̄.76 Furthermore, and again in apparent refutation of anatta ̄, in some early Buddhist texts, immortality and complete happiness are occasionally praised.77 Further incongruences with anattā include those places where the activity of tathagatagarbha (Buddha nature) is praised as if this has agency and can be considered a Self.78 Indeed in some texts, readings that do not confirm to “orthodox” Buddhist doctrine are unavoidable.79 Park convincingly argues that such statements within Indian Buddhist texts represent heterodox Buddhist desires in spite of the doctrine of anatta ̄, and that they provided the momentum for later Chinese transformations of Buddhism that would ultimately affirm a true Self.80 Park maintains that, before Buddhism arrived in China, there was no concept of a permanent Self there. Ironically, the Chinese learned of one only through their contact with Buddhism.81 The Chinese Buddhist translation procedure usually involved conversations between experts in diverse fields.82 Especially during the earlier phases of the translation process, indigenous Chinese ways of thinking influenced how these groups translated Buddhist texts. The result was the interpolation of the concept of an imperishable soul.83 Park surveys the adaptations that led to this idea,84 arguing that the unique concept of Self that resulted was created through

76  Park, How Buddhism Acquired a Soul, 78. See also Joaquín Pérez Remón, Self and Non-­ Self in Early Buddhism (The Hague: Mouton, 1980). 77  Park, How Buddhism Acquired a Soul, 127. 78  Park, How Buddhism Acquired a Soul, 144. 79  An example is discussed in Park, How Buddhism Acquired a Soul, 147–48. 80  Park, How Buddhism Acquired a Soul, 130 and 133. 81  Park, How Buddhism Acquired a Soul, 150. 82  “Indian Buddhist experts provided the basic materials, while bilingual experts did the translation, Chinese literary experts embellished it, Buddhist doctrinal experts checked its doctrinal consistency, and so forth. This unique structure of the Chinese Buddhist translation procedure made it possible for some of its members to interpolate the idea of the imperishable soul, since the Indian experts were unaware of its controversial implications and the doctrinal experts could not detect the serious problems that would result from such interpolations;” Park, How Buddhism Acquired a Soul, 193. 83  Park, How Buddhism Acquired a Soul, 177 and 194. 84  It became theorized in a more sophisticated way by Chinese Buddhists after the fifth century CE, and, as Park shows, the tradition advocating an imperishable soul was still active in the further development of Buddhism after the seventh century; Park, How Buddhism Acquired a Soul, 207 and 219.

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the harmonization of Indian Buddhist concepts with indigenous Chinese perspectives: Buddhist ideas of self developed differently from their original meanings in India. This emphasis may create the impression that Chinese Buddhism is by nature an indigenous Chinese philosophy, disguising itself as an Indian product. However, such an impression is incorrect. The fundamental premises of Chinese Buddhism differ greatly from those that prevailed in China before Buddhism was introduced. Furthermore, as we have seen, there were some indications in Indian Mahayana Buddhism from which the Chinese Buddhists could develop their particular ideas of self, although they were not systematized to form a mainstream view in India.85

In other words, Chinese Buddhist views on the true Self emerged from cultural entanglement, and Chinese translators in the early centuries of the Common Era did something that was comparable to what nineteenth-­ century Western-influenced East Asian Buddhists like Wong Chin Foo did: they interpreted new ideas through reference to an existing “welcoming structure.” This is also what the Theosophists did when they adapted incoming Buddhist concepts to fit their own predilections and cultural presuppositions. Thanks to previous cultural entanglements, there were East Asian Mahayana Buddhist elements that fit Christian ideas of the soul quite well, and Theosophy was just the latest in a succession of cultural entanglements that have been at the root of cultural and religious developments for centuries.

The Theravada Self In addition to Mahayana views on the “soul,” Olcott also mentioned a Sinhalese Theravada school when justifying his interpretation of anattā. He referred to this school one other time in his Old Diary Leaves: After lunch at Mr. Arunâchalam’s, we visited another famous priest, Potuwila Indajoti, Terunnanse, who enjoys a great renown as a Vederále, or Native Physician. He is sent for from all the Buddhist parts of the island, and has made numberless cures. We found his conversation very interesting, his views as to the survival of the ego in Nirvana being those of his late Guru,

 Park, How Buddhism Acquired a Soul, 222.

85

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the Polhwatti priest, and opposed to those of the Sumângala school. He applied for admission into our membership and was accepted.86

Indajoti’s views on this matter were sufficiently important for Blavatsky to comment on in the first volume of The Theosophist, in which she complained about the English-language newspaper The Pioneer. Apparently, The Pioneer had published an article that engaged with Orientalist debates about the “pessimistic” “mental disease” of nirvana. According to Blavatsky, The Pioneer [calls] the doctrine of Nirvana pessimistic to the last degree, and [regards] it as a mental disease. It may not be known to our respectable contemporary that the Buddhist priests themselves by no means agree that attainment of Nirvana implies the total annihilation of consciousness. More than one very active and learned controversy has been carried on upon this question, and to-day the opposing schools are led respectively by the Right Rev. Hikkaduwe Sumangala, for the affirmative, and the Rev. Potuwila Indajoti, for the negative. Buddhistic philosophy in its refined esoteric aspect differs very little from the creed of the Vedanta school, and still less from the secret doctrine that can be read between the lines of the Veda by one whose perceptions have been really awakened. In a future number we will present the views of the two schools of Buddhists respecting Nirvana, and try to make the subject intelligible to our readers.87

Clearly, Blavatsky thought the Indajoti school was closer to the “refined esoteric” Buddhism whose tenets were so close to Vedanta and which was supposedly represented by Theosophy. Unfortunately, the promised article never appeared, and the details of this nineteenth-century Sinhalese tradition remain obscure. It may well be that the Indajoti-Sumangala debate referred to in The Theosophist was related to similar discussions within later Theravada Buddhism, as well as to the debates that came before it. Potprecha Cholvijarn notes the presence of a significant minority of Theravāda monks in present-day Thailand who are respected by noteworthy numbers of Theravāda laity and who argue that nirvana is attā (i.e., Self).88 As Paul 86  Olcott, Old Diary Leaves Second Series, 174. Polhwatta is a town in Ceylon. Terunnanse is a term of respect. 87  H. P. Blavatsky, “The Spread of Buddhism in Western Countries,” The Theosophist 1, no. 12 (1880): 296. 88  Cholvijarn, Nibba ̄na as True Reality, 3.

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Williams observes, these Thai Theravadin arguments in favor of atta ̄ are reminiscent of the Mahayana perspectives on the tathāgatagarbha.89 Cholvijarn found evidence of such debates on attā/anattā going back at least to 1939, but they might have occurred earlier too.90 Although Olcott attributed Indajoti’s views on the Self to his Ceylonese teacher, if this issue had been debated in Siam some sixty years previously, then Indajoti’s visit there may have been an influence.

Conclusions This chapter has shown that Buddhist opinions on the matter of Self have been historically diverse. As such, this analysis supports Paul Williams’ argument that we should abandon any simplistic identification of Buddhism with a straightforward not-Self definition.91 After all, as Philip Almond demonstrated, the category “Buddhism” itself is a Victorian invention. There is certainly no such thing as a monolithic tradition called Buddhism, which teaches a doctrine of “not-Self” that Theosophy later distorted. What we do find are various historical currents of Buddhist thought; the dominant ones affirm not-Self, but there are minor ones that have affirmed some form of Self at different times. When examining Henry Olcott’s position, we can accept that misunderstanding and Christian and Theosophical biases were at play. Nevertheless, there were also some strands of Buddhist thought involved that encouraged him to take this stance, and these were not just ones that had already been “Westernized” and were now being fed back to the West, as was often the case.92 Olcott  Williams, Mahāya ̄na Buddhism, 127.  Cholvijarn, Nibba ̄na as True Reality, 4. 91  Williams, Maha ̄yāna Buddhism, 127–28. Another instance of Theravada affirmation of Self is what Richard Gombrich termed “affective religion,” which he discerned among the contemporary Ceylonese, and which diverges from official doctrine. Thus, Gombrich concluded, “A Buddhist seems to think of rebirth in very much the way that the concept first appears to a westerner brought up with the idea of a soul which survives death;” Richard F. Gombrich, Buddhist Precept and Practice: Traditional Buddhism in the Rural Highlands of Ceylon (London and New York: Routledge, 2009), 86–87. It is possible that such notions have been influenced by Christianity, although what we have noted with regard to the presence of doctrines of Self throughout Buddhist history hitherto is enough to make us cautious in adopting this interpretation too quickly. Since Olcott could not speak Sinhalese, it is unlikely he was influenced by such perspectives among the Ceylonese laity, although the phenomenon does highlight the diversity of Buddhist opinion on the matter of Self. 92  See De Michelis, Modern Yoga. 89 90

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arrived in Ceylon after having contacted Buddhist monks he no doubt believed would corroborate his Theosophical perspectives on the Self. He also clearly felt that as a “white champion of their religion,” he could be of service to the Buddhist cause. Olcott must have been surprised to discover that Sumanagala would not agree with him on the issue of not-Self. He was forced to accept Sumangala’s “orthodox” interpretation because of Sumangala’s power: he needed his blessing for the catechism to be successful. In opposing Sumangala, Olcott did not see himself as upholding a Western perspective in the face of a Buddhist tradition, he saw himself as upholding a true Buddhist tradition in the face of Sumangala’s orthodoxy. Hence, what in hindsight could be described as Orientalist innovation must have seemed to Olcott as a necessary restoration of Buddhist tradition. It is unlikely views like those of Indajoti were very widespread, which is probably why they have not received a great deal of attention from scholars. Nevertheless, Indajoti’s perspective does seem to have been a native Theravada view with resonances with the Mahayana. Its presence and adaptation by Olcott points toward very specific historical entanglements within the Gordian knot of Theosophical Orientalism, an altogether more complex phenomenon than some interpretations have suggested.

References Alabaster, Henry. 1871. The Wheel of the Law: Buddhism illustrated by Siamese Sources. London: Trübner and Co. Almond, Philip C. 1988. The British Discovery of Buddhism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Arnold, Edwin. 1890. The Light of Asia. Boston, MA: Roberts Brothers. Baier, Karl. 2016. Theosophical Orientalism and the Structures of Intercultural Transfer: Annotations on the Appropriation of the Cakras in Early Theosophy. In Theosophical Appropriations: Esotericism, Kabbalah, and the Transformation of Traditions, ed. Julie Chajes and Boaz Huss, 309–354. Beer Sheva: Ben-­ Gurion University Press. Bergunder, Michael. 2014. Experiments with Theosophical Truth: Gandhi, Esotericism, and Global Religious History. Journal of the American Academy of Religion 82 (2): 1–29. https://doi.org/10.1093/jaarel/lft095. Bevir, Mark. 1994. The West Turns Eastward: Madame Blavatsky and the Transformation of the Occult Tradition. Journal of the American Academy of Religion 62: 747–767.

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Blackburn, Anne M. Locations of Buddhism: Colonialism and Modernity in Sri Lanka. Chicago, IL and London: University of Chicago Press. Blavatsky, Helena. 1877. Isis Unveiled, 2 vols. New York: Bouton. ———. 1880. The Spread of Buddhism in Western Countries. The Theosophist 1 (12): 296. Chajes, Julie. 2016a. Blavatsky and Monotheism: Towards the Historicisation of a Critical Category. Journal of Religion in Europe 9: 247–275. ———. 2016b. Construction Through Appropriation: Kabbalah in Blavatsky’s Early Works. In Theosophical Appropriations: Esotericism, Kabbalah, and the Transformation of Traditions, ed. Julie Chajes and Boaz Huss, 33–72. Beer Sheva: Ben-Gurion University Press. Cholvijarn, Potprecha. 2011. Nibban̄ a as True Reality beyond the Debate: Some Contemporary Thai Discussions. Damnoen Saduak District, Rajburi Province 70130. Thailand: Wat Luang Phor Sodh Dhammakayaram. Clarke, J.J. 1997. Oriental Enlightenment: The Encounter between Asian and Western Thought. London: Routledge. Collins, Steven. 1999. Selfless Persons: Imagery and Thought in Theravāda Buddhism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dawson, Andrew. 2006. East is East, Except When It’s West. Journal of Religion and Society 8: 1–13. De Michelis, Elizabeth. 2006. A History of Modern Yoga: Patañjali and Modern Yoga. London: Continuum. Dharmadasa, K.N.O. 1992. Language, Religion, and Ethnic Assertiveness: The Growth of Sinhalese Nationalism in Sri Lanka. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Fiske, Adele M. 1976. Buddhism in India Today. In Buddhism in the Modern World, ed. Heinrich Dumoulin. New York and London: Macmillan. Gethin, Rupert. 1998. The Foundations of Buddhism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Godwin, Joscelyn. 1994. The Theosophical Enlightenment. Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Gombrich, Richard. 1988. Theravada Buddhism: A Social History from Ancient Benares to Modern Colombo. London and New York: Routledge and Kegan Paul. ———. 2009. Buddhist Precept and Practice: Traditional Buddhism in the Rural Highlands of Ceylon. London and New York: Routledge. Gombrich, Richard, and Gananath Obeyesekere. 1988. Buddhism Transformed: Religious Change in Sri Lanka. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Goodrick-Clarke, Nicholas. 2013. Western Esoteric Traditions and Theosophy. In Handbook of the Theosophical Current, ed. Mikael Rothstein and Olav Hammer, 261–307. Leiden and Boston, MA: Brill. ———. 2007. The Theosophical Society, Orientalism, and the ‘Mystic East’: Western Esotericism and Eastern Religion in Theosophy. Theosophical History 13 (3): 3–36.

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Granholm, Kenneth. 2013. Locating the West: Problematizing the Western in Western Esotericism and Occultism. In Occultism in a Global Perspective, ed. Henrik Bogdan and Gordan Djurdjevic, 17–36. Durham: Acumen. Gunanande, Mohiwatte. 1879. The Law of the Lord Sakhya Muni. The Theosophist 1 (3): 43–44. Hanegraaff, Wouter. forthcoming. Western Esotericism and the Orient in the First Theosophical Society. In Theosophy Across Boundaries, ed. Hans Martin Krämer and Julian Strube. ———. 1996. New Age Religion and Western Culture: Esotericism in the Mirror of Secular Thought. Leiden: Brill. Harvey, Peter. 2013. An Introduction to Buddhism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2004. The Selfless Mind: Personality, Consciousness and Nirvana in Early Buddhism. Abingdon: Routledge Curzon. Hookham, K. 1992. The Buddha Within: Tathagatagarbha Doctrine According to the Shentong Interpretation of the Ratnagotravibhaga. Delhi: Sri Satguru Publications. Karuanatilake, H.N.S. 2004. The Local and Foreign Impact of the Pânadurâ Vadaya. Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Sri Lanka 49: 67–86. Kemper, Steven. 2015. Rescued from the Nation: Anagarika Dharmapala and the Buddhist World. Chicago, IL and London: University of Chicago Press. King, Sallie B. 1992. Buddha Nature. Delhi: Sri Satguru. Lopez, Donald, ed. 2002. A Modern Buddhist Bible: Essential Readings from East and West. Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Lubelsky, Isaac. 2012. Celestial India: Madame Blavatsky and the Birth of Indian Nationalism. Oakville, CT: Equinox. McMahan, David L. 2008. The Making of Buddhist Modernism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. 2004. Modernity and the Discourse of Scientific Buddhism. Journal of the American Academy of Religion 72 (4): 897–933. Müller, Max. 1872. Lectures on the Science of Religion. New  York: Charles Scribner and Co. Olcott, Henry Steel. 1908. The Buddhist Catechism. Colombo: Ministry of Cultural Affairs. ———. 1900. Old Diary Leaves Second Series. London: The Theosophical Publishing Company. Olcott, Henry Steel, and H.P. Blavatsky. n.d. Buddhist Exegesis. The Theosophist 1 (2 (879)): 34. Park, Jungnok. 2012. How Buddhism Acquired a Soul on the Way to China. Sheffield: Equinox.

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Partridge, Christopher. 2013. Lost Horizon: H.  P. Blavatsky’s Theosophical Orientalism. In Handbook of the Theosophical Current, ed. Mikael Rothstein and Olav Hammer, 309–333. Leiden and Boston, MA: Brill. Peebles, J.M. 1878. Buddhism and Christianity Face to Face. Boston, MA: Colby and Rich. Prakash, Gyan. 1995. Orientalism Now. History and Theory 34: 199–212. Prothero, Stephen. 1995. Henry Steel Olcott and “Protestant Buddhism”. Journal of the American Academy of Religion 63: 281–302. ———. 1996a. The White Buddhist: The Asian Odyssey of Henry Steel Olcott. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. ———. 1996b. Henry Steel Olcott, Anagarika Dharmapala and the Maha Bodhi Society. Theosophical History 6 (3): 96–103. Remón, Joaquín Pérez. 1980. Self and Non-Self in Early Buddhism. The Hague: Mouton. Said, Edward W. 2003. Orientalism. London: Penguin. ———. 1985. Orientalism Reconsidered. Cultural Critique 1: 89–107. Sharf, Robert. 1993. The Zen of Japanese Nationalism. History of Religions 33 (1): 1–43. ———. 1995. Whose Zen? Zen Nationalism Revisited. In Awakenings: Zen, the Kyoto School, and the Question of Nationalism, ed. James W. Heisig and John Maraldo Rude, 40–51. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Sumangala, H. 1879. The Nature and Office of Buddha’s Religion I, II, III and IV. The Theosophist 1 (2): 43. 1, no. 5 (1880): 122; 1, no. 8 (1880): 211-12; and 2, no. 1 (1880): 7-8. ———. 1882. The Nature of Nirvana from the Southern Buddhist Point of View. The Theosophist 3 (36): 297. Williams, Paul. 2009. Maha ̄ya ̄na Buddhism: The Doctrinal Foundations. 2nd ed. Abingdon: Routledge. Yoshinaga, Sin’ichi. 2009. Theosophy and Buddhist Reformers in the Middle of the Meiji Period: An Introduction. Japanese Religions 34 (2): 119–131. ———. 2013. Three Boys on a Great Vehicle: ‘Mahayana Buddhism’ and a Trans-­ National Network. Contemporary Buddhism: An Interdisciplinary Journal 14 (1): 52–65.

CHAPTER 10

Theosophical Chronology in the Writings of Guido von List (1848–1919): A Link Between H.P. Blavatsky’s Philosophy and the Nazi Movement Jeffrey D. Lavoie

For many years, writers have suggested a link between Blavatsky and the Nazi movement, though most serious efforts to define this connection slowly turn into conspiracy theories that build upon a number of ambiguous associations.1 To date, little effort has gone into identifying a connection between Blavatsky’s philosophy of time and Nazi ideologies. The most admirable attempt at defining this connection was published by 1  A simple Google search using the keywords “Blavatsky Hitler and Conspiracy” will lead to a plethora of webpages and conspiracy theories. Some printed books that include such ideas are Ulrich R. Romer, Blavatsky Effect: How Madame Influenced Modern Concepts of God and Jesus (n.l.: n.p., 2014) and Christopher Hodapp and Alice von Kannon, Conspiracy Theories and Secret Societies for Dummies (Hoboken, NJ: Wiley Publishing, 2011), 199.

J. D. Lavoie (*) Roxbury Community College, Boston, MA, USA © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 G. D. Hedesan, T. Rudbøg (eds.), Innovation in Esotericism from the Renaissance to the Present, Palgrave Studies in New Religions and Alternative Spiritualities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-67906-4_10

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Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke in his major book The Occult Roots of Nazism, first released in 1985 (based on his 1982 Oxford doctoral thesis). This chapter will bring a further contribution to the subject by exploring the writings of an Austrian writer named Guido Karl Anton List (1848–1919),2 whose ideas were indirectly assimilated into Nazi ideology.3 List found Blavatsky’s philosophy of time appealing to his German nationalist ideology, because it provided a powerful pre-history that made the Aryan race (which he understood as being essentially Germanic) superior to others. It should be noted that List was not the only German nationalist who combined Theosophical chronology with German mythology, racial ideas, and radical conspiracy theories; however, I have focused on List specifically, because his works exhibit a direct connection to Blavatsky’s chronology and philosophy of time. In addition to an analysis of the appropriation of Blavatsky’s philosophy by List, this chapter will make a contribution to both the study of Blavatsky and of Nazism. First, it will examine Blavatsky’s racial views in light of a recently published letter that sheds further light on this subject, a letter sent from Blavatsky to James Ralston Skinner on 17 February 1887. Secondly, this study will also suggest an unknown piece of indirect evidence linking List to the notorious Adolf Hitler, via an obscure writing that could be found in Hitler’s library—Tarnhari’s From the Traditions of the Latarar-Clan of the Righteous: A Devotion to All Those Who Have Been Found (Aus den Traditionen der Laf-tar-ar-Sippe der “Lauterer”: eine Weihegabe an alle Treubefundenen).

2  From 1903 List began using the noble particle “von,” which he had to officially defend in 1907 after the “Nobility Archive” discovered that he had added it to the “Vienna address-­ book” the same year; see Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke, The Occult Roots of Nazism: Secret Aryan Cults and Their Influence on Nazi Ideology (New York: New York University Press, 1992), 41–42. 3  List’s connection to Nazism has already been proven in such works as Goodrick-Clarke, The Occult Roots of Nazism, 56–65, 200–204; Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke, Black Sun: Aryan Cults, Esoteric Nazism and the Politics of Identity (New York: New  York University Press, 2003), 86, 136; Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke, Hitler’s Priestess: Savitri Devi, the Hindu-Aryan Myth, and Neo-Nazism (New York: New York University Press, 1998), 35–36, 231; David Luhrssen, Hammer of the Gods: The Thule Society and the Birth of Nazism (Washington, DC: Potomac Books, 2012), 17–18, 20–42; Joscelyn Godwin, Arktos: The Polar Myth in Science Symbolism, and Nazi Survival (Kempton, IL: Adventures Unlimited Press, 1996), 57.

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The Life and Writings of Guido Karl Anton List (1848–1919) Guido Karl Anton List has been the subject of only one full-length biography written in 1917 by Johannes Balzli, entitled Guido v. List: The Rediscoverer of Ancient Aryan Wisdom (Guido v. List. Der Wiederentdecker uralter arischer Weisheit). Unfortunately, this biography is not entirely to be trusted, as it was written by a follower and admirer of List; Balzli was in fact the secretary of the Guido von List Society. Born in Vienna, the capital of Hapsburg Austria, Guido was the firstborn son of Karl Anton List, a leather retailer and a member of the bourgeois middle-class. As such, List was marked to carry on the family business. However, List’s inclinations would move him away from his familial duty. As a young man, List became an experienced hiker and mountain climber as well as a gifted artist who painted a variety of family portraits and German landscapes.4 In 1871, at the age of 23, List became a correspondent of the New German Alpine Newsletter (Neue deutsche Alpenzeitung), a pan-German association, and an editor for the Austrian Alpine Association (Österreicher Alpenverein). In 1877, List’s father passed away, an event which gave Guido the confidence to abandon the family business in order to devote himself fully to writing. In 1888, List published his first historical novel entitled Carnuntum, an accomplishment which made him a recognizable author and earned him the attention of important political and economic leaders of German nationalist movements, most notably perhaps of whom was the wealthy industrialist Friedrich Wannieck (1838–1919).5 Subsequently, List embarked on a writing career dedicated to advancing German nationalist sentiments. His works must be understood in the historical context of the rapid modernization of Vienna and the Austro-­ Hungarian Empire as a whole. In the 1870s, Vienna was still a town dominated by an agrarian community of German nationality, fortified by a protective wall erected in the seventeenth century. The 1880s and 1890s witnessed many changes in Vienna: the tearing down of these protective walls, the liberal influence of modernity in religion and society, and the progressive strides in nineteenth-century industry. More importantly,  Luhrssen, Hammer of the Gods, 21.  Guido von List, The Secret of the Runes, trans. Stephen E.  Flowers (Rochester, VT: Destiny Books, 1988), 5. 4 5

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Vienna experienced a rise in immigration that transformed it into the melting pot of a multicultural society. People immigrated from throughout the Empire, including Poles, Ukrainians, Serbs and Croats, Italians, and Czechs. This influx of immigration transformed Vienna into a multiracial society, changing it from a predominantly German city into one of the first multiracial metropolises of its day. All these changes may have been perceived by some of the original residents of nineteenth-century Vienna as invasive elements that threatened their way of life. In turn, many of them, List included, sought to find refuge and succor in German nationalistic mythology. List published numerous articles and books between the years 1890 and 1903, and tirelessly worked on improving his literary capabilities. It was shortly after this time period that List’s writing took on a noticeable esoteric focus. This focus followed an intense cataract surgery in 1902 that left List blind for nearly a year. In the midst of this handicap, List described a mystical vision that he experienced: “during the months that my eyes were bandaged… previously unperceived Laws of Generation and Evolution belonging to our Aryan people, of its emotion, intellect, speech, and writings, came to me.”6 This vision led him to compose seven research reports that would later be published by the fledgling Guido von List Society (Guido-von-List-Gesellschaft), which was established in 1908  in order to spread List’s teaching and to finance his publications.7 The List Society’s membership roster boasted a number of high-profile individuals, including Wannieck, theosophist General Blasius von Schema (1856–1920), occultist Max Seiling (1852–1928), Ariosophist Jörg Lanz von Liebenfels (1874–1954), and Friedrich Schwickert (1857–1930), an occultist whose writings focused on discovering the elixir of life.8 While the List Society was an exoteric order, List went on to found an esoteric order in 1911, which he called the High Armanic Order (HAO, Hoher Armanen-Orden), whose membership was prestigious and consisted of wholly middle- and upper-class German males. List promoted Wotanism, a new religious movement based on the ancient god Wotan (or Oddhin). To this he incorporated his own

 Luhrssen, Hammer of the Gods, 28.  Out of these seven research reports, six survived. 8  Goodrick-Clarke, The Occult Roots of Nazism, 54–55. 6 7

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revisionist version of the ancient Norse traditions as recorded in the Edda.9 Yet his philosophy drew heavily upon Blavatsky’s chronology, which he mainly derived from The Secret Doctrine (1888). List first became aware of Blavatsky’s writings through a 1901 German translation of The Secret Doctrine (Die Geheimlehre) by Wilhelm Friedrich. Subsequently, List’s philosophy borrowed numerous Theosophical elements, including a belief in cyclical time, root races, Atlantis, ancient symbolism (taken directly from The Secret Doctrine), and a preoccupation with recovering the one true ancient German language and religion that had been perverted by Christianity. However, List’s writings switched the Blavatskian focus from India to Germany, making the latter the true cradle of Aryan civilization and the birthplace of the one legitimate religious tradition. List’s ideas have been referred to as “volkish.” Although this term is difficult to define, the German word völkisch is literally translated “of the people” in English. In German, völkisch implies a cultural connection between a race and the land it inhabits. This label was first used by German Romantic nationalists such as Johann Gottlieb Fichte (1762–1814) and was used in a spiritual sense to refer to the connection of the Saxon people with the father-land (which would later be referred to as Germany). It is no wonder that adherents to many volkish movements typically maintained a deeply-rooted nationalistic sentiment.10 Furthermore, many volkish circles of nineteenth-century Germany also displayed anti-Semitic ideas, which at the time permeated contemporaneous Western culture through the various disciplines of anthropology, linguistics, and evolutionary science. George Mosse (1918–1999), who has been dubbed the “volkish historian,” identified a direct connection between volkish ideology and anti-Semitism: According to volkish theorists, the nature of the soul of a Volk (German “people”) is determined by the native landscape. Thus the Jews, being desert people, are viewed as shallow, arid, “dry” people, devoid of profundity 9  Guido von List, The Religion of the Aryo-Germanic Folk: Esoteric and Exoteric (Smithville, TX: Runa-Raven Press, 2005), vii. 10  See George Mosse, The Crisis of German Ideology: Intellectual Origins of the Third Reich (New York: Grosset and Dunlap, 1964), 13–30. For further information on the connection between the transition of German liberalism into volkish ideologies and their connection with nationalism, see Eric Kurlander, “The Rise of Völkisch-Nationalism and the Decline of German Liberalism: A Comparison of Liberal Political Cultures in Schleswig-Holstein and Silesia 1912–1924,” European Review of History 9, no. 1 (2002), 23–36.

