Arcana Mundi

performed as a simple measure of precaution: if you suspected someone

of putting a curse on you, you put a curse on him and let it be known.
Hence a sort of equilibrium was established in which one could exist and
pursue one’s everyday business.
Something should be said about magical ingredients, tools, and de-
vices. Magical tools were used again and again, just as the spells and
incantations were repeated on each occasion. Herbs and other ingre-
dients, however, were in limited supply and had to be replenished. Plant
magic and the use of a wand are as old as Homer. Theocritus’ amateur
witch also used herbs, in addition to a magical wheel, a bull-roarer, and a
gong. Moreover, special plates and rings were to be worn during the
ceremony. Such a magician’s kit, probably dating from the third cen-
tury A.D., was discovered in Pergamon. It consisted of a bronze table and
base covered with symbols, a dish (also decorated with symbols), a large
bronze nail with letters inscribed on its flat sides, two bronze rings, and
three black polished stones inscribed with the names of supernatural
powers. This kit seems to have worked on the principle of a roulette
table.≥∏
The Roman historian Ammianus Marcellinus (29.1.25–32) describes
a kind of ancient Ouija board that was used in a séance in A.D. 371 with
very unfortunate results for all the participants.≥π It consisted of a metal
disk on whose rim the twenty-four letters of the Greek alphabet were
engraved, supported by a tripod made of olive wood. To consult this
portable oracle, one had to hold a ring suspended on a light linen thread.
After lengthy prayers and incantations addressed to an anonymous ‘‘deity
of divination’’ (perhaps Apollo), the ring began to swing from one letter
to another, forming words and names, sometimes even sentences in verse
form. Two questions that were no doubt frequently asked during such
séances were clearly asked during this one—and this made the whole
experiment definitely illegal and subversive: ‘‘When will our emperor
die?’’ and ‘‘Who will be our next emperor?’’ The first question was
answered by the oracle poetically (but accurately it appears); as for the
second question, the ring spelled theta, then epsilon, then omikron (giving
‘Theo-’). At this point an impatient participant jumped to the conclusion
that the oracle was about to spell out Theodorus, and the group stopped
the whole procedure right there. Somehow the authorities learned of
the secret gathering, and all those involved—including Theodorus, who
denied all knowledge of it—were arrested, tried, and executed. Seven
years later it became evident that the oracle had tried to get the truth
across. The emperor Valens was killed, and the name of his successor was
Theodosius!
The use of symbols, numbers, and strange words in magic must be

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very old, though the abracadabra formula is not attested before Serenus
Sammonicus, the author of a work Res Reconditae (Secret Matters ), who
was murdered in A.D. 212.≥∫ Symbols are signs that preserve human
experience and can create powerful reactions, sometimes more powerful
than the reality they represent.≥Ω Numbers are symbols too, and number
mysticism is well attested in Hellenistic magic.∂≠
What emerges from the evidence is the permanence and universality
of magic in the ancient world. Although some testimonies may be rela-
tively late, the doctrines and practices they reveal are often much older.
Certain formulas and recipes were handed down for generations, perhaps
with minor changes, and though they are found on tablets and papyri
dating from the early Christian era, they probably had been practiced for
centuries. Moreover, it is clear that the same type of magic was practiced
throughout the Roman Empire.∂∞

Types of Magical Operations

Our material permits a division of magical operations into two main
kinds, theurgical and goetic. The word theurgia calls for a brief explana-
tion. In some contexts it appears to be simply a glorified kind of magic
practiced by a highly respected priestlike figure, not some obscure magi-
cian. Dodds says: ‘‘Proclus grandly defines theurgy as a ‘power higher
than all human wisdom, embracing the blessings of divination, the pu-
rifying powers of initiation, and in a word all the operations of divine
possession’ (Procl., Theol. Plat. [63 Dodds]). It may be described more
simply as magic applied to a religious purpose and resting on a supposed
revelation of a religious character. . . . So far as we can judge, the pro-
cedures of theurgy were broadly similar to those of vulgar magic.’’∂≤ Here
again we see how di≈cult it is to separate magic from religion: if Dodds’
definition is valid, any theurgical operation must have both a religious
and a magical aspect. In a typical theurgical rite the divinity appears in
one of two ways: (1) it is seen in trance, in which case the soul of the
theurgist or medium leaves the body, ascends to heaven, sees the divinity
there, and returns to describe the experience; (2) it descends to earth and
is seen by the theurgist either in a dream or when he is fully awake. In the
latter case, no medium is needed; only certain ‘‘symbols’’ and magical
formulas are required. The ‘‘symbols’’ could be an herb, a stone, a root, a
seal, or an engraved gem, and the formulas might include the seven
vowels of the Greek alphabet, representing the seven planetary gods.∂≥
Sometimes the divine presence manifests itself more indirectly, through a
medium or a requisite such as the flame of a lamp or the water in a basin.
The term goeteia is a synonym for mageia, but has even more negative

