Doctoral Dissertation

OBTINERE MENTEM DIVINAM:

THE SPIRITUAL ANTHROPOLOGY OF CORNELIUS AGRIPPA

By: Noel Putnik

Supervisors:

György E. Szőnyi
György Geréby

Submitted to the Medieval Studies Department,

Central European University, Budapest

in partial fulfillment of the requirements

for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in Medieval Studies,
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Budapest, Hungary
2017
 TABLE OF CONTENTS

PREFACE ................................................................................................................................................ 6
INTRODUCTION: Cornelius Agrippa through Anthropological Glasses .......................................11
The “Agrippan question”: the magus versus the Christian? ................................................................11
Anthropology as the crux of the problem ........................................................................................... 15
Demarcational boundaries and terminological considerations ........................................................... 20
The sources ......................................................................................................................................... 28
De occulta philosophia libri tres (1510/1533) ................................................................................ 28
Agrippa’s anthropological treatises (1515–18) .............................................................................. 30
De incertitudine et vanitate scientiarum atque artium (1526) ........................................................ 31
The structure of the dissertation.......................................................................................................... 31
CHAPTER ONE: THE HISTORICAL CONTEXT, PROBLEMS, METHODS........................... 33
Agrippa’s Life and Main Works ...................................................................................................... 33
The early years: education and encounters with important men ..................................................... 34
Oriundus Colonia, educatione Italus: Аgrippa’s Italian period ...................................................... 38
Back to the North: the years of steady municipal service ............................................................... 40
The French period: a bitter life at the court .................................................................................... 41
Agrippa’ closing years: finally at the printing press ....................................................................... 42
Agrippa’s retraction: the epitome of the problem ........................................................................... 44
Research Questions in Light of Present-Day Scholarship............................................................. 45
The main research themes ............................................................................................................... 45
A redeemed humanist: scholars on Agrippa and his work .............................................................. 47
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Mapping a No-Man’s Land: How to Approach an Esoteric Author? .......................................... 69

How to read Agrippa? ..................................................................................................................... 70
Difficulties of interpretation............................................................................................................ 72
CHAPTER TWO: SETTING THE COSMOLOGICAL SCENE: HOMO MINOR MUNDUS .... 78
The Universe of the De Occulta Philosophia ................................................................................... 78
The opening sentence ...................................................................................................................... 80
Imagines imaginum: the sequence of mirrors ................................................................................. 83
Elements and correspondences ....................................................................................................... 90

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 Contested Views: Emanation or Creation? .................................................................................... 98
CHAPTER THREE: TWO TRIADS OF AGRIPPA’S ANTHROPOLOGY ............................... 105
The First Triad: Anima, Corpus, Spiritus ...................................................................................... 106
Soul and body: a polar conception of man? .................................................................................. 108
A definition of soul ........................................................................................................................110
Embodiment and body ...................................................................................................................113
The perspective of the Dialogus de homine ...................................................................................118
Is body good or bad? ..................................................................................................................... 121
Vehiculum: the ethereal carrier of the soul .................................................................................... 127
The Second Triad: Mens, Ratio, Idolum ........................................................................................ 134
How do earthly bodies accommodate celestial souls? .................................................................. 135
Which soul is actually immortal?.................................................................................................. 137
Anima stans et non cadens: the source of all magical power........................................................ 141
Animus and anima: a conundrum of terms.................................................................................... 144
In conclusion: Agrippa’s Plotinian soul ........................................................................................ 145
CHAPTER FOUR: FIXA INTENTIO: THE MECHANISMS OF MAGICAL OPERATION ... 149
Passiones Animi: Operating by Affects and Emotions................................................................. 151
The magician’s driving forces ....................................................................................................... 151
External and internal senses .......................................................................................................... 152
The types of passions .................................................................................................................... 157
The influence of passions upon one’s own body and soul ............................................................ 161
The influence of passions upon other bodies and souls ................................................................ 167
The process of harmonization: capturing and exposing................................................................ 169
Fides: Operating by Religion ......................................................................................................... 175
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Acquiring the mind. The supercelestial Bacchus .......................................................................... 176

