the following pages will not seem so arbitrary and strange after this introductory glance at the middle-age philosophy, as they might otherwise at first sight. Even they are a product of an inner necessity. Were it possible—and deplorable attempts are not wanting—to revive in the thoughts, feelings and imagination of humanity the dogmas of mediæval times, we should then witness a partial re-enactment of their terrible scenes. To depict them has not only a purely historic interest, but a cautionary and practical as well.

II.

THE MAGIC OF THE CHURCH.

Magic is the harbinger of Science. In the history of human development, the dim perception precedes the clear, and the dominion of imagination that of reason. Before the latter could take upon itself the laborious task of connecting together by its own laws the facts of external and internal experience,—before there was any philosophy or natural science, imagination was bestirring itself in the creation of magic.

Like science, magic in its original form is based upon the principle that all things existing are concatenated. Science searches for the links of union both deductively and inductively; magic, seeking its support in the external resemblances between existing things,[13] and in a vague assurance of the power of the will and of words, establishes this connection freely by means of arbitrary associations between incongruous objects. Man engaged in a struggle for physical existence, aims in it less at theoretical knowing than at practical being able. The knowledge of mysteries will furnish means of becoming acceptable to his God, inaccessible to injurious influences, and master of his present and future existence and destiny.

The magical usages which exist among every people, present an almost infinite variety of forms. In the end, however, they can all be reduced to a single type.

Daily experience has taught that there exists between every cause and its effect a certain proportionate amount of force. Now since the effect aimed at in resorting to magic is of an extraordinary nature, the means which the magical art prescribes must possess extraordinary efficacy, such as reason can predict for it neither a priori nor by inductive reasoning. Furthermore, experience teaches us that will, as a mere inert desire, not yet expressed in action, does not attain its goal. Magical power therefore can not be sought for in the mere will as such, but action, that working of the senses which the will employs as a means, in which it reveals itself, must be added, whether the force of this sense-means, as the original magic supposes, depends on its mystical but necessary connection with its corresponding object in a higher sphere (for example, the connection between the metals and the planets), or as in the Church-magic, on an arbitrary decision of God, ordaining that a given means, employed as prescribed by him, shall produce an effect inconceivable by reason. In all employment of magic enter consequently, first, the subjective spiritual factor,—the will (in the language of the Church, faith); secondly, the sensuous means,—the fetich, the amulet, the holy water, the host, the formula of exorcism, the ceremony, etc.; and thirdly, the incomprehensible (“supernatural”) power which this means, appropriated by the will (or faith), possesses in the magical act.

A belief in magic is found among all nations. With those of unitarian views it was destined to be forced more and more into the background by the growth of speculation and natural science. With them there was also but one form of magic, although those in possession of its secret were considered able to exercise it for a useful or an injurious purpose alike. Only among nations holding dualistic views do we meet with magic in two forms: with the priests a white and a black,—the former as the good gift of Ormuzd, the latter as the evil gift of Ahriman; with the Christians of the Middle Ages a celestial magic and a diabolical,—the former a privilege of the Church and conferred by God as a weapon to aid in the conquest of Satan; the latter an infernal art to further unbelief and wickedness. Under a unitarian theory magic is only a preparation for natural philosophy and gradually gives place to it, until it is confined to the lowest classes as a relic of a past stage of development. The dualistic religious systems, on the contrary, blend in an intimate union with magic, give to it the same universally and eternally valid power which they ascribe to themselves, and place it on their own throne in the form of a divine and sacramental secret. Only thus can faith in magic stamp whole ages and periods of culture with its peculiar seal; only thus—after its separation into celestial and diabolical, and in that causal relation to the temporal or eternal weal or woe of man in which it is placed—does it become possessed of an absolute sovereignty over the imagination and emotions of a people.

Our consideration of the middle-age magic may commence with a description of the celestial or privileged magic, that is to say, that of the Church; in order that we may proceed in natural order to the ill-reputed magic of the learned (astrology, alchemy, sorcery), and the persecuted popular magic (in which the Church saw the really diabolical form); and end with an account of the terrible catastrophe which was caused by the contest which raged between them.

It is not the fault of the writer if the reader finds in the magic of the Church a caricature of what is holy, in which the comical element is overbalanced by the repulsive. The more objective the representation is to be made, the more unpleasant its features become. We will, then, be brief.

Like a thoughtful mother the Church cherishes and cares for man, and surrounds him from the cradle to the grave with its safeguards of magic. Shortly after the birth of a child the priest must be ready to sprinkle it with holy water, which by prayer and conjuration has been purified from the pollution of the demons inhabiting even this element. For the feeble being begotten in sin and by nature Lucifer’s property, without the grace of baptism, would be eternally lost to heaven, and eternally doomed to the torments of hell.[14]

Therefore more than one conscientious servant of the Church essayed to devise some means by which the saving water might be brought in contact with the child before it saw the light. Still this precautionary measure never became officially adopted. The efficacy of the baptismal water exceeds that of the pool Bethesda, which removed only bodily infirmities. Baptism saves millions of souls from hell. Foreseeing this the devil, filled with evil devices, had determined, already before the rise of Christianity, to debase and scorn this sacrament by making, in anticipation, a copy of it in the Mithras mysteries instituted by him, which insolently imitate in other respects the mysteries of the Church.

In baptism other means, consecrated by the priest, co-operate with the water: viz., the oil, the spittle (which the priest