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undertones, it seems, just as theurgia is definitely more exalted than either.

Perhaps these three terms reflect a long battle between believers and
nonbelievers, and the attempt by the various groups of practicing be-
lievers to distinguish their ‘‘magic’’ from the lower types or techniques
that existed at all times. Hence, it could be argued that the term theurgia
was introduced to make magic a respectable practice for the philosophers
of late antiquity, who would have been horrified to be called magoi or
goetes, especially the latter, since that term could also designate a juggler
or charlatan—the gypsylike type of fraud who was out to make a quick
profit at fairs and festivals all over the Greek world.
The philosophers who were interested in magic described themselves
as theurgists, and the lower-class practitioners as magoi or goetes. Accord-
ing to Plotinus (Enn. 4.4.26), theurgy aims at establishing sympathy in the
universe and uses the forces that flow through all things in order to be
in touch with them. He admits that it works, but he rejects some of
its claims and practices (Enn. 4.3.13, 4.26.43–44). Thus, the theurgist
achieves in reality what the philosopher can only think (Iambl., Myst.
3.27).
The term theurgist seems to have been introduced by Julianus, a Hel-
lenized Chaldean who lived under Marcus Aurelius. Theurgists formed a
late pagan religious sect. They not only talked about the gods as the
theologians did; they performed certain actions by which, they claimed,
the gods were a√ected. ‘‘Theurgy, like spiritualism, may be described as
magic applied to a religious purpose and resting on supposed revelations
of a religious character.’’∂∂ Their sacred book, The Chaldean Oracles, is lost,
but parts of it can be reconstructed. They used mediums. Thus, there was
an important di√erence between the theurgists and the theologians: the
latter mainly thought and talked about the gods; the former tried to
influence them, forced them to appear, even created them.∂∑
These theurgical operations appealed to the Neoplatonists, who be-
lieved that by ascetic exercises and proper initiation they could either
bring divine powers down to earth or make their own souls ascend to
heaven. Thessalus of Tralles (first century B.C.) was granted a personal
vision of the god Asclepius by an Egyptian priest in Thebes.∂∏ In other
words: theological or philosophical thought is not enough; certain ac-
tions, procedures, or rites have to be followed.
But is theurgy really di√erent from magic? In a sense, it is. Franz
Cumont called it ‘‘a respectable form of magic, an enlightened type of
sorcery,’’∂π and we may add that the great theurgists of antiquity were
highly educated men and women of impeccable reputation, totally dif-
ferent from the sellers of curses and spells.∂∫