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and totally lacking in creativity. Because of the barrenness of the desert landscape, the Jews are a spiritually barren people. They thus contrast markedly with the Germans, who, living in the dark, mist-shrouded forests are deep, mysterious, and profound.11

Mosse believed that the volkish movement greatly contributed to the events that led to the mass extermination of the Jewish race in Nazi Germany. He also argued that Blavatsky’s philosophy of time appealed to German volkish nationalists as a powerful tool which validated their belief in the inferiority of “lower” races and helped them to de-humanize other “less-evolved” civilizations.12 Certainly, there were clear links between Theosophy and German volkish ideas, particularly during the early history of the German Theosophical movement. For instance, Prana, a German monthly for applied Spiritualism, was published by Leipzig’s Theosophical publishing press, and its editor was List’s biographer Johannes Balzli, who was also the secretary of the Guido List society. As Mosse points out, Franz Hartmann (1838–1912), an honorary member of the List society, “was one of Prana’s most frequent contributors, as was C. W. Leadbeater (1854–1934), an Anglican curate whom Madame Blavatsky had taken with her to India.” Guido von List himself contributed to its pages as did Lanz von Liebenfels.13 List was also directly inspired by Max Ferdinand Sebaldt (1859–1916), Hartmann, Hugo Göring (1849–1935), and Paul Zillmann,14 while Franz Hartmann praised List’s writings and noted its similarities to Blavatsky: The newly published work of Guido List “The pictographic Script of the Aryo-German” could justifiably be placed side by side to H.P. Blavatsky’s “Isis Unveiled;” for the author has lifted the thick veil covering the history of the Germanic antiquity and provided us with a deep understanding of the secret teaching of the old Germans and the meaning of their symbolism. The teachings of the deity, the seven principles, evolution etc., unveiled in

 Mosse, The Crisis of German Ideology, 4–5.  Mosse, The Crisis of German Ideology, 86. 13  George L. Mosse, “Racism, the Occult, and Eugenics: The Mystical Origins of National Socialism,” in The Nazi Holocaust Part 2: The Origins of the Holocaust, ed. Michael R. Marrus (Westport, CT: De Gruyter, 1989), 49–50. 14  Goodrick-Clarke, The Occult Roots of Nazism, 30. 11 12

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the process, correspond exactly with the secret teaching of the Indian people and are therefore confirmed by the later.15

List assimilated Theosophy, along with its spiritual evolution and root races, into his volkish ideology. List’s reliance on Blavatsky was exhibited throughout his research reports, as he continuously cited her philosophy; however, he seemed especially captivated with her philosophy of time. The concept of root races had allowed Blavatsky to combine many of the chronologies of world religions into one system, but to List the notion provided an instrument useful to assert the superiority of the German race. In most of his research reports, he included drawings of medieval heraldry complete with Germanic symbols of coats and arms. He also attempted to ground his teachings in ancient writings such as Tacitus’ Germania, further evidencing his desire to shift the origin of civilization away from Blavatsky’s India-centric tradition and toward Germany. Die Religion der Ario-Germanen (The Religion of the Aryo-­Germans), 1909/1910 List’s assimilation of The Secret Doctrine into a German framework is particularly evidenced in his 1909/1910 book, The Religion of the Aryo-­ Germans. Joscelyn Godwin, the noted historian of Theosophy, described List’s writing as being “Theosophical through and through.”16 Godwin noted the existence of similar elements in List’s writings as in Blavatsky’s. While List only occasionally cited Blavatsky, the book was largely based on The Secret Doctrine; in fact, many teachings found throughout this work, including several diagrams, were taken directly from it. Several of these common elements included a fixation on the number seven, and an admiration of the Incomprehensible One. List assimilated Blavatsky’s root races using a similar format: he deemed the third root race as being androgynous, the fourth root race as sexually differentiated, with the fifth root race representing the present human race.17 List used Blavatsky’s teachings to justify his own cosmology, but instead of using Sanskrit terms, 15  Franz Hartmann, “Rundschau in der ausländischen theosophischen Literatur,” Neue Lotusblüten 2 (1910): 370. 16  Joscelyn Godwin, Atlantis and the Cycles of Time: Prophecies, Traditions, and Occult Revelations from the Teachings of Rudolf Steiner, Edgar Cayce, Rene Guenon, and Others (Rochester, VT: Inner Traditions, 2011), 123. 17  List, The Religion of the Aryo-Germanic Folk, 47.

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he employed German words. For instance, he borrowed the concept of “karma” but called it “garma.” The main mystical number used by Blavatsky throughout The Secret Doctrine was “4320.”18 She derived this number from Eastern texts (primarily the Vishnu Purana) and it became the core of her chronological system. For her, a Kalpa was a period of 4,320,000,000 years divided up into various time periods called yugs: Satya yug (1,728,000 years), Tretya yug (1,296,000 years), Dvapa yug (8,640,000 years), and the Kali yug (432,000 years). Even her “secret cycle” of 600 years was divisible into the mystical number 4320. List employed Blavatsky’s chronological speculation by identifying numerical mystical patterns in the Edda text and believing that his calculations came to 432,000.19 As he pointed out, “The calculation is simple: 500 + 4 x10 x 800 = 432,000. If we consider that Wuotan is thought of as a god of time in this ring,20 then those 432,000 Einherjar indicate years…But what do the 432,000 years mean?”21 He further cited Blavatsky directly: The interpretation based on our Arya-Germanic traditions, which flow out sparingly, but which nevertheless supply all the information we ever need, would lead us too far astray here, and due to our limited space we recommend H. P. Blavatsky’s Secret Doctrine which gives a summary of the most important numbers having to do with years as which the mystical numbers 4320 forms the basis.22

List referred to Blavatsky’s system of time in The Secret Doctrine in relation to his own views on world chronology and cosmology, noting that the numbers relating to yearly cycles are given here according to H. P. Blavatsky: Such a ring or circle (cycle) comprises 4320 years, and such a cycle came to

18  For a detailed study of Blavatsky’s philosophy of time see Jeffrey D.  Lavoie, “Saving Time: Time, Sources and Implications of Temporality in the Writings of H. P. Blavatsky” (PhD diss., University of Exeter, 2015). 19  List, The Religion of the Aryo-Germanic Folk, 34. 20  A “ring” was a unit of time and identical to a “cycle” as developed by H. P. Blavatsky. In her cosmology it was connected to human evolution and reincarnation; H. P. Blavatsky, The Secret Doctrine: The Synthesis of Science, Religion, and Philosophy, 2 vols (London: Theosophical Publishing Company, 1893), II, 637. 21  List, The Religion of the Aryo-Germanic Folk, 48. 22  List, The Religion of the Aryo-Germanic Folk, 48.

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an end in the year 1897; therefore, there is now a new age coming into force, one which is installing a new form of development.23

He further connected his Aeon of Wotanism with a Maha-yuga and a Day of Brahma, concepts used by Blavatsky’s chronology: A Day of Brahma is indicated there as having 4,420,000,000 years and a Night of Brahma has the same length. This means that the length of time for creation (materialization of the spirit) is 4,320,000,000 years and the time for the dissolution of matter into spirit (Surtur) has the same duration before a new cycle begins.24

Next, List noted an eschatological reference which employed a specific duration of years that further proved his reliance on Blavatsky: From this series of enormous numbers, which are cited here according to H.  P. Blavatsky, one more may be introduced which indicates the age of humanity up to the year 1910: The years of our reckoning of time stand at exactly 18,618,751 terrestrial years, while the cosmic development of our solar system began exactly 1,955,884,710 earth-years ago, and therefore 2,364,411,590 years will be needed before there will be a return to Ur.25

The number 18,618,751 minus 23 (1910 [List] – 1887 [Blavatsky] = 23) years equals 18,618,728 and the number 1,955,884,710 minus 23 equals 1,955,884,687. Both of these numbers were taken directly from Blavatsky’s The Secret Doctrine.26 While employing Blavatsky’s chronology might appear harmless enough, the major issue was the way List combined a linear eschatology into a cyclical (and recurring) framework. This connection will be explored in a later section. Die Ursprache der Ario-Germanen (The Original Language of the Ario-Germans), 1914 List’s sixth report is the most important for this study as it evidences his in-depth engagement with Blavatsky’s time cycles. The Original Language  List, The Religion of the Aryo-Germanic Folk, 48.  List, The Religion of the Aryo-Germanic Folk, 48. 25  List, The Religion of the Aryo-Germanic Folk, 49. 26  Blavatsky, The Secret Doctrine, II, 72. 23 24

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of the Ario-Germans appears to be the most exhaustive of all of his works. Believing that he had discovered the common root of all languages, List sent an early draft copy to the Imperial Academy of Science in Vienna. However, according to his own testimony written in the third person, “on 4th June 1903 the author received his manuscript back from the Academy with a filled out pre-printed form in which the admission of the work…had been declined without mention of a reason.”27 List believed that he had discovered “the highest and holiest…the proclamation of the Aryo-­ Germanic advent of the twilight of gods—the Strong One from Above, he is ascending,” ideas that evidence a strong apocalyptic association in this work.28 The report was strongly influenced by Blavatsky’s philosophy of time and root races. List focused his belief on Blavatsky’s “Aryan” fifth root race, but he understood this to be a physical, not a spiritual race as Blavatsky conceived it. List assimilated the Norse cosmological tree, “Yggdrasil,” with Blavatsky’s “Genealogical tree of the Fifth Root Race,” claiming that it was, in fact, an Aryo-German racial tree. Otherwise, he followed Blavatsky’s chronology: “it must be inferred that each of the four preceding sub-races has lived approximately 210,000 years; thus each family race has an average existence of about 30,000 years.” List quoted Blavatsky almost verbatim, noting that “we can conclude that every previous sub-race lived for about 210,000 years and every one of its branch or adjoining races needed about 30,000 years to completed its cycle from creation to being.”29 Blavatsky’s chronology was very specific, and the mere fact that these exact figures and calculations match up evidences a direct connection between Blavatsky and List. Blavatsky maintained a reincarnationist approach to soteriology. Each soul went through a long and complex evolution that spanned various time periods and occurred on different globes/planets. In her final philosophy, Blavatsky believed that there were seven such globes that humanity evolved on before the process restarted, and a completed spiritual evolution through all seven of these globes was called a round. Blavatsky’s complex view of spiritual evolution through “rounds” in The Secret 27  Guido von List, Die Ursprache der Ario-Germanen und ihre Mysteriensprache, GLB 6 (Leipzig: n.p., 1914), 4. 28  List, Die Ursprache der Ario-Germanen, 18. 29  List, Die Ursprache der Ario-Germanen, 18; see Blavatsky, The Secret Doctrine, II, 435, but also 433–36.

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Doctrine followed an evolutionary pattern that List later applied to his own racial construction. However, it seems that List may have confused the terms “round” with “race,” a common mistake made by her followers. List paraphrased Blavatsky that30 the remains of a ‘proto-human’ will never be found, although the man of earth as a spiritual ego is as old as earth itself, with which he has constantly-­ while adapting to it- changed his form and living conditions. Accordingly he has on this earth, while it was still a fiery liquid and was crackling with fiery steam and rain, had to have a fiery-ethereal form himself and such a form is to be found in the geological residue or is still not recognizable. In no way did the first nor the second race correspond with our present understanding of physicality and neither was the third race gifted with a thick body shell which can be found in the following races, a fact which can explain a lack of their remains…man, the master of the earth is not a random breeding result of the lower animal and plant world, but stands upon the earth as a crown of creation fully conscious as a spiritual ego from the beginning of the earth, spiritually unchanged but materially changing his form to adopt to the conditions.31

Based on this quote, a direct assimilation of Blavatsky’s spiritual evolution and rounds is evident. Still, List’s reliance on Blavatsky’s chronology does not end there. Blavatsky had defined a sidereal year as equaling 25,868 years and the fate of every nation as 16,000 years.32 List in turn noted that the Aryo-Germans…still have a lifespan of about 16,000 years left. It seems that there is a connection with the sidereal or solar year, which lasts 25,868 years, a number which nearly corresponds with the lifespan of a branch race.33

List’s adoption of Blavatskian chronology is further exhibited in the chart included in Die Ursprache and reprinted below in English translation (by the author) (Fig. 10.1): As Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke noted, the chart “sought to reconcile the geological periods of the Earth, as established by contemporary 30  It seems List derived this passage from Blavatsky, The Secret Doctrine, I, 210–11, 188–89, 252. 31  List, Die Ursprache der Ario-Germanen, 13. 32  Blavatsky, The Secret Doctrine, II, 345. 33  List, Die Ursprache der Ario-Germanen, 21.

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Fig. 10.1  H. P. Blavatsky’s chronology in Guido List’s Philosophy—Loose leaf in Die Ursprache der Ario-Germanen und ihre Mysteriensprache (1914)

paleogeography, with the stages of a theosophical round lasting 4,320,000,000 years, or kalpa in Hindu chronology.”34 In this chart several key features help identify the Blavatskian influence: the division of humanity into seven races, the eternal cyclical recurrence of decay and creation, and the Eastern time division of 4,320,000,000 years (a “Day of Brahma”). There is one other striking similarity—List appears to have compiled this chronological chart based directly on Blavatsky’s elaborate assimilation of nineteenth-century evolutionary divisions and her own

 Goodrick-Clarke, The Occult Roots of Nazism, 54.

34

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root-race theory.35 Thus, List misinterpreted and reconceptualized Blavatsky’s pre-historic chronology into a Germanic tradition. List’s Soteriology in Light of Blavatsky’s Philosophy As we have seen in the previous analysis, List’s chronology echoed Blavatsky’s philosophy of time, as it included a belief in such basic themes as cosmic rhythms, the ebbs and flows of the universe, root races, sub-­ races, periods of activity and inactivity, and the individual’s successive reincarnation in each round. However, List diverged from his acceptance of Theosophy in his soteriological beliefs. Blavatsky’s soteriological aim was an eternal cyclical time with an optimistic, evolutionary progression and the majority of time being spent in the subjective realms of Devachan, nirvana, and other states.36 List’s soteriology was one of the main distinguishing elements of his belief system. Blavatsky’s adherence to cyclical time inferred that there was no final soteriology or judgment. By comparison, as Goodrick-Clarke noted, List “rejected this oriental fatalism regarding time and destiny in favor of Judeo-Christian notions of salvation. Although he had adopted theosophical materials for his cosmology, he was loath to accept its limited soteriology.”37 List entertained a belief in the restoration of the traditional world through national revival, an idea that led him to Western apocalypticism. Despite List’s manifest disdain for Christianity, his explicit assumptions of linear time and a unique, final redemption jar continually with the cyclical implication of theosophy throughout his writings. In due course List’s vision of a pan-German empire was almost wholly based on Western apocalypticism.38

Therefore, List adopted Blavatsky’s teachings for his pre-historic cosmology; however, for his eschatology he adopted a Western apocalyptic framework. List held a pessimistic view of the present, which he combined with his belief in a coming New Age (or Reich) of future prosperity. This scheme matched the traditional linear Judaeo-Christian eschatology, which  Blavatsky, The Secret Doctrine II, 710–15.  Lavoie, “Saving Time,” 227–29. 37  Goodrick-Clarke, The Occult Roots of Nazism, 79. 38  Goodrick-Clarke, The Occult Roots of Nazism, 79. 35 36

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differentiates between the unfortunate present and the future of humanity. The impending future’s turning point is usually recognized through a series of cataclysms and catastrophes. This belief structure favors the idea of an eschatological empire led by an emancipator or Messiah figure who will offer a soteriological solution in order to liberate the marginalized and chosen (elected) people group—this savior would lead these “elect” to victory and set up an impending New Age.39 This apocalyptic myth provides powerful emotional and spiritual support for those who are in dire need of comfort and hope in times of trouble and oppression. The Nazi empire has been identified by Norman Cohn as a millenarian movement in his classic work The Pursuit of the Millennium, an idea further confirmed by recent scholarship.40 In accordance with standard millenarian belief, in preparing for this future victory, the Messiah figure would experience “messianic” or “apocalyptic woes.” The term “messianic woes” refers to a temporary period of “trials and tribulations” that must occur before this future New Age can be implemented. The “woes” could be identified with a number of diverse hardships from plagues to droughts to a poor harvest. It seemed that the tribulation which List feared most was largely nationalistic—the fear of a pro-Czech foreign policy. In his views, in the 1890s, the Slavs were continuously attempting to dominate the German culture of Austria. This culminated with an Austrian-Hungarian language ordinance passed on 5th of April 1897 by Count Kasimir Badeni (1846–1909), which had decreed that Czech and German would be co-official languages in Vienna, even among civil servants.41 List’s eschatology and soteriology described the Slavs as invaders of ancient German lands.42 He protested this apparent infiltration and wrote a booklet titled The Invincible: An Outline of Germanic Philosophy (Der 39  For a detailed discussion of Christian apocalypticism, see C. Marvin Pate, The End of the Age Has Come: The Theology of Paul (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan Publishing House, 1995), 64–65. 40  Millenarianism is a specific form of apocalypticism that includes a “thousand” year reign, thus, the word “millennium” or “millennial.” For other works confirming this millenarian aspect of the Nazi empire, see: James Rhodes, The Hitler Movement: A Modern Millenarian Revolution (Stanford, CA: Hoover Institution Press, 1980); Robert Wistrich, Hitler’s Apocalypse (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1985); David Redles, Hitler’s Millennial Reich: Apocalyptic Belief and the Search for Salvation (New York: New York University Press, 2005). 41  Rudolf Agstner, Austria and Its Consulates in the United States of America since 1820 (Zürich: Lit Verlag, 2012), 162. 42  Agstner, Austria and Its Consulates, 25–26.

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Unbesiegbare: Ein Grundzug Germanischer Weltangschaaung), which was published in 1898. In this pamphlet, List sets up a volkish structure that is intimately connected to nationalism: [T]he highest goal of the education of the folk, is only attainable when the irrevocable laws of evolution, according to which the All is formed, whereby each advances in the development of its own kind and race, are taken into account. But these goals can in no way be attained if a foreign, and often even hostile, spirit is force [sic] upon the folk-soul…It is therefore above all a compelling necessity to institute a national curriculum for the education of the folk in the schools, and that this is to begin in the earliest grades and continue throughout the schooling to establish such a planned national folk-education by means of a “Folk-Way-Teaching” [Volkssittenlehre] (National-Morality), which has to be treated as an obligatory educational objective.43

For List, the loss of national identity could be  viewed as part of the German “messianic woes” and justified his anti-Semitic writings and behavior. It is notable that Blavatsky believed in the existence of spiritual leaders, called Masters, or World Teachers, but, as James Santucci has rightfully pointed out, the concept of the Messiah in Theosophy was more prevalent in the later writings of the second generation of Theosophists (such as Annie Besant and Charles W. Leadbeater) than in Blavatsky’s.44 Moreover, Blavatsky noted that spiritual leaders assisted humanity in their evolution in a non-violent manner. In contrast, List seemingly believed in a “Messiah” who would specifically purify and unite Germany. This process included violence and the use of military force, as exemplified throughout the second volume of Die Armanenschaft der Ario-Germanen (1911).45 Thus, List’s combination of cyclical time with a linear soteriology paved the way for a Nazi regime along with a “messianic figure,” as exemplified in a 1918 letter sent to his “faithful disciples.” This letter, which served as the preface to his Die Rita der Ario-Germanen (1920), explained that an empire would arise that would destroy the Jewish state

43  Guido von List, The Invincible: An Outline of Germanic Philosophy, trans. Edred Thorsson (Smithville, TX: Runa-Raven Press, 1996 [1898]), 9. 44  List, The Invincible, 47. 45  It should be remembered that Germany did not exist as a nation until 1871.

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and uphold volkish ideals. It further claimed that in 1932 a racially pure community would be established by rooting out the Jewish conspiracy.46 List’s Anti-Semitism and Blavatsky’s Racial Views As the previous sections show, List harbored intense anti-Semitic beliefs. One of his most rabid attacks against the Jews occurred in Die Armanenschaft der Ario-Germanen. In this book, List maintained the existence of a Jewish conspiracy which had initially developed out of Judaism. List credited his belief in a unique Jewish conspiracy theory to the writings of Wilhelm Obermüller (1809–1888). Obermüller was a German ethnologist and a member of the Vienna Geographical Society who developed a theory that true Germans were direct descendants of the biblical figure Cain. His theories in anthropology were highly regarded, prompting List to cite his conspiracy theory. List claimed that there was a Judaic party that combined “clericalism and liberalism,” using them “to harm the Germans, yes, against the Germans a mad war of extermination is being led, that can most obviously be seen in the leadership of the party groups.”47 List believed that the entire Hebrew Bible was propaganda that disguised the true history of the Jewish people as the oppressors of Near Eastern nations, including the group called the Aryan Israelites (or the Ammonites). List’s mythology aimed to unveil a complex Jewish conspiracy working to oppress the Aryan Israelites. He claimed that the Jews stole the “heroic stories” of the “old Aryan heroic poetry of the Israelites, which was edited by the Rabbis in a Jewish sense and degenerated to that travesty, whose remains can still be recognized in the Bible.”48 List even viewed the conversion of Emperor Constantine (272–337) as proof of a Jewish takeover and believed that the Jews had infiltrated the true Israelites, subsuming their race through trickery and deceit. This conspiracy demonstrates List’s fear of the “other” and being overrun by invading races:

46  This prediction was only off by one year as the Nazi Party would rise to power in 1933 with Hitler being appointed as the Chancellor of Germany; Robert G.  L. Waite, The Psychopathic God: Adolf Hitler (New York: Da Capo Books, 1992), 97. 47  Guido von List, Die Armanenschaft der Ario-Germanen: Zweiter Teil, GLB 2a (Leipzig and Vienna: n.p, 1911), 25. 48  List, Die Armanenschaft, II, 178.

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[T]he “Jew,” who rather calls himself “Israelite” than “Jew,” will have a reason for this: he has to be called after the nation, in which he has nestled himself, so that one can assume that even the “Israelites” were a non-Jewish people, who have completely been consumed by the “Jews,” who then took over their land, property and literature. And the…organic creation of the Jewish people, as new ethnographic and historiographic research has shown to be true…that not once—according to that law—should happen that the Jews are to be known as “Viennese,” “Austrians,” “Germans” and so on, as they are now known as Israelites, which means that they will not absorb these lands, devour these people, take over their land, property, history, art and literature, like they have done two thousand years ago with the Israelites.49

List further maintained that the story of Exodus was a piece of Jewish propaganda—what really happened was that the Egyptians rebelled against the Hebrews, forcing them to leave Egypt. List believed this “Exodus from Egypt” represented a “successful anti-Semitic state action that— sadly—was never repeated in the history of mankind.”50 In a footnote in the book, List further noted his militant stance against the Jews: The day of reckoning between the German imperial power and the international power of Jews is closer than the dull dreamers believe. Our time will see much more blood, because this enormous question can only be answered through blood and steel.51

List reprinted within the pages of this same work an anti-Semitic article titled “The Jewish State and Nation” (“Die Juden als Staat und Nation”), which he had published on 12th of February 1896  in Ostdeutsche Rundschau. This research report in particular strongly evidenced List’s militant anti-Semitism. Robert G. L. Waite identified two steps that List believed were critical to combatting this Jewish conspiracy: the establishment of a racially pure state and the establishment of a new Reich under an Araharl or a “self-­ chosen Führer.”52 List was also associated with Georg von Schönerer’s  List, Die Armanenschaft, II, 180–81.  List, Die Armanenschaft, II, 178, 182. 51  List, Die Armanenschaft, II, 18. 52  Robert G. L. Waite, The Origins of the Holocaust (Westport, CT: Meckler Corporation, 1989), 342. 49 50

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(1842–1921) group, an organization of anti-Semitic pan-Germanists, and contributed to their official publication.53 List’s use of Blavatsky’s philosophy of races and his blatant anti-­ Semitism have raised the question of Blavatsky’s own racial views. James Santucci has argued that List misused Blavatsky’s philosophy of races by interpreting her racial ideology literally, as applying to physical races.54 Santucci claimed that Blavatsky’s ideology applied primarily to spiritual races, and that race was merely a term of convenience, not used in reference to physical traits, but spiritual ones, which “must be considered from a different perspective, one that is cosmic and ultimately divine in scope.”55 This spiritual nature went through various stages of reincarnations and lengthy cyclical progressions—eventually reaching its perfection as a spiritual god-like being. Although there are spiritual, intellectual, and physical differences between the seven root races, physical traits are minor compared to the spiritual ones.56 Santucci further answers the question “was racial inequality a prevailing opinion of the early Theosophical Society?” by stating that “the evidence suggests not, but that does not preclude the charge that many ideas behind Nazism may be based upon certain teachings found in Blavatsky’s writings.”57 A similar connection was employed by Olav Hammer, who specifically discussed List in his work in connection to Blavatsky and anti-­ Semitism.58 According to Hammer, List conceived of an Aryan race with superior qualities, an “Orientalist discourse” that List had transformed into a German nationalist agenda. List viewed the cultural outsider or “other” as being inferior and needing to be destroyed, thus dehumanizing lower races. Blavatsky, on the other hand, combined an Orientalist discourse with Romanticism, constructing “a historical myth which incorporated races and sub-races, but only on rare occasion were her writings  Mosse, The Crisis of German Ideology, 74–75.  James A. Santucci, “The Notion of Race in Theosophy,” Nova Religio: The Journal of Alternative and Emergent Religions 11, no. 3 (2008): 39. More recently, Isaac Lubelsky maintained that Blavatsky’s ideas did not differ from that of other nineteenth-century writers and that her anti-Semitism was primarily based on her disdain of the Christian Church. See Isaac Lubelsky, “Mythological and Real Race Issues in Theosophy,” in Handbook of the Theosophical Current, ed. Olav Hammer (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 342. 55  Santucci, “The Notion of Race in Theosophy,” 39. 56  Santucci, “The Notion of Race in Theosophy,” 38. 57  Santucci, “The Notion of Race in Theosophy,” 41. 58  Olav Hammer, Claiming Knowledge: Strategies of Epistemology from Theosophy to the New Age (Brill: Leiden, 2004), 121. 53 54

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overtly racist, which seemed based largely on her contempt for the Abrahamic religious practices.”59 It is the use of the phrase “rare occasion” that seems a questionable part of Hammer’s statement. For Blavatsky, “racist” designations were a very important aspect to her writings, especially in her later years as she attempted to disseminate the “secret doctrine” of the ancient wisdom tradition. According to Blavatsky, the Jews’ role in history was to have transmitted the most misunderstood and distorted interpretations of the ancient wisdom-religion to the first “Christians.”60 Hammer is correct in pointing out that Blavatsky viewed the Jews as an “other” of society.61 Since Hammer focuses on Blavatsky’s major works, his conclusion that her deprecatory views of the Jews were mainly based on her contempt for Abrahamic religion appears warranted. Yet Hammer downplayed Blavatsky’s personal racist views, evident in her private writings and correspondence. This is exemplified in two excerpts from the recently discovered letter written to James Ralston Skinner in 1887: The old Books teach that the Jews are a hybrid race (or A Wilder rightfully thought) of Hamitic/Caucasian & Aryan Hindu races. They were outcasts, & had lived long enough in India among the Aryans to learn the esoteric wisdom of Maimonides…They have done this in the most ingenious & clever way imaginable & have proceeded thereby to bring long series of generations into the idea that they (the Jews) were the “chosen people” of Jehovah, the Christians an improvement on that chosen people. But, I say again—they have neither of them, given anything new or original whatever, in the real esoteric meaning…the Hindus [are], at any rate, now the only people on earth who have preserved the original archaic doctrines.62

Blavatsky’s anti-Semitism in this letter is indisputable; her opinions go past a simple frustration with Jewish “religious” monotheism and evidence a blatant anti-Semitic belief. In the same unpublished letter to Skinner, she adds:

 Hammer, Claiming Knowledge, 121.  Hammer, Claiming Knowledge, 121–22. 61  Hammer, Claiming Knowledge, 121–22. 62  H. P. Blavatsky, “Helena Petrovna Blavatsky to Skinner,” James Ralston Skinner Papers, bMS 516/1 (16) (5 April 1887). Andover-Harvard Theological Library, Harvard Divinity School, Cambridge, MA. 59 60

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Now don’t be angry with me for what I said of the Jews. I don’t like them for the harm they have done the world & their grasping, selfish, hideous egotism. They the “chosen people”!! Oh shadow of Lord Buddha one thing is very suggestive. The most commercial, money-making grasping nation the world over—the English have chosen the fictitious deity. They could ever have a member; the phallic god, answering marvelously at the same times their immoral, hypocritical character, their beastly sensuality and cast. I am going to tell it to them in so many words in my S.D.63

To be clear: despite this strong anti-Semitic tendency, Blavatsky never advocated for physical violence against any race. It should also be noted that one of the most famously preserved goals of the Theosophical Society is the belief in the Brotherhood of Humanity. This is not to imply that Blavatsky did not contribute to the prevailing racism of her time through her teachings on race and her own anti-Semitic ideology, but she was merely one of the many cultural contributors that proto-Nazi and Nazi ideologists used to create their own mythology.

