Blake's attitude towards traditional occult philosophy remains unflaggingly hostile throughout his early writings. Above all, he seems to vilify its attempt to explain nature, which links it to the material world and sensory experience. Of course, he also imagined a more benign magical world, existing entirely in his own fantasy, full of talkative fairies straight out of Shakespeare, a radiant Zodiac, transmuting angels and divinely blessed lily flowers, but these were not associated with any particular philosophical approach.167 At least they served to lighten the gloom of the “Lambeth Books.” On the whole, Blake's mental universe, with its abundant spirits, four elements and Ptolemaic geocentrism, is perfectly compatible with that of Thomas Vaughan, Elias Ashmole and William Lilly. What the poet rejects is any systematic analysis of that universe, which only serves to impose boundaries on thought, leading to subjection and misery. The Four Zoas finally points towards a solution for the pain of the world, in the restoration of “the Eternal Man” to full divinity—a concept straight out of Boehme. Even here, however, Blake's creative powers labour mightily to make the concept his own.
No other writer of the period combined Blake's knowledge of occult thinking with his critical viewpoint and radical politics. The closest parallel may be Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who was similarly steeped in the writings of Boehme, Swedenborg and Neoplatonism. The son of a schoolmaster, Coleridge did not grow up among the privileged, although he later attended Cambridge and fell in with an ambitious young literary set. He became famous for a visionary poem, “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” (1798), that contains occult elements of the author's own devising, as well as an unsettling moral message. The despairing tone of this work as well as other writings of the period by Coleridge—“The Wanderings of Cain,” “Fire, Famine and Slaughter”—is not unlike that of Blake's “Lambeth Books.” An abolitionist and framer of utopian schemes, Coleridge was an early supporter of the French Revolution, although he soon became disillusioned by it. Two factors, however, set Coleridge clearly apart from Blake. First, he admired Joseph Priestley and was attracted to Unitarianism. Second, in 1798–9, Coleridge made a trip to Germany, where he encountered the writings of Kant. From that point on, he would move towards an increasingly conservative philosophical idealism.168 Blake was never so enamoured of any way of thinking as he was of his own.
The poetry of William Blake pointed towards a rejection of what would become known as “the occult tradition.” For him, the idea of a “tradition” was too much linked to conventional scholarship and respectability. Later proponents of “inner vision,” from the Spiritualists, the Theosophists and the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn to the New Age movements of the mid-twentieth century, would follow Blake in picking and choosing the elements of occult thinking they found most appealing, combining Western and Eastern sources without committing themselves to any particular philosophy.169 In this sense at least, Blake accurately prophesied the future. The period in which occult thinking tried to attach itself to mainstream science and philosophy was effectively over. After Blake—or, more precisely, after the traumas of the French Revolution and the stigmatization of magnetic healing, visionary prophecy and occult Freemasonry—the denizens of the occult would tend to look inwards, positioning themselves as the mortal enemies of the rational Enlightenment.
CONCLUSION
THE OCCULT may always have been with us, but it has not always been the same. Within England and Scotland during the period 1650–1815, it can be understood in two principal ways, neither of them fixed or static. First, it related to a philosophical tradition constructed during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries from Neoplatonic and Hermetic thought, which informed the theory and practice of alchemy, astrology and ritual magic. By the late eighteenth century, the coherence of this Renaissance tradition of occult thinking was in tatters. The re-examination of ancient art and philosophy by Stukeley, Hancarville, Payne Knight and Taylor added entirely new dimensions to the interpretation of classical culture. An awareness of other religious and spiritual traditions, especially Hinduism and Buddhism, had begun to penetrate the British intellectual elite by the late eighteenth century. These could not easily be assimilated within Western occult philosophy. At the same time, astrology and ritual magic had been largely relegated to the cultural sphere of the less educated. While the occult philosophical tradition retained some importance in the minds of early nineteenth-century Romantic writers, it had begun to fragment into its component parts, which might be combined in startlingly unconventional ways. In the late nineteenth century, Theosophy would attempt to meld elements of Western occult thinking with (Westernized) versions of other global traditions. Since that point, the Renaissance occult tradition has been primarily a focus of scholarly interest rather than a starting point for new intellectual or religious movements.
A second way of understanding the occult is in more practical terms, as a way of harnessing supernatural power or divine knowledge for human objectives. Again, this approach did not remain the same over time. For a start, the dividing line between the supernatural and the natural became increasingly rigid. In an earlier age of wonders, signs and providences, supernatural events seemed to be everywhere, but they were defined in rather imprecise ways. Their immediate causes might be entirely natural, so that only their incidence or the way in which they were interpreted placed them in a category beyond nature. Agrippa's vague explanation of magic as the use of natural means for wondrous effects made sense to those who perceived the supernatural in everyday occurrences. Hobbes's insistence that miracles had to defy natural laws, however, marked the beginning of an intellectual change that would eventually alter the stance of most educated people. Simply put, wonders became rarer because natural causes were no longer seen as acceptable contributors to them. This suited not just scientists, but also clerics who wanted to restrict miracles to explicit interventions by God, happening mostly in the past, so that they could not be claimed by present-day “enthusiasts” as indications of divine favour towards them.