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We know very little about the ritual itself, no doubt because it was
kept secret, but it was apparently based on the doctrine of sympathy
between things visible and things invisible, beings of this world and
beings of another world. The initiation of the emperor Julian gives us an
impression of the ritual,∂Ω but the report we have is sketchy, almost in-
coherent, full of symbolism and allusions that would make sense only to
fellow initiates: ‘‘Voices and noises, calls, stirring music, heady perfumes,
doors that opened all by themselves, luminous fountains, moving shad-
ows, mist, sooty smells and vapors, statues that seemed to come to life,
looking at the prince now in an a√ectionate, now in a threatening man-
ner, but finally they smiled at him and became flamboyant, surrounded
by rays; thunder, lightning, earthquakes announcing the arrival of the
supreme god, the inexpressible Fire.’’
How all these e√ects were produced is unknown, but they are reminis-
cent of initiation rites that were required in the mystery religions.∑≠ There
is no evidence that everything was fraud, and it is hard to believe that
mechanical tricks, elaborate staging, and so on could fool a man like
Julian. It makes much more sense to assume that Julian submitted to some
kind of ‘‘programming’’ (months of indoctrination, ascetic exercises,
etc.), which, through the use of drugs, either ingested or inhaled, pro-
duced an altered state of consciousness at the crucial moment.
In addition to the spoken word (to legomenon), certain requisites and
rites (to dromenon) were necessary. Porphyry gives us a portrait of a the-
urgist (actually a statue, but the implications are unmistakable, I think),
his head wreathed with bandages and flowery branches, his face anointed
or actually made up, a laurel twig in one hand, magical symbols on his
shoes.∑∞ And Iamblichus writes: ‘‘The theurgist, by virtue of mysterious
signs, controls the powers of nature. Not as a mere human being, or as
[one who] possesses a human soul, but as one of a higher rank of gods, he
gives orders that are not appropriate to the condition of man. He does not
really expect to perform all these amazing things, but by using such words
he shows what kind of power he has and how great he is, and that because
of his knowledge of these mysterious symbols he is obviously in touch
with the gods.’’∑≤ It seems that even Iamblichus, a believer in theurgy,
makes certain distinctions: not everything the great theurgist says and
does will have an immediate magical e√ect; much of it serves to create a
mood, an atmosphere that prepares the faithful for greater things to
come, such as autopsia, the appearance of the divine light without any
shape or form.
Theurgy could therefore be defined as an attempt to reestablish,
through indoctrination, training, ritual—in short, through ‘‘program-

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ming’’—and possibly through the use of certain drugs, the status of the
great shamans of archaic Greece such as Pythagoras (whose biography
Iamblichus wrote).
To read about magical operations can be a tantalizing experience. The
reader is often led up to a certain point, but the real secret—the words or
rites that make the magic work—seems to lie beyond that point. Ob-
viously, there are things that our texts do not reveal, and it makes sense
that the magician would not entrust everything to papyrus but would
reserve what he considered an essential element to private instruction.∑≥
Astrology is perhaps the only ‘‘occult’’ science that could be learned from
a good handbook. Nevertheless, none of the texts that have survived
from antiquity gives us a complete introduction; there are always gaps,
perhaps left on purpose, so readers would have to study with a profes-
sional astrologer. The same is true for alchemy: the texts are either too
general or too technical, and if one wanted to pursue the subject, one
would have to be close to an experienced practitioner, watch him, con-
sult him, and use his equipment and his books. There are, at every step,
allusions, symbols, a kind of mystic shorthand that would be intelligible
and useful only to the initiated and that would have to be explained by a
master. It seems safe to venture the statement that magic ‘‘worked’’ only
within a group—often a very small group—of devotees and practitioners
who gave one another mutual support even when, from an outsider’s
point of view, their magic failed.
Even the relatively simple, early forms of magic such as those attested
in Homer and in Apollonius of Rhodes [nos. 1 and 5] involve a kind of
ritual. By the end of the Hellenistic period this ritual had become very
complex. It generally included klesis ‘invocation’ and praxis ‘ritual’, prop-
erly speaking.∑∂ The invocation summoned a divine power by name,
though sometimes, in our documents, the name was not written in: it
was either kept secret or left open, a blank for the magus to fill in. The
name of the god or goddess was not enough; it had to be accompanied by
a string of epithets describing the powers of the divinity (aretalogia). The
magi wanted such lists to be as complete as possible, for it might be
dangerous to omit one epithet that the god was particularly fond of;
hence the lists tended to grow and grow. The invocation was also a means
of reminding the divine power of past occasions when he or she had
helped the operator in a striking way or performed some sort of miracle.
It might also include a specific request for a specific occasion—for exam-
ple, what the divinity was expected to do for the operator now.
The praxis tended to be just as complex as the klesis. Long litanies were
recited mainly in Greek, but sometimes in a kind of nonlanguage consist-
ing of strings of magical words. Presumably they were recited in a way

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