The Question of the Link Between Guido Von List and Adolf Hitler: A New Connection While there is no direct evidence connecting List and Hitler, there are some indirect links, one of which has never before been noted—the discovery of an unusual book in Hitler’s personal library, which will be examined below.64 Goodrick-Clarke notes that Hitler’s knowledge of List rested “upon the testimony of a third party and some literary references.”65 These included a 1959 lecture given by Wilfried Daim (b.1923) where it was suggested that Hitler knew who List was, frequently consulted his writings, and quoted them with great enthusiasm. It was also said that Hitler personally knew certain members of the List Society at Vienna and that they had provided him with a letter of introduction to the President of the Society at Munich.66 Also in 1921, Dr. Babette Steininger (a member of the Nazi Party) presented to Hitler Rabindranath Tagore’s (1861–1941) essay on nationalism as a birthday present that contained a  Blavatsky, “Helena Petrovna Blavatsky to Skinner.”  Luhrssen, Hammer of Gods, 42; Goodrick-Clarke, The Occult Roots of Nazism, 198; Mosse, The Crisis of German Ideology, 75–77. 65  Goodrick-Clarke, The Occult Roots of Nazism, 198. 66  Goodrick-Clarke, The Occult Roots of Nazism, 198–99. 63 64

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personal dedication which read: “To Adolf Hitler my dear Armanen-­ brother,” suggesting a connection between Hitler and List’s “Armanenschaft.”67 Another questionable piece of evidence for this link is found in Elsa Schmidt-Falk’s claim that “Hitler was particularly inspired by List’s Deutsch-Mythologische Landschaftsbilder, of which he possessed the first edition.” According to Schmidt-Falk, Hitler “had a high opinion of Der Unbesiegbare (1898) and discussed most of the Ario-Germanic researches with her [Steininger].”68 Schmidt-Falk made several other claims connecting List to Hitler, though her testimony remains suspicious at best. In his The Occult Roots of Nazism, Goodrick-Clarke enumerated several instances that may prove Hitler’s knowledge of List’s writing.69 George Mosse further connected List to Hitler through various associates such as Alfred Schuler (1865–1923) and Tarnhari (Ernst Lauterer) who will be explored below. Recent research has revealed deeper social connections between List and Hitler. Brigitte Hamann, in her work Hitler’s Vienna (2010), concludes that “there can be no doubt that young Hitler was familiar with List’s theories while he was in Vienna,” claiming that some of  Hitler’s ideologies could only have been derived from List’s writings.70 To defend this position, Hamann quotes a speech given in 1920 Munich, where Hitler credited the Aryans from the north as the originators of all human culture. According to Hamann, this statement remains identical to what List wrote in his book The Names of Germania’s Tribes. Hamann also observes that during Hitler’s period in Vienna, List’s main works appeared in rapid succession. They were covered so extensively in the pan-German newspapers (which Hitler read) that readers could inform themselves thoroughly without ever having to buy one of his books. Also, there are indications in the memoirs of Hitler’s friend August Kubizek that young Hitler not only studied List’s works in the papers, but owned at least one of his books.71 I have further unearthed an indirect connection following a closer perusal of Hitler’s personal library recently housed at Brown University. It has been well-documented that Hitler’s library was initially seized by the  Goodrick-Clarke, The Occult Roots of Nazism, 199.  Goodrick-Clarke, The Occult Roots of Nazism, 199–200. 69  Goodrick-Clarke, The Occult Roots of Nazism, 201. 70  Brigitte Hamann, Hitler’s Vienna: A Portrait of the Tyrant as a Young Man (New York: Tauris Parke, 2010), 211–12. 71  Hamann, Hitler’s Vienna, 299. 67 68

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U.S. army and the collection was broken up and dispersed among several leading American institutions. One such receiving institution was Brown University, which holds in its Rare Books and Manuscripts Department a copy of Aus den Traditionen der Laf-tar-ar-Sippe der “Lauterer”: eine Weihegabe an alle Treubefundenen, written by Tarnhari (Ernst Lauterer) and published by the Guido von List Society. This book builds upon the teachings of List and directly engages many of his theories, often citing the master himself. In fact, List’s writings were prerequisites for understanding the teachings put forth in this small booklet, as its contents could “only be understood, if one has a thorough knowledge of the main works of List.”72 Lauterer included numerous references to List, including a direct quotation in the dedicatory section, engaging his peculiar style of word order levels and at one point even referring to his writings as the “truly genius discoveries of the germanologist Guido von List in the field of Rune studies, Armanism, the Aryo-German pictographic script and the Aryan proto-language;” he went as far as to calling List’s work “supernatural.”73 This suggests that, if Hitler had read this book in his library, he would have been aware of List indirectly, having had a detailed overview of his theories through this booklet. The Brown copy evidences the wear and tear of being read (whether by Hitler or someone else). If there remains any doubt that this book was part of Hitler’s personal library, the bookplate remaining inside the front cover reveals the owner: “Ex Libris Adolf Hitler.”74 Tarnhari’s booklet serves as one further possible though indirect connection between Guido von List and Adolf Hitler, thereby further suggesting what scholars have claimed for years: a high probability of Hitler being influenced by List’s nationalistic and volkish ideologies.

72  Tarnhari, Aus den Traditionen der Laf-tar-ar-Sippe der “Lauterer“: eine Weihegabe an alle Treubefundenen (Wien: Guido von List Society, n. d.), 3–7. 73  Tarnhari, Aus den Traditionen, 60–63, 81–82. 74  Tarnhari, Aus den Traditionen, 94, part of Hitler’s library collection at Hay Library [CS629L38x 1910]. For a full annotated bibliography of Hitler’s reconstructed library that includes the Brown University collection as an addendum, see Philipp Gassert, The Hitler Library: A Bibliography (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2001). Seemingly, no other works by Guido von List appear in any other books held by Hitler or in the collections that have been cataloged.

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Conclusion This chapter has argued that Blavatsky’s philosophy of time and chronology exerted a strong influence on the teachings and the writings of List. List created a hybrid tradition where Blavatskian cyclical spiritual evolution was misapplied. By twisting and reinterpreting Blavatsky’s root races, changing the location and origin of civilization from India to Germany, and creating an eschatology that shifted from a spiritual framework to a physical and historical-linear one, List created a chronology that would have profound racial implications. As scholars have shown, many of his ideas were indirectly assimilated into Nazi ideology. It has been far less clear whether Adolf Hitler himself knew about List; my discovery of the presence of a Tarnhari book praising List in Hitler’s library adds another circumstantial piece of evidence to the dossier. As such, List remains an important figure in attempting to understand the racial attitudes that formed the social background out of which the Nazi “standards” eventually emerged. He combined his volkish racial beliefs with his view of German mythology and traditions, fitting them into a political framework. Indeed, as Goodrick-Clarke pointed out, while “tapping into the ideas on root races that had been propounded by H. P. Blavatsky, founder of the Theosophical Society…he was in fact specifying and identifying very much with the German Aryan race.”75 In keeping with the theme of this book, it is worth noting in this sense that what List actually managed to do was to subvert Blavatsky’s writings and the Theosophical Society’s traditions, with their idea of a universal brotherhood and a spiritual evolution of the root races. List’s mythology was essentially an innovation that took advantage of the Theosophical tradition, hijacking it to design a new, powerful ideology used for racial oppression and the dehumanization of other races. Yet, List’s innovation could only be done by appealing to another tradition that was in fact more accessible, emotional, and less esoteric than Theosophy: nationalism. Nationalism was exhibited in nearly every single one of List’s major research reports through his printing of Germanic heraldry, seals, and traditions. More importantly, the nationalist tradition had more mass appeal than the complex ideas of Blavatsky—hence List’s popularity and legacy in Nazi circles. In this sense, it would be simple to surmise that the 75  Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke, “The Occult Roots of Nazism,” Lapis Magazine (2009), http://egregores.blogspot.com/2012_09_06_archive.html, accessed 12 March 2016.

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“nationalist” tradition “overwhelmed” and “engulfed” the “Theosophical” tradition. At the same time, List’s appeal to Theosophy should not be completely dismissed as insignificant: it is clear that for him, Theosophy provided ideas that he found useful in creating a background and a justification for his own nationalistic “insights” into the hidden forces of history and the ultimate destiny of the German “race.”

References Agstner, Rudolf. 2012. Austria and Its Consulates in the United States of America since 1820. Zürich: Lit Verlag. Blavatsky, H.P. 1887. Helena Petrovna Blavatsky to Skinner. James Ralston Skinner Papers, bMS 516/1 (16)5 (April 1887). Andover-Harvard Theological Library, Harvard Divinity School, Cambridge, MA. ———. 1888. The Secret Doctrine: The Synthesis of Science, Religion, and Philosophy, 2 vols. London: Theosophical Publishing Company. Gassert, Philipp. 2001. The Hitler Library: A Bibliography. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Godwin, Joscelyn. 1996. Arktos: The Polar Myth in Science Symbolism, and Nazi Survival. Kempton, IL: Adventures Unlimited Press. ———. 2011. Atlantis and the Cycles of Time: Prophecies, Traditions, and Occult Revelations from the Teachings of Rudolf Steiner, Edgar Cayce, Rene Guenon, and Others. Rochester, VT: Inner Traditions. Goodrick-Clarke, Nicholas. 1992. The Occult Roots of Nazism: Secret Aryan Cults and Their Influence on Nazi Ideology. New York: New York University Press. ———. 1998. Hitler’s Priestess: Savitri Devi, the Hindu-Aryan Myth, and Neo-­ Nazism. New York: New York University Press. ———. 2003. Black Sun: Aryan Cults, Esoteric Nazism and the Politics of Identity. New York: New York University Press. ———. 2009. The Occult Roots of Nazism. Lapis Magazine. http://egregores. blogspot.com/2012_09_06_archive.html. Accessed 12 March 2016. Hamann, Brigitte. 2010. Hitler’s Vienna: A Portrait of the Tyrant as a Young Man. New York: Tauris Parke. Hammer, Olav. 2004. Claiming Knowledge: Strategies of Epistemology from Theosophy to the New Age. Leiden: Brill. Hartmann, Franz. 1910. Rundschau in der ausländischen theosophischen Literatur. Neue Lotusblüten 2: 370. Hodapp, Christopher, and Alice von Kannon. 2011. Conspiracy Theories and Secret Societies for Dummies. Hoboken, NJ: Wiley Publishing.

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Kurlander, Eric. 2002. The Rise of Völkisch-Nationalism and the Decline of German Liberalism: A Comparison of Liberal Political Cultures in Schleswig-­ Holstein and Silesia 1912–1924. European Review of History 9 (1): 23–36. Lavoie, Jeffrey D. 2015. Saving Time: Time, Sources and Implications of Temporality in the Writings of H. P. Blavatsky. PhD diss., University of Exeter. Lubelsky, Isaac. 2013. Mythological and Real Race Issues in Theosophy. In Handbook of the Theosophical Current, ed. Olav Hammer, 335–356. Leiden: Brill. Luhrssen, David. 2012. Hammer of the Gods: The Thule Society and the Birth of Nazism. Washington, DC: Potomac Books. Mosse, George. 1964. The Crisis of German Ideology: Intellectual Origins of the Third Reich. New York: Grosset and Dunlap. ———. 1989. Racism, the Occult, and Eugenics: The Mystical Origins of National Socialism. In The Nazi Holocaust Part 2: The Origins of the Holocaust, ed. Michael R. Marrus, 43–58. Westport, CT: De Gruyter. Pate, C. Marvin. 1995. The End of the Age Has Come: The Theology of Paul. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan Publishing House. Redles, David. 2005. Hitler’s Millennial Reich: Apocalyptic Belief and the Search for Salvation. New York: New York University Press. Rhodes, James. 1980. The Hitler Movement: A Modern Millenarian Revolution. Stanford, CA: Hoover Institution Press. Romer, Ulrich R. 2014. Blavatsky Effect: How Madame Influenced Modern Concepts of God and Jesus. n.l: n.p. Santucci, James A. 2008. The Notion of Race in Theosophy. Nova Religio: The Journal of Alternative and Emergent Religions 11 (3): 37–63. Tarnhari. n.d. Aus den Traditionen der Laf-tar-ar-Sippe der “Lauterer”: eine Weihegabe an alle Treubefundenen. Wien: Guido von List Society. von List, Guido. 1911. Die Armanenschaft der Ario-Germanen: Zweiter Teil. Leipzig and Vienna: n.p. ———. 1914. Die Ursprache der Ario-Germanen und ihre Mysteriensprache. Leipzig: n.p. ———. 1988. The Secret of the Runes. Trans. Stephen E. Flowers. Rochester, VT: Destiny Books. ———. 1996. The Invincible: An Outline of Germanic Philosophy. Trans. Edred Thorsson. Smithville, TX: Runa-Raven Press. ———. 2005. The Religion of the Aryo-Germanic Folk: Esoteric and Exoteric. Smithville, TX: Runa-Raven Press. Waite, Robert G.L. 1989. The Origins of the Holocaust. Westport, CT: Meckler Corporation. ———. 1992. The Psychopathic God: Adolf Hitler. New York: Da Capo Books. Wistrich, Robert. 1985. Hitler’s Apocalypse. New York: St. Martin’s Press.

CHAPTER 11

The Esoteric Roots of the Iranian Revolution: The “Wardenship of the Jurist” Through the Metanomian Shi’a of Ayatollah Khomeini (1902–1989) George J. Sieg

The Iranian Revolution of 1979 challenged Western political theories that favored models of progressive secularization,1 eliciting continuing debate concerning revisions of these political-scientific schemata.2 Similarly, 1  Malise Ruthven, Encounters with Islam: On Religion, Politics, and Modernity (London: I.B. Tauris, 2012), 131. 2  For a brief summary of the events of Iranian revolution and its aftermath in context of macrohistory, including presentation of the  Islamic Republic as totalitarian, see Frank Smitha, “The Iranian Revolution,” Macrohistory: World History 2018, http://www.fsmitha. com/h2/ch29ir.html, accessed 10 July 2020. For analysis of the Islamic Republic in context of resurgent Islamic states, see Noah Feldman, The Fall and Rise of the Islamic State (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012). Early post-revolutionary scholarship

G. J. Sieg (*) Southwestern Indian Polytechnic Institute, Albuquerque, NM, USA © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 G. D. Hedesan, T. Rudbøg (eds.), Innovation in Esotericism from the Renaissance to the Present, Palgrave Studies in New Religions and Alternative Spiritualities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-67906-4_11

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policy experts continue to analyze and evaluate the sincerity of Islamic features of the Revolution and its aftermath, seeking to reconcile expressed convictions of Iranian revolutionary leaders and their successors with the demands of realpolitik.3 While recent scholarship has increasingly accounted for the identity of religion and politics within the Islamic world,4 political analysis has not reliably examined the esoteric dimensions of particular expressions of revolutionary Shi’a that prevailed in the Iranian Revolution, despite such features being established in the academic analysis of the worldview of its primary architect and executor, the Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini (1902–1989).5 Indeed, the presence of esoteric transmissions through the history of Iranian Shi’a and its various permutations, including the extent to which esoteric Shi’a contributed to the Revolution, is referenced only in specialized sources, often with little context for its significant interaction with overt ideological factors of influence. In this regard, the proposed “esoteric roots of the Iranian Revolution” have been focusing on the central role of religion includes Ervand Abrahamian, Iran Between Two Revolutions (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1982); Dilip Hiro, Iran Under the Ayatollahs (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1985); Misagh Parsa, “Theories of Collective Action and the Iranian Revolution,” Sociological Forum 3, no. 1 (1988), 44–71. For considerations of the interactions of the urban revolutionary base with religious ideology, see Theda Skocpol, “Rentier State and Shi’a Islam in the Iranian Revolution,” Theory and Society 11, no. 3 (1982), 265–83. Numerous accounts focused on failings of the Shah include: Ryszard Kapuscinski, Shah of Shahs (San Diego, CA: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1985); Desmond Harney, The Priest and the King: An Eyewitness Account of the Iranian Revolution (London: I.B.  Tauris, 1998), Fereydoun Hoveda, The Shah and the Ayatollah: Iranian Mythology and Islamic Revolution (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2003). Other scholars have focused on economic factors believed to have contributed to revolution, one significant example being Jahangir Amuzegar, The Dynamics of the Iranian Revolution: The Pahlavis’ Triumph and Tragedy (New York: SUNY, 1991); his analysis, as well as other economically oriented interpretations, is examined in Charles Kurzman, The Unthinkable Revolution (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004). 3  Mehdi Kalaji, Apocalyptic Politics: On the Rationality of Iranian Policy (Washington, DC: The Washington Near East Policy Institute, 2008), https://www.washingtoninstitute.org/ uploads/Documents/pubs/PolicyFocus79Final.pdf, accessed 18 July 2020. 4  Mohammad Ayatollahi Tabaar, Religious Statecraft: The Politics of Islam in Iran (New York: Columbia University Press, 2018). 5  See, for example, Emad Bazzi, “Ayatollah Khomeini’s Gnoseology and its Impact on his Political Worldview,” in The Gnostic World, eds. Garry W. Trompf, Gunner B. Mikkelsen and Jay Johnston (London: Routledge, 2018), 587–95; Alexander Knysh, “‘‘Irfan’ Revisited: Khomeini and the Legacy of Islamic Mystical Philosophy,” Middle East Journal 46, no. 4 (1992), 631–53; Lloyd Ridgeon, “Hidden Khomeini: Mysticism and Poetry,” in A Critical Introduction to Khomeini, ed. Arshin Adib-Moghaddam (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 213–32.

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neglected, in contrast to such concepts as the much-mythologized “occult roots of Nazism,” thoroughly examined by Professor Nicholas Goodrick-­ Clarke.6 The unexamined esoteric elements of Iran’s pre-revolutionary discourse await similar analysis. Previous scholarship has identified primary intellectual foundations of the Iranian Revolution as Marxist and post-­ Marxist ideologies interacting with exoteric religious expressions ranging from the mystical to the literalist, the authoritarian and charismatic to the democratic and legalist.7 The extent to which these trajectories were informed, and to some degree coordinated and reconciled, through the transmission and strategic application8 of esoteric worldviews remains obscure to academic analysis, which has ignored the pivotal contribution of esotericism to the Revolution and its aftermath. Khomeini conceived and crafted the first esoteric Shi’a regime since the fall of the Nizari Ismaili fortress of Alamut in 1256 CE. Most significantly, his vision articulated the first political expression of esoteric Shi’a that has maintained theological coherence and continuity without reliance either on dynastic succession or on explicit (and consequently contingent) messianic claims. This involved focused reformulation of revolutionary and apocalyptic features typical of all Shi’a Islam, as well as precise interpretation and rhetorical deployment of a particularly Iranian style of conspiracism, while mitigating the dualism that it had otherwise frequently entailed. Analysis and understanding of Khomeini’s success requires contextualization of these factors, as his esoteric, theological, and political achievements emerged out of a series of prior pre-revolutionary developments in Iran. An examination of this process follows, focusing on the three components of Khomeini’s reception of Iranian Shi’a thought: esotericism, apocalyptic eschatology, and conspiracism. First, a brief survey of Islamic  Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke, The Occult Roots of Nazism (Wellingborough: Aquarian, 1985).   Examples include Homa Katouzian, The Iranian Revolution of February 1979 (Washington, DC: Middle East Institute, 2009), https://www.mei.edu/publications/iranian-revolution-february-1979, accessed 18 July 2020; Hamid Dabashi, Theology of Discontent: The Ideological Foundations of the Islamic Revolution in Iran (New York and London: New York University Press, 1993); Said Arjomand, The Turban for the Crown: The Islamic Revolution in Iran (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988). 8  Tabaar, Religious Statecraft, 1–15, presents a  compelling model of religion as “instrumentally crafted, negotiated, and contested in the political sphere,” applying the model to details of the historical development of Khomeini’s worldview through strategic expression and deployment. 6 7

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esotericism introduces the distinguishing features of Shi’a esotericism, culminating with the construction of the “gnostic” tradition of ‘irfan. Second, this chapter reviews the Iranian dualist heritage that informed all apocalypticism, including the apocalypticism that was present in Islam since the earliest revelations proclaimed by Muhammad. Third, the chapter investigates the way that the Islamic conquest of Iran, accompanied by apocalyptic expectations distinct from those original to Iran, contributed to further development of conspiracist formulations, which have continued to remain immensely popular in Iran. In the second part of the paper, I review how all of these factors directly influenced and informed the esoteric revolutionary strategies of Khomeini, coalescing in a particular brand of Shi’a Islam that I designate “metanomian Shi’a.”9

9  Use of the term antinomian is established in describing worldviews and practices, sometimes esoteric, that transgress convention, whether that convention be custom, code, or law (secular or religious). Metanomian, by contrast, refers to embracing reality beyond nomos, including apparent transgression or abrogation, without transgression being the operative focus, and without intention to negate or oppose nomos. The first use of metanomian that I find is Nahum Glatzer referring to Martin Buber: Nahum Glatzer, “Frankfurt Lehrhaus,” Leo Baeck Yearbook 1 (1956): 121, cited in Zachary Braiterman, “Martin Buber and the Art of Ritual,” in New Perspectives on Martin Buber, ed. Michael Zank (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 124. The term applied to scholarship on Buber and the Christian Apostle Paul: Jonathan Erdman, “Ordnung and Rumspringa,” The Theos Project, 2008, http://theosproject.blogspot.com/2008/04/ordnung-und-rumspringa.html, accessed 19 July 2020. Initial articulation of God’s commands in shar’iah (literally “path,” probably derived from the term referring to the path to a watering hole or oasis, but developing the sense of “law”), inclusive of the Five Pillars of Islam, establishes nomos in Islam. Liana Saif composes the term “beyondshar’i,” with an use similar to my interpretation of metanomian; Liana Saif, “What Is Islamic Esotericism?,” Correspondences 7, no. 1 (2019): 1–59. It is not the claim that the wali is invested with the authority of divine command that makes Khomeini’s interpretation metanomian, insofar as that claim extends, updates, and transforms nomos based on direct divine command (such would be the only basis of nomos in Islam were shar’iah not established via hadith and Qur’anic interpretation). Khomeini’s interpretation of wilayat is metanomian because, while standard Shi’a interpretation defines the faqih’s authority completely on the basis of expertise in interpreting the law, Khomeini extends this interpretive authority to circumstantial abrogation of shar’iah (including the Pillars) for interests of the state and its citizens on basis of the wali’s divine proximity and guardianship of the state. Khomeini actualizes the wilayat, and thus his conception of Islamic state, as explicitly metanomian insofar as Islamic law and the law of the state are conceived as identical and simultaneously identified with the fiqh of the wali. Thus, the wilayat transcends nomos, receiving absolute authority from the divine source, establishing and maintaining Islam by means of interpretation or abrogation of the law, in whole or in part.