The clergy had other reasons to resist a loose understanding of the supernatural: it smacked of “superstition,” against which they were increasingly vigilant, and it might lead to diabolism. The desire to suppress “superstitious” beliefs did not expire with the Glorious Revolution of 1688. It was a primary factor in the decline of the occult as a practical aspiration, especially in Scotland where the Presbyterian clergy were obsessed with “Popery.” Opposition to “superstition” often went hand in hand with a deep-seated fear of diabolism. Many of the clergy were convinced that alchemy, astrology and ritual magic represented works of the Devil. They lacked the judicial means of enforcing this view, but that did not prevent them from disseminating it, and in the course of the seventeenth century it gained a wider, more receptive audience. In Scotland, the Presbyterian campaign to demonize practical aspects of the occult was so successful that they were virtually wiped out among the educated elite by the mid-eighteenth century.
The supernatural might be activated through contact with spirits. This method was usually hidden within occult ways of thinking, because it was so controversial. Ritual magic was most open in seeking control over spirits, but alchemists and astrologers were sometimes willing to admit that they were aiming at a similar goal by different means. Alchemists dreamed that the divine wisdom found in the Philosopher's Stone would give them the ability to converse with angelic beings. Astrologers viewed the planets as inhabited by spirits or angels, whose influence on humans was exerted through invisible, long-distance forces. On a more sophisticated level, Neoplatonists described the world as inhabited by an infinite number of spirits, although only the most daring thinkers suggested that human beings could consciously interact with them. By contrast, Jacob Boehme's English followers, the Philadelphians, who were open to the influence of occult thinking as well as popular magic, pursued endless spiritual interactions. While John Wesley remained wary of spirits, many Methodists were eager to know more about them, which helps to expl
ain the attraction of Emanuel Swedenborg. He adopted the Philadelphian view that spirits were ready and eager to talk with humans. In the eyes of the established Churches, however, the spirits with which Behmenists and Swedenborgians communicated were simply devils or illusions. This attitude did not alter much over the entire period, and it served to marginalize anybody who testified openly to such experiences.
In spite of these challenges, the history of the occult between 1650 and 1815 does not follow a simple pattern. The assumption of many historians, that occult thinking was debunked by experimental science in the late seventeenth century, is essentially wrong. Scientific writing in this period almost never set out to undermine or attack occult assumptions. On the other hand, many scientists, including Newton, Boyle and Whiston, embraced aspects of occult thinking, especially alchemy and astrology. The wider enterprise of science, however, which developed mainly within the Royal Society and the Scottish universities, simply did not have much use for the occult. In Scotland, where science was to become almost an ideology among the educated elite, anything connected with the occult was likely to be vilified as diabolical or “superstitious.” As a result, in both England and Scotland, occult thinking became less respectable among scientists, although, conversely, those who adhered to it were eager to assimilate scientific findings and even to set up a dialogue with science. At times, their attempt at conversation seemed to work, at least temporarily. This can be noted as late as 1782–3, when James Price's experiments caught the attention of both Oxford University and the Royal Society. In most circumstances, however, the dialogue was notably one-sided.
The issue of respectability and social acceptance was far more significant in the history of occult thinking than the question of whether one could prove particular occult claims to be true or false. All of the major intellectual objections to the veracity of the occult were known long before 1650—alchemy was denounced as a waste of time, astrology as improbable, ritual magic as delusional or diabolical. Nothing much was added to this arsenal of negative arguments in the age of scientific revolution and the Enlightenment. No major scientific figure of the period chose to publish a work against the occult (Flamsteed's unpublished attack on astrology is the nearest we come to an exception), although sharp criticisms of occult thinking do appear in the lectures and writings of Scottish and English scientists after 1760. For their part, adherents of the occult were surprisingly quick to adapt to new ideas. With a few notable exceptions, astrologers had accepted Copernicanism by 1700. Ebenezer Sibly was an avid reader of Linnaeus, Buffon and other scientific writers in the 1780s and 1790s. Even the highly traditional Sigismund Bacstrom was aware of what Humphry Davy was up to in the first decade of the nineteenth century. Empirical science was almost never perceived as the enemy of the occult. Instead, its leading foe, according to occult thinkers, was “abstract reason,” often associated with Hobbes. One wonders whether this may have been little more than a straw man, similar to the ubiquitous “atheism” that was denounced by religious writers. William Blake, for whom “abstract reason” was equivalent to “deism,” identified only one English representative of that terrible, imagination-killing doctrine: Edward Gibbon. Perhaps he really did see “deists” all around him, but he was not very precise in naming them.
