Faustus: The Life and Times of a Renaissance Magician

by Leo Ruickbie

  Divination was grounded in Aristotelian physics. Isidore of Seville (560–636) established the classic schema of four types of fortune-telling based on the concept of the four elements, i.e. aeromancy, geomancy, hydromancy and pyromancy. The German Hugh of St Victor (1078–1141) added to Isidore’s schema with a fifth form: necromancy.

  Worse than being an astrological ‘imitator and disciple of the Devil’, Faustus principally described himself as the fons necromanticorum, literally the ‘fount of the necromancers’. Necromancy was dangerous magic. The theologians denied that the spirits of the dead were actually raised through necromancy, asserting that their place was taken by demons who assumed the identities of the departed. Hence necromancy was in effect to consort with demons and accordingly defined as black magic, or nigromancy. This caused confusion between the two terms and they were often used interchangeably. This meant that Faustus would be seen as practising more than just foretelling the future by consulting the spirits of the dead. It meant that he would be seen as an exponent of demonic magic.

  Hartlieb did not make a sophisticated argument against necromancy, he simply insisted that it must involve the Devil: ‘He who wants to practice this art must make various offerings to the Devil … vow to him and be in league with him.’9 Such practices as these require the forfeit of one’s soul, no light price in an age when life was still scarcely more than nasty, brutish and short for the majority, and the life after death was believed to be everlasting.

  In Faustus’s own time Agrippa also described this dark art in similar terms, talking of ‘infernal invocations’ and ‘deadly sacrifices’.10 However, he was more specific than Hartlieb on the mechanisms behind this art. He furnished his description with a plethora of classical and biblical references to Odysseus and Circe, and Saul and the Witch of Endor, amongst others. The dramatic story of Saul, King of Israel, turning to the Witch of Endor to call up the spirit of the Prophet Samuel was an especially popular one amongst occultists and demonologists as both a proof of necromancy and an example of its prohibition. Unlike Hartlieb and the theological view, Agrippa took a classical stance and seems to have believed that the dead could be made to answer a magician’s interrogations.

  Hartlieb gave us a Christian view of black magic: that it can only be the product of the Devil and that therefore to practise it requires submission to the latter. Hartlieb constantly stressed that the Devil works through deception and that nothing can be truly accomplished with these arts except the eternal damnation of the practitioner. Agrippa, too, was censorious despite his classical leanings and it is unsurprising that his teacher Trithemius had little good to say about necromancers and their art. Necromancers, he wrote, ‘are worse than their demons’.11

  Astrology was the only means of divination that Hartlieb did not castigate as forbidden. He condemned divination by comets and signs in the heavens under the heading of aeromancy, but stopped short of extending this to the stars and planets. We do not have to look far for the answer. Hartlieb was regarded as something of an astrologer himself. Such attitudes persisted into the sixteenth century and beyond. The problem hinged on whether or not astrology contravened scripture by interfering with divinely ordained free will.

  However, the rest of Faustus’s proficiencies fall foul of Hartlieb’s categorisation: chiromancy, pyromancy and hydromancy – all of these, Hartlieb claimed, were snares of the Devil. Of all Hartlieb’s forbidden arts, chiromancy (palmistry) is probably the only one that will be familiar to modern readers. For pyromancy sacrifice was made to the ‘Angel of Fire’ and the practitioner observed the patterns of fire and smoke from burning wood. Hydromancy was performed by gazing into water, usually with the magician employing a child for the purpose, or by pouring molten metals or dropping objects into water.

  There was another practice that Trithemius listed that we do not find in Hartlieb: agromancy. Faustus was, said Trithemius, an agromanticus, a practitioner of ‘agromancy’. However, we do not find agromancy amongst the usual forms of divination. For over a hundred years Faustian scholars have scratched their heads over it, wondering what it could mean and whether Trithemius may have misreported or misspelled what Faustus actually claimed to practice. The problem is not incidental, but crucial to understanding what sort of magician Faustus was or claimed to be.