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The Context of Khomeini’s Thought Occult Knowledge and Esoteric Gnosis Throughout its history, Iranian Shi’a has received, transformed, and produced a diversity of variously systematized conceptions of hidden knowledge, exhibiting a valence similar or equivalent to European conceptions of the esoteric and of esotericism, including a spectrum of mystical traditions, magical traditions, and their interactions. The concept of batin, from the triliteral root btn, which in Classical Arabic appears in words for “concealment,” “obscuration,” “hiding,” “the inner,” “the inward,” and so forth, is closest to the original root of “esoteric”: the Classical Greek adjective εσω, literally meaning “inner,” first attested in Aristotle (384–322) but attributed by Plotinus (205–270) to Plato (428/27–348/47 BCE), referring to “the inner man.”10 The heritage of εσω in the later construction of the adjective esoteric (ἐσωτερικός) by Lucian of Samosata (c.125– c.180),11 and ultimately esotericism, further recommends ἐσωτερικός as a Classical European equivalent to batin, which undergoes similar historical-­ linguistic development in becoming the component of an Arabic descriptor of a particular category of school of thought and practice, batiniyya.12 A difference is that Al Batin is one of the ninety-nine names of God 10  For Aristotle’s use of εσο λογος as contrasted with εξο λογος, see Posterior Analytics, in The Complete Works of Aristotle, 2 vols (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991), I, I.10. According to Philip Cary, Augustine’s Invention of the Inner Self: The Legacy of a Christian Platonist (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 163, n. 15, Plotinus (Ennead 5.1.10) traced back his use of o εισο ανθρωπος to Plato’s use of the phrase in Republic, 9.589A, now attested in Republic only as o εντος ανθρωπος. Plotinus’s formation appears closer to the  Pauline o εσο ανθρωπος (2 Corinthians 4:16, Romans 7:22, Ephesians 3:16). Plotinus identified the “inner man” with the psyche of (possibly Pseudo-) Plato’s Alcibiades I, 130C. See Michael Williams, The Immoveable Race: A Gnostic Designation and the Theme of Stability in Late Antiquity (Leiden: Brill, 1985), 63. The adjectival counterpart εξο appears in Plato, Theaetetus; the Arabic equivalent of εξο is zahir, “outer,” Al-Zahir, “the Manifest.” For the Classical Arabic reception of Aristotle’s reception of Theatetus, see G.E. von Grunebaum, “The Aesthetic Foundation of Arabic Literature,” Comparative Literature 4, no. 4 (1952), 323–40. 11  Lucian (of Samosata), Philosophies for Sale (Vitarum Auctio), trans. A. M. Harmon, in Lucian, The Loeb Classical Library, 8 vols (London: William Heinemann Ltd. & Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1960) II, 502–503. 12  Batiniyya is “a generic term for all groups and sects which distinguished the ba ̄t ̣en and ̄ the ẓah̄ er of the Koran and the Islamic law (Šarı ̄ʿa)”; H. Halm, “BĀ Ṭ ENIYA,” Encyclopaedia Iranica. http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/bateniya, accessed 14 July 2020.

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recognized throughout Islam; Al Batin has no direct Christian equivalent. The developing significance of the occult in the Western traditions, accumulating a complex of meanings distinct from and interacting with those deriving from εσω, culminating in Antoine Faivre’s distinction between esotericism and occultism,13 does not occur linguistically in Arabic sources: batin can have the significance of occult properties and qualities as well as esoteric significances and meanings. In practice, medieval sciences understood to be occult in Europe were simply sciences without further qualification in the Islamic world, including various magical arts.14 Consequently, batin was not generally used to describe hidden virtues within the natural world.15 Its original sense of reference to hidden meanings in the Qur’an eventually signified the systematic esotericism of various batiniyya, in a manner similar to “esoteric” in the West. Ironically, the original multivalent root of batin is closest to the multivalent significance of the term occult, given its focus on hiding and concealment, while also including the specific meaning of εσω as inward or inner.16 This suggests a linguistic parallel to the Islamic reception of both Aristotelian philosophy and Neoplatonism as a single tradition, due in part to the  Arabic misattribution of key Neoplatonic sources to Aristotle. By contrast, the original Plato, along with Neoplatonism, was lost in the West until the Renaissance; some Neoplatonism was available through the misattributed “Aristotelian” Arabic sources, and the occult was pervasive, though scientifically and theologically distinct. The Arabic counterpart to the medieval European cultural role of the “occult,” rather than its meaning, is al-ghayb, the “unseen.” This term does not however refer to hidden qualities within nature, but rather to the spiritual world, particularly angels, jinn (similar to European “faerie-folk”; human-like beings residing in an otherworld with access to this world),17 demons (hostile spirits in this world, capable of possession), and the Devil (variously: a jinn, a fallen angel, or a diabolic  Antoine Faivre, Access to Western Esotericism (New York: SUNY, 1994), 34, 86.  On occult “sciences” in the medieval Islamic world, see Liana Saif, The Arabic Influences on Early Modern Occult Philosophy (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), particularly chapters 1 and 2. 15  On occult qualities, see Keith Hutchison, “What Happened to Occult Qualities in the Scientific Revolution?” Isis 73, no. 2 (1982): 233–53. 16  John L.  Esposito, “Batin,” in The Oxford Dictionary of Islam, ed. John L.  Esposito (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 38. 17  Aghil Taghavi, “Consideration of Porkhani Ceremony in Turkmen Sahara of Iran,” Journal of Basic and Applied Scientific Research 1, no.12 (2011): 2843. 13 14

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entity in a category of its own). In describing it as a counterpart in cultural role, the intention is to emphasize that al-ghayb was, and remains, an uncontroversial category within Islamic discourse. Mark Sedgwick’s journal article “Islamic and Western Esotericism,” with Liana Saif’s editorial introduction, establishes the term “esotericism” as the direct translation of batiniyya, describing Classical Neoplatonic philosophical transmission through survival in Arabic translation, resulting in the dissemination of symbolic/allegorical, intellectual, and experiential/revelatory batini discourse throughout the Islamic world, including Persia.18 Such analysis shows magic standing in similar relationship to received classical material in the Islamic world as it does in the West. Significant magical texts passed into Christendom through Arabic translation, compilation, and interpretation, such that if systematic magical systems are included within esoteric worldviews, the identification of Islamic esotericism becomes even less controversial. Sedgwick presents a simple and effective categorization of esotericisms by religious identification, emphasizing that Antoine Faivre’s esoteric typology was not originally intended to be limited to phenomena otherwise established as “Western.” In his keynote lecture at the fourth bi-annual conference of the European Society for the Study of Western Esotericism at Gothenburg, Sedgwick also demonstrated that Islamic esotericism fits the Faivrean typology without deviation. As he does not present those featural correlations in the article,19 I will briefly outline them here, along with some further observations relevant to the foci of this chapter: (1) Correspondence: In addition to the Abjad (the Arabic reception of isopsephia and gematria), Islamic magical systems feature extensive use of magic squares, astrological content (both planetary and stellar), symbolism relating to the calligraphic shape of letters, useful in talismanic science, all of which can then be related to Qur’anic verses and exegesis; (2) Living Nature: The sciences in pre-modern Islam continued to be informed by Classical conceptions of vital forces and humors, stellar rays, and an ensouled, emanationist cosmology; (3) Intermediaries: The imaginal world of various Islamic currents and cosmologies is replete with divine emanations, emissaries, and 18  Mark Sedgwick, “Islamic and Western Esotericism,” Correspondences 7, no.1 (2019): 277–99, Liana Saif, “ What is Islamic Esotericism?” Correspondences 7, no.1 (2019): 46–47. 19  I am indebted to Professor Sedgwick for an illuminating post-lecture discussion, during which the ease of applying the featural typology to Islamic esotericism became straightforwardly apparent, as demonstrated here.

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messengers that disclose transcendent and immanent unity in manifold ways; (4) Transmutation: Systematized mystical ascent features defined stages (generally translated as “stations”) and distinct processes (notably fana, “annihilation” of the practitioner in the divine, and baqa, “subsistence” in the divine); (5) Concordance: A primary basis for Islamic esotericism is the correlation of Neoplatonic emanationist cosmology with Qur’anic monotheism and associated cosmological conceptions. Persian Islamic esotericism establishes correspondences with Zoroastrian and other Iranic and Persian concepts and cosmologies; (6) Transmission: Chains of initiation (silsila) are a feature of various Sufi tariqat, lineages of Sufism associated with particular masters. The tendency in Western esotericism to associate various doctrines and teachings with great masters and/or prophets of the past is equally present in Islam; most Abrahamic prophetic figures, as well as some Classical figures, are shared between Islam, Christian, and Judaic esotericisms. Personal initiatory transmission is also a feature of esotericism in Islam, as will be particularly relevant in respect to ‘irfan, a tradition that is discussed subsequent to a brief review of historical antecedents to Khomeini’s esotericism. According to most Sufi traditions, their initiatory transmissions flow from the Prophet Muhammad (c.570–632), recognized in Islam as the “Seal of the Prophets,” God’s final messenger, through his son-in-law Ali, the fourth successor to lead Muslims after Muhammad’s death. The Shi’a (the “party” of Ali) believed, during his lifetime and now, that he was the original legitimate successor chosen by Muhammad, such that Ali’s successors, the “Imams” (directly translatable as “leaders”) inherit absolute authority to interpret Muhammad’s revelations, instructions, and actions. Sufi traditions, however, generally have been transmitted within majority Islam, called “Sunni,” referring to those of the “Sunnah,” meaning habits accepted as customary based on the words and deeds of the Prophet.20 In contrast to the Shi’a, the Sunni accepted a successor chosen by a council of sheikhs, Muhammad’s uncle Abu Bakr (573–634), through whom the Naqshbandi tariqa traces its lineage to Muhammad. The specifics of practice vary by tariqa, but all tariqat considering themselves to be Islamic remain dedicated to tauhid, the realization of the singular God (Allah) as al-wahid (“the one”) and al-ahad (“the unique”). It is more accurate to describe “Sufihood” or “Sufidom” instead of “Sufism,” the latter term 20  Taha Jabir Alalwani, Reviving the Balance: The Authority of the Qur’an and the Status of the Sunnah (Herdon, VA: International Institute of Islamic Thought, 2018), 9–11.

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being an Anglophone mis-suffixation with “ism” of tasawwuf,21 referring to the condition of the practitioner, not to a distinct worldview or ideology to which the practitioner adheres, insofar as all Sufis adhere to Din al-Islam, the “custom of surrender.”22 Another example of Islamic esotericism was the secret order of the Ikhwan Al-Safa, the “Brethren of Purity,” existing sometime between the eighth and tenth centuries. The Brethren embraced a concept also significant to Sufis, the Insan al-Kamil, “the Perfect Man,” but while Sufis regard this as an ideal form of which Muhammad is the expression, the Brethren describe the Perfect Man as a syncretic combination of qualities and characteristics from an inclusive series of religious, mystical, and esoteric traditions as well as ethnicities. 21  The etymology of tasawwuf likely derives from suf meaning “wool,” in reference to the woolen garments characteristic of early practitioners; later practitioners sometimes formed a semantic pun with safa, “purity.” 22  Din is a difficult Arabic word to translate due to its multivalent character, despite the more narrow senses of the Hebrew cognate din concerning judgment. Some linguists suggest, although disputed by others, that the usage of din in this context has been influenced by Avestan daena, etymologically referring to “view” and frequently mistranslated as “religion” or “creed” in reference to the Zarathushtrian tradition, wherein it is more accurately rendered “conception” (in the same sense as Weltanschauung can be translated as “worldconception” or “world-view”). Considering its diverse connotations in Arabic, the closest English equivalent is “custom,” the meanings of which range from “customary expected norms,” to “conducting business,” and to the “levying of taxation.” I translate Islam as surrender rather than submission because it shares its triliteral root SLM with salam, peace, but is the noun most closely related to the verb aslama. Aslama translates both as “submit” (despite the lack of verticality) and as “surrender” (despite the lack of a prefix similar to the Norman contraction of “super” into “sur,” making “surrender” the “giving over” of something or someone). “Surrender” is technically more correct, because the verb aslama can also be conjugated to indicate the surrender of someone else in one’s power, such as surrendering someone under one’s protection; see M.M.  Bravmann, The Spiritual Background of Early Islam: Studies in Ancient Arab Concepts, Brill Classics in Islam 4 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 307. Although “submit” can be accompanied by a direct object, this is more commonly used for “submission” of something for consideration, examination, processing, evaluation, and so on. One surrenders what is under one’s power; one submits something prepared for a purpose. Finally, surrender retains the specific sense of ceasing hostility for the purpose of ending conflict; submission may or may not retain such a sense. Consequently, Muhammad’s conclusion of peace offers to military opponents with the phrase “Aslim, tasla`m!,” “Surrender and be safe!,” loses something if translated as “Submit and be safe!” Finally, translation as “surrender” allows the use of particular contemporary diplomatic-military conception to convey something of the sense of Islam as a practice, and particularly the emphasis placed by tasawwuf on absolute, total dedication; such a conception of Islam could be rendered as the unconditional surrender [of everything, including oneself] to God.

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The Brethren are speculated to have had some connection to, or interaction with, the Ismaili branch of Shi’a, which accepts the elder son (Ismail ibn Jafar) as the successor of the sixth Imam, Jafar al-Sidiq, rather than the younger son (Musa al-Khadim) accepted by mainstream Shi’a due to Ismail apparently dying in 755 CE, ten years before Jafar. Mainstream Shi’a would continue to recognize five more Imams, believing that the Twelfth Imam remains hidden in al-ghayb, that is, in “occultation.” Followers of Ismail instead believed that either Ismail’s death was staged to preserve him from assassination by Sunni rulers, or that succession had passed to his son, Muhammad, instead of Musa. The Ismaili ultimately became a characteristic example of batiniyya with their own esoteric Imamate. Various other branches of Shi’a resulted from the schism concerning the succession to the Imamate, but mainstream Shi’a, “Twelvers,” maintained adherence to the authority of the hidden Twelfth Imam. The Ismaili would persist in Persia, with the intermittent occultation of their own Imams. Their influence and memory survived the Mongol conquest, including legendaria concerning the antinomian character of their most esoteric gnosis.23 Another stream of batiniyya in Persia was identified with the figure of Shahab al-Din Yahya ibn Habash Suhrawardi (1154–1191). Suhrawardi developed a school of thought called Ishraq (“Illumination”) that combined Aristotelian reasoning as received through Ibn Sina [Avicenna] (980–1037) with esoteric Platonism interpreted via pre-Islamic Iranian symbolism of uncertain origin and provenance. Suhrawardi’s presentation of ishraq as ancient Persian wisdom influenced Sadr al-Din Muhammad Shirazi (1571–1640). Known as “Mulla Sadra,” a Persian Twelver Shi’ite esoteric philosopher and mystic, he syncretized the Aristotelian philosophy of Ibn Sina with the ishraq of Suhrawardi, the metaphysics of Sufi master Ibn Arabi (1165–1240), and both Sunni and Shi’a exoteric theology. Shirazi referred to this synthesis as al-hikma al-muta’aliyah, frequently translated as “Transcendental Theosophy,” although the literal translation is “transcendent wisdom.” This school of thought remains

23  For a comprehensive examination of the Ismaili, see Farhad Daftary, The Ismailis: Their History and Doctrine, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). For a survey of the historical consequences of Shi’a eschatology, see Seyyed Hossein Nasr, Hamid Dabashi and Seyyed Vali Reza Nasr, eds, Expectation of the Millennium: Shi’ism in History (New York: SUNY Press, 1989).

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influential to the present and was a significant focus of Khomeini’s own esoteric studies.24 The two scholars most pivotal to the reception of ishraq and al-hikma al-muta’aliyah in the West are French scholar Henri Corbin (1903–1978) and Iranian Traditionalist Seyyed Hossein Nasr (b. 1933). In addition to their centrality within the historiography of this scholarship and the Western esoteric reception of Islam,25 they are significant esoteric figures in the developments that coalesced into the Iranian Revolution of 1978–1979. In addition to coining the term “imaginal,”26 which has become significant in the field of Western esotericism, Corbin was the first Western scholar to examine the work of Suhrawardi. In his most referenced work, The Man of Light in Iranian Sufism (1971), Corbin embraced an esoteric interpretation of the core of Iranian Shi’a and accepted Suhrawardi’s claim to have continued at least partially pre-Islamic Persian wisdom.27 The most recent Islamic esoteric conception considered here is ‘irfan, a style of mystical praxis frequently translated as “practical gnosis,” “gnosis,” “gnosticism,” or “gnoseology.”28 In Shi’a, this is privately transmitted through initiatory lineages from teacher to student, sometimes one-to-one, and otherwise in small, often hidden circles, in contrast to the semi-public, fraternally organized Sufi tariqat. In his article on the traditional foundations of Khomeini’s esoteric worldview, Alexander Knysh describes ‘irfan as a “peculiar type of later Islamic thought, combining in 24  Rasoul Imani Koshku, “The History of the Islamic Seminaries of Qum, Part II,” trans. Mohammad Javad Shomali, Messages of Thaqalayn 15, no. 1 (2014): 71. 25  Saif, “Islamic Esotericism,” 25–31. 26  Henri Corbin, “Mundus Imaginalis, or the Imaginary and the Imaginal,” Cahiers internationaux de symbolisme 6 (1964): 3–26, trans. Association des amis de Henry et Stella Corbin, https://www.amiscorbin.com/en/bibliography/mundus-imaginalis-or-the-imaginary-and-the-imaginal/, accessed 20 July 2020. 27  The first English edition is Henry Corbin, The Man of Light in Iranian Sufism, trans. Nancy Pearson (Boulder, CO: Shambala, 1978). 28  Gerhard Böwering, “’ERFAN (1),” Encyclopaedia Iranica, https://iranicaonline.org/ articles/erfan-1, accessed 20 July 2020; L. Massignon, “Die Ursprünge und die Bedeutung des Gnosticizmus im Islam,” Eranos Jahrbuch (1937): 55–77; Reynald A. Nicholson, The Mystics of Islam (London: G. Bell and Sons, 1914); Henri Corbin, Le Livre des penetrations metaphysiques, Bibliothèque iranienne 10 (Tehran and Paris: Institut franco-iranien, 1964); Muhammad Legenhausen, “The ‘irfan of the Commander of the Faithful, Imam Ali (a),” Religious Inquiries 3, no. 5 (2014): 5–20. Legenhausen translates ‘irfan as “knowledge” to avoid confusion with Classical Gnosticism.

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itself the elements of scholasticism, rational philosophy, and mysticism, also known in Iran as hikmat {wisdom}.”29 As the hikmat tradition can refer specifically to al-hikma al-muta’aliyah as synthesized by Mulla Sadra, this chapter’s preferred translation of ‘irfan is “scientia”,30 distinguishing it from the standard translation of ma’rifa as “gnosis” and ‘arif as the “gnostic.”31 Corbin proposed the translation “theosophy,”32 which in addition to being nonliteral, obscures the linguistic, theoretical, and practical relationships between ‘irfan and ma’rifa. ‘Irfan should also be distinguished from Sufism. Nassir Ghaemi writes, In Arabic, there is a distinction between Sufism and ‘irfan, [which] is an attempt to engage with rational and empiricist philosophies, essentially defending the Sufi position, but attempting to do so to some extent by rational or even potentially empiricist means…[‘irfan is] a meditation between Sufism and rational-empiricist philosophies.33

‘Irfan has structural commonality with Classical Gnosticism despite differing content: both include cosmological knowledge relevant to mystical experience, presented in philosophical language. However, from the perspective of at least one practitioner, Morteza Mottahari (1919–1979), a disciple of Ayatollah Khomeini, the differences between ‘irfan and hikma are clear. Mottahari writes: Like theological philosophy, ‘irfan also defines its subject, essential principles and problems, but whereas philosophy relies solely upon rational principles for its arguments, ‘irfan bases its deductions on principles discovered through mystic experience (kashf) and then reverts to the language of reason to explain them.34  Knysh, “‘‘Irfan’ Revisited,” 631–53.  Legenhausen’s translation “knowledge” is also the usual translation of ilm, used for both “science” and technical skills. Aristotelian scientia combines theoretical and noetic knowledge as does ‘irfan. See Charles Lohr, “Aristotelian ‘Scientia’ and the Medieval ‘Artes’,” in The European Image of God and Man, eds. Hans-Christian Gunther and Andrea Aldo Robiglio (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 259–69. 31  Refers in context to literal experiential knowledge, not Classical Gnosticism or salvational gnosis. 32  Henry Corbin, History of Islamic Philosophy (London: Kegan Paul, 1964), 10. 33  S.  Nassir Ghaemi, The Concepts of Psychiatry: A Pluralistic Approach to the Mind and Mental Illness (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins, 2004), 316. 34  Murtadha Mutahhari, Understanding Islamic Sciences (London: Islamic College for Advanced Studies, 2002), 91. 29 30

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Apocalyptic Eschatology and the Qiyamat Muhammad’s revelations featured apocalyptic eschatology from their inception. According to Abbas Amanat, Islamic apocalypticism primarily corresponds to the fundamental doctrine of resurrection (qiyama) and applies to eschatological speculations concerning the return of the dead, the Day of Judgement, the process of salvation and damnation, and their complex realizations at the end of time (akhir al-zaman)…including the advent of the Mahdi35…While the Sunni world witnessed numerous examples of shari’a-oriented Mahdism with a distinct desire to restore pristine Islam of Muhammad’s time, the Shi’i world regenerated messianic impulses with distinct apocalyptic features aiming at a break with the shari’a and creation of a post-millennial order.36

This dichotomy is an oversimplification, insofar as many Muslim dynasties rose to power utilizing Mahdist rhetoric and either were or became Sunni, without their being expressly concerned with restoring “pristine Islam.” Similarly, not all Shi’ite Mahdist figures and movements wanted to abolish shar’iah. Muhammad’s revelations and subsequent conquests transpired in a postHellenistic world so well acquainted with apocalyptic eschatology that Muhammad was routinely questioned about “the Hour” and the end of the world prior to the Qiyamat. The Hour of Judgment is described in various Qur’anic surahs as featuring world-rending cataclysm and celestial calamity, generally without warning or context.37 It is important to note the significant contrasts with  the apocalyptic eschatology of the Judaeo-Christian world, especially in the context of attempting to identify pre-Islamic Iranic features in Shi’a apocalyptic. The  Persian dualism of the ancient Zarathushtrians had already articulated the first expectations of a fiery final judgment, a belief that continued in Persia up to and through the Islamic conquest. However, the Qur’an itself, although presenting a dualistic eschatology featuring the destruction of the world and the final judgment, includes no content that would be accurately or meaningfully described as “apocalyptic,” either in the original sense of uncovering a hidden pattern of  The final messianic figure.  Abbas Amanat, Apocalyptic Islam and Iranian Shi’ism (London: I.B. Tauris, 2009), 41. 37  David Cook, “Early Islamic and Classical Sunni and Shi’ite Apocalyptic Movements,” in The Oxford Handbook of Millennialism, ed. Catherine Wessinger (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 268. 35 36

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meaning in history, or in the colloquial sense of presenting a future history, symbolic history, or “meta-history” that could be mapped onto a present time. In this sense, the Qur’an is closer to the eschatological dualism in Zarathushtra’s original Gathic poetry, which describes world-ending destruction and subsequent judgment, but lacks the cosmological narrative that accompanies and surrounds it in later texts.38 While Christianity inherited, appropriated, and repurposed the narrative in the Book of Revelation in a manner encouraging Christian martyrdom, Muslim apocalyptic exegesis more closely resembles the panoply of the Christian apocalyptic imaginary, mapping the Antichrist and various disasters and world-calamities onto contemporary or familiar historical scenarios. The most vividly dualistic imagery in the Muslim apocalyptic opposes the Antichrist, a figure called Dajjal, to Jesus; however, the descriptions of their symbolic opposition and conflict render Dajjal as analogically Jesus’s shadow, which melts away when confronted by the prophet, rather than being defeated in an epic duel. This is consonant with Islamic tendencies to retain some dualistic imagery while interpretively undermining structurally dualist concepts, such as an equal opposition from which Jesus would emerge victorious. This fits my previous observations about Iranian Shi’a, except that the Muslim apocalyptic features described are prominent in Sunni apocalyptic, not in  Shi’a. In order to ensure a thorough inquiry into the contents of Shi’a apocalyptic specifically, a brief survey of its content is needed. Shi’a apocalyptic is principally distinguished by having developed particular receptions and presentations of the figure of the Mahdi, also called the Qa’im, the “Ariser.” He is identified with the Twelfth Imam, returning from centuries of “occultation” to bring justice to the world. The Mahdi exacts terrifying retribution on various factions, groups, and tribes, a number of which had opposed or oppressed the Shi’a. Shi’a apocalyptic is more invested in concepts of predestination and historical inevitability, in comparison to the extensive and diverse Sunni apocalypses, while resolutely rejecting any attempts to calculate the timing of the Hour: the messianic figure is always the primary focus. In Shi’a, the role of Jesus is minimized, and the Mahdi is often stated as bringing a new amr.39 The 38  David Cook, Studies in Muslim Apocalyptic (Princeton: The Darwin Press, 2002), 274–301. 39  Amr is a multivalent word that can signify “time” or “dispensation,” as well as other meanings related to the word’s root significance of “living a long duration”; perhaps aeon is

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amr will overturn what came before the Mahdi, as well as be particularly “harsh on the Arabs.”40 However, despite the mass slaughters on the way to the Mahdi’s victory, his reign is generally forgiving to his former enemies, who in many versions of the account are simply required to pay jizya, the tax paid by non-Muslims.41 Despite the Mahdi’s comparative mercy, Shi’a apocalyptic more closely resembles the original Judaeo-Hellenistic genre, in comparison to Sunni apocalyptic. It is further removed from the Zarathushtrian cosmology, which features the Saoshyant, a savior-figure who annihilates evil during the climactic eschatological conflict. The content of the subsequent messianic age is entirely oriented toward recapitulating and vindicating Shi’a history, featuring subsequent Mahdis correlated with the names or identities of the Twelve Imams, often placing particular focus on Husayn and sometimes on  Ali. In dramatic departure from other apocalyptic eschatologies, the messianic age is not perfect: despite extraordinarily lengthened lifespans, revolts still occur, and one of the Mahdi’s successors is assassinated. Moral regulations become stricter.42 With these factors in mind, the  identification of the victorious revolutionary Ayatollah as the Imam Mahdi is more consonant than it could be within Sunni apocalyptic. Conspiracism and Gharbzadegi (“Enwestation”) Gharbzadegi is a Persian neologism created by Iranian philosopher Ahmad Fardid (1910–1994) sometime in the late 1940s, probably while studying the work of Martin Heidegger (1889–1976) in Germany.43 The most literal translation is a nominal portmanteau for “West-struck,” so “Weststruckedness,” “struck” in Persian having the simultaneous connotation of being stricken with illness or disease but also stricken with enchantment or perhaps madness (resembling constructions “dumbstruck” and “star-struck” but also “plague-stricken”). Gharbzadegi, however, lacks the awkwardness of the nominal form of “Weststruckedness,” so various alternate translations have been employed, such as appropriate, given its usage indicating the lifespan of a man. See Thayer’s Greek Lexicon, “Strongs NT 165,” https://biblehub.com/greek/165.htm, accessed 20 July 2020. 40  Cook, Studies in Muslim Apocalyptic, 199. 41  Cook, Studies in Muslim Apocalyptic, 225. 42  Cook, Studies in Muslim Apocalyptic, 211–12. 43  Ali Mirsepassi, Iran’s Quiet Revolution: The Downfall of the Pahlavi Regime (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019), 197.

