by Nick Baker
It took barely a few minutes for the caffeine buzz to reinvigorate his body, sparking a re-emergence of the dynamism that was Bing’s trademark. He focused on the pile of newspapers and magazines neatly stacked on the desk in front of him and recalled the reason for his earlier request. He leant forwards and leafed through the back-issues left for him by some poor clerk who had undoubtedly spent the morning systematically trawling through the archives deep down in the bowels of the building. He scanned the papers, discarding one after another until his piercingly blue eyes settled on an article that interested him. It was an edition of the Comet that led with a report on the Council in the years following the death of Pearly Black, which immediately caused his thoughts to return to that time.
In the fallout of Black’s demise, Dionysus Bing was ousted from his role as editor-in-chief of the media conglomerate by the board of directors, undoubtedly for his unflinching support of the discredited Black. Rather foolishly, the same set of men subsequently instated Hermes in his father’s place, only to discover that their own positions quickly became untenable for a variety of obscure reasons.
The generally held belief that the directors had sold off their stakes in the business for outrageous financial gain was nothing more than a smokescreen. Instead, each of them was compromised in scandalous situations making their stock-selling a necessity. Otherwise, Bing secretly assured them that whatever they held most dear—whether their marriage, business or political aspirations—would be left in ruins. The name for it was undoubtedly blackmail, but according to Hermes, he preferred to describe it as gentle persuasion.
In this way, Hermes ensured that he would never have to suffer the same indignity as his father, which, in part, went some way to explaining his unflinching resentment of the Council, whom he blamed for his father’s demise. His logic ran thus: Price was responsible for the inception of the Council, which in turn resulted in the downfall of Black, which in turn led to his father’s ruin.
Unsurprisingly, it did not take long for the newly appointed Bing junior to vent his spleen on those he blamed for his father’s fall from grace, and when Dionysus died shortly after his son’s succession, this only served to exacerbate Hermes’ fury even further.
Bing suddenly stopped and scratched his head. If he hated the Council so much, then where did his eagerness stem from to align himself with an organisation that he so clearly despised?
‘That’s obvious,’ he muttered to himself with a chuckle, knowing full well that, despite his intense chagrin at being persistently passed over, what better way to frustrate Price than to become a permanent thorn in his side from within?
Bing dismissed these thoughts and turned his attention to the article. He scanned the opening paragraph and grinned at a typical Comet diatribe questioning the Council’s raison d’être. Unfortunately, the public were neither interested nor cared, judging by the effect on the paper’s circulation, but, at his insistence, these Bing-inspired rants resurfaced from time to time, usually under a different guise or in an alternative forum.
Bing discarded the paper; it was irrelevant in the context of what he was looking for, but it made him reflect on Price’s role in the origins of the Council.
Price had always been insistent that Black and his cronies were a major threat to the nation’s security. This concept was laughable in the minds of many people, including his father, and reflected the popularity Black had enjoyed with the public at the time. It seemed hard to imagine, therefore, how Price was able to assemble a self-selected, autonomous body with the power to exert such an influence over the highest offices of the land.
Maybe Price was party to information that was not common knowledge, but whatever the reason, the truth had never come out. After Black’s death, the speed with which his supporters disappeared suggested that they were neither willing nor able to continue whatever it was he had started.
Bing shook his head. There was still so much he did not know, he thought dejectedly. He sighed and picked up the newspaper lying on top of the pile, still unsure of what he was actually looking for. He scanned the drab, unpromising front page of The Evening Star, a publication that, in general, followed a quirkier and more light-hearted approach to news than the Comet.
Some years previously, the Star, in a publishing coup, included a free monthly periodical with the paper on the first Friday of each month. The glossy colour magazine proved extremely popular and led to an enormous boost in sales, curiously benefiting all of Bing’s publications in equal measure. As a gauge of the venture’s success, the sales ploy was immediately copied by the Sting, and while this also proved inspirational for Bing’s rival publication, he continually enjoyed reminding Fielding of where the idea had originated.
As Bing thumbed through the broadsheet, a magazine slipped out and landed on his lap. He looked down and was startled to see the face of Henry Price staring back at him from a picture plastered across the glossy front cover. His pulse quickened, and in eager anticipation, he dropped the Star, scattering its pages at his feet. He studied the photograph that showed Price standing on a short flight of stone steps in front of an ancient, yet attractive building he immediately recognised as the Academy of Arcane and Alchemical Arts. He sneered at what he perceived to be the imperious, self-centred expression on Price’s face. Price was dressed in a college gown with his hair tied neatly back, staring impassively into the depths of the camera. It appeared to be an old graduation photo, and below it, a bold caption proclaimed, ‘The Death of Alchemy?’
Bing thumbed through the journal and found the relevant article, noting the date as some three years earlier. Settling back in the chair, he began to read.