The long-term nemesis of occult thinking, as Blake well knew, was organized religion. Throughout the whole period, the position of the established Churches regarding occult philosophy, attempts to harness divine power, contact with spirits, ritual magic and popular “superstition” of all sorts was abundantly clear: it was all inspired by the Devil. While individual clergymen might be lenient towards neighbours who practised alchemy or read astrological almanacs, or even towards popular magical practices, clerical writers generally had no doubt that these things were either diabolical or could lead in that direction. The witch craze bolstered the presumed link between the occult and the Devil, but the mentality of diabolism survived without witch prosecutions. Even those who did not see the Devil as having active power in the everyday world, like Richard Baxter, could nonetheless accept that diabolism was rife. After all, Satan remained the great tempter, the spiritual source of evil, the seducer and deluder of those who aimed at knowledge or power too great for human beings to exercise. No wonder, then, that William Blake, whose version of occult philosophy was deliberately formulated to spite the defenders of organized religion, made the Devil his champion.
Surprisingly, the Anglican and Scottish Episcopal Churches did not move in the aftermath of the Restoration to suppress occult practices, even though they were often associated with religious ideas that could be stigmatized as heterodox or heretical. The clergy had bigger problems on their minds, particularly what to do about the organized followers of Protestant Dissent. As a result, alchemy, protected by important establishment figures like Sir Robert Moray and even King Charles II himself, became more public than ever. Elias Ashmole sought to raise the spagyric art to a level of intellectual respectability that it had never previously known. Thomas Vaughan gave it an infusion of imaginative speculation, while “Eirenaeus Philalethes” provided a practical underpinning for its experiments. As for astrology, while it did not reach the same intellectual levels as alchemy, its popular appeal remained as powerful in Restoration England as it had been before 1660.
The loud alarm bells sounded by clerical writers like Meric Casaubon and Joseph Glanvill against witchcraft, however, served to remind the orthodox that all occult thinking, especially alchemy and ritual magic, was diabolic. By the 1680s, political and professional rivalries among the best-known astrologers were beginning to put a definite strain on the celestial art as well. The appearance of Kabbala Denudata, which some hoped would give a new direction to occult philosophy, resulted instead in renewed concerns about heterodoxy. The rejection of occult thinking by mainstream Neoplatonist scholars like Henry More was particularly damaging. The occult was under increasing intellectual pressure in the last years of the Restoration Period, which the Glorious Revolution did nothing to alleviate.
The latter resulted in heightened competition between the two new political parties, Whig and Tory, with further dire consequences for occult thinking. It would be misleading, however, to suggest that one party was sceptical about the occult, while the other was more credulous or accepting. Alchemists who espoused heterodox religious ideas were more favourable towards the Whigs, because the party stood up for Dissenters. Astrologers were divided between the two camps, although the Whig John Partridge would eventually emerge as the most influential almanac writer of the early eighteenth century. Because they upheld the views of the Anglican clergy, the Tories were more likely to defend belief in witches, and to extend accusations of diabolism to others aspects of the occult, while Whig writers increasingly doubted the plausibility of witchcraft and disdained “vulgar” magical practices. In this polarized context, occult thinking began to retreat into the private sphere. New alchemical works became scarcer in the 1690s and eventually stopped appearing. Partridge went so far as to assert that astrology was a natural science, without any connection to supernatural forces. Ritual magic dwindled away almost entirely, at least among the educated elite.
The Hanoverian Succession of 1715 and the subsequent triumph of the Whig Party meant that the intellectual establishment would henceforth be dominated by followers of Newton. The great man himself had largely abandoned alchemy, but he retained a fascination with other aspects of occult thinking, which found their way into his last writings. His followers, like William Stukeley and William Whiston, were open to the influence of occult philosophy, but were careful not to speculate openly about such matters in their published works. Thus, the hidden past of Newtonianism endured, at least in a shadowy form, but it did not have much impact on the direction of science. At the same time, Freemasonry was attracting a growing number of initiates. While never a predominantly occult movement, Masonry harboured publicists like Robert Samber who sought to enhance the rituals and myths of
the Brotherhood through alchemical and even magical allusions. The most significant result of these efforts was the theory that Freemasonry originated in the mystery cults of the ancient world, a conclusion that could easily be deduced from a reading of William Warburton's Divine Legation of Moses.
While it was struggling among the educated elite, occult thought flourished in the first half of the eighteenth century among less educated members of the population, in both England and Scotland. At this social level, it intersected with popular magical beliefs, but it remained the domain of the literate, who had access to occult books. When it came to the occult, no clear separation existed between folk culture and print culture. The diary of John Cannon illustrates the survival of ritual magic in the west of England, partly through folk customs, partly through published texts. Fairy belief in Scotland was less reliant on literacy and remained more of a popular survival. Second sight became an object of fascination for observers of Highland life, although they tended to downplay its cultural significance. During the same period, examples can be found of learned men, compelled to live on the margins of respectability because of their religious or political disaffection with the Whig establishment, who preserved a strong attachment to occult thinking, which they were often shy to publicize. While they were wary of possession by spirits as promulgated by the French Prophets, they perceived the occult as a support to mystical religion. The most influential of them were John Byrom and William Law, both Nonjurors and Jacobites. Law would become central to the revival of the occult in the late eighteenth century, because he encouraged the republication of Jacob Boehme's writings.
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