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“Occidentosis,” “Westitis,” and so on, although these translations somewhat obscure the meaning within inappropriate connotation, insofar as all medical -itis and -osis constructions refer to illness or decay of the thing so named. Yet, Gharbzadegi does not refer to the sickness of the West. “Westoxification” has also been proposed, but Gharbzadegi does not activate metaphors of poisoning or drunkenness (“toxicity” and self-abuse being more typically Western metaphors for problems of modernity). “Bewestment” has the correct connotations but reads as archaic, while Gharbzadegi does not; therefore, I propose “enwestation,” to convey the sense of invasive, infectious infestation, but also enchantment in the deleterious sense. The term gharbzadegi was popularized through the interpretation and dissemination of Iranian political theorist Jalal Al-e Ahmad (1923–1969), who prepared a manuscript by that title for the Ministry of Education. As the Ministry rejected it due to its criticisms of the Pahlavi regime, Ahmad published it himself in 1962. It achieved immense popularity at high schools and universities, becoming a foundational revolutionary text. Ahmad presented a dualism of West and East that is equivalent to contemporary contrasts between “developed” and “developing” worlds, condemning the total commodification of the East by the mechanized production of the West. He identified the Islamic world as an obstruction to that process due to its coherent “Islamic totality,”44 in contrast to the generally fractious tribalization of the rest of the “East.” After introducing “enwestation” with the imagery of cholera, heatstroke, frostbite, and sawfly infestations, he accuses the West of the bloody encouragement of Shi’ism at the beginning of the Safavid dynasty, the sowing of conflict between us and the Ottomans, the encouragement of the Baha’i movement in the middle of the Qajar dynasty, the parcelling of the Ottoman Empire after the First World War, and finally…confrontation with the Shi’i in the disturbances of the Constitutional Revolution and afterward…[I]t tried to disrupt that fragmented totality, which was only a totality in appearance, from within as quickly as possible. They also tried to make us into raw material like the African natives, and then to take us to

44  Jalal Al-e Ahmad, “The Outline of a Disease,” in Gharbzadegi, trans. John Green and Ahmad Alizadeh (Costa Mesa: Mazda Publishers, 1997), 11–23, reprinted in Lloyd Ridgeon, Religion and Politics in Modern Iran: A Reader (London: I.B. Tauris, 2005), 171.

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their laboratories. This is why the Encyclopaedia of Islam is at the top of the list of Western encyclopaedias.45

According to the Encyclopedia Iranica, Fardid originally maintained that “Freemasons and Jews are engaged in a great conspiracy to ‘Hellenize’ the entire world.”46 He ascribed the origins of humanism to Greek philosophy, blaming it for originating and perpetuating anthropocentric arrogance. Fardid’s conspiracism is similar to numerous traditions of reactionary conspiracism in the contemporary West, which levy similar charges against Freemasons and Jews, but accuse them of being subverted by conspiracies descended from the Magi.47 Even in conspiracism, a dualistic mirroring-effect continues between Iran and the West, exemplified in political antagonist projections leading into, persisting through, and continuing after the Revolution to the present.48 In examining the basic worldview from which the Revolution emerged, it is significant that the only feature of the pre-Revolutionary milieu that appears to have retained continuity with pre-Islamic dualism is the particularly dualist style of the prevailing conspiracism. As has been described, pre-Islamic Iranic influences present in ‘irfan are likely to be Hellenistic by way of Islamic reception of Greek philosophy, while prevailing Shi’a apocalyptic eschatologies significantly mitigate rather than enhance dualistic base-patterns within their conception. By contrast, conspiracism in modern Iran equals and exceeds conspiracisms popular during the twilight years of the Sassanian Empire, when the Zoroastrian church embraced the paranoia that diabolical cults were pervasive, combining it with the systematic conviction that competing religions were diabolically inspired and directed.49 That cults and schisms actually occurred with political  Ahmad, “The Outline of a Disease,” 171.  Ahmad Ashraf, “Conspiracy Theories,” Encyclopedia Iranica 2011, http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/conspiracy-theories, accessed 10 July 2020. 47  See, for example, Edith Starr Miller, Lady Queenborough, Occult Theocrasy (Chatou: British American Press, 1933), 134; Inquire Within [Christina Stoddard], The Trail of the Serpent (London: Boswell, 1936), 16; Anton Long, “Esoteric Notes XXIX—Magick, the Sinister, and the Psyche of the Folk” (2006), https://darknessconverges.wordpress. com/2009/07/16/esoteric-notes-xxix-magick-the-sinister-and-the-psyche-of-the-folk/, accessed 20 July 2020. 48  William O. Beeman, The “Great Satan” vs. The “Mad Mullahs:” How the United States and Iran Demonize Each Other (London: Praeger, 2005). 49  R.C.  Zaehner, The Dawn and Twilight of Zoroastrianism (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1961); R.C. Zaehner, Zurvan: A Zoroastrian Dilemma (Oxford: Oxford University 45 46

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c­ onsequence reinforced such beliefs, just as actual foreign interventions and espionage continue to reinforce Iranian concerns about intrusive, penetrative external conspiracies, with the tendency toward demonology and diabology persistent but secularized. The conspiracist character of such allegations has become typical of the Iranian worldview, which embraces a range of conspiracy theories on every level from international to local. This ultimately includes beliefs concerning the Revolution itself, as well as its antecedent events; the details of these perceptions are relevant to conclusions concerning Ayatollah Khomeini’s deployment of esoteric politics—building on, responding to, or working against influences engaged esoterically with Shi’a apocalyptic.

Ayatollah Khomeini: A Great Sign Revealed Prior to the Revolution, Ayatollah Ruholla Khomeini had developed advanced expertise in shar’iah, fiqh,50 ‘irfan, ethics, and Islamic poetry. He had studied with several  teachers of philosophy and mysticism at Qum, becoming immersed in the work of Plato, Aristotle, Ibn Arabi, Ibn Sina, and Mulla Sadra. Beginning in 1928, Khomeini dedicated seven years to the theory and practice of ‘irfan under the guidance of Ayatollah Mohammad Ali Shahabadi,51 writing complex commentaries on the symbolism and correspondences in prayer and ritual practice, along with analyses of the stations of the “mystic wayfarer” on the initiatory path, all informed by the emanationist cosmology of Ibn Arabi.52 Subsequent to this training,53 Khomeini began giving his own teachings in private, sometimes secret, meetings;54 some of his students held significant positions in Iran after the Revolution. This transmission to an elite elect paved the way to the triumph of Khomeini’s worldview.55 Press, 1955), 13–19, 24, 35. It is notable that Zaehner himself engaged in covert British activities against Mossadegh from 1951 to 1953; William Roger Louis, “Britain and the Overthrow of the Mosaddeq Government,” in Mohammad Mossadeq and the 1953 Coup in Iran, eds. Mark J. Gasiorowski and Malcolm Byrne (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 2004), 126–77. 50  Islamic jurisprudence, from a root signifying “comprehension.” 51  Bazzi, “Ayatollah Khomeini’s Gnoseology,” 587–95. 52  Bazzi, “Ayatollah Khomeini’s Gnoseology,” 587–95. 53  Hamid Algar, “’Allama Sayyid Muhammad Husayn Tabataba’i: Philosopher, Exegete, and Gnostic,” Journal of Islamic Studies 1 (2006): 1–26. 54  Ridgeon, Religion and Politics, 140. 55  Bazzi, “Ayatollah Khomenei’s Gnoseology,” 587–95.

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Before delving into Khomeini’s worldview, it is important to analyze the thought of Allameh56 Muhammad Husayn Tabataba’i (1904–1981), a contemporary scholar and philosopher, whose ideas had a major impact on Khomeini and the Iranian Revolution.57 Tabataba’i: Esotericism, ‘Irfan and wilayat-i faqih The scholarly esotericism of the informally and retroactively identified “Tehran circle” emerged through interactions of the Traditionalist Seyyed Hossein Nasr with Henri Corbin. Their conversations included Tabataba’i, whose illustrious family lineage of religious and judicial expertise predated the Safavids,58 and who was a student at Najaf in Iraq, the third great school of fiqh and ‘irfan along with Qum and Mashhad.59 According to his own account, the experience of Tabataba’i with esoteric practical mysticism began in his early twenties, when, motivated by pervasive difficulties in reading comprehension, he utilized a devotional practice, the specifics of which he never revealed, to acquire through divine grace the ability to overcome any and all challenges and difficulties. He completed his studies in fiqh at Najaf but focused primarily on philosophy and Qur’anic interpretation, while also studying mathematics and mastering numerology, astrology, and various occult sciences including geomancy and jafr, the esoteric science of letters that comprises the heritage of stoicheia, gematria, magic squares, and related alphanumeric techniques and practices.60 His greatest dedication as a student was to his cousin Hajj Mirza Ali Qadi Tabataba’i (1869–1947), his initiator into ‘irfan. Ali Qadi was part of a line of initiation that included Akhund Husayn-quli Hamadani (1824–1894), one of whose pupils, Mirza Jawad Aqa Malik Tabrizi (?–1924), initiated Khomeini.61 Ali Qadi’s favored techniques included night vigils at blessed 56  Title “Allameh” is an honorific used in Sunni and Shi’a Islam to recognize scholarly accomplishment in fiqh and philosophy. 57  Adel Hashemi-Najafabadi, “Imamate and Leadership: The Case of Shi’a Fundamentalists in Modern Iran,” Canadian Social Science 6, no. 6 (2010): 196. 58  Safavid dynasty ruled Iran, parts of Central Asia and the Middle East between 1501 and 1736. 59  Milad Milani, Sufism in the Secret History of Persia (Durham: Acumen, 2013), 216. 60  Algar, “Tabataba’i,” 4. For jafr, see the detailed survey in the entry in Encyclopedia Iranica. 61  Reza Ustadi, “The Teachers of Imam Khumayni,” trans. Sayyid Ali Shahbaz, https:// www.imamreza.net/old/eng/imamreza.php?id=2074, accessed 14 July 2020.

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places, meditation, dhikr (literally “remembrance,” in reference to recitation and contemplation of the ninety-nine divine names), which he himself practiced continually unless teaching, and supererogatory night-time prayer, the practice that he initially recommended to Tabataba’i. These practices gave access to the “supersensory” world, the manifestations of which Ali Qadi strictly enjoined his students to ignore. Tabataba’i reports doing this successfully, to the disappointment of a houri62 who tempted him with herself and a goblet of wine while he performed dhikr at the mosque in Kufa.63 He practiced bibliomancy with the Qur’an and other spiritual writings such as the Divan of Hafiz, navigating a series of relocations and challenges that culminated in his teaching, by 1946, Qur’anic exegesis and Islamic philosophy at Qum despite juridical derision toward the former subject and suspicion of the latter. His philosophical foci were Ibn Sina and Mulla Sadra, his preference being for the latter, on whom he taught an immensely popular course attended by over one hundred students.64 In 1951, he convened a twice-weekly study circle that developed the concept of “Islamic realism” as a refutation of Marxist materialism and idealism. This group was attended by a number of figures significant to the Revolution and the formation of the Republic thereafter, including Morteza Mottahari, who wrote a multi-volume series on these discussions. Mottahari later became the first chairman of the Council of the Islamic Revolution in January 1979, a position he held until his assassination five months later. By 1956, Tabataba’i met Henri Corbin while visiting Tehran, and the following year began meeting weekly throughout the autumn with Corbin, Nasr, and two other professors, Medhi Bazargan (1907–1995)65and Muhammad Mu’in. These meetings continued until 1977. Despite Corbin’s preference for Iranian Shi’a as a living spiritual transmission and Nasr’s central expertise in this heritage, their ecumenical Traditionalism did not become central to the Revolutionary ideology, much less to the foundational ideology of the Islamic Republic. Corbin ultimately asserted the esoteric identity of Sufism and Shi’a; Nasr came to favor Iranian Sufi orders as expressions of Tradition. By contrast, Tabataba’i clearly distinguished between lineages of ‘irfan (such as his own, traced to  Virgin-nymph of Paradise. Algar, “Tabataba’i,” 5–6.  Algar, “Tabataba’i,” 5–6. 64  Ridgeon, Religion and Politics, 140. 65  First prime minister of Islamic Republic. 62 63

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mid-nineteenth-century encounter of Sheikh Sayyid Ali Shustari with the Hidden Imam in the guise of a weaver) and Sufi orders (tariqat).66 So did Khomeini, who criticized Sufi orders in his writings (doing so four times in The Mystery of Prayer).67 Some Iranian Sufi orders, such as the Safi ‘Ali Shahi (Ne’matollahi) Order included internal brotherhoods syncretized with Freemasonry. One example was the Society of Brotherhood (Anjoman-e Okhovvat), whose elite members supported the shah’s regime and held state positions, syncretizing their mystical practices with the study of natural sciences and theosophy, and favoring an ethos combining hierarchical order with humanism.68 In contrast to such aristocratic humanism, Tabataba’i outlined the premises of the encompassing wilayat­i faqih (“wardenship of the jurist”)69 that would be explicated and embodied by Ayatollah Khomeini.70 In his interpretation of the wilayat-i faqih, 66  Ridgeon, Religion and Politics, 141; Allameh Sayyed Mohammed Tabataba’i, Kernel of the Kernel: Concerning the Wayfaring and Spiritual Journey of the People of Intellect (Risala-yi Lubb al-Lubab dar Sayr wa Suluk-I Ulu’l Albab): A Shi’i Approach to Sufism, ed. Sayyid Muhammad Husayn Husayni Tihrani (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 2003), reprinted in Ridgeon, Religion and Politics, 142–48. 67  Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, The Mystery of Prayer: The Ascension of the Wayfarers and the Prayer of the Gnostics, trans. Sayyid Amjad H. Shah Naqavi (Leiden: Brill, 2015). 68  Ridgeon, Religion and Politics, 150–51. 69  Wilayat is usually translated “governance,” “guardianship,” “authority”; however, these translations are etymologically lacking. “Keep” is closer to triliteral root WLY, signifying “nearness,” evoking the multivalent uses of “wali,” ranging from governance to friendship to the role of a male relative acting as woman’s agent. Fiqh is now specific to Islamic jurisprudence, appearing in Qur’an five times; the linguistic basis is closest to knowledge requiring cognition. The translation of wilayat-i faqih as “Keep[ing] of [Judicial] Knowledge” evokes proximal semantic association to wilayat that the usual forced choice between “government” and “authority” does not, retaining direct association between “keeper” and “kept” (implied by using terms from wilayat to refer to regions/provinces of various Islamic political bodies). The Arabic term for States in “United States” is similarly derived. Warden being no more etymologically suitable than guardian, “Wardenship” retains virtue of evoking a “ward,” being a territory or a person, in the case of a female relative, being “kept.” A state governed by the faqih—according to the implied extension of Khomeini’s reasoning, all Muslims and Muslim territory—becomes “Ward of the Jurist.” For further analysis of relevance of wali to nearness and closeness, and the basis for its translation as “nearmost one,” see Sayyid Amjad H. Shah Naqavi, “Translators Introduction,” in Khomeini, The Mystery of Prayer, xiv, n. 9. This introduction to Khomeini’s esoteric interpretation of the gnostic significance of Islamic prayer examines Khomeini’s reception and the application of the conception of the four journeys. 70  On the roots of Khomeini’s view of wilayat-i faqih, see also Leila Chamankhah, The Conceptualization of Guardianship in Iranian Intellectual History (1800–1989) (Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 2019), 172–99.

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Tabataba’i speculatively suggested the constellation of the necessary qualities of piety, administrative competence, and contemporary awareness in a single leader.71 Tabataba’i’s writing on Islamic government was published after the death of Ayatollah Borujerdi (1875–1961), a transitional event that enabled Khomeini to succeed him as leading Ayatollah. Khomeini began publicly denouncing the Shah for his aggressive Westernization policies, rhetorically paralleling the Shah with the hated Caliph Yazid, the historical enemy of Ali. While the aesthetics of his denunciations were dualistic, the structural content was not; the object of his polemical attacks was presented as arrogant, corrupt, stupid, depraved, maliciously intended, but not cosmically wicked.72 Khomeini’s Metanomian Interpretation of Shi’a Khomeini’s polemics instigated open conflict between the Shah and the ulema,73 contributing to the beginning of the Iranian Revolution. The general population began to regard Khomeini as an inspiring revolutionary figure, having been primed by the ideologue, mystic, magician, and occultist Ali Shari’ati (1933–1977),74 who had promoted “revolutionary Shi’a” repurposing Marxist concepts with Islamic aesthetics.75 Shari’ati ultimately repudiated Marxism while maintaining nationalist Shi’a in lectures of disputed provenance, published subsequent to his imprisonment and interrogation, and prior to his final exile and death in London.76 During Khomeini’s own leadership in exile, first from Najaf, Iraq, and then from Paris, the Ayatollah intensified his dualistic rhetoric against the Shah, accusing him of being a tool of the Jews and the Americans, prefiguring his later designation of the United States as “The Great Satan.” This  Algar, “Tabataba’i,” 21–22.  Ayatollah Khomeini, Islamic Government (1970), trans. Hamid Algar, in Islam and Revolution: Writings and Declarations (London: KPI, 1985), reprinted in Ridgeon, Religion and Politics, 200–13. 73  Literally the “scholars,” referring to the learned body of jurists. 74  Ali Rahnema, An Islamic Utopian: A Political Biography of Ali Shari’ati (London: I.B.  Tauris, 2000) contains extensive detail concerning Shari’ati’s esoteric practices and experiences. 75  Ali Shari’ati, “Red Shi’ism (the religion of martyrdom) vs. Black Shi’ism (the religion of mourning),” http://www.iranchamber.com/personalities/ashariati/works/red_black_shiism.php, accessed 20 July 2020. 76  Rahnema, An Islamic Utopian, 331–70. 71 72

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pejorative indicated American tragic and destructive arrogance—and perceived enmity to Muslims—more than it resembled the moral dualist content of Christian endeavors to identify the Great Beasts of the Book of Revelation or the Antichrist. Khomeini’s 1986 dedication to his son of a later edition of his 1939 work, The Mystery of Prayer, an esoteric interpretation of the Islamic daily prayers through the understanding of ‘irfan, examined degrees, progressions, and levels of subtle insight, as well as elemental symbolism. The practitioner achieves purification and “realizes the presence of the heart” through various mysteries linking the intentionality of prayer with its corresponding ritual components. Khomeini describes “self-interest and self-conceit” as the heritage of the devil, who through self-conceit and self-interest opposed the command of God the High by not submitting to His…nearmost (wali) and chosen one. Know that all form of the miseries of the children of Adam are due to this heritage of the devil, which is the origin of all discord. Perhaps…the noble [Qur’anic] verse, “and combat them until there is no discord and religion is only for God” is an allusion to the “greater spiritual struggle” (al-jihad al-akbar) and to combating the root of discord, which is the great devil and his forces, which have deep roots and branches in the inmost depths of the hearts of mankind. Everyone should strive to remove discord from themselves inwardly and outwardly. This is the struggle which, if victorious, will lead to happiness and order for everything and everyone.77

While this passage employs the style and aesthetic of dualism, and lays the majority of blame for misery on diabolical revolt, Khomeini never abstracts “evil,” and he holds humans responsible for uprooting diabolical rebellion from themselves. The original rebellion to which he refers is shaytan’s refusal to bow to Adam when God commanded him to do so, God having previously made shaytan from smokeless fire, and commanding him to bow to no one except Him. Khomeini frames this disobedience in the context of shaytan refusing to submit to God’s wali. In this passage written well into the establishment of the Islamic Republic, Khomeini summarizes the extent to which moral dualism is present in this “metanomian” interpretation of Shi’ism: bad deeds are those defying the authority of the wali, by implication, defying the wilayat. This is not moral dualism, but rather the divine command ethics of Islam, in which bad deeds are 77  Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, “Author’s Introduction,” in Khomeini, The Mystery of Prayer, 4–5.

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synonymous with opposition to God. Thus, the United States is the Great Satan because it has, in its arrogant self-interest and self-conceit, promoted discord in the earth (fasad fi al-ard)78 by rejecting the divine authority inherent in the wilayat-i faqih. In “On the Mysteries of Purification with Water and Earth,” Khomeini quotes the 79th verse of the fourth sura of the Qur’an: “Whatever good befalls you is from God and whatever misfortune befalls you is from yourself.”79 He blames the self for failing to seek good, allowing itself to become the victim of the devil. As he writes in “On the Mystery of Prostration”: O Lord, we are in the dark veils of the realm of nature and commit great sins, of worshipping desires and self-seeking, and the devil has influence in our veins, skin, and blood; from head to toe we are under the sovereignty of the devil and we have no choice but to seek refuge in Your holy essence from the hands of this powerful foe.80

Despite the lack of direct reference to eschatology in this passage and the absence of apocalyptic motifs, it is clear from the esoteric context of the rest of the work and from all of the traditions of ‘irfan that the dualistic aesthetic presented here cannot refer to any absolute opposition of God to the devil as is expressed in Zarathushtrian Mazdaism. In Islam, the devil is not co-eternal with God. Similarly, the subjection of humanity to diabolical sovereignty which influences, but does not command, the body does not equate to anti-Demiurgical rejection of the cosmos, the body, or the material world. Concerns about bodily purity in this text highlight one feature of practice in Iran, particularly instanced by Ayatollah Khomeini, which bears specific resemblance to pre-Islamic practice: persistent dedication to purification and protection techniques of elaborate character, often delving into minutiae of protection for particular anatomical parts. Its antecedents are likely not originally Zarathushtrian or Mazdean; intensive protective techniques of spiritual defense and ritual purity appear in Zarathushtrian

78  Roger M.  Savory, “The Export of Ithna Ashari Shi’ism: Historical and Ideological Background,” in The Iranian Revolution and the Muslim World, ed. David Menashri (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 1990), 19. 79  Khomeini, “Author’s Introduction,” 58. 80  Khomeini, “Author’s Introduction,” 132.

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religion after influence by “magi,” western Iranian ritual experts whose provenance and self-conception remains consistently debated.81 Despite his embrace of elemental symbolism in the context of purification, Khomeini’s frequent devaluation of the world in comparison to ultimate divinity cannot be equivalent to the explicit pro-cosmism of traditions that regard unworldliness as itself discordant or wicked: the discord for which Khomeini condemns shaytan is the discord of rejecting the authority of the wali. This conception does not automatically imply that humanity is entirely enthralled to the sovereignty of the devil. While Shi’a is not entirely pro-cosmic, it is not anti-cosmic either: in the only full-length book ever written on “the greater jihad,”82 Khomeini emphasizes its esoteric character, writing: Without the inner jihad, the outer jihad is impossible. Jihad is inconceivable unless a person turns his back on his own desires and the world. For what we mean here by “world” is the aggregate of man’s aspirations that effectively constitute his world.83

In a complete translation of the same text, he consistently uses imagery of concealment and unveiling: In disgrace and with polluted hearts that are covered by veils of darkness, one will not be able to understand these spiritual meanings and truths. One must tear these veils and push aside these dark and light curtains which cover the heart and are barriers to union with Allah so that one will be able to enter the brilliant and splendid divine company.84

 Albert F. de Jong, Traditions of the Magi (Leiden: Brill, 1997).  David Cook, Understanding Jihad (Oakland, CA: University of California Press, 2015), 35–39, 47; Imam Khomeini, The Greatest Jihad: Combat with the Self, trans. Muhammad Legenhausen and Azim Sarvdalir (Selangor: Islamic Book Trust, 2009). Cook, 35, repeats a common version of the purported hadith of unknown provenance and disputed authenticity in which Muhammad tells a group of warriors returning from battle that they have come from the lesser jihad (struggle) to the greater jihad (struggle), hypothesizing that its origin might be a statement in a hadith collection Kitab al-Jihad by early jihadi Ibn al-Mubarak (d. 797): “The fighter is one who fights his soul.” 83  Cook, Understanding Jihad, 385, citing Ayatollah Khomeini, “Jihad al-nafs aw al-Jihad al-akbar,” in Islam and Revolution: Writings and Declarations of Imam Khomeini (1941–80), trans. Hamid Algar (Berkeley, CA: Createspace Independent Pub, 1981), 48–49. 84  Khomeini, The Greatest Jihad, 60. 81 82

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He continues to elaborate that “all of the corporeal worlds are dark veils” that become veils of light “if the world is a means of directing attention to the truth.”85 The discordant and illegitimate dominion of the human world by adversarial darkness is not part of a worldview lacking in dualism. Consequently, I identify eschatological dualism, frequently expressed through apocalyptic form and style, as the sole feature of Zarathushtrian dualism that continues into Shi’a Islam, including its metanomian expression via Khomeini’s iteration of the wilayat-i faqih. The confidence that God will, at an unknown time, end the diabolical tyranny is the structural element that renders cosmological dualism unnecessary. Contrary to Zarathushtrian Mazdaism, this eschatology does not require the conception of an independently inimical power, much less any abstracted cosmic evil. While both branches of Islam express pure monotheism, this is not their defining feature in the history of religion: the Mongols (many of whom ultimately converted to Islam) conceived the Eternal Blue Sky as a monotheos as well. Islam is distinct in combining pure monotheism with the reception of eschatological dualism independent from other dualisms that often accompany it. In this regard, differences between Sunni and Shi’a are found in their theological conceptions of authority, which has consequences for the expression of apocalyptic eschatology. These consequences are primarily expressed in differing interpretations of how the divine basis of political authority is manifested. Shi’ites have been likely to attempt the immanent realization of eschatological expectation, but only the metanomian Shi’a of Ayatollah Khomeini has utilized this conjunction of monotheism and apocalyptic dualism as the basis of political continuity: the will of God is revealed and interpreted through the wilayat, and the enemies of the wilayat are the enemies of humanity, as the devil is the enemy of the wali. Such a conception remains self-consistent and stable whether or not it is rendered unnecessary by the destruction or subjugation of temporal enemies that could be present in a particular time and circumstance. In other instances of divinely sanctioned government or deified imperium, it has been impossible to diabolize enemies of the state without embracing moral dualism; more generically “demonizing” them has required pro-­ cosmism. Conditionally vilifying them culturally, ethnically, or racially has required embracing an ethical dualism such that deviation from it implies a defect of character or heritage.  Khomeini, The Greatest Jihad, 61.