Alchemy means many things to many people and is said to have sundry diverse origins and influences throughout the ages. The word alchemy is derived from the Arabic al-kimia, for divine chemistry or black earth, meaning the art of transformation, although it is widely believed that alchemy influenced other prominent civilizations well before its advent as a science in the Islamic world. Many alchemical publications have failed to survive into the modern era, being lost, destroyed or hidden from the eyes of those who neither care nor wish to understand the regal science as it is referred to by its devotees. It is clear, however, from writings still accessible that alchemy was a flourishing and revered subject well before the birth of Jesus Christ.
Alchemy is understood to originate with the great Egyptian king, reputed to have lived around 1900 BC, whom the Greeks referred to as Hermes Trismegistus. Hermes was the author of the fabled Tabula Smaragdina, an ancient text written on green stone and which later became known as The Emerald Tablet, the most famous of ancient hermetical writings. Hermetica became the title for literature attributed to Hermes and contained secret wisdom that was the foundation of alchemy in Europe during the Middle Ages. Unfortunately, the Tablet did not survive in its original form and suffered the indignity of many incomplete translations, which may, in part, have contributed to the mystical aura associated with writing said to reveal the secret of alchemy to those who chose to search deeply enough.
After the birth of Christ, Chinese civilisation makes reference to the influence of alchemy on its culture. The first Taoist pope, Chang Tao-Ling, devoted his life to the study of alchemy and meditation and was reputed to have received a mystical treatise allowing him to distil the Grand Elixir of Immortality, the precursor of what later alchemists labelled the living stone.
Alchemy was widely practised in Greek, Roman and early Indian cultures, but it was the Islamic world that laid the foundation for the future birth of the science in the West. One of the great alchemists of the eighth century, Jabir ibn Hayyan, made enormous contributions to European interpretation of the ancient alchemical arts. Jabir, or Geber as he became known in the West, was a skilled chemist as well as a mystical devotee of alchemy. Advances under his guidance include the techniques of distillation and the mixing of various reagents. He also discovered new elements including the metals, sodium and pot
assium. The ability to distil led to the isolation of new acids, including aqua regia, a mixture of nitric and hydrochloric acid, a liquid able to dissolve the noblest of metals, including gold, sparking off the belief that the internal rearrangement or transmutation of one metal into another would one day be possible.
Thus began the quest for the living stone, a mystical alchemical panacea, which, amongst other things, would allow the transformation of gold from base metals. Unfortunately for Western alchemy, the writing attributed to Geber proved impossible to interpret. His annotated notes, written in an indecipherable and crude form of symbolism, failed to yield the secrets they were believed to hide. It is hardly surprising that the frustration emanating from the inability to penetrate the darkest secrets of Islamic alchemy gave rise to the Anglo-Saxon word gibberish, derived directly from the name of Geber himself!
Bing returned the magazine to the desk and rubbed his eyes wearily. He could not remember previously reading the article and was dubious whether it would reveal anything he did not already know about Price. So far the article had failed to capture his imagination, but he presumed that the first few paragraphs were merely an entrée to something a little more stimulating, or so at least he hoped.
He picked up the magazine once again, and rather absent-mindedly, scanned the article for the author’s name. He found what he was looking for—Zoë Tsing—a distinctive name, he mused, but despite dredging through his memory, rather to his surprise, he could not recall hearing the name before. Bing assumed that this woman, whoever she was, was not on his staff, for he prided himself on his ability to remember the names of all of his employees, down to the most menial task worker in the depths of Bing Tower. He wondered whether she was a freelance journalist and made a mental note to find out.
He savoured a final gulp of coffee languishing at the bottom of his cup and returned his attention to the magazine.
Alchemy was introduced to the European mainland when the Moors invaded Spain in the twelfth century, bringing their mystical and alchemical beliefs with them from Islam. From Spain, the Hermetic word spread throughout Europe, and within a few generations, alchemical teaching had been assimilated into other cultural, religious and scientific beliefs of the age.
Albertus Magnus, Thomas Aquinas, Artephius and Arnold de Villeneuve were responsible for the development of alchemy during the Middle Ages as a valid and integrated subject intertwined with other areas of scientific, religious and philosophical thinking. The greatest of all alchemists during this period was the Englishman, Roger Bacon, who did more than any other man to establish alchemy as a respected science.
Bacon joined the Franciscan order and graduated from Oxford before moving to Paris, where he studied mathematics and medicine. Bacon was one of the first true polymaths of his age with knowledge of astronomy, optics, languages and philosophy, in addition to the subjects he had studied during his formative years. He elevated alchemy’s standing as a science and brought it to the attention of all forward thinkers of the time. He is also attributed with the revelation that the living stone could be used as a means to prolong life just as his illustrious Islamic and Chinese predecessors had revealed to their respective cultures many hundreds of years before him.
Despite major contributions to science, including alterations to the Julian calendar through the study of astronomy, the production of convex lenses leading to the manufacture of spectacles and the theory behind telescopes, Bacon was eventually imprisoned for his knowledge. The Church countered his prowess as a great sage by citing magical arts and witchcraft as the base for some of his most significant discoveries. Bacon was forced to denounce much of his work to effect his release, thus allowing him to continue his studies, albeit now in secrecy.
