Tag: religion

A man who can do miracles is thought to have some sort of supernatural power. If his miracles are beneficial (cures, etc.), his power is thought holy. So is his person. As a holy man his sayings and actions will be remembered, and men will follow him to benefit from his holy power, hear his sayings, and imitate his way of life.

— Jesus the Magician, p. 16

Demons were powerful, capable of killing man and beast, but they could not altogether destroy life, nor could they permanently disrupt the order of nature. An eclipse of the sun might cause panic; but ultimately the sun emerged victorious from this struggle against evil, for did it not rise and set day after day, with the seasons following one another, bringing sowing and harvesting? Man stimulated the rhythm of nature by incantation, dance and gesture; and the stars moved in accordance with immutable laws as if to bear witness to the harmony of the world….

— The History of Magic and the Occult, p. 4

From time immemorial, man has felt himself to be confronted with evil supernatural beings, and his weapon against them has been the use of magical rites. Spirits lurked everywhere. Larvae and lemures lived beneath the earth; vampires escaped from the dead to attack the living; Namtar (pestilence) and Idpa (fever) plagued the cities. Night was ruled by the demons of evil, of the desert, of the abyss, of the sea, of the mountains, of the swamp, of the south wind. There were the succubi and incubi, carriers of obscene nightmares; the snare-setting Maskim; the evil Utuq, dweller of the desert; the bull demon Telal; and Alal the destroyer. People’s minds were dominated by malign demons who demanded sacrifices and prayers. But the sages of ancient civilizations knew also that good spirits existed, ever ready to come to the rescue of the afflicted. In the higher magical religions, the priests conceived a supreme deity, a wise controller of the world’s harmony….

In the broad plains [of Mesopotamia], on terraces of temples and towers, the priests scanned the night sky, pondering over the riddle of the universe—the cause of all being, of life and death. They offered their prayers to the spirit of Hea, the earth, and to the spirit of Ana, the sky. By conjuration, by the burning of incense, by shouts and by whispers, by gesture and by song, the priests sought to attract the attention of the fickle gods who had forever to be reminded of the misfortunes of mortals. “Remember,” the incantations were always reiterating: “Remember him who makes sacrifices—may forgiveness and peace flow for him like molten brass; may this man’s days be vivified by the sun!—Spirit of the Earth, remember! Spirit of the Sky, remember!”

— The History of Magic and the Occult, p. 1

Emphasis mine.

Isaac Bonewits once called magic the active aspect of occultism, mysticism its passive aspect. But religious contemplation is by no means a passive condition, and its literature is filled with warnings against “quietism.” The difference is more fundamental. The mystical traditions of the major religions condemn magic as a distraction, a trap; something to be bypassed as quickly as possible. Qualities that are considered major obstacles by mystics, such as egomania and will power [sic], seem always to have been the prime requisites for practicing magicians. Apparently some people have been able to shift back and forth between miracle working and contemplation. Perhaps it is enough not to attempt both at the same time.

— Prelude to Science, p. 21

The Sumerians and Babylonians invented an elaborate demonology. They believed that the world was full of spirits and that most of them were hostile. Each person had a tutelary spirit to protect him from demonic enemies. Against such enemies every kind of magic was needed, including amulets, incantations, and exorcisms, but especially the protection of the tutelary deity, for “the man who hath not a god as he walketh in the street the demon covers him as a garment.”

The worldview of ancient Egypt was less terrifying. Gods and spirits were all part of the one living cosmos and no distinction was made between natural and supernatural. The sorcerer used his wisdom and knowledge of amulets, spells, formulae, and figures to bend the cosmic powers to his purpose or that of his clients. As all spirits were part of the cosmic whole, none was evil, but the sorcerer could turn spiritual powers in ways that could harm his adversaries as well as benefitting himself.

— A History of Witchcraft, p. 29

Emphasis mine.

As with all magic, sorcery is based on the assumption that the cosmos is a whole and that hidden connections therefore exist among all natural phenomena. The sorcerer attempts through his knowledge and power to control or at least influence these connections in order to effect the practical results he desires.

Complex sorcery goes beyond mechanical means and invokes spirits. The distinction between invocational sorcery and religion is sometimes fuzzy, but in the main the sorcerer tries to compel rather than implore the powers that be to do his bidding.

Often sorcery has an integral function in society. In some societies it is closely related to religion. A priest or priestess of a public religion may perform ritual acts to make rain, ripen the harvest, procure peace, or secure success in the hunt or victory in war. So long as these acts are public and social in intent, sorcery may be a handmaiden of religion. When the sorcerer’s acts are performed privately for the benefit of individuals rather than of society they are antisocial and do not form a part of religion. In some cults the distinction is not clear but usually society distinguishes legally between public, religious sorcery and private sorcery—approving the one and outlawing the other.

— A History of Witchcraft, p. 18

Emphasis mine.

The Meditations [by Marcus Aurelius] is customarily, and no doubt rightly, classified by librarians under the heading of “Philosophy” But this may give the reader a misleading impression, unless he understands the place which philosophy held in the ancient world. From what he knows of the writings of its twentieth-century [C.E.] exponents, he is unlikely to conclude that its chief aim and end is the attainment of personal virtue. This, he imagines, is the province of religion, not of philosophy. But in classical times things were different. Morality, the good life, man’s relations with the gods—all these were the domain of the philosopher, not the priest. Roman religion in the Imperial age had no concern with moral problems. Its business was simply the performance of such appropriate rites as would ensure the gods’ protection for the State, or avert the effects of their displeasure. It was a formal system of public ceremonies carried out by State officials, and provided no answers to the doubts and difficulties of human souls. Yet then, as now, men found themselves perplexed by the great questions that are the common concern of us all. What is the composition of this universe around us, and how did it come into being? Is it ordered by blind chance, or a wise Providence? If gods exist, do they interest themselves in mortal affairs? What is the nature of man, and his duty here, and his destiny hereafter? It was not the priests but the philosophers who claimed to supply the answers to such inquiries. Their answers, it is true, were not unanimous; there were rival systems of philosophy, and each proffered its own solution (as, for that matter, the different world-religions of our own day still do); But all were agreed that the sole right to pronounce with authority in the fields of metaphysics, theology, and ethics belonged to philosophy.

— Meditations, translator’s introduction

Emphasis mine.

The monasteries of 10th and 11th century Europe [C.E.] were not simply communities of devout men and women living a life given over to corporate prayer and worship. Envisaged by monastic teachers as arks of salvation in a flood of worldly perils, they remained an integral part of the society which brought them into being. The Castilian monasteries were repositories of dynastic tradition, mausoleums, powerhouses of loyalty to the comital family. Links between the landed aristocracy and the monasteries were thus extremely close. Noblemen looked to the monastic houses of which they were the often very generous patrons for diverse reciprocal services and expressions of gratitude. The provision of hospitality was one of these. A patron would expect to be put up (with all his human and animal retinue), and probably in some style, in “his” monastery as in some sort of private hotel. The hospitality sought might be permanent. The active career of an aristocratic warrior might be as short as that of a 20th century footballer, and he had to have somewhere to spend what might be a long retirement. It is probably correct to envisage the monasteries of this period as containing more than a few incapacitated or elderly knights among the community. Assured of comfort and security, surrounded by fellows of their social rank to some of whom they might be related, ideally placed to receive news and gossip, they must have spent their declining years in an agreeable way.

— The Quest for El Cid, pp. 66-67

Emphasis mine.