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In its political deployment of eschatological dualism, metanomian Shi’a is unique in diabolizing its enemies while designating the wilayat itself as the ultimate standard of conduct. As summarized by Mohammad Ayatollahi Tabaar, “Khomeini preached the establishment of an Islamic state to implement Islamic law but reversed the means and ends when he sanctioned the abrogation of Islamic law to protect the state.”86 Tabaar’s thesis is that the direction of influence is entirely from political expedience “crafting” religious belief, while emphasizing that strategic behavior on the part of religious actors is not an indication of their sincerity or lack thereof.87 However, in light of the availability of Khomeini’s esoteric writings, the sincerity and consistency of his worldview in both theory and practice are beyond question, given that the authority of the Supreme Leader to abrogate shar’iah is entirely consistent with the esoteric gnosis fundamental to Khomeini’s conception of the wilayat. Mahdist Expectation By the time of his return to Iran from exile, Khomeini had become the object of Mahdist expectation and apocalyptic omens and portents amid catastrophic earthquakes. Popular sentiment associated him with a Shi’a hadith that prophesied a savior-figure from Qum; uncounted numbers of Iranians reported seeing his face in the full moon. Newspapers referred to him as the Imam, a title bestowed on no Shi’a cleric since the Twelfth Imam went into occultation.88 Khomeini never confirmed or denied being the Mahdi, but he clearly adopted the role of Deputy of the Imam, while rejecting association with the popular lunar vision. Khomeini responded to a question as to his feelings about returning to Iran, asked on the plane as it crossed into Iranian airspace, “Nothing. I don’t feel a thing.”89 The significance of this response becomes clear when considered in the context of the details of Khomeini’s esoteric practice, traversing four stages of the wayfarer.90 The penultimate of these is fana, usually translated “annihilation,” in which all experience, identity, and  Tabaar, Religious Statecraft, 2.  Tabaar, Religious Statecraft, 3–4. 88  Amanat, Apocalyptic Islam, 63. 89  PBS, “12 Bahman: Khomeini Returns,” 1 February 2009, https://www.pbs.org/ wgbh/pages/frontline/tehranbureau/2009/02/12-bahman-khomeini-returns.html, accessed 14 July 2020. 90  Ridgeon, Religion and Politics, 199. 86 87

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reality becomes as nothing, preceding the wayfarer’s ultimate “subsistence” in God, from whence comes his wilayat. In turn, this “wardenship” comes  to the wayfarer from the Prophet, becoming the source of all authority in the person of the Perfect Man who has the wilayat-i faqih, the “Wardenship of the Jurist.” He becomes endowed with the capability and responsibility to keep hold and care for the interpretation of Islam. This typifies any wayfarer who reaches the station nearest to God, but Khomeini asserts that wilayat does not create supernatural status or elevated position, being a grave responsibility rather than a privilege.91 He implies that although completion of the four stages of the wayfarer would occasion wilayat, the reverse is not the case.

Conclusion The examination of each of the three features identified in Khomeini’s worldview, esotericism, apocalyptic eschatology, and conspiracism (with increasing moral dualist elements) supports the observation that these coalesced into an esoteric worldview characterized by features distinct from historical Shi’a. This distinction informs the conceptualization of the term metanomian Shi’a as a category of Islamic worldview. While the Islamic Republic of Iran is presently the only nation-state governed with Khomeini’s interpretation of wilayat, it exemplifies metanomian Shi’a as a category that may be applicable to interpretation and influence regarding past, present, and potential future Islamic movements. Whether or not directly or indirectly inspired by Khomeini’s interpretation of wilayat, other expressions of Shi’a may develop that eschew antinomianism while transforming or reformulating the significance of shari’ah in other ways. For example, the category metanomian Shi’a is useful in examining Khomeini’s recognition of the Alevi as Shi’a,92 despite their nonadherence to shari’ah.93 This nonadherence does not reflect 91  Ayatollah Khomeini, “A Letter from the Imam Masawi, Dispeller of Obscurity,” cited in Hamid Enayat, “Ayatollah Sayyid Ruhullah Musawi Khumayni and wilayat-i faqih,” in Nasr, Expectation of the Millennium, 335. 92  ABNA, “Ayatollah Alavi Gorgani: Middle Eastern Countries Have Much in Common” (2015), https://en.abna24.com/service/grand-ayatollahs/ archive/2015/09/08/709820/story.html, accessed 25 July 2020. 93  For an analysis of the Alevi embrace of recognition, see Reyhan Erdogu Basaran, Why Label Alevi Islam as Shi’ite?: A Comparative Inquiry into Alevi Identity Outside of the SunniShi’a Framework (Houston, TX: Rice University, 2018).

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antinomian intention, unlike the abrogation of shari’ah by Ismaili leader Hasan II (d.1166) when he proclaimed the immanent Qiyama in 1164;94 Alevi disregard for shari’ah is instead comparable to the Apostle Paul’s metanomian stance regarding the Jewish Law. While Khomeini’s recognition of the Alevi is emic, the academic construction of metanomian Shi’a applies to his recognition of the Alevi, offering an explanatory alternative to the political reductionism previously applied to Iran’s position regarding the Alevi.95 The concept of metanomian Shi’a may have predictive application. Abbas Amanat claims that Qum’s rigid clerical culture and the complex socio-cultural history of Iranian Shi’a were necessary for the actualization of the Revolutionary worldview into the foundational premises of the nation-state.96 In contrast to Amanat’s implication that Khomeini’s application of the wilayat is inseparable from Iranian conditions, the identification of metanomian Shi’a disentangles projections of political Shi’a from Iranian particularities concerning the increase of conspiracism in order to mitigate apocalyptic eschatological dualism. Such clarification enables the construction of plausible scenarios involving stable Shi’a regimes arising elsewhere. At present, however, Khomeini’s wilayat-i faqih remains the only political expression of the esoteric ‘irfan conception of divinity: sole and unique.

References ABNA. 2015. Ayatollah Alavi Gorgani: Middle Eastern Countries Have Much in Common. https://en.abna24.com/service/grand-­ayatollahs/archive/2015/ 09/08/709820/story.html. Accessed 25 July 2020. Abrahamian, Ervand. 1982. Iran Between Two Revolutions. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Ahmad, Jalal Al-e. 2005. The Outline of a Disease. In Gharbzadegi. Trans. John Green and Ahmad Alizadeh (Costa Mesa: Mazda Publishers, 1997), 11–23. Reprinted in Lloyd Ridgeon, Religion and Politics in Modern Iran: A Reader, 163–174. London: I.B. Tauris. Alalwani, Taha Jabir. 2018. Reviving the Balance: The Authority of the Qur’an and the Status of the Sunnah. Herdon, VA: International Institute of Islamic Thought.  Daftary, The Ismailis, 358–62.  For example, Elizabeth Richter, Operational Code Analysis of Iran’s Supreme Leadership— Ayatollahs Khomeini and Khamenei (Ankara: Ihsan Dogramaci Bilkent University, 2016). 96  Amanat, Apocalyptic Islam, 11–12. 94 95

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Algar, Hamid. 2006. ‘Allama Sayyid Muhammad Husayn Tabataba’i: Philosopher, Exegete, and Gnostic. Journal of Islamic Studies 1: 1–26. Amanat, Abbas. 2009. Apocalyptic Islam and Iranian Shi’ism. London: I.B. Tauris. Amuzegar, Jahangir. 1991. The Dynamics of the Iranian Revolution: The Pahlavis’ Triumph and Tragedy. New York: SUNY. Aristotle. 1991. Posterior Analytics. In The Complete Works of Aristotle, 2 vols, I. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Arjomand, Said. 1988. The Turban for the Crown: The Islamic Revolution in Iran. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ashraf, Ahmad. 2011. Conspiracy Theories. Encyclopedia Iranica. http://www. iranicaonline.org/articles/conspiracy-­theories. Accessed 10 July 2020. Basaran, Reyhan Erdogu. 2018. Why Label Alevi Islam as Shi’ite?: A Comparative Inquiry into Alevi Identity Outside of the Sunni-Shi’a Framework. Houston, TX: Rice University. Bazzi, Emad. 2018. Ayatollah Khomeini’s Gnoseology and Its Impact on His Political Worldview. In The Gnostic World, ed. Garry W.  Trompf, Gunner B. Mikkelsen, and Jay Johnston, 587–595. London and New York: Routledge. Beeman, William O. 2005. The “Great Satan” vs. The “Mad Mullahs:” How the United States and Iran Demonize Each Other. London: Praeger. Böwering, Gerhard. ‘ERFAN (1). Encyclopaedia Iranica. https://iranicaonline. org/articles/erfan-­1. Accessed 20 July 2020. Braiterman, Zachary. 2006. Martin Buber and the Art of Ritual. In New Perspectives on Martin Buber, ed. Michael Zank, 111–124. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Braymann, M.M. 2008. The Spiritual Background of Early Islam: Studies in Ancient Arab Concepts, Brill Classics in Islam 4. Brill: Leiden. Cary, Philip. 2000. Augustine’s Invention of the Inner Self: The Legacy of a Christian Platonist. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Chamankhah, Leila. 2019. The Conceptualization of Guardianship in Iranian Intellectual History (1800–1989). Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. Cook, David. 2002. Studies in Muslim Apocalyptic. Princeton, NJ: The Darwin Press. ———. 2011. Early Islamic and Classical Sunni and Shi’ite Apocalyptic Movements. In The Oxford Handbook of Millennialism, ed. Catherine Wessinger, 267–283. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. 2015. Understanding Jihad. Oakland, CA: University of California Press. Corbin, Henry. 1964a. History of Islamic Philosophy. London: Kegan Paul. ———. 1964b. Le Livre des penetrations metaphysiques, Bibliothèque iranienne 10. Tehran and Paris: Institut franco-iranien. ———. 1964c. Mundus Imaginalis, or the Imaginary and the Imaginal. Cahiers internationaux de symbolisme 6: 3–26. Trans. Association des amis de Henry et Stella Corbin. https://www.amiscorbin.com/en/bibliography/mundus-­ imaginalis-­or-­the-­imaginary-­and-­the-­imaginal/. Accessed 20 July 2020.

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———. 1978. The Man of Light in Iranian Sufism. Trans. Nancy Pearson. Boulder, CO: Shambala. Dabashi, Hamid. 1993. Theology of Discontent: The Ideological Foundations of the Islamic Revolution in Iran. New York and London: New York University Press. Daftary, Farhad. 2007. The Ismailis: Their History and Doctrine. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. De Jong, Albert F. 1997. Traditions of the Magi. Leiden: Brill. Enayat, Hamid. 1989. Ayatollah Sayyid Ruhullah Musawi Khumayni and Wilayat-­ i-­Faqih. In Expectation of the Millennium: Shi’ism in History, ed. Seyyed Hossein Nasr, Hamid Dabashi, and Seyyed Vali Reza Nasr, 334–342. New York: SUNY Press. Erdman, Jonathan. 2008. Ordnung and Rumspringa. The Theos Project. http:// theosproject.blogspot.com/2008/04/ordnung-­u nd-­r umspringa.html. Accessed 19 July 2020. Esposito, John L. 2004. Batin. In The Oxford Dictionary of Islam, ed. John L. Esposito, 38. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Faivre, Antoine. 1994. Access to Western Esotericism. New York: SUNY. Feldman, Noah. 2012. The Fall and Rise of the Islamic State. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Ghaemi, S. Nassir. 2004. The Concepts of Psychiatry: A Pluralistic Approach to the Mind and Mental Illness. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins. Glatzer, Nahum. 1956. Frankfurt Lehrhaus. Leo Baeck Yearbook 1. Goodrick-Clarke, Nicholas. 1985. The Occult Roots of Nazism. Wellingborough: Aquarian. ̄ Halm, H.  BĀ Ṭ ENIYA. Encyclopaedia Iranica. http://www.iranicaonline.org/ articles/bateniya. Accessed 14 July 2020. Harney, Desmond. 1998. The Priest and the King: An Eyewitness Account of the Iranian Revolution. London: I.B. Tauris. Hashemi-Najafabadi, Adel. 2010. Imamate and Leadership: The Case of Shi’a Fundamentalists in Modern Iran. Canadian Social Science 6 (6): 192–205. Hiro, Dilip. 1985. Iran Under the Ayatollahs. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Hoveda, Fereydoun. 2003. The Shah and the Ayatollah: Iranian Mythology and Islamic Revolution. Westport, CT: Praeger. Hutchison, Keith. 1982. What Happened to Occult Qualities in the Scientific Revolution? Isis 73 (2): 233–253. Inquire Within [Christina Stoddard]. 1936. The Trail of the Serpent. London: Boswell. Kalaji, Mehdi. 2008. Apocalyptic Politics: On the Rationality of Iranian Policy. Washington, DC: The Washington Near East Policy Institute. https://www. washingtoninstitute.org/uploads/Documents/pubs/PolicyFocus79Final.pdf. Accessed 18 July 2020.

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Kapuscinski, Ryszard. 1985. Shah of Shahs. San Diego, CA: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. Katouzian, Homa. 2009. The Iranian Revolution of February 1979. Washington, DC: Middle East Institute. https://www.mei.edu/publications/iranian-­ revolution-­february-­1979. Accessed 18 July 2020. Khomeini, Ayatollah. 1981. Jihad al-nafs aw al-Jihad al-akbar. In Islam and Revolution: Writings and Declarations of Imam Khomeini (1941–80), 48–49. Trans. Hamid Algar. Berkeley, CA: Createspace Independent Pub. ———. 2005. Islamic Government (1970). Trans. Hamid Algar. In Islam and Revolution: Writings and Declarations. London: KPI, 1985. Reprinted in Lloyd Ridgeon, Religion and Politics in Modern Iran: A Reader, 200–213. London: I.B. Tauris. Khomeini, Imam. 2009. The Greatest Jihad: Combat with the Self. Trans. Muhammad Legenhausen and Azim Sarvdalir. Selangor: Islamic Book Trust. Khomeini, Ayatollah Ruhollah. 2015a. Author’s Introduction. In The Ascension of the Wayfarers and the Prayer of the Gnostics. Trans. Sayyid Amjad H.  Shah Naqavi, 3–7. Leiden: Brill. ———. 2015b. The Mystery of Prayer: The Ascension of the Wayfarers and the Prayer of the Gnostics. Trans. Sayyid Amjad H. Shah Naqavi. Leiden: Brill. Knysh, Alexander. 1992. ‘‘Irfan’ Revisited: Khomeini and the Legacy of Islamic Mystical Philosophy. Middle East Journal 46 (4): 631–653. Koshku, Rasoul Imani. 2014. The History of the Islamic Seminaries of Qum, Part II. Trans. Mohammad Javad Shomali, Messages of Thaqalayn 15 (1). Kurzman, Charles. 2004. The Unthinkable Revolution. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Legenhausen, Muhammad. 2014. The ‘irfan of the Commander of the Faithful, Imam Ali (a). Religious Inquiries 3 (5): 5–20. Lohr, Charles. 2010. Aristotelian ‘Scientia’ and the Medieval ‘Artes’. In The European Image of God and Man, ed. Hans-Christian Gunther and Andrea Aldo Robiglio, 259–269. Leiden: Brill. Long, Anton. 2006. Esoteric Notes XXIX—Magick, the Sinister, and the Psyche of the Folk. https://darknessconverges.wordpress.com/2009/07/16/ esoteric-­notes-­xxix-­magick-­the-­sinister-­and-­the-­psyche-­of-­the-­folk/. Accessed 20 July 2020. Louis, William Roger. 2004. Britain and the Overthrow of the Mosaddeq Government. In Mohammad Mossadeq and the 1953 Coup in Iran, ed. Mark J.  Gasiorowski and Malcolm Byrne, 126–177. Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press. Lucian (of Samosata). 1960. Philosophies for Sale (Vitarum Auctio). Trans. A. M. Harmon. In Lucian, The Loeb Classical Library, 8 vols, II, 449–511. London: William Heinemann Ltd. & Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

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Massignon, L. 1937. Die Ursprünge und die Bedeutung des Gnosticizmus im Islam. Eranos Jahrbuch: 55–77. Milani, Milad. 2013. Sufism in the Secret History of Persia. Durham: Acumen. Miller, Edith Starr, and Lady Queenborough. 1933. Occult Theocrasy. Chatou: British American Press. Mirsepassi, Ali. 2019. Iran’s Quiet Revolution: The Downfall of the Pahlavi Regime. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mutahhari, Murtadha. 2002. Understanding Islamic Sciences. London: Islamic College for Advanced Studies. Naqavi, Sayyid Amjad H. Shah. 2015. Translators Introduction. In The Mystery of Prayer: The Ascension of the Wayfarers and the Prayer of the Gnostics, ed. Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini. Leiden: Brill. Nasr, Seyyed Hossein, Hamid Dabashi, and Seyyed Vali Reza Nasr, eds. 1989. Expectation of the Millennium: Shi’ism in History. New York: SUNY Press. Nicholson, Reynald A. 1914. The Mystics of Islam. London: G. Bell and Sons. Parsa, Misagh. 1988. Theories of Collective Action and the Iranian Revolution. Sociological Forum 3 (1): 44–71. PBS. 2009. 12 Bahman: Khomeini Returns. 1 February. https://www.pbs.org/ wgbh/pages/frontline/tehranbureau/2009/02/12-­b ahman-­k homeini-­ returns.html. Accessed 14 July 2020. Rahnema, Ali. 2000. An Islamic Utopian: A Political Biography of Ali Shari’ati. London: I.B. Tauris. Richter, Elizabeth. 2016. Operational Code Analysis of Iran’s Supreme Leadership— Ayatollahs Khomeini and Khamenei. Ankara: Ihsan Dogramaci Bilkent University. Ridgeon, Lloyd, ed. 2005. Religion and Politics in Modern Iran: A Reader. London: I.B. Tauris. ———. 2014. Hidden Khomeini: Mysticism and Poetry. In A Critical Introduction to Khomeini, ed. Arshin Adib-Moghaddam, 213–232. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ruthven, Malise. 2012. Encounters with Islam: On Religion, Politics, and Modernity. London: I. B. Tauris. Saif, Liana. 2015. The Arabic Influences on Early Modern Occult Philosophy. London: Palgrave Macmillan. ———. 2019. What is Islamic Esotericism? Correspondences 7 (1): 1–59. Savory, Roger M. 1990. The Export of Ithna Ashari Shi’ism: Historical and Ideological Background. In The Iranian Revolution and the Muslim World, ed. David Menashri, 13–39. Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University. Sedgwick, Mark. 2019. Islamic and Western Esotericism. Correspondences 7 (1): 277–299.

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CHAPTER 12

Reflections on the Various Uses of Tarot Antoine Faivre

The Tarot has become, by itself, a distinct strand in the conglomerate that we have come to call the modern Western esoteric movement.1 The modest contribution presented here is a succinct inventory of different uses that this flexible instrument can suit itself to—uses whose boundaries are often so permeable that one of them integrates another, or even several others. It seems that no Tarot game can be dated prior to the Renaissance. The imagery appeared little by little in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, was contoured in the seventeenth, and only became standardized at the beginning of the eighteenth century, when it spread into different versions bearing notable variations. The Tarot called of Grimaud (1748) is the direct ancestor of our most common Tarot (called “of Marseilles,” of 1  The purpose of this chapter is to stimulate methodological reflection on the subject. The research into Tarot has been encouraged by discussions I have carried out in the past with Professor Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke. If I remember correctly, we agreed in seeing Tarot as a distinct modern Western esotericism current.

A. Faivre (*) École Pratique des Hautes Études (Sorbonne), Paris, France © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 G. D. Hedesan, T. Rudbøg (eds.), Innovation in Esotericism from the Renaissance to the Present, Palgrave Studies in New Religions and Alternative Spiritualities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-67906-4_12

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which several versions exist). It is only beginning with the 1780s, when innovators like Court de Gébelin (1725–1784) and Etteilla, also called Aliette (1938–1991), endow it with fabulous dimensions, that this card game begins to captivate an audience, first in France, and, almost a century later, in other countries as well.2

Use 1: Tarot and Divination The divinatory use of the cards in general appeared around 1527; from then on it spread little by little, until nowadays it has become the most common use of all. By “divination,” I mean both the telling of future events, as well as of current ones. It is a practice that is either solitary, or conducted in two (the interpreter and the person counseled). When the Tarot is its instrument, this practice has often been associated with that of the Chinese Yi Ching, both of them being based, according to certain interpreters, on the notion of synchronicity.3 Modern divination is often combined with psychological investigation, understood as a situational study, as well as with astrology and other forms of occultism.

Use 2: Tarot and Psychology, Tarot and Meditation The Tarot is supposed to act on our mental states through faith in and/or a renewal of our psychological potential (i.e., personal development or self-knowledge). Carl Gustav Jung (1875–1961) was little interested in Tarot. Nevertheless, in March 1933, he had this to say in regard to the Major Arcana: [They] are sort of archetypal ideas, of a differentiated nature, which mingle with the ordinary constituents of the flow of the unconscious, and therefore it is applicable for an intuitive method that has the purpose of understanding the flow of life, possibly even predicting future events, at all events lending itself to the reading of the conditions of the present moment. It is in that

2  Ronald Decker, Thierry Depaulis and Michael Dummett, A Wicked Pack of Cards. The Origins of the Occult Tarot (London: Duckworth & Co, 1996). 3  The term “synchronicity” was introduced by Carl G. Jung to explain meaningful coincidences without a causal relationship; see Carl G. Jung, Synchronicity: An Acausal Connecting Principle (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1973).

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way analogous to the I Ching, the Chinese divination method that allows at least a reading of the present condition.4

We can associate Jung’s views with the interpretation of the psychologist André Virel (1920–2000). In an unpublished 1966 article called “The Symbolism of Tarot” (“Le Symbolisme du Tarot”), Virel expresses the idea that the cards can “induce the subjects of psychological experiences to have significant projections of their personality” and that “the Tarot of Marseille could constitute a projective test of the same caliber as the Rorschach test or the Tat of Murray.”5 Similarly, in his The History of our Image (Histoire de notre image, 1965), work that was in very large part dedicated to Tarot, Virel interprets, for example, the Arcana VI and VII (the Lover, and the Chariot), as a resolution of psychological ambivalence. The Arcana XV (the Devil) is resolved by the disclosure of the Tower in the Arcana XVI (which marks the “departure of the psychological creation”). According to Virel, it is about freeing the word, envisaging different strategies, and analyzing the potential of the subject. The work [The History of our Image] proposes an in-depth study of the Major Arcana with their philosophical and psychological meanings and with life scenarios […] The tarology and the psychology, these two “human sciences,” enrich each other […] they have the same objective: the knowledge of the self. Both aim at an understanding of the human being and the conscious and unconscious mechanisms that sustain the dynamic of decision-making and of individual and collective actions.6

In this context, Tarot is often used as a Mandala. The Tarot of Gareth Knight (1984), drawn by Sander Littel, seems to be situated halfway between this use and that of the occult Tarot: it presents itself as a path-­ working interior voyage and a meditation along the 22 branches of the

4  Carl Gustav Jung, “Seminar of March 1933,” in Visions: Notes of the Seminar given in 1930–1934 by C.G.  Jung, edited by Claire Douglas, 2 vols (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997), II, 923. 5  André Virel, “Le Symbolisme du Tarot,” unpublished article. 6  André Virel, L’Histoire de notre image (Geneva: Mont Blanc, 1965), 63–81, the editor’s translation.

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Sephiroth Tree of Life, yet without reference to any specific doctrine.7 There are several other examples of this type of Tarot.8

Use 3: “Occult” Tarot In the “occult” context, the Tarot is almost always presented as a key of knowledge harking back to ancient Egypt, where it was originally the “Book of Thoth.” Since this could never be proven, some have tried to show that Bohemians (gypsies, Romanichels, etc.) had transmitted the tradition—a fact that is historically false, but has stimulated the imagination. The occult Tarot organizes and suggests cognitive frameworks understood as systems of illumination, whose objective is to help the individual to understand his or her relationship with the universe. Thus the individual aims to reach a kind of enlightenment that can bestow knowledge of secret aspects of the world. In this way, each card represents an initiatory stage meant to allow the person to accede to superior levels of reality. In his Divinatory Tarot (Le Tarot divinatoire, 1909), Papus (1865–1916) writes that this game, just like the Ars Magna of Ramón Llull (1232–1316) out of which, according to Papus, the Tarot derived from, allows the resolution of the greatest problems of philosophy.9 In his misleadingly titled Tarot of the Medieval Illustrations (Tarot des imagiers du moyen âge, 1926–1927), Oswald Wirth (1860–1943) tries to show that the Tarot is “essentially the Sacred Book of occult initiation.”10 It seems possible to divide the occult Tarot into four branches, depending on the connections made with other “occult” currents (Kabbalah, alchemy, astrology, and arithmology). These branches often meet, or even merge. They grew in particular during the period of the so-called occultist movement (second half of the nineteenth and first half of the twentieth centuries). The best reference work on Tarot in the context of this

7  Stuart R. Kaplan, The Encyclopedia of Tarot, 4 vols (Stanford, CA: US Games Systems, 1978–2005), III (1990), 595, 600–601. 8  Corinne Morel, ABC du Tarot psychologique (Paris: Grancher, 2009). 9  Papus (pseudonym of Gérard Encausse), Le Tarot divinatoire, Clef du tirage des cartes et des sorts (Paris: Librairie Hermétique, 1909). 10  Oswald Wirth, Le Tarot des imagiers du moyen âge, 3 vols. (Paris: Éditions Le Symbolisme, 1926–1927). This book has been translated into English by Richard Gardner and Diana Faber as The Tarot of the Magicians (York Beach, MA: Weiser, 1990).

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movement, apparently not superseded until now, is Ronald Decker et al., A Wicked Pack of Cards (1996).11 Branch 1: Tarot and Kabbalah The aim of this branch is to present Tarot as a sort of aide-memoire of the main teachings of Kabbalah, the Sephiroth Tree serving here as a frequent medium of reflection. This connection is suggested in particular by the fact that there are just as many Major Arcana in the Tarot as letters in the Hebrew alphabet; these in turn correspond, according to this type of speculation, to the 22 paths called of Wisdom. This association, first and foremost of French origin, spread abroad at a much later date. The first to attempt it was Eliphas Lévi (1810–1875), who associated the 22 Major Arcana with the 22 Hebrew letters (e.g., in his Doctrine and Ritual of High Magic, Dogme et Rituel de la Haute Magie, 1861).12 Stanislas de Guaita (1861–1897) arranged the majority of the parts and chapters of his long treatise on occultism, The Serpent of Genesis (Le serpent de la Genèse, 1891–1896) according to the so-called Kabbalistic numbers and images of Tarot.13 Papus opens his first of two books on Tarot, Tarot of the Bohemians (Tarot des Bohémiens, 1889) by discussing Kabbalah. Oswald Wirth, the author of the aforementioned Tarot of the Medieval Illustrations, dedicates an entire chapter to the “Kabbalistic Tarot” founded on the Tree of the Sephiroth.14 Similarly, Aleister Crowley (1875–1947), in his Book of Thoth (1944), connects Kabbalah (but also astrology and mythology) to Tarot.15 In the 2000s, Steffan G. Vanel, an American author and very active speaker (see his internet websites), proposes a synthesis of Tarot with Kabbalah and also with astrology.16 The link between Kabbalah and Tarot is considered so real by certain authors that they go beyond considering that the Kabbalah is in the Tarot to claiming, even more daringly, that the Tarot is found in the Kabbalah itself!  See above, note 2.  Eliphas Lévi (pseudonym of Alphonse Louis Constant), Dogme et Rituel de la Haute Magie (Paris: G. Baillère, 1861). See also Kaplan, The Encyclopedia of Tarot, I, 22. 13  Stanislas de Guaita, Le serpent de la Genèse (Paris: Carré, 1891–1897). 14  Papus (pseudonym of Gérard Encausse), Le Tarot des Bohémiens, le plus ancien Livre du monde à l‘usage des initiés (Paris: Carré, 1889). 15  Aleister Crowley, Book of Thoth (London: OTO Press, 1944). 16  Vanel’s main website is Spiritual Company, Astrology and Tarot by Steffan Vanel, http:// spiritualcompany.com, accessed 25 June 2020. 11 12

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Branch 2: Tarot and Alchemy In his Alchemical Commentary (Commentaire alchimique) of 1985 on the Tarot called of Mantegna, created around 1465, François Trojani attempts to give the cards an alchemical symbolism that is not obvious at first glance.17 There are, however, many other Tarot decks that intentionally integrate alchemical symbolism. The Alchemical Tarot, created by the artist Edward J. O’Donnelly in 1983, is entirely founded on it. The Polish historian of alchemy Rafał T. Prinke commends it, specifying that Each card should be based on a well-known and exactly identified alchemical concept and there should be a recognizable similarity between traditional tarot design and symbolic alchemical illustrations.18

Branch 3: Tarot and Astrology Many decks contain cards that include elements of astrology, such as the Astrological Tarot of Stefannia Trabucchi (1982).19 Often, this kind of Tarot is combined with elements of the Kabbalah, alchemy, arithmology, etc.—such that these different currents called esoteric tend to mutually attract rather than repel each other. Branch 4: Tarot and Arithmology In the chapter entitled “The Book of Hermes” of his Doctrine and Ritual of High Magic, Eliphas Lévi associates Tarot to the learned manipulation of magic squares.20 In his Tarot of the Bohemians, Papus gives Tarot an arithmological interpretation that is extremely complex and lengthy, and has in turn gathered a lot of criticism. This kind of interpretation often goes hand in hand with the Kabbalistic interpretation. There are many types of arithmological Tarot decks, for instance the Numerological Tarot of Richard Bennett de Lavigerie (1986).21 17  François Trojani, Commentaire alchimique, vol. II of Série d’estampes de la Renaissance italienne dite Tarots de Mantegna ou jeu du gouvernement du monde au Quattrocento vers 1465 (Garches: Arnaud Seydoux, 1985). 18  Kaplan, The Encyclopedia of Tarot, I, 51. 19  Kaplan, The Encyclopedia of Tarot, I, 81–83. 20  Lévi, Dogme et Rituel, 337–63. 21  Kaplan, The Encyclopedia of Tarot, III, 617.