The story of Bacon’s life serves as an example of what was to follow during the Renaissance. Alchemy developed as a means of universal understanding, but this tenet gradually became blurred by the superstition that thrived during the great religious and political upheaval of the time. For this reason, Hermeticism became an occult (as in hidden) practice, mainly because of the fear of persecution, imprisonment or possibly even worse, leading to the creation of secret cults and cabals operating as small, clandestine organisations made up of self-selected groups of ‘the trusted few’. New recruits or initiates were carefully observed before a gradual introduction to the arcane arts and beliefs of the group through a process of ritual and mystical teachings that became known as the rite of initiation. Thus began a long and arduous inner journey for the neophyte starting with enlightenment and illumination before acceptance into the innermost circle of the sect. Not surprisingly, texts surviving from this era were written utilising cryptic alchemical symbols and diagrams, with layer upon layer of secret, hidden and allegorical meanings. The few documents that survived into the modern era have proved notoriously difficult to decode, and many futile attempts have been made to reveal the true nature of their meaning.
Many secret organisations with alchemical associations arose during the Renaissance, and for this reason, alchemy became associated with occult practice, and in particular, dark ritual and magical arts. These initiate orders were established to propagate secret teachings, with the earliest, and perhaps greatest, example being the Rosicrucian Order.
Bing sighed; he had developed a desperate feeling that the article was about to degenerate into an exposition of conspiracy theories, which was hardly a surprise as his newspapers were full of them.
Despite the coffee, his eyes were slowly beginning to droop as his concentration waned. When his eyes briefly closed, he forced them open with some difficulty, knowing that, otherwise, he would be asleep in seconds. He peered into the depths of the mug lying awkwardly on his lap and noted with interest the concentric rings of coffee stains evenly spaced on the inner wall like the rungs of an improbably circular ladder that led down to a slurry of dark residue. He picked up the cafetière, refilled his cup and thumbed through the remaining pages. He looked at his watch and was relieved to note that there was still an hour to go before his next appointment. With a flourish, he picked up the article and began to read from where he had left off.
The existence of the Rosicrucian Order was shrouded in secrecy until two anonymously written manifestos were released within a short period of one another at the beginning of the seventeenth century. The manifestos, Fama Fraternitatis and Confessio Fraternitatis, describe the life of Christian Rosencreutz and his founding of the Order. Rosencreutz was born in Germany in 1378, and at the age of five, was sent into cloisters with a Jesuit Order. Following classical training in Greek and Latin, Rosencreutz left for the Holy Land to extend his education. He travelled to Damascus, and under the instruction of Islamic occult masters, he learnt to speak Arabic while being initiated as an adept in medicine, mathematics, alchemy and magic.
After three years, Rosencreutz sailed, first to Egypt, and then to Fez, where he gained instruction with learned Arabian magicians, philosophers and alchemists. He spent a further period with Spanish Kabbalists on his return journey before finally returning to his homeland, where he established a secret group with three brothers from his former cloisters.
The brothers erected a building, the Sancti Spiritus, and once the men had recruited a further four initiates, the Rosicrucian Order was founded. The men agreed that the Order should remain secret for a hundred years, during which time they would travel the world in search of enlightenment. They agreed to meet every year at the Sancti Spiritus, and in the event of their death, each man was to select a worthy successor as a replacement.
The Rosicrucian Order remained secret until the publication in the seventeenth century of the first two manifestos, and finally a third, The Chymical Wedding of Christian Rosencreutz, which describes the practical nature of secret alchemical learning discovered by the Order.
The publication of the manifestos declaring the existence of a secret brotherhood caused a wave of excitement to spread across Europe and led to a resurgence in alchemy,
magic and Kabbalah. Despite the manifestos, the Rosicrucian Order remained a secret society free to continue with its ideals in science, philosophy and freedom of conscience in splendid isolation.
The emergence of the Rosicrucian Order was followed by a period in which many other secret societies sprang up with their own rites and initiations, all centred on various aspects of mysticism and the occult. These groups flourished and became the precursors to Freemasonry in the early eighteenth century. A handful of these secret societies still exist today, most notably the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, which is said to be a direct descendant of Freemasonry and Rosicrucianism.
It is also no surprise that secret cabals and sects were established before the publication of the manifestos, bearing in mind that Rosencreutz had formed the Rosicrucian Order at the beginning of the fifteenth century. One such group known to have operated during this period was the Esoteric Brotherhood, a cult originating in Northern Europe.
The Brotherhood was an ultra-secretive group, small in number, with interests in darker aspects of alchemical lore. Acceptance of recruits into the group only occurred after an appropriate period of initiation and enlightenment, which was said to take many years. Rumours abound that, in distinction to the Brotherhood’s original objectives, the sect endured with the solitary aim of protecting humanity from a terrible secret allegedly discovered by one of their initiates. The rumoured existence of this secret has long been the source of considerable speculation, raising the possibility that the Brotherhood successfully unravelled the enigma of the living stone. This conjecture does not explain the dichotomy that, on the one hand, saw the Brotherhood preserving their greatest discovery, and yet on the other, keeping it hidden for fear of the danger it could unleash on all of mankind.