  If the basic categorisation of divinatory practices is based upon the four elements, then, in a list such as Trithemius gives, it would appear obvious to assume that agromancy means either divination by air (aeromancy) or by earth (geomancy), since we have already covered fire and water. It looks closest to aeromancy and agromanticus could be a misspelling on Trithemius’s part, perhaps due to his over-excitement in so thoroughly condemning Faustus, or simply as a result of the haphazard orthography of the time. However, agromanticus literally means ‘field diviner’, which could indeed be another word for geomancy, ‘earth divination’, or a branch of it.

  Missing from Trithemius’s list is physiognomy. Seuter’s letter of 1534 provides evidence that Helmstetter was already practising this art in the early 1490s, and from Mutianus in 1513 and Begardi in 1539 we have further confirmation that this formed part of Faustus’s repertoire.

  Faustus’s claims to excellence in all these various forms of divination were just so many more nails in the coffin of his reputation as far as Trithemius was concerned. Describing ‘the many vanities dependent upon astrology’ in his unfinished De demonibus, Trithemius listed 51 types of divination expressly forbidden by the Church. These included necromancy, which he narrowly defined as divination ‘from the graves and bones of the dead’, pyromancy, hydromancy, geomancy, chiromancy and astromancy, divination ‘from the study of the stars’.12 Faustus, by his own admission, was guilty of practicing all of these.

  Zoroaster’s Heir

  Whilst Faustus may have claimed to be the fount of necromancy, not all of his other assertions appeared so excessive. Where Trithemius severely castigated Faustus for his bombast, a close reading of his self-pronounced titles reveals something that could be mistaken for modesty. He is in hydra arte secundus, the second in hydromancy, and magus secundus, the second magus. The question is, however, to whom is he second? Who does Faustus acknowledge as first?

  It is widely believed that Faustus used the title ‘second Magus’ in deference to Zoroaster, widely believed on the authority of Isidor and Augustine to have been the first magus, or Simon Magus, whose story is often considered to be a forerunner of the Faustian legend. However, it could also refer to any other predecessor, perhaps a teacher, or one of Faustus’s contemporaries, perhaps even Trithemius himself. The problem is that Faustus did not specify who he meant.

  We need to look at the writings of his contemporaries to find some clue. In his Occult Philosophy Agrippa mentioned both Zoroaster and ‘Zamolxis’ (Zalmoxis) as the most famous magicians and generally credited as the ‘inventors’ of magic. Agrippa appended a long roll call of illustrious magi, from which Simon Magus is notably absent. Agrippa discussed ‘Simon the Samaritan’ – Simon Magus was said to come from Samaria – as the chief of those ‘who resist the Apostolical truth’ in his hostile De incertitudine and decided that he was ‘destined to the torments of eternal Fire’.13 Whilst Agrippa was clearly aware of Simon Magus, he saw Zoroaster and Zalmoxis as the ‘first’ and between the two it was Zoroaster whom he called the ‘father and prince of the Magicians’.14

  Comparatively little is known about Zalmoxis. He was first mentioned by Herodotus in the 420s BCE as an already legendary figure amongst the Thracian Getae. There was more classical information on Zoroaster. In the first century CE Pliny the Elder credited him with inventing magic some six thousand years before Plato. Amongst the Greek and Roman writers he was everywhere seen as foremost amongst the Magi. If there ever was a first magus, then it was Zoroaster.

  Zoroaster was also admired by the influential hermeticists. Ficino viewed Zoroaster as one of the forerunners of his revered Plato, and Pico della Mirandola talked of him repea
tedly in his 900 famous theses of 1486 – without mentioning Simon Magus once. Trithemius himself saw the magician as being the originator of the magic arts: ‘Witchcraft, and Incantations … were first excogitated by Zoroaster King of the Bactrians.’15 Also known as Ham or Cham, the son of Noah, Zoroaster is credited as ‘the first necromancer’ in the Clementine Recognitions and later in both the Malleus Maleficarum and Scot’s Discoverie of Witchcraft.