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Tarot, Key of Occultizing Reading Applied to Non-Occult Subjects The Tarot is often presented as a key opening subjects that, at first glance, seem to have no relationship with it. Here are two examples: –– Romarret Halabaq, in his Book of Psalms (2013), reads the Biblical Psalms in light of Tarot (but also of astrology, Kabbalah, and arithmology).22 –– Pierre-Louis Augereau, in his Hergé in the Land of the Tarot (2006), interprets the Tintin comic books of Hergé as works inspired by Tarot: a card corresponds to each character, and the adventures of Tintin are nothing but examples of initiatory Tarot paths (see also the document in appendix 1).23

Use 4: Masonic Tarot An example of this type of Tarot is that of Jean Beauchard (1987), reproduced here in appendix 2.24 The cards are arranged, and presented in such a way as to give an idea of the Masonic path of initiation. Oswald Wirth has already illustrated this method (in his Tarot of the Medieval Illustrations, see above).

Use 5: Cards Used to Open Book Chapters Valentin Tomberg (1900–1973) produced one of the most interesting works of twentieth-century Western esotericism, Meditations on the 22 Major Arcana of Tarot (1980).25 Based on the example of the Major Arcana of Tarot (Великие Арканы Таро, 1916) of Russian occultist Vladimir Chmakov (d.1926),26 Tomberg preceded each of the book’s 22 chapters with a major Arcanum used as a support for initial meditation. 22  Romarret Halabaq, Le Livre des Psaumes à la lumière de la Tradition kabbalistique: la Version herméneutique du Livre des Psaumes (Paris: Lulu, 2013). 23  Pierre-Louis Augereau, Hergé au pays des Tarots. Une lecture symbolique, ésotérique et alchimique des aventures de Tintin (Le Coudray-Macouard: Cheminements, 1999). 24  See also Kaplan, The Encyclopedia of Tarot, III, 604–605. 25  Valentin Tomberg, Méditations sur les 22 arcanes majeurs du Tarot (Paris: Aubier, 1980). 26  Vladimir Chmakov, Великие Арканы Таро. Абсолютные Начала Синтетической Философии Эзотеризма (Moscow: Kniga, 1993; 1st edition, 1916).

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Nevertheless, not all of these chapters are actually dedicated to the Arcanum chosen as an introduction. Stanislas de Guaita had already taken the same approach (see above, “Tarot and Kabbalah”).

Use 6: Uses of Tarot in Initiatory Communities and Societies The first example refers to a San Diego community studied by Dominique Glaub (The New Age Practice of Tarot, 1994).27 This sociologist spent seven years immersed in this community, working on the “New Age” of Tarot that has emerged from the counter-culture of the 1960s. In fact, the diversity of the new Tarots reveals the multiple facets of New Age. The “occult” aspects are frequently present.28 The second example originates from a presentation made by Jean-Marc Font at our Emeritus Professor seminar in May 2012 on the Voodoo Tarot of New Orleans.29 Font introduced this as an example of syncretism between Western esotericism and African religious traditions. We learn that, while a “divinatory” use of Tarot is possible in this context, it is not the only possible one, as the appropriation of the deck’s structure in the Voodoo framework transforms it into a ritual instrument of the same kind as other practices of this cult in the hothouses of its Temples. Even if the structure of the Tarot constructed in this way completely reproduces that of “traditional” Western Tarot, its symbolical context is very different and, as Font has emphasized, it is part of a mapping of the universe of spirits the Voodoo of New Orleans (completed by those of the Santeria) worships. The third example refers to the integration of Tarot within the doctrinal and ceremonial system of diverse initiatory Orders at the turn of the twentieth century. Tarot was used as a method to unite astrology, Sephiroth, the Hebrew alphabet, and other traditions. The Golden Dawn was such an Order,30 and it in turn inspired the game created in 1964 by the artist Sander Littel at the instigation of Gareth Knight (see section above). 27  Dominique Glaub, “La pratique New Age du Tarot: une nouvelle forme de religiosité” (PhD diss, University of Paris V-René Descartes, 1994). 28  On this general aspect, see Danny L. Jorgensen, The Esoteric Scene, Cultic Milieu and Occult Tarot (New York: Garland, 1992). 29  Jean-Marc Font, “Le Tarot Vaudou de la Nouvelle Orléans: Exemple de syncrétisme entre ésotérisme occidental et tradition religieuse africaine,” an unpublished paper presented in March 2012 at Antoine Faivre’s seminar in Paris. 30  Kaplan, The Encyclopedia of Tarot, II, 258.

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323

Use 7: Place for Convivial Exchanges The so-called Tarot cafes started to appear in the second part of the twentieth century in many cities around the world. In Paris, the best-known café is “Le Téméraire,” founded and maintained by Tarot master Alejandro Jodorowsky.31

Use 8: Receptacle of Images of Other Cultures As example, Xultun Maya Tarot (1976) by Peter Balin represents figures related to the mythology of the Mayas, the idea being that the cards express universal archetypes so well that elements of this kind can be introduced in the game. There is also a Celtic Tarot, a Tarot of the American Indians, an Egyptian Tarot, etc.32

Use 9: Support to the Pagan-Feminist Cause Many games strongly emphasize the feminine aspects of certain cards, and even enhance such elements. The most common topic of inspiration is that of the Great Mother Goddess. Examples include Mother Peace Round Tarot (1984), the Barbara Walker Tarot (1986, reproduced in appendix 3), the Feminist Tarrocci of Isia Osuchowska (1978).33

Use 10: Source of Artistic and Literary Inspiration Besides certain paintings and drawings of Salvador Dali, I am singling out certain Tarot decks in what is a very abundant production. Firstly, I should mention the Tarot of Arthur Edward Waite (1857–1942), also called the Rider Deck (from the name of the editor), or Waite Tarot, as well as the Thoth Tarot, drawn by Crowley and painted in 1942 by Lady Frieda 31  A quick search on the internet with keywords “Café Téméraire” can easily reveal its Paris location and reviews. See, for instance, https://plancreateur.wordpress.com/2014/10/26/ jodorowsky-au-cafe-le-temeraire-paris/, accessed 29 July 2020. 32  More examples are available in Kaplan, The Encyclopedia of Tarot, III, 88–89, and Rachel Pollack, The New Tarot: Modern Variations of Ancient Images (Woodstock, NY: Overlook, 1990), 88. 33  Kaplan, The Encyclopedia of Tarot, III, 601, 648, 220–1.

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Harris (1877–1962), who has also created amazing Masonic tracing boards. The very famous Niki de Saint-Phalle (1930–2002) has created, in Italy, a stunning garden with Tarot statues perched on trees. Since then, hundreds of artistic Tarot decks were created, bearing motifs that are vegetal, animal (such as the Tarot of the Cat People of Karen Kuykendall, 1985), sexual (the Sexual Tarot of Brother R. B-B, 1983, reproduced in appendix 4), etc.34 On the artistic aspect of Tarot, the online Database of Modern Tarot Art (2013) is rich in examples of this kind.35 In the manga genre, the seven-volume Tarot Café by Park Sang-Sun, edited in South Korea and widely distributed in the USA, associated cards and cartoon characters.36 I should also mention here the novel of Charles Williams (1886–1945), The Greater Trumps (1932), an initiatory tale of Christian inspiration and a classic of British literature.37 The cards serve the main characters to unleash considerable metaphysical energy, to spiritually travel in space and time, etc.

Use 11: Object of Collection and Interior Design Motif There are many collectors of Tarot decks, particularly on the internet. Based on his own collections, Stuart Kaplan has prepared his imposing and essential encyclopedia, The Encyclopedia of Tarot (three large folio volumes, published between 1978 and 1990, with a fourth appearing in 2005). Less ambitiously, as I have personally witnessed, there are individuals that have ordered stained glass with Arcana motifs, which confer a certain atmosphere to their apartment or house.

 Kaplan, The Encyclopedia of Tarot, III, 574–75, 481.  Database of Modern Tarot Art—European Zone, based on Adam McLean’s Tarot Collection, version 1.4 July 3rd 2013 (1183 items), http://www.alchemywebsite.com/ tarot/Tarot_database_Europe.html, accessed 1 September 2015. 36  Sang-Sun Park, The Tarot Café, 7 vols (Tokyo: Tokyopop, 2005–2008). 37  Charles Williams, The Greater Trumps (London: Gollancz, 1932). 34 35

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325

Use 12: Reservoir of Subjects for Scholars For the sociologist, the anthropologist (as we have already seen), for the historian of religions (particularly of esoteric currents), or for the art historian, Tarot practices are useful in understanding a certain environment, period, or context. The Tarot hence serves as a subject for reports, doctoral theses, etc. There are already many scholars that have been involved in this vast and blossoming field.

Conclusion Based on the aforementioned analysis, three main categories of Tarot use can be drawn out: A. The interrogation of Tarot for the purpose of understanding certain aspects regarding our personal life; B. The discovery or rediscovery of its original meaning (what was, or could have been, the “true” Tarot?), and what it continues to signify for the individuals that seek a certain kind of gnosis. This enterprise often connects with other supposedly complementary discourses like Kabbalah and alchemy. C. As key able to decode different types of discourse that have no apriori relation with it. Because of its plasticity, the Tarot seems to share with the Sephiroth tree the characteristic of virtually adapting itself to any esoteric system— and even to non-esoteric ones. The Sephiroth tree would also fit itself to a paper of similar style to this one, which could well be entitled “Reflections on the Various Uses of the Sephiroth Tree.” Translated by Georgiana D. Hedesan

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Appendix 1

Hergé in the Land of the Tarot

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Appendix 2

Tarot of Jean Beauchard

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Appendix 3

The Barbara Walker Tarot

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Appendix 4

The Sexual Tarot of Brother R. B-B, 1983

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References Augereau, Pierre-Louis. 1999. Hergé au pays des Tarots. Une lecture symbolique, ésotérique et  alchimique des aventures de Tintin. Le Coudray-Macouard: Cheminements. Chmakov, Vladimir. 1993. Великие Арканы Таро. Абсолютные Начала Синтетической Философии Эзотеризма. Moscow: Kniga. [1st edition 1916]. Crowley, Aleister. 1944. Book of Thoth. London: OTO Press. Database of Modern Tarot Art—European Zone. 2013. Based on Adam McLean's Tarot Collection, version 1.4 3 July (1183 items). http://www.alchemywebsite.com/tarot/Tarot_database_Europe.html. Accessed 1 Sept 2015. Decker, Ronald, Thierry Depaulis, and Michael Dummett. 1996. A Wicked Pack of Cards. The Origins of the Occult Tarot. London: Duckworth & Co. Font, Jean-Marc. 2012. Le Tarot Vaudou de la Nouvelle Orléans: Exemple de syncrétisme entre ésotérisme occidental et tradition religieuse africaine. An Unpublished Paper Presented in March at Antoine Faivre’s seminar, Paris. Glaub, Dominique.1994. La pratique New Age du Tarot: une nouvelle forme de religiosité. PhD diss. University of Paris V—René Descartes. Guaita, Stanislas de. 1891–1897. Le serpent de la Genèse. Paris: Carré. Halabaq, Romarret. 2013. Le Livre des Psaumes à la lumière de la Tradition kabbalistique: la Version herméneutique du Livre des Psaumes. Paris: Lulu. Jorgensen, Danny L. 1992. The Esoteric Scene, Cultic Milieu and Occult Tarot. New York & London: Garland Publishing Inc. Jung, Carl Gustav. 1973. Synchronicity: An Acausal Connecting Principle. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. ———. 1997. Seminar of March 1933. In Visions: Notes of the Seminar Given in 1930–1934 by C.G. Jung, ed. Claire Douglas, vol. 2. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Kaplan, Stuart R. 1978–2005. The Encyclopedia of Tarot. Vol. 4. Stanford, CA: US Games Systems. Lévi, Eliphas (Alphonse Louis Constant). 1861. Dogme et Rituel de la Haute Magie. Paris: G. Baillère. Morel, Corinne. 2009. ABC du Tarot psychologique. Paris: J. Grancher. Papus. 1909. Le Tarot divinatoire, Clef du tirage des cartes et des sorts. Paris: Librairie Hermétique. Papus (Gérard Encausse). 1889. Le Tarot des Bohémiens, le plus ancien Livre du monde à l‘usage des initiés. Paris: Carré. Park, Sang-Sun. 2005–2008. The Tarot Café, 7 vols. Tokyo: Tokyopop. Pollack, Rachel. 1990. The New Tarot. Modern Variations of Ancient Images. Woodstock, NY: Overlook Press. Tomberg, Valentin. 1980. Méditations sur les 22 arcanes majeurs du Tarot. Paris: Aubier.

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Trojani, François. 1985. Commentaire alchimique, vol. II of Série d’estampes de la Renaissance italienne dite Tarots de Mantegna ou jeu du gouvernement du monde au Quattrocento vers 1465. Garches: Arnaud Seydoux. Vanel, Steffan. Spiritual Company, Astrology and Tarot by Steffan Vanel. http:// spiritualcompany.com. Accessed 25 June 2020. Virel, André. 1965. Histoire de notre image. Geneva: Mont-Blanc. ———. n.d. Le Symbolisme du Tarot. Unpublished article Williams, Charles. 1932. The Greater Trumps. London: Gollancz. Wirth, Oswald. 1926–1927. Le Tarot des imagiers du moyen âge, 3 vols. Paris: Éditions Le Symbolisme.

Index1

A Acquired intellect, see Intellectus adeptus Active intellect, 24, 51, 69–71 See also Al Farabi; Aristotle; Averroes (Ibn Rushd); Avicenna (Ibn Sina) Adept/adepts, 21, 23, 63–90, 63n1, 66n11, 103, 103n16, 119, 126, 172, 191, 221 See also Adept philosophy; Helvetius (Johann Friedrich Schweitzer); Paracelsianism; Philosophers’ stone; Van Helmont, Jan Baptist Adept Philosophy, 63, 64, 67, 68, 76, 77, 77n53, 79–86, 88–90

See also Adept/adepts; Astronomia Magna; Croll, Oswald; Paracelsianism; Paracelsus (Theophrastus von Hohenheim); Severinus, Petrus Adepti, see Adept/adepts Adulruna, 140 See also Bureus, Johannes Agrippa, Heinrich Cornelius, 98, 110, 111, 111n37, 123, 126, 156, 166, 171, 193, 207 See also De occulta philosophia; Renaissance Albertus Magnus, 45n46, 71, 86, 178 See also Aquinas, Thomas; Scholastic/scholasticism

 Note: Page numbers followed by ‘n’ refer to notes.

1

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 G. D. Hedesan, T. Rudbøg (eds.), Innovation in Esotericism from the Renaissance to the Present, Palgrave Studies in New Religions and Alternative Spiritualities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-67906-4

333

334 

INDEX

Alchemy, ix, 2, 3, 15, 24, 63–90, 63n1, 66n11, 97–128, 148, 161, 166, 172, 191, 192n23, 197, 318, 320, 325 See also Morienus; Paracelsianism; Philosophers’ stone; Pseudo-­ Lull; Rosarium philosophorum; Spiritual alchemy; Turba philosophorum; Universal medicine Al Farabi, 23, 69, 69n20, 70 See also Arabic philosophy; Intellectus adeptus Aliette, see Etteilla Amphitheatrum Sapientiae Aeternae, 24, 85, 98–101, 99n6, 99n10, 100n11, 103–112, 107n19, 115–128 Anātman (not-Self), see Anattā (not Self); Buddhism; Self, the; Theravada Buddhism Anatta ̄ (not-Self), 229, 229n1, 234, 235, 238, 241, 243, 244, 246–248, 250 See also Buddhism; Self, the; Theravada Buddhism Andreae, Johann Valentin, 137, 137n5, 142, 143, 149 See also Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism; Rosicrucian manifestos Androgyne, 103, 111, 116, 117, 119 See also Alchemy; Hermaphrodite; Khunrath, Heinrich Angelus Silesius, 141 See also Mysticism/mystical Animal Magnetism, 25, 162, 186, 188–191, 191n15, 191n17, 194–198, 195n37 See also Dupotet, Jules; Mesmer, Franz Anton; Mesmerism; Natural magic Anti-Semitism, 259, 270–274, 272n54

See also List, Guido Karl Anton von; Nazism Apocalyptic, 11n33, 27, 264, 267, 268, 283, 284, 293–295, 297, 298, 304, 306–309 See also Apocalypticism Apocalypticism Islamic, 293 (see also Qiyamat) Shi’a, 293, 294, 298 (see also Mahdi) Sunni, 293–295 Western, 27, 267 (see also Joachim of Fiore; List, Guido Karl Anton von) Apollonius of Tyana, 37 See also Magic Aquinas, Thomas, 36n9, 41, 71, 158 See also Christianity; Catholic Church; Scholastic/ scholasticism Arabi, Ibn, 27, 290, 298 See also Islamic esotericism; Mysticism/mystical Arabic philosophy, 23, 63–90 See also Al Farabi, Averroes (Ibn Rushd), Avicenna (Ibn Sina) Archidoxis Magicae, 123, 124 See also Khunrath, Heinrich; Paracelsianism; Paracelsus (Theophrastus von Hohenheim) Aristotle, 27, 41n29, 69, 70, 111, 203, 215, 285, 285n10, 286, 298 See also Active intellect; Averroes (Ibn Rushd); Avicenna (Ibn Sina); Scholastic/scholasticism Arithmology, see Tarot, and arithmology Armanenschaft, 275 See also List, Guido Karl Anton von; List Society, the Aryan, 223, 256, 258–261, 259n10, 264, 269, 270, 272, 275–277

 INDEX 

See also List, Guido Karl Anton von; Race/racial; Root races Ashmole, Elias, 126, 145 See also Rosicrucian, Rosicrucianism, in England Astral magic, see Magic, magic astral Astrology, 23, 41, 43, 44, 46n47, 47n54, 48n57, 49, 49n61, 49n62, 50n64, 52, 55, 57n97, 161–164, 166, 169, 170, 172, 176, 177, 299, 316, 319 as divination, 48–50 Astronomia Magna, 68, 74, 77, 77n55, 81, 82, 84–86, 86n94, 89, 110 See also Adept philosophy; Christ, as Adept Philosopher; Magus; Paracelsus (Theophrastus von Hohenheim) August of Anhalt, Duke, 141 See also Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism Aurea Croce, see Rosicrucianism, in Italy Averroes (Ibn Rushd), 17, 69–71 See also Arabic philosophy; Intellectus adeptus Avicenna (Ibn Sina), 17, 49n61, 50–54, 69, 69n20, 70, 290, 298, 300 See also Active intellect; Arabic philosophy; Intellectus adeptus; Islamic esotericism; Prophecy B Bacon, Francis, 25, 144, 145 See also Rosicrucianism, in England Bailly, Jean-Sylvain, 210, 211, 224 See also Mythology Batin, 285–287 See also Batiniyya; Islamic esotericism; Occult

335

Batiniyya, 285–287, 285n12, 290 See also Batin; Islamic esotericism; Occul Behmenism, 15, 162 See also Boehme, Jacob; Henderson, John Besold, Christopher, 137 See also Andreae, Johann Valentin; Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism Blavatsky, Helena Petrovna, ix, 3, 17, 22, 23, 26, 27, 197, 201–224, 229, 233–235, 238, 243, 245, 249, 255–278 See also Chronology/chronological; Isis Unveiled; Secret Doctrine, The; Theosophical Society; Theosophy, modern theosophy; Wisdom Religion Boehme, Jacob, ix, 14, 156, 162 See also Behmenism; Theosophy, early modern theosophy Bohm, David, see New Age science Book of Thoth, 318, 319 See also Tarot Brethren of Purity (Ikhwan Al-Safa), 289 See also Batiniyya; Islamic esotericism; Shi’a Islam Bricolage, 9, 21 See also Innovation, individual vs. collective choice; Lévi-­ Strauss, Claude Bryant, Jacob, 209, 210, 224 See also Mythology Buddha nature, 245, 247 See also Buddhism; Buddhist Buddhism, 234, 235, 238–243, 249, 251 Buddhist Modernism, 236, 237 Chinese, 245–248 Mahayana, 26, 235n25, 245, 248 Theravada, 12, 26, 27, 238, 240, 249

336 

INDEX

Buddhist, 17, 19, 21, 26, 27, 229–231, 230n2, 233–251, 247n82, 247n84, 250n91 See also Buddha nature; Buddhism Buddhist Catechism, 234, 235 See also Olcott, Henry Steel Bureus, Johannes, 25, 139–142 See also Adulruna; Lion of Midnight (Prophecy); Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism, in Sweden Butterfly effect, see Lorenz, Edward; Nonlinearity C Cabala (Christian), 18, 24, 103, 108–110, 128 See also Kabbalah; Khunrath, Heinrich; Pico della Mirandola, Giovanni; Reuchlin, Johannes Catholic Church, 11, 12, 146, 217 See also Aquinas, Thomas; Francis of Assisi Ceylon (Sri Lanka), 230, 232–236, 239, 249n86, 251 Christ as Adept Philosopher, 80, 81 (see also Astronomia Magna; Adept philosophy) as Logos, 204, 223 Christ Cruciform, 103 (see also Khunrath, Heinrich; Theosophical Figures) Christian, ix, 14, 17, 23, 24, 26, 35, 36, 39n18, 41, 41n29, 42, 42n30, 54, 55n88, 57, 77, 78, 85, 108, 109, 111, 112, 139, 140, 146, 148, 173, 175, 196, 204, 205, 212, 217, 221, 223, 230, 233, 234, 245, 248, 250, 273, 284n9, 286, 288, 294, 303, 324 See also Christ; Christianity

Christianity, 12, 14, 18, 33, 36, 45n44, 55n88, 108, 109, 147, 151, 196, 204, 205, 212, 213n68, 217, 223, 224, 230, 236, 250n91, 259, 267, 294 See also Catholic Church; Methodism; Protestantism Christina of Sweden, Queen, 150 See also Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism, in Sweden Chronology/chronological, 7, 23, 27, 255–278 See also Blavatsky, Helena Petrovna; List, Guido Karl Anton von Coleridge, Samuel, 25, 156, 158 See also Henderson, John; Romantic movement Comenius, Jan Amos, 25, 142, 143 See also Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism Confessio Fraternitatis, 137, 139 See also Rosicrucian; Rosicrucian manifestos; Rosicrucianism Conspiracism, 27, 283, 295–298, 308, 309 See also Fardid, Ahmad; Gharbzadegi (Enwestation) Corbin, Henri (or Henry), 19, 27, 56, 290–292, 299, 300 See also Islamic esotericism; Suhrawardi, Shahab al-Din Yahya ibn Habash Creuzer, Georg Friedrich, 213–215, 224 See also Mythology Croll, Oswald, 24, 63, 64, 67, 68, 82, 86–90, 114 See also Adept/adepts; Adept philosophy; Alchemy; Paracelsianism; Universal medicine Crowley, Aleister, 323 See also Book of Thoth Cudworth, Ralph, 207, 208 See also Prisca theologia

 INDEX 

D Daemones, 38n16, 42, 42n30, 46, 53 See also Neoplatonism Dee, John, x, 110, 138, 140, 146, 171 See also Monas hieroglyphica De occulta philosophia, 126 De vita coelitus comparanda, 23, 34n5, 35 See also Ficino, Marsilio Discontinuity, 5, 22 See also Foucault, Michel; Idea; Innovation, and Tradition Divination, 15, 28, 37, 39n18, 39n19, 44, 48–50, 124, 317 See also Astrology, as divination; Tarot, and divination Dorn, Gerard, 76n49, 85, 126 See also Adept philosophy; Alchemy; Paracelsianism Drebbel, Cornelis, see Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism, in Netherlands Dualism, 27, 283, 293, 294, 296, 297, 303, 304, 306, 307, 309 See also Zarathushtrian religion Dupotet, Jules, 25, 26, 185–198 See also Animal Magnetism; Magic; Mesmer, Franz Anton; Mesmerism Dupuis, Charles-François, 211, 212 See also Mythology E Egypt, 17, 72, 203, 204, 209, 211, 220, 221, 223, 271, 318 See also Hermes Trismegistus; Plato; Platonism; Prisca theologia; Pythagoras Eliade, Mircea, see History of ideas; Idea Encausse, Gerard, see Papus

337

Enlightenment, 12, 14, 25, 235n25, 237, 318 See also Henderson, John; Mesmer, Franz Anton von; Mesmerism Eschatology, 27, 263, 267, 268, 277, 283, 290n23, 293–295, 297, 304, 306, 308 See also Apocalypticism; Islamic apocalypticism Esoteric, xiii, 1–4, 3n7, 10, 13–18, 21–28, 65, 90, 140, 150, 156, 179, 180, 195, 212, 214, 215, 219, 221–224, 221n105, 222n109, 238, 249, 258, 273, 277, 281–309, 315, 320, 325 See also Esotericism, Western esotericism Esotericism and religion, 14 and science, 15 See also Islamic esotericism; Western esotericism Eteilla, 28, 316 Etteilla, 28 See also Tarot F Faber, George Stanley, 213 See also Mythology Fama Fraternitatis, 66, 137, 140, 144, 145, 147 See also Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism; Rosicrucian manifestos Fardid, Ahmad, 295–298 See also Conspiracism; Gharbzadegi (Enwestation) Ficino, Marsilio, 14, 22, 23, 33–58, 71, 205, 207, 216, 217 See also De vita coelitus comparanda; Divination; Neoplatonism; Prophecy; Renaissance