Agrippa’s understanding of fides .................................................................................................. 178
Dignification and corporal mortification ...................................................................................... 182
The magic of Logos. Theurgy ....................................................................................................... 185
CHAPTER FIVE: ESCHATOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVE: THE FALL AND SALVATION ..... 195
The Original Sin .............................................................................................................................. 196
Liber de triplici ratione cognoscendi Deum ................................................................................. 197
De originali peccato disputabilis opinionis declamatio ............................................................... 200
Commixtio carnis displicet Deo: the problem of sex .................................................................... 206

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 The nature’s embrace: a Hermetic interpretation of the carnal copulation ................................... 208
Spiritual Regeneration ................................................................................................................... 212
Two kinds of generation. Spiritual rebirth .................................................................................... 213
The Christian ingredient................................................................................................................ 219
Гνῶσις and power ......................................................................................................................... 222
Again: what about the body? ........................................................................................................ 223
Contested Notions of Piety ............................................................................................................. 231
Power and piety............................................................................................................................. 232
An exegetical way out: towards a tripartite interpretation of Christianity .................................... 236
CONCLUSION ................................................................................................................................... 247
Abbreviations ........................................................................................................................................ 251
Bibliography ......................................................................................................................................... 252
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 At caelum certe patet; ibimus illac

Ovid, Metamorphoses VIII, 186

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MANIBVS PARENTVM ET FRATRIS

5
 PREFACE

After a short journey from Cologne to Bonn, Ruprecht, a young and zealous student of the occult, pays

a visit to Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa von Nettesheim, a famous occultist, to inquire from him about the

deeper secrets of magic. Ruprecht manages to find his place of abode—a spacious but not too luxurious

house in which Agrippa lives immersed in his arcane sciences with a handful of disciples—and

persuades these to let him approach the great master. Agrippa’s students warn him that the master has

become introverted and whimsical, sometimes not leaving his study for days and expecting his food

and beverage to be left for him in an adjacent room. Ruprecht boldly accepts the risk and, upon

Agrippa’s call, enters his room.

The magician’s study at first reminds the young man of a monastic library: dim, crowded with

dusty bookshelves, books and folders, strange instruments and stuffed animals, it smells like decay.

Hidden behind a massive desk, stooped in his chair, one of the greatest occultists of Europe appears as

a small, thin man with something depreciating and squeamish in his facial expression. He is not yet old,

but his lips are droopy and his eyes tired. After only a few minutes of tense conversation Ruprecht

realizes that he is talking to an angry, bitter, nervous man who casts flames of disappointment in all

directions. Well into his mature age, he has not received a deserved recognition as a religious
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philosopher and reformer but is instead pursued by his creditors, condemned by university theologians,

ridiculed by hypocrites of all sorts.

Somewhat taken aback, Ruprecht inquires about the secret details of operative magic related to

summoning demons but receives a fierce reply. You have completely misunderstood magic, says

Agrippa in disdain. Magic is the highest form of religion, and the true magician is a hierophant and

prophet. The greatest magicians were the Sibyl, who foretold the coming of Christ, and those three

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 kings who visited the infant Jesus on the night of his birth. Ruprecht then confronts him with the fact

that Agrippa himself wrote—and took trouble to publish—a long treatise on operative magic with

detailed discussions on summoning demons, which makes Agrippa’s recantation appearing in the

preface of that work dubious and unconvincing. The master is now even angrier and responds that he

cannot get into the real reasons for publishing his De occulta philosophia for he is bound by a sacred

oath. However, he goes on to explain that there are two kinds of knowledge or science: theoretical

knowledge based on ratiocination and an inner knowledge of the divine, “which uplifts us to the

cognition of the essence and God Himself.” There is one true magic: that by which our soul can ascend

to the realm of the divine. Everything else is an idle superstition. In the end, Ruprecht is utterly

confused and leaves Bonn without the desired answers, but with a strong impression that Cornelius

Agrippa is a solitary, disappointed man on the verge of defeat.

This brief episode from the novel Ognennyi angel [The Fiery Angel] by a Russian writer Valery

Bryusov (1873–1924) paints a stunning image of the famous German humanist and occultist.

Bryusov’s novel has been generally praised for his meticulous research and thorough reconstruction of

the social and spiritual atmosphere of sixteenth-century Germany, but his depiction of Agrippa reveals

a fascinating insight into some of the main problems related to this Faustian icon of Western culture.