  It was Manlius who said that Melanchthon compared Faustus to Simon Magus during his lectures from 1549 to 1560 – long after Faustus’s death. In daring to challenge Peter, Simon has gone down in Christian history as ‘the father of all heretics’ in the words of a father of the early church, Irenaeus.16 While written in the second century CE, Irenaeus’s Against Heresies was only published by Erasmus in 1526. To an extent we find parallels in the Faustbook where, like Simon Magus, Faustus also has his Helen, both of them that fabled beauty of Troy. Similarly, where Simon Magus was a former Apostle, so Faustus was a renegade Doctor of Divinity. The Faustbook even makes an explicit connection between the two men, giving the alleged repentance of Simon Magus as an example to Faustus.

  However, from the actual life of Faustus there is only a superficial connection to Simon Magus. When Faustus said he could reproduce all of the miracles attributed to Jesus we might also think of Simon Magus and his challenge to the Christian church, but no more. It is only from a hostile Christian point of view that Faustus is seen as second to Simon Magus – and the connection was only made after Faustus’s death. Amongst his contemporary magicians – and the witch-hunters – the allusion to Zoroaster would have been immediately recognisable.

  Reference to being second in hydromancy also implies a more illustrious predecessor. Neither Zoroaster nor Simon Magus were generally remarked upon for their hydromancy, so we shall have to look elsewhere for the identity of the person Faustus refers to. Augustine had told stories about the legendary Roman king Numa Pompilius that became popular in the Middle Ages. According to Plutarch (c.46–127), Numa was descended from the Sabine race and made King of Rome after the death of Romulus in the seventh century BCE. Augustine described him as a compulsive hydromancer, constantly seeking visions in water. The source of this may have been Plutarch’s retelling of the legend that Numa had captured two satyrs by mixing honey and wine into the spring from which they drank, and having captured them, forced them to reveal the future.

  The story was well known among the magicians; Trithemius knew it and Agrippa was certainly aware of it. In his De incertitudine, Agrippa ranked Numa as something like a Roman Zoroaster, attesting to the esteem of this legendary figure. Rather than being a sign of modesty, Faustus’s claims to being second can be read as claims to being the true heir of these mighty magical forebears.

  Another Ezra

  Trithemius’s letter continued in the same negative vein.

  However, his worthlessness is not hidden from me. The previous year when I was returning from the Margrave of Brandenburg, I came upon this man in the town of Gelnhausen, and many frivolous things were told to me about him at the inn, promised by him not without great temerity.17

  One can imagine the gossip round the inn and poor old Trithemius sitting amongst the throng, perhaps feeling slighted that his own great (in his eyes) achievements were not being trumpeted by the commonality. In writing about the incident to Virdung, Trithemius was quick to drop the name of his influential patron, the margrave-elector of Brandenburg.

  According to Trithemius’s view of events, Faustus ‘fled the inn and could not be persuaded to appear in my presence’.18 Without any other witnesses we should not be quick to accept his interpretation. Trithemius did have a reputation and people, like Agrippa for example, did seek him out. If Faustus saw himself as a pupil, as Agrippa did, or otherwise inferior to Trithemius he may well have tried to meet him and learn from the older man. If, however, he saw himself as superior to Trithemius he may have decided not to condescend to meet him. Apparently Trithemius was trying to persuade Faustus to ‘appear in my presence’, suggesting both that Trithemius really wanted to meet him and also that he felt he was someone who could command such an audience. Trithemius was known to have boasted that ‘great and erudite personages have considered themselves fortunate if I have admitted them into my presence.’19 Did Faustus really flee from him, or did he just have something better to do? Could it be possible that it was Trithemius who did the fleeing? Alas, we will never know, but if any man dared to forego an audience with the vengeful abbot, one can be sure that he would not forget it.