338 

INDEX

Figulus, Benedictus, 85 See also Adept philosophy; Paracelsianism Fludd, Robert, 143, 147, 149, 174, 191 See also Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism, in England Foucauldian, 7, 12, 13 See also Foucault, Michel Foucault, Michel, 7, 10 See also Discontinuity; History of ideas; Idea Foxcroft, Ezechiel, 145 See also Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism, in England Franciscans, 11, 11n33, 12, 109 See also Francis of Assisi; Fratricelli (Spiritual Franciscans) Francis of Assisi, 11 See also Catholic Church; Franciscans; Fratricelli (Spiritual Franciscans) Frankenberg, Abraham von, 142 See also Rosicrucian, Rosicrucianism Fratricelli (Spiritual Franciscans), 12 See also Catholic Church; Francis of Assisi; Franciscans Frederick V, Elector Palatine and King of Bohemia, 149 See also Rosicrucian, Rosicrucianism G Garasse, François, 146 See also Rosicrucianism, in France Gassendi, Pierre, 147 See also Rosicrucianism, in France Gébelin, Court de, 28, 316 See also Tarot Gharbzadegi (Enwestation), see Conspiracism; Fardid, Ahmad; Iran, 295

Giddens, Anthony, 9 See also Innovation, individual vs collective choice Gnosis, 285–292, 292n31, 307, 325 See also Irfan; Initiation Goodrick-Clarke, Nicholas, 13, 206, 256, 256n3, 265, 267, 274, 275, 277, 283, 315n1 Greenness (color), 24, 85, 98–101, 99n10, 100n11, 103–112, 115–128 See also Alchemy; Khunrath, Heinrich Grosse Wundartzney (Great Surgery), 75, 77, 82, 84n85 See also Adept philosophy; Paracelsus (Theophrastus von Hohenheim); Paracelsianism Guaita, Stanislas de, See Tarot Gualdi, Federico, 150 See also Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism, in Italy Gunananda Thero, Migettuwatte, see Buddhism Gustav Adolph, King of Sweden, 139, 140 See also Lion of Midnight (Prophecy); Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism, in Sweden H Haberfeld, Andreas Haberweschl, 148 See also Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism Hartlib, Samuel, 142, 144, 148 See also Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism, in England Hartmann, Franz, 260 See List, Guido Karl Anton von; Theosophical Society, The Helvetius (Johann Friedrich Schweitzer), 89

 INDEX 

See also Adept, Adepts; Philosophers’ stone Henderson, John, 8, 12, 25, 155–179 See also Coleridge, Samuel; Methodism; Occult; Occult philosophy; Romantic movement; Southey, Robert; Wesley, Charles; Wesley, John Hermaphrodite, 116, 118 See also Alchemy; Khunrath, Heinrich Hermes Trismegistus, 3, 34n1, 72, 83, 86, 101, 204 See also Alchemy; Egypt; Philosophia perennis; Prisca theologia Hess, Tobias, 137 See also Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism; Rosicrucian manifestos Heydon, John, 110, 145 See also Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism, in England Higgins, Godfrey, 212, 216, 219 See also Wisdom Religion History of ideas, 7 See also Discontinuity; Eliade, Mircea; Foucault, Michel; Idea, Innovative; Lovejoy, Arthur O.; Müller, Max Hitler, Adolf, 27, 256, 270n46, 274–277 See also Nazism I Iamblichus, 17, 23, 37, 38n16, 42, 42n30, 42n32, 43n35, 45, 48, 48n58, 57, 111, 203 See also Neoplatonism; Prophecy; Theurgy Ibn Sina, see Avicenna (Ibn Sina) Idea, xiv, 3–10, 12–14, 16, 18, 21–23, 25, 27, 39, 40, 43, 43n35, 50n64, 51, 54, 55n88, 67, 69, 71, 77, 78,

339

83, 84, 109, 112, 124, 128, 136, 137, 144, 147, 148, 151, 156, 158, 188, 189, 191, 195, 196, 202–204, 203n7, 206n23, 208–210, 216, 218, 219, 231, 238, 241, 242, 244, 245, 247, 247n82, 248, 250n91, 255n1, 256, 259, 260, 264, 267, 268, 272, 272n54, 273, 277, 278, 299, 316, 317, 321, 323 innovative, 5, 6, 8, 13 (see also Innovation) See also Ficino, Marsilio; History of ideas; Plato; Severinus, Petrus ideas, 245 Imam, 27, 288, 290, 301, 307 See also Imamate; Islam; Shi’a Islam Imamate, 290 See also Imam, Islam; Shi’a Islam Indajoti, Potuwila, 12, 26, 27, 235, 238–240, 248–251 See also Buddhism; Theravada Buddhism India, 18, 26, 27, 209–211, 214, 215, 219, 220, 223, 224, 235n25, 246, 248, 259, 260, 273, 277 See also Theosophical Society, The; Wisdom Religion Initiation, 288, 299 See also Islamic esotericism; Tarot Inner man, 81, 285 See also Adept, Adepts; Paul (Saint) Innovation and esotericism, 1, 2, 16, 22–28 and tradition, 8, 10–12, 243–245 (see also Tradition) definition, 4, 5, 13 (see also Idea, innovative) individual vs collective choice, 8–10 (see also Giddens, Anthony; Merton, Robert) vs normalization, 10 (see also Foucault, Michel)

340 

INDEX

Intellectus adeptus, 22, 23, 69–72, 70n25, 81, 90 See also Albertus Magnus; Al Farabi; Arabic philosophy; Averroes; Avicenna (Ibn Sina) Iran, 21, 27, 282–309 See also Iranian Revolution; Shi’a Islam; Zaratushtrian religion Iranian Revolution, 21, 27, 281–309, 281n2 See also Khomeini, Ayatollah Ruhollah; Shari’ati, Ali Irfan, 21, 27, 282–309 See also Islamic esotericism; Khomeini, Ayatollah Ruhollah Isis Unveiled, 217–220, 222, 233, 245, 260 See also Blavatsky, Helena Petrovna Islam, 284, 284n9, 286–288, 289n22, 291, 293, 303, 304, 306, 308 See also Islamic Islamic, 19, 21, 27, 282, 284, 284n9, 286–288, 291, 293, 294, 296–298, 300, 301n69, 302, 303, 307, 308 See also Islam Islamic apocalypticism, see Apocalypticism, Islamic; Apocalypticism, Shi’a; Apocalypticism, Sunni Islamic esotericism, 21, 27, 282–309 See also Batin; Batiniyya; Brethren of Purity; Corbin, Henri (or Henry); Irfan; Ismaili; Sufism; Sufi, Sufis; Tariqat Ismaili, 290, 309 See also Islamic esotericism J Jennings, Hargrave, 197, 238 See also Rosicrucian, Rosicrucianism Jodorowsky, Alejandro, 323 See also Tarot

Jones, William, 211, 224 See also Orientalism Jung, Carl Gustav, 120, 316, 317 See also Psychology; Spiritual alchemy K Kabbalah, 2, 14, 97, 98, 108, 141, 233, 318, 319, 321, 325 Karma, 262 See also Buddhism Khandha, see Self, The; Skandhas Khomeini, Ayatollah Ruhollah, 27, 299–302 See also Iran; Irfan; Iranian Revolution; Islamic esotericism; Metanomian Shi’a; Wilayat i-faqih Khunrath, Heinrich, 24, 103, 121, 122 See also Amphitheatrum sapientiae aeternae; Greenness (color); Philosophers’ stone; Theosopher; Theosophical Figures; Theosophy Kuhn, Thomas, see Innovation, individual vs collective choice; Paradigm shifts L Lafitau, Joseph-François, 208, 224 See also Mythology Leibniz, Gottfried W See also Alchemy Leibniz, Gottfried W., 15 Lévi, Eliphas, 215, 319, 320 See also Magic; Tarot (and Kabbalah) Lévi-Strauss, Claude, 9 See also Bricolage; innovation, individual vs collective choice

 INDEX 

Lion of Midnight (prophecy), 25, 139–141 See also Rosicrucian, Rosicrucianism List Society, the, 258, 260, 274 See also List, Guido Karl Anton von List, Guido Karl Anton von, 23, 27, 256–278, 259n10 See also List Society, the; Anti-­ Semitic; Chronology; Race, racial; Aryan; Armanenschaft; volkish Lobeck, Christian, 214, 215, 217n89, 218 See also Mythology Lorenz, Edward, 6 See also Butterfly effect; Nonlinearity Lovejoy, Arthur O., 7, 202, 203 See also History of ideas; Idea Lull, Ramón, 3, 63n1, 83, 86, 318 M Magi, 219, 304, 305 See also Apollonius of Tyana; Iamblichus; Zaratushtrian religion Magic, 56, 98, 126 astral magic, 35, 54, 56, 57 (see also Ficino, Marsilio) hyperphysical magic, 110–111 magic astral, 33–58 magnetic magic, 190, 191, 194–197 (see also Animal Magnetism; Mesmerism) natural magic, 3, 23, 25, 34, 34n5, 38n16, 42n32, 46n47, 55, 56, 108, 110 physical magic, 110–111 (see also Khunrath, Heinrich) spiritual magic, 38–43 See also Magus

341

Magician, 25, 34, 40, 73n40, 110, 121, 122, 124, 170, 174, 215, 302 See also Dupotet, Jules; Ficino, Marsilio; Magus; Mesmerism; Magnetizer Magie dévoilée, La, 193, 194, 194n32, 195n39 See also Dupotet, Jules Magnetic fluid, 188 See also Dupotet, Jules; Mesmer, Franz Anton, Mesmerism; Puységur, Chastenet de Magnetism, animal, 25, 162, 186, 188–191, 191n15, 191n17, 194–198 See also Dupotet, Jules; Magic, natural magic; Mesmer, Franz Anton, Mesmerism, Puységur, Chastenet de Magnetizer, 187, 189, 191, 194n32, 195–197 See also Dupotet, Jules; Magic; Magus; Mesmer, Franz Anton; Mesmerism; Puységur, Chastenet de Magus, 78, 84, 110 See also Adept/adepts; Astronomia Magna; Dee, John; Magic; Paracelsus (Theophrastus von Hohenheim); Severinus, Petrus Mahdi, 293–295, 307 See also Apocalypticism, Islamic; Apocalypticism, Shi’a; Eschatology Maier, Michael, 143, 149 See also Rosicrucian, Rosicrucianism Major Arcana (Tarot), 316, 317, 319 See also Tarot Masonic (Freemasonic), 186, 196, 324 See also Tarot, Masonic Mazdaism, see Zarathushtrian religion

342 

INDEX

Meditation, 86, 103, 237, 292, 300, 316–318, 321 See also Tarot Mersenne, see Rosicrucianism, in France Mersenne, Marin, 146, 147 Merton, Robert, 8, 9 See also Innovation, individual vs collective choice Mesmer, Franz Anton, 25, 186–188, 191–193, 194n32, 195 See also Magnetism, animal; Magnetic fluid; Mesmerism Mesmerism, 12, 25, 26, 186–192, 194–198, 194n32 See also Dupotet, Jules; Magic; Magnetic fluid; Magnetism, animal; Mesmer, Franz Anton; Mesmerism; Puységur, Chastenet de Metanomian Shi’a, 27, 281–309 See also Khomeini, Ayatollah Ruhollah Methodism, 159 See also Henderson, John; Wesley, Charles; Wesley, John Millenarian, 136, 140, 151, 179, 268, 268n40 See also Eschatology; Rosicrucianism Monas hieroglyphica, 138, 140, 146 See also Dee, John More, Hannah, 158, 163, 168, 171, 172 See also Henderson, John Morienus, 24, 72, 83, 86, 150 See also Alchemy; Adept, Adepts; Hermes Trismegistus Morsius, Joachim, 141 See also Rosicrucian, Rosicrucianism Moses Maimonides, 71, 204, 208 Muhammad, 284, 288–290, 289n22, 293

See also Islam; Qu’ran Mulla Sadra, 27, 290–292, 298, 300 See also Islamic esotericism; Suhrawardi, Shahab al-Din Yahya ibn Habash Müller, Max, 4, 7, 218, 236, 238, 239, 244–246 See also History of ideas; Idea; Mythology Mysticism, mystical, 81, 151, 165, 292, 298, 299 See also Croll, Oswald; Irfan; Islamic esotericism; Kabbalah; Angelus Silesius; Sufism; Sufi, Sufis Mythology, 201, 202, 207, 209, 210, 213–216, 223, 224, 256, 258, 270, 274, 277, 319, 323 See also Dupuis, Charles-François; Faber, George Stanley; Lafitau, Joseph-François; Lobeck, Christian; Müller, Max; Ramsay, Andrew Michael N Narrative, ancient wisdom, 201, 203n7, 205–207, 211, 216, 217, 223, 224 See also Prisca theologia; Philosophia perennis; Wisdom Religion Nasr, Seyyed Hossein, 27, 291, 299, 300 See also Islamic esotericism Natural magic, see Magic, natural magic Naudé, Gabriel, 145, 146 See also Rosicrucianism, in France Nazism, 256, 256n3, 272, 283 See also Hitler, Adolf Neoplatonism, 3, 14, 17, 23, 57, 111, 214, 286 See also Ficino, Marsilio; Plotinus; Iamblichus; Proclus

 INDEX 

New Age science, see Bohm, David; Sheldrake, Rupert Newton, Isaac, 15, 89, 172, 187n5 See also Alchemy Nirvana/nirva ̄ṅa, 230, 235, 240–245, 248, 249, 267 See also Buddhism Nonlinearity, 6 See also Butterfly effect; Lorenz, Edward O Occult, 4, 12, 14, 24, 25, 40, 52, 65, 76, 98, 100n10, 103, 105, 111, 145, 191, 193–198, 210, 283, 285–292, 317–322 See also Batin; Henderson, John Occultism, 4, 19, 20, 164, 172, 196, 230, 286, 316, 319 See also Theosophy, modern Occult philosophy, 76, 76n51, 98, 111, 146 See also Agrippa, Heinrich Cornelius; De occulta philosophia; Renaissance Occult science(s), 108, 156, 162, 165, 167, 170, 172, 175–177, 299 See also Dupotet, Jules; Henderson, John Ochema, see Pneuma Olcott, Henry Steel, 26, 206, 229, 233–236, 238–243, 245, 248, 250, 250n91, 251 See also Buddhist Catechism; Theosophical Society; The; Theosophy Orientalism, Orientalist, 26, 206, 207, 211, 215, 218, 229–251, 272 See also Said, Edward Otto, Rudolf, 4 See also Idea; Innovation

343

P Palombara, Massimiliano, 150 See also Porta Magica; Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism, in Italy Pantheo, or Pantheus, Giovanni Agostino, 123, 123n65 See also Alchemy; Cabala (Christian); Khunrath, Heinrich Papus, 318, 318n9, 319 See also Tarot Paracelsianism, 3, 63n1, 65, 66, 66n11, 68, 86, 88, 89 See also Croll, Oswald; Dorn, Gerard; Paracelsus (Theophrastus von Hohenheim); Severinus, Petrus; Van Helmont, Jan Baptist Paracelsus (Theophrastus von Hohenheim), xiii, 22, 24, 63–68, 63n1, 66n11, 72–86, 76n51, 84n85, 88–90, 100n11, 110, 111, 123–125, 123n68, 137, 139, 146, 156, 161 See also Adept philosophy; Archidoxis Magicae; Astronomia Magna; Magus; Natural magic; Paracelsianism Paradigm shifts, 10 See also Kuhn, Thomas Philosophers’ stone, 24, 63–66, 63n1, 64n3, 66n11, 68, 82, 84–86, 88, 89, 98–101, 99n10, 100n11, 103–112, 115–128, 120n59, 141, 176 See also Adept/Adepts; Alchemy; Helvetius; Khunrath, Heinrich; Van Helmont, Jan Baptist Philosophia adepta, see Adept philosophy Philosophia perennis, see Narrative, ancient wisdom; Prisca theologia; Wisdom Religion

344 

INDEX

Pico della Mirandola, Giovanni, 18, 71, 97, 108, 108n22, 108n23, 109n24, 122n62, 123, 205 See also Cabala (Christian); Renaissance Pietism, see Boehme, Jacob Plato, 17, 26, 34n1, 34n3, 38, 38n17, 39n19, 40n25, 40n26, 42n30, 45n44, 46n49, 46n50, 48n56, 52n76, 54n84, 83, 86, 203, 215, 217n89, 286, 298 See also Esoteric; Idea; Neoplatonism; Platonism Platonism, 17, 26, 33, 39, 204, 205, 233 See also Idea; Neoplatonism; Plato Plotinus, 17, 22, 39n20, 40, 40n22, 40n26, 41n27, 43n35, 45n42, 47n54, 48, 49, 49n60, 49n61, 50n65, 54, 70, 111, 156, 217n89, 285, 285n10 See also Neoplatonism; Plato; Platonism Pneuma, 42, 43 See also Iamblichus; Neoplatonism; World soul/anima mundi Pomponazzi, Pietro, see Averroes (Ibn Rushd); Intellectus adeptus; Renaissance Porta Magica, see Palombara, Massimiliano; Rosicrucian, Rosicrucianism, in Italy Priestley, Joseph, 167–171, 177 See also Henderson, John Primitivism, 202 See also Lovejoy, Arthur O.; Narrative, ancient wisdom Prisca theologia, 3, 83, 83n77, 89, 205–207, 215–217, 216n86, 224 See also Narrative, ancient wisdom; Philosophia perennis; Wisdom Religion

Proclus, 17, 22, 38n16, 42n30, 44n38, 46, 46n50, 46n52, 111 See also Neoplatonism; Theurgy Prophecy, 38, 39, 39n18, 41, 48, 48n56, 49n62, 50–54, 139–141 See also Avicenna (Ibn Sina); Ficino, Marsilio Protestant, 14, 15, 136, 137, 139, 140, 147, 148 See also Christianity; Methodism Pseudo-Lull, see Alchemy Psychology, 9n28, 316–318 See also Jung, Carl Gustav Puységur, Chastenet de, 187, 187n6, 188, 191, 191n16, 194n32, 196n39 See also Magnetic fluid; Magnetism, Animal; Magic; Mesmer, Franz Anton; Mesmerism Pythagoras, 17, 34, 83, 86 See also Egypt; Iamblichus; Prisca theologia Q Qiyamat, 293–295 See also Eschatology; Islamic apocalypticism Qur’an, 286, 294, 300, 301n69, 304 See also Islam; Muhammad R Race, racial, 27, 120, 164, 222n109, 256, 259–261, 259n10, 264–266, 269, 270, 272–274, 276–278 See also Aryan; Root races; Volkish Ramsay, Andrew Michael, 208, 209, 224 See also Mythology; Orientalism Rebis, 118

 INDEX 

Renaissance, vii, 2, 4, 16n43, 19, 21, 26, 33, 34–35n5, 35n6, 36n9, 36n10, 39n20, 52n75, 52n76, 71, 72, 83, 89, 90, 108n22, 108n23, 122n62, 203, 205, 206, 215–217, 223, 224, 286, 315 See also Agrippa, Heinrich Cornelius; Ficino, Marsilio; Pico della Mirandola, Giovanni; Pomponazzi, Pietro; Reuchlin, Johannes; Trithemius, Johannes Reuchlin, Johannes, 71, 109, 109n24, 109n25, 109n26, 112, 114, 123 See also Cabala (Christian); Renaissance Romantic movement, see Coleridge, Samuel; Southey, Robert; Henderson, John Root races, 27, 222, 222n109, 259, 261, 264, 267, 272, 277 See also Aryan; Blavatsky, Helena Petrovna; List, Guido Karl Anton von; Nazism; Race, racial; Theosophy Rosarium philosophorum, 64 See also Alchemy Rosicrucian manifestos, 17, 24, 137, 138, 140, 144, 149 See also Confessio Fraternitatis; Fama Fraternitatis Rosicrucianism in England, 138, 143, 144 in France, 138, 145, 147 in Italy, 25, 138, 150 in Netherlands, 138, 147 in Sweden, 138 See also; Andreae, Johann Valentin; Confessio Fraternitatis; Fama Fraternitatis; Rosicrucian

345

S Said, Edward, 20, 231n5 See also Orientalism Schlegel, Friederich von, 212, 212n64, 213n68 See also Narrative, ancient wisdom Scholastic, scholasticism, 23, 36, 39–42, 40n21, 41n29, 55n88, 71, 244 See also Albertus Magnus; Aquinas, Thomas Secret Doctrine, The, 217, 218, 220n100, 221, 223, 259, 261–263, 265 See also Blavatsky, Helena Petrovna; List, Guido Karl Anton von Self, the, 12, 26, 27, 229, 230, 238, 240, 245–250 See also Anātman (not Self); Anattā (not Self); Buddha nature; Buddhism Seminal reasons, rationes seminales, 39, 39n20, 53 See also Ficino, Marsilio; World soul/anima mundi Sephiroth, 109, 318, 319, 322, 325 See also Kabbalah; Tarot Severinus, Petrus, 24, 64, 82–86, 86n95, 89, 90 See also Adept philosophy; Paracelsianism; Paracelsus (Theophrastus von Hohenheim) Shari’ati, Ali, 302, 302n74, 302n75 See also Iran; Iranian Revolution Sheldrake, Rupert, see New Age science Shi’a Islam, 282n2, 283, 284, 299n56 See also Apocalypticism, Shi’a; Iran; Imam; Imamate; Islam; Mahdi Shils, Edward, see Innovation, and tradition

346 

INDEX

Skandha, 229 See also Buddhism; Self, the Skandhas, 229, 230 Skinner, James Ralston, 256, 273, 273n62 See also Blavatsky, Helena Petrovna Somnambulism, 191 See also Mesmerism Soul Cartesian separation from body, 15 in Chinese Buddhism, 246 deification, 46, 111, 209 (see also Ficino, Marsilio; Neoplatonism) Part of Tripartite division (soul-­ spirit-­body), 120 world, 39n20, 40, 41, 42n31, 53–55 (see also World soul/anima mundi) See also Self, the Southey, Robert, 155, 158, 170 See also Henderson, John Spiritual alchemy, 112n39, 119 Spiritual magic, see Magic, spiritual magic Spiritualism, 188, 189 See also Somnambulism Stolcius, Daniel, 149 See also Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism Sufism, 288–292, 300, 301 See also Islamic esotericism; Sufi, sufis; Tariqat, 288 Sufi, Sufis, 288, 291, 292, 300, 301 See also Islamic esotericism; Sufism; Tariqat Suhrawardi, Shahab al-Din Yahya ibn Habash, see Corbin, Henri (or Henry); Islamic esotericism; Mulla Sadra Sumangala, Hikkaduwe, 26, 27, 238, 240, 249 See also Buddhism; Theravada Buddhism Sunni Islam, see Islam; Muhammad

T Tabataba’i, Allameh Muhammad Husayn, See Iran; Islamic esotericism; Khomeini, Ayatollah Ruhollah; Wilayat i-faqih Talismans, see Magic Tariqat, 288–292, 300, 301 See also Islamic esotericism; Sufism; Sufi, sufis Tarnhari (Ernst Lauterer), see Hitler, Adolf; List, Guido Karl Anton von Tarot, 45, 45n44, 50, 212, 214, 221, 259, 260, 287, 290, 298, 303, 305, 319–322 and alchemy, 320 and arithmology, 318, 320, 321 and astrology, 316, 318–322 and divination, 316 as initiation, 318, 321 and Kabbalah, 318–322 Masonic, 321, 324 Theosopher, 24, 85, 98–101, 99n10, 103–112, 115–128 See also Khunrath, Heinrich Theosophical Figures, 24, 85, 98–101, 99n10, 100n11, 103–112, 115–128 See also Amphitheatrum sapientiae aeternae; Hermaphrodite; Androgyne; Khunrath, Heinrich Theosophical Society, 2, 18, 206, 229, 232, 233, 238, 240, 272, 274, 277 See also Blavatsky, Helena Petrovna; Olcott, Henry Steel Theosophical Society, The, 260 Theosophy, 24, 85, 98–101, 99n10, 100n11, 103–112, 115–128 early modern theosophy, 24, 98 (see also Boehme, Jacob; Behmenism; Khunrath, Heinrich)

 INDEX 

modern theosophy (see Blavatsky, Helena Petrovna; Olcott, Henry Steel; Theosophical Society) Theravada Buddhism, 234, 235, 239–243, 249, 251 Theurgy, see Iamblichus; Neoplatonism; Plotinus; Proclus Tomberg, Valentin, see Tarot Torrentius, 148 See also Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism, in Netherlands Tradition construction of, 10, 284 vs. innovation (see Innovation, and tradition) See also Narrative, ancient wisdom; Philosophia perennis; Prisca theologia Trithemius, Johannes, see Occult philosophy; Paracelsus (Theophrastus von Hohenheim) Turba philosophorum, see Alchemy U Universal medicine, 63n1, 65, 66, 66n11, 68, 86, 88, 89, 191 See also Adept/adepts; Adept philosophy; Croll, Oswald; Van Helmont, Jan Baptist V Van Helmont, Jan Baptist, 63, 64, 67, 68, 82, 88, 89 See also Adept, adepts; Alchemy; Paracelsianism; Philosophers’ stone; Universal medicine Vaughan, Thomas, 110, 144 See also Khunrath, Heinrich; Magic; Rosicrucian; Rosicrucianism, in England

347

Volkish, see Aryan; List, Guido Karl Anton von; Race, racial W Waite, Arthur Edward, 119, 120n59, 323 See also Tarot Wesley, Charles, 159–161, 164, 165, 179 See also Methodism Wesley, John, 25, 155, 158–161, 164 See also Methodism Western esotericism, 4, 15, 18, 19, 21, 24, 201, 205, 206, 206n23, 216, 224, 288, 291, 315n1, 321, 322 See also Esotericism Wilayat i-faqih (Wardenship of the Jurist), 21, 27, 28, 281–309 See also Iranian Revolution; Khomeini, Ayatollah Ruhollah; Tabataba’i, Allameh Muhammad Husayn Wirth, Oswald, 318, 319, 321 See also Tarot Wisdom-Religion, 26, 201–224, 241, 273 See also Blavatsky, Helena Petrovna; Narrative, ancient wisdom; Prisca theologia World soul/anima mundi, 39–41, 39n20, 42n31, 53–55, 56n94, 122 See also Neoplatonism Y Yates, Frances, 16, 16n43, 138, 142, 144, 149, 205 Z Zarathushtrian religion, 304, 306 See also Dualism; Iran; Magi, 304