Instead of a formidable conjurer we see a troubled man torn apart by his doubts and failures, whose

magnificent cathedral of ideas has almost collapsed. We also see a man whose understanding of magic
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is deeply permeated by his religious sentiments.

Not only did Bryusov—unlike many scholars of his time such as Lynn Thorndike—recognize in

Agrippa a figure of intellectual gravity and integrity, but he also ingeniously anticipated some of the

future (and even present-day) scholarly debates related to the German humanist: among others, the

question of his recantation, the problem of the relationship between magic and religion, the dichotomy

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 of gnosis and episteme.

My own encounter with Cornelius Agrippa was far less dramatic than Ruprecht’s, but from the

outset my impression of his work very much corresponded to Bryusov’s depiction. I could sense that

Agrippa was not merely a Thorndakean “trifler,” a shallow-minded quack who rode on the wave of the

early modern “new age.” Moreover, it was evident to me that the core of Agrippa’s magical theory

carried a strong religious component, albeit one hardly compatible with the Christian benchmarks of

his time. In fact, I found studying his heterodox frame of mind highly relevant in the comparative

perspective of our own era, marked by the phenomena of religious pluralism and hybrid identities.

Thus, I set out to examine Agrippa’s ideas of spiritual ascension in the context of his magical theory.

The result was my MA thesis (Central European University, Budapest, 2007), which only partly

answered my initial research question, namely, whether the Agrippan magus was indeed a pious and

wise hierophant, as Bryusov’s character presented him, or a sacrilegious intruder infected by the

Pelagian heresy, as the Christian theologians saw him. The answer is simple: for Agrippa and his

soulmates, the first held true; for the orthodox theologians of his time, it was the second. There exists

no “indeed” in this question. Tertium non datur. The sides had been picked ever since the time of

Simon Magus and the apostle Peter, and one is only left to inquire (and wonder) about the deeper

causes of this ancient rift between the theology of mercy and theology of personal initiative.

This fundamental problem is what I revisit in my PhD dissertation through the work of
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Cornelius Agrippa, a bold syncretist who did not think it impious to pave his way back to God with his

own effort. As the following pages will show, I approach the problem by scrutinizing Agrippa’s views

on man and his nature, which I consider one of the most important nodal points between Agrippa’s

understanding of piety and his theory of magic. Thus, my dissertation not only marks a further

development of the ideas discussed in my MA thesis, but is also an endeavor to tackle the old problems

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 in an entirely new perspective.

It was a long and exhausting intellectual journey that certainly could not have been

accomplished without the guidance and help of others. It was my main guide, Professor György E.

Szőnyi, who “initiated” me into the bona fide academic studies of Western esotericism and whose

expert and cordial support has been crucial in every stage of the process. Our intellectual compatibility

and an enduring friendship that developed over the years are built deeply into this work. My other

supervisor, Professor György Geréby, has made me more aware of the various theological and

philosophical intricacies related to my topic. His ideas in this field have had a formative impact on my

work.

I am grateful beyond expression to the Medieval Studies Department of Central European

University and all its teachers and staff not only for providing me with a pleasurable academic shelter

for my research, but also for enabling me to spend several amazing years in Budapest, my second

home. My special thanks go to Professors Matthias Riedl and Gábor Klaniczay for their constructive

suggestions and remarks at different stages of my research. Moreover, if it had not been for the

warmest support and tender encouragement from Professor Alice Choyke and the PhD Program

Coordinator Csilla Dobos, I probably would not be where I am today. Simple human empathy

transcends all intellectual considerations and I was fortunate enough to receive it when I needed it

most.
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At the initial phase of my research Professors Irena Backus (University of Geneva), Marc van

der Poel (Radboud University, Nijmegen), and Christopher I. Lehrich (Boston University) kindly

helped me to clarify and refocus my dissertation topic and formulate my main research questions with

more precision and feasibility. At several occasions Professors Wouter J. Hanegraaff and Peter J.

Forshaw (University of Amsterdam) fostered my work through their valuable insights.

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 My dear friends Irina Savinetskaya and Joseph B. Murray have helped in more ways than I can

think of: from their constant and fervent support to their help with editing and proofreading, they have

added their own sine qua non to my work. As a result of our thought-provoking discussions, I was able

to gradually refine my ideas and come to the point of expressing them more resolutely. I remain

profoundly indebted to Ira and Joe.