  His advertisement of foolishness, which he gave to you, as mentioned, he also sent to me through a certain citizen.20

  Referring here to his earlier quotation of Faustus’s long list of titles, Trithemius also revealed the origin of his information. He tells us that Faustus sent this list by way of a messenger. We might conclude, then, that it was something like a letter of introduction, a business or calling card. It also turns out that Faustus had sent one to Virdung and that Virdung had told Trithemius about it. The interesting thing is that where Trithemius is filled to overflowing with bile when he reads Faustus’s card, Virdung was impressed or intrigued enough to invite Faustus to visit him. What Trithemius claims as the symptoms of madness, Virdung interprets as the accomplishments of someone he would like to meet. Again we see the slighted Trithemius. After Faustus apparently refuses to come into his presence and submit, it would seem, to Trithemius’s authority, Trithemius exhibits the foolishness he attempts to attribute to another. By having already sent his calling card to Virdung, Faustus is shown to have been in communication with at least one high-ranking and influential member of court. Trithemius strikes out at Faustus when he discovers that he has contacted another Humanist and occultist.

  Certain priests in the town told me that he had said, in the presence of many, that he had such an understanding and memory of all wisdom and also knowledge, that if all the books of Plato and Aristotle, with their whole philosophy, were totally lost to the memory of man, he himself, of his own genius, like a second Hebrew Ezra, would be able to restore them all with superior elegance.21

  Trithemius was clearly curious to learn more about this man, but those ‘certain priests’ of Gelnhausen would have been unlikely to give an unbiased account of someone like Faustus. According to their report we now see the Humanist bravado of Faustus coming to the fore. This is the sort of claim that someone who recognised Publius Faustus Andrelinus as his intellectual predecessor might make. Faustus boasts, not only of the depth of his learning, but also of the extent of his memory. In a pre-digital age when even printing was still in its infancy, memory was paramount. A scholar would be expected to carry his library with him in his head. According to the father of church history, Eusebius of Caesarea (c.275–339 CE), Ezra was famed for his ‘restoration’ of the sayings of the prophets and the law of Moses after the scriptures had been destroyed during the Jews’ Babylonian captivity. Was this Faustus’s comparison or that of the priests?

  Faustus’s claim to be able to restore these philosophical works ‘with superior elegance’ again shows Humanist interests. Style was as much a preoccupation with the Humanists as was knowledge itself. The claim to be able to rewrite Plato and Aristotle with greater style combines these Humanist concerns with an outrageous boast.

  Miracles in Würzburg

  Afterwards, whilst I was at Speyer, he came to Würzburg and, likewise boasting in the presence of many, so it is said, that the miracles of Christ the Saviour were not so wonderful, that he also was able to do all that Christ had done, as often and whenever he wished.22

  Trithemius had moved on, frustrated in his attempts to meet Faustus, but he was still receiving reports on his activities. It was sometime after 2 June 1506 and Faustus was now in the important town of Würzburg. It was the seat of the Prince-Bishop, who looked down from his residence, the imposing Marienberg fortress, upon a Romanesque cathedral built on the site of a church said to have been con
secrated by Charlemagne himself. The austere preacher Johann Geiler von Kaisersberg (1445–1510) had harangued the masses from the cathedral’s pulpit for a time before finding a permanent home in Strassburg after 1480. It was the town of sculptor Tilman Riemenschneider (c.1460–1531), sometime mayor and later a leader in the Peasants’ War. It was a headstrong town given to demonstrations of radicalism. Riemenschneider was only following in a long tradition that began with the Würzburgers’ pilgrimage of protest of 1476 in support of the Piper of Niklasshausen.

  It was also an old university town – something that always seems to have attracted Faustus. Here perhaps he could find an audience well-educated enough to appreciate his Humanistic appeal. It had been founded in 1402 on the model of Bologna, but despite the best intentions the university soon acquired a dubious reputation. The students met in the Great Lion Court, a solidly built but modest two-storey building with handsome crow-stepped gables. After the first rector Johann Zantfurt was fatally stabbed in 1423 the university rapidly declined. Writing about the year 1506 Trithemius blamed the students’ decadent lifestyle and general riotousness as ‘greatly impeding the academic achievement in Würzburg’.23 The cathedral chapter, made up of members of the nobility, turned up its nose and withdrew its support, and when Faustus arrived it had stopped functioning as a university altogether. This sorry state of affairs led to its being re-founded in 1582.