Other friends too have contributed to my work in various ways. Vladimir Živanović (Serbian

Academy of Sciences and Arts) was the one who introduced me to Agrippa and his work and provided

me with my first copy of The Occult Philosophy. Milosav Vešović (Belgrade Faculty of Theology)

helped me find my way through the complexities of present-day scholarship on the Pauline

anthropology. Numerous discussions with my knowledgeable friend and colleague Luka Špoljarić

(University of Zagreb) helped me develop a better understanding of the perplexing world of

Renaissance humanism. The same goes for Nemanja Radulović (University of Belgrade), who has

made me more sensitive to the various methodological issues related to the academic studies of

esotericism in general. I am glad to mention here some other friends whose encouragement has been

important to me all along the way: Petar Vujošević, Mircea Graţian Duluş, Marijana Vuković, Carl Otto

Christensen, Dora Ivanišević, László Ferenczi. My sincere thanks go to all of them.

Finally, none of this would be possible without the selfless support and love of my wife Milena

and my daughter Marija. I can only hope to become able to reciprocate with the same degree of
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affection and kindness.

In the course of writing this dissertation I lost my beloved brother David and mother Ljiljana.

This work is dedicated to them, as well as to my father Jovan. I pray that they have actually achieved

the state of heavenly bliss that scholars so eagerly attempt to analyze and define.

Belgrade, Serbia, October 15, 2017

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 INTRODUCTION

CORNELIUS AGRIPPA THROUGH ANTHROPOLOGICAL GLASSES

The “Agrippan question”: the magus versus the Christian?

Against the confusing background of the late fifteenth- and early sixteenth-century Renaissance, the

life and thought of Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa von Nettesheim (1486-1535) appear as exemplary of

various intellectual currents and tendencies of the time. This German occultist, philosopher, and

faithful initiate in the bonae litterae was one of the numerous Renaissance thinkers who aspired to

build grand syntheses of various spiritual traditions aimed at spiritual renewal of a Christianity faced

with a major crisis. However, due to the vast diversity of influences that shaped his literary output and

the striking incongruity of his philosophical attitudes, Agrippa’s case is in many respects exceptional

and worth additional scholarly attention. In this work I put forward the thesis that Agrippa’s

anthropology, especially as delineated in his De occulta philosophia, contains his attempted

“reconstruction” of the “original” Christianity that he believed was lost or on the brink of destruction in

his own time. This “reconstruction” was largely based on his Christian appropriation of the

Neoplatonic and Hermetic views on the nature of man.

What constitutes the core of what I provisionally term the “Agrippan question” is an apparent

inability of the scholars dealing with Agrippa to unequivocally classify his thoughts within this or that
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“school” or tradition. He eludes all such attempts by virtue of being simultaneously positioned in

different, often mutually conflicting, intellectual paradigms. Once twentieth-century scholarship on

Agrippa left behind earlier prejudices concerning the “lack of seriousness” of the German humanist and

acknowledged in him a certain autonomy and gravity of thought, different ways to interpreting his

work were paved, only to open a range of questions, many of which still remain tempting.

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 Agrippa von Nettesheim was one of the most important representatives of that broad fifteenth-

to-sixteenth century intellectual and philosophical current often termed Renaissance Hermeticism. This

diffuse, syncretistic movement1 was grounded in several crucial philological, historical, and cultural

factors: the emergence of medieval Arab scholarship in the Latin West, which paved the way for the

gradual and limited legitimation of “magic” (mostly in the form of magia naturalis); the rediscovery of

Plato, the Neoplatonists and the late antique Hermetic writings, as well as the appearance of their Latin

translations; the consequent reevaluation and appropriation of various non-Christian esoteric teachings

and practices; finally, a new religious and intellectual climate marked by the emergence of various

reform ideas and movements in the atmosphere of a stunning crisis of the Roman Church. Aligning

himself with his immediate forerunners, Marsilio Ficino and Pico della Mirandola from the so-called

Florentine Academy,2 and with his elder contemporaries, Johann Reuchlin, abbot Johann Trithemius,

and Lodovico Lazzarelli—to mention but a few—Agrippa shaped his philosophy as a curious mixture

of various spiritual traditions designed for one single purpose: to “purify” and reform “corrupt”

medieval magic and thereby offer a new, powerful philosophical synthesis to the crisis-stricken

Christianity.3 The main result of this program was his remarkable magical summa De occulta

philosophia libri tres (Three books of occult philosophy), an encyclopedia of practically all available

theoretical knowledge on occultism of the time, interpreted within a philosophical framework usually

defined in the relevant scholarship as Neoplatonic. In historical works Agrippa himself is often
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mentioned as one of the great “Renaissance magi,” a term that implies a degree of practice in addition

1
By this word I do not have in mind a singular, concrete, and readily definable social group in the sense of the “Hermetic
movement” postulated by Frances A. Yates; see Christopher I. Lehrich, The Language of Demons and Angels. Cornelius
Agrippa’s Occult Philosophy (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 13–18; Wouter J. Hanegraaff, Esotericism and the Academy. Rejected
Knowledge in Western Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 327–34.
2
For a critical assessment of the exact nature of Ficino’s Academy see James Hankins, “The Myth of the Platonic Academy
of Florence,” Renaissance Quarterly, Vol. 44, No. 3 (1991): 429–75.
3
This intention was explicitly expressed in the dedicatory letter of the twenty-three-year old Agrippa to Abbot Trithemius,
in which his linking of magic with Christianity is evident; see Cornelius Agrippa, De occulta philosophia libri tres, ed. V.
Perrone Compagni (Leiden: Brill, 1992), 68–71. See also Perrone Compagni’s “Introduction” to the same work, 15–16.

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 to the main business of theorizing.4

On the other hand, out of his numerous smaller works and sermons, as well as religious

controversies he was involved in, yet another, more neglected image of Agrippa emerges, that of a

devoted miles Christi under the influence of Desiderius Erasmus, John Colet, and to some extent

Martin Luther and other Reformation thinkers. This strand of literary and spiritual influence goes

beyond contemporary Biblical humanism, encompassing medieval thinkers such as Albert the Great

and Nicolaus of Cusa, and extends as far back as the early Church Fathers and the Old and New

Testaments. As for the Church Fathers, Agrippa was particularly influenced by the available

contemporary interpretations of Augustine, Jerome, and Dionysius the Areopagite, and concerning the

Biblical authorities, by those of St. Paul and St. John the Apostle.5 This aspect of Agrippa᾽s thought

was marked by an emphasis on the via negativa of the Areopagite, the concept of docta ignorantia as

taught by Nicolaus of Cusa, and the sola fides principle of his above-mentioned contemporaries.

Agrippa's conviction that God can be reached only through pure faith and devotion to Christ

consequently led him to a strong anti-scholastic position and to a denial of there being any

epistemological value to any of the human sciences and disciplines, including all types of occultism.

The ultimate result of such a train of thought was Agrippa's skeptical–devotional declamation De

incertitudine et vanitate scientiarum et artium atque excellentia verbi Dei declamatio (Declamation on

the uncertainty and vanity of sciences and arts, and the excellence of the word of God, hereafter: De
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4
Among modern scholars already D. P. Walker referred to him as a “magician”; see D. P. Walker, Spiritual and Demonic
Magic From Ficino to Campanella (London: The Warburg Institute, 1958), 94. See also Lehrich, Language of Demons and
Angels, 1, where he calls Agrippa “a great magician.” Indeed, the German humanist did not hide his engagement in esoteric
practices, e.g., when he spoke of his and Trithemius’ experiments with telepathy: Et ego id facere novi et saepius feci; novit
idem etiam fecitque quondam abbas Tritemius (Agrippa, De occulta philosophia, 97) — “аnd I myself know how to do it,
and have often done it. The same also in time past the Abbot Tritenius [sic] both knew and did” (Henry Cornelius Agrippa
of Nettesheim, Three Books of Occult Philosophy, trans. James Freake, ed. Donald Tyson [St. Paul, MN: Llewellyn
Publications, 2000], 18).
5
See Charles G. Nauert Jr., Agrippa and the Crisis of Renaissance Thought (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1965), 40,
42, 64. Agrippa himself authored an incomplete commentary on the Epistles of St. Paul, which unfortunately did not
survive to our day.

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 vanitate), a radical antipode to his magical summa that led some scholars to connect Agrippa with the

tradition of Pyrrhonist skepticism and with Sextus Empiricus.6

Given that, more or less, all hypotheses of Agrippa's gradual “development” or “evolution”

from one position to the other have been discarded or at least seriously questioned in present-day

scholarship and that the problem remains highly relevant in our contemporary cultures marked by

religious pluralism and various forms of heterodoxy, I intend to take up the “Agrippan question” once

again, in those of its aspects that despite being potentially rewarding have not been given sufficient

scholarly attention to this day.7

In addition to the old interpretive dilemma concerning Agrippa’s “skepticism” versus his

“credulity,” there seems to be another, growing divergence in the scholarship dealing with the German

humanist. It is based on the widespread perception of a sharp division between magic and Christian

piety as the two undisputed pillars of Agrippa’s thought. Some scholars choose to approach him mostly

as a theoretician of magic, even though his works abound in theological thinking (whatever one might

think of the depth and originality of this theology).8 In a rather different manner, others tend to view

6
The chief advocate of this thesis is Nauert, Agrippa, 140, 142, 297, 300. See also his important paper “Magic and
Skepticism in Agrippa’s Thought,” Journal of the History of Ideas 18, No. 2 (1957): 161–82, where he states: “In
opposition to the orderly world view which the Thomists and the humanists shared, there arose a general skepticism
concerning the power of the human mind to gain truth. This skepticism in turn produced two results, sometimes at odds but
often found in the same person: unsystematic empiricism, which granted truth only to sensory knowledge, and occultism,
which appealed rather to gnostic traditions of revealed truth” (quote on 165–66). In this regard see also George H. Daniels,
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Jr, “Knowledge and Faith in the Thought of Cornelius Agrippa,” Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance, T. 26, No. 2
(1964): 326–40, for a discussion of Agrippa’s “skepticism,” where he demonstrates that this label hardly fits Agrippa in any
of its possible meanings. He prefers to speak of Agrippa’s empiricism, not skepticism. On this kind of combination of
Platonism with empiricism see also Paul Oskar Kristeller, Renaissance Thought. The Classic, Scholastic, and Humanistic
Strains (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1961), 48–69.
7
Whether they adhere to the idea of a “split” or an inherent “harmony” of Agrippa’s positions, scholars generally no longer
accept Nauert’s paradigm of a gradual three-stage development of Agrippa’s mind, from an initial “appeal to the wisdom of
an occult Antiquity” to an utter disappointment with the powers of human reason and “a fideistic appeal to the Gospels as
the only source of truth”; see Nauert, “Magic and Skepticism in Agrippa’s Thought,” 182. See also idem, Agrippa, 214,
220.
8
Much in tune with D. P. Walker, this is how Agrippa has been viewed by scholars such as Michael E. Keefer and György
E. Szőnyi. The latter sees Agrippa’s work as implying “an affiliation between the sacred and the demonic” and thus
subverting itself; György E. Szőnyi, John Dee’s Occultism: Magical Exaltation Through Powerful Signs (New York: State
University of New York Press, 2004), 130–31.

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 Agrippa in more religious (that is, Christian) terms and are apparently willing to downplay the esoteric

component of his thought. This current of scholarship often puts significant emphasis on Agrippa’s role

as a humanist opposed to the social and doctrinal misdoings and moral degeneration of the Roman

Church.9 The former are inclined to see Agrippa’s magical doctrines, to use D. P. Walker’s words, as

“obviously incompatible with Christianity,”10 which is certainly not a novelty in scholarship. The latter,

however, appear to be moving toward a curious “Christianization” of the German occultist, which is a

new development. Such a dichotomy is due to a good reason: the problem has always been how to

relate these two facets of Agrippa’s thought, his openly heterodox magical beliefs and his seemingly

orthodox creed. In a world of inherited cultural paradigms and doctrinal compartments there could be

no such thing as a “pious Christian magician.” It would seem that the image of Simon Magus, looming

menacingly behind any such idea, set the ultimate criteria for distinguishing piety from impiety in the

large part of the Western cultural and religious consciousness.11 From various points of view, the “pious

Christian magician” remains a contested notion. What might strike one in this oxymoron are not the

common opposites of “Christian” and “magical,” but rather the plurality of meanings that could be

ascribed to the seemingly self-explanatory adjective “pious.”

Anthropology as the crux of the problem

It is the vantage point of this thesis that the intricate relations and interactions between these two
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alleged opposites can best be examined by looking more deeply into Agrippa’s peculiar anthropology

as a meeting point between magic and theology. By “anthropology” I do not, of course, mean the

9
In my view, Vittoria Perrone Compagni and Marc van der Poel are the most important present-day adherents to this line of
approach. With her insistence on Agrippa’s crypto-Protestantism, Paola Zambelli can be considered as belonging to the
same camp (in the broadest sense of that word).
10
Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic, 85.
11
Perhaps one of the best expressions of this line of reasoning is Keefer’s famous article “Agrippa’s Dilemma: Hermetic
‘Rebirth’ and the Ambivalences of De vanitate and De occulta philosophia,” Rennaisance Quarterly 41, No. 4 (1991): 614–
53.

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 modern-day scientific discipline. Rather, I imply a complex set of beliefs, notions, and doctrines

concerning issues such as the self, personhood, the body–soul dichotomy etc. that governed Agrippa’s

understanding of the phenomena he dealt with in his writings. Undoubtedly, these issues cannot be

sharply separated from various other philosophical and theological concerns, but there are, I believe,

enough reasons to treat them as a distinct discursive field.

This is by no means a novel perspective. Along the lines of the “man the operator” paradigm

postulated by Frances A. Yates,12 it was already Charles Nauert who in his magisterial biography of

Agrippa emphasized the centrality of his anthropological views for a better understanding of his

involvement in magic. It is worth quoting the following insightful remark by Nauert on this particular,

intriguing aspect of Renaissance anthropocentrism:

What really made Agrippa’s world view magical, rather than merely another expression
of the widely held Neoplatonic picture of a hierarchically ordered world, was the
position he assigned to man. (...) Potentially, man was what he had been before the fall
of Adam: under God, lord and master of Creation. This exaltation of man as the magus
was a special form of the Renaissance tendency to glorify man. Hence the Agrippan
picture of the universe assigned an important position to man as center of all being, link
between the material and spiritual worlds, and master of all the forces of the created
world.13

Although the existing interpretations of what exactly man’s exaltation implies may vary to a

considerable degree, Nauert’s basic idea appears to be unequivocally accepted among the present-day

scholars dealing with Renaissance esotericism and Agrippa in particular. Also, there seems to be a wide
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agreement concerning at least one fundamental aspect of this peculiar Renaissance exaltation, namely

that it aimed at the restoration of man’s original ontological status, or “the return to prelapsarian

12
Frances Yates, Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition (London: Routledge Classics, 2002), 144.
13
Nauert, Agrippa and the Crisis of Renaissance Thought, 279. The term “exaltation,” mentioned here fortuitously, has
been made into one of the synonyms for “deification” and fully developed as a concept by György E. Szőnyi in his
monograph on John Dee (see note 8).

16
 perfection”14—a goal undoubtedly shared by many sincere adherents to mainstream Christianity too.

Both ideas, that of a “prelapsarian perfection” and a “return” to it, revolve around and depend upon the

various notions of man construed both by the Renaissance syncretists and orthodox Christians. In other

words, it is precisely the Renaissance ideas of man’s nature that determined the ways his exaltation was

to be understood and, ultimately, sought for in one’s vita activa. Various aspects of this problem have

been dealt with by a number of Agrippan scholars, but usually only in passing and as an integral part of

other problems. With my study I intend to offer a thorough, more systematic approach to Agrippa’s

anthropology.

I have already argued that the main driving force behind the “Christian magus” as perceived by

Cornelius Agrippa is his desire for spiritual ascension or deification.15 As such, this desire or urge

decisively concentrates on man and his unique position (often termed dignitas by Renaissance authors),

as programmatically delineated by Pico della Mirandola in his famous Oratio de hominis dignitate.

Agrippa himself repeatedly stresses the importance of what he terms hominis dignificatio for his

project of magical ascension.16 Thus a detailed examination of Agrippa’s views on man as a uniquely

privileged creature in the universe might shed some additional light on this murky area of intermingled

modes of human spirituality. It could also provide a more nuanced insight into Agrippa’s understanding

(or various registers of understanding) of categories such as “magic,” “demonic,” “orthodoxy,” or, for
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14
Vittoria Perrone Compagni, “’Dispersa Intentio.’ Alchemy, Magic and Scepticism in Agrippa,” Early Science and
Medicine, Vol. 5, No. 2, Alchemy and Hermeticism (2000): 160–77, quote on 166. Nauert, Agrippa, 126, speaks of “a
mystical illumination of the soul” as the main emphasis in the De Occulta Philosophia.
15
Noel Putnik, The Pious Impiety of Agrippa’s Magic: Two Conflicting Notions of Ascension in the Works of Cornelius
Agrippa (Saarbruücken: VDM Verlag Dr. Müller, 2010). The book is closely based on my MA thesis.
16
See, for instance, Agrippa, De occulta philosophia, 406–8 (Book III, Chapter 3, titled Quae dignificatio requiritur ut quis
evadat in verum magum et mirandorum operatorem—“What dignification is required that one may be a true magician and a
worker of miracles”). This chapter clearly shows the importance of Agrippa’s anthropological perspective for his entire
magical program. While dignitas was perceived as an inborn capacity of the human being, dignificatio was a process aimed
at awaking it.

17
 that matter, “Christianity” itself.17 When speaking of Cornelius Agrippa, these categories are often

taken as self-explanatory, but it needs to be examined in what ways they correspond to the second-

order terms articulated by various scholarly interpretations.

As will be demonstrated in my overview of the relevant scholarship, the hypotheses and

scholarly positions concerning the “Agrippan question” are often based on—or at least heavily

influenced by—the underlying assumption of mutual exclusiveness between the intellectual paradigms

in question. In other words, they operate with the clearly distinct categories of “(Neo)Platonic,”

“Hermetic,” “magical” (that is, “pagan” or “unorthodox”) versus “Christian” and “orthodox.” In their

extreme, they presume a sharp incompatibility or even irreconcilable enmity between the spiritual

traditions indicated or implied by these labels. Such position is aptly formulated by Wouter

Hanegraaff’s remark on E. D. Colberg’s notion of “Platonisch-Hermetisches Christenthum”: “[O]n

closer scrutiny, we appear to be dealing with a very uneasy marriage (or, if one prefers, a series of only

partly successful marriage attempts) between two strongly different, even logically incompatible

intellectual paradigms or styles of thinking.”18

It is certainly difficult to challenge claims such as this one. In the perspective of the firmly

established intellectual, cultural, and societal categories in question it simply reflects a historical

datum. The doctrinal consolidation of the Roman Church had been completed, with its main dogmas

more or less firmly fixed and institutionalized, centuries before the appearance of the Renaissance
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17
Here one might call to mind the exceptionally useful analytical concept of “micro-Christendoms” introduced by Peter
Brown, The Rise of Western Christendom: Triumph and Diversity, A.D. 200–1000 (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2003),
13–17, 355–79. Although not directly applicable in this context, it gives a hint of possible new ways of conceptualizing
various “Christianities” or “Christian identities” in Agrippa’s time.
18
Hanegraaff, Esotericism and the Academy, 192. Hanegraaff actually speaks of a dichotomy between Platonism and
Hermetism, but his remark might as well be applied to a more profound rift between the basic Neoplatonic and Hermetic
notions of man on the one side and the Judeo-Christian on the other. A Lutheran theologian, Ehregott Daniel Colberg
(1659–1698) wrote a polemical treatise titled Das Platonisch-Hermetische Christenthum, fiercely attacking all syncretistic
theologies implied by the title. According to Hanegraaff, this work was the first to outline “a complete and internally
consistent historiographical concept that connected everything nowadays studied under that rubric. (…) ‘Platonic-Hermetic
Christianity’ emerged from Colberg’s book as a specific religious domain with an identity of its own” (108).

18
 syncretists. As one of the competitive modes of late antique spirituality, Hermetism had lost its main

battles long before Agrippa and his peers dreamt of their grand syntheses. It would make no sense to

argue that in some parallel universe or some sort of alternative history a “marriage” between

Christianity and Hermetism would have been a happier story. On the other hand, such apodictic claims

of incompatibility appear to be insufficient to fully account for syncretists like Agrippa, who—unlike,

for instance, Georgios Gemistos Plethon—cherished fervent Christian convictions and did not even

consider fully replacing them with “something better.”19 Should one then dismiss the problem of

“Platonic-Hermetic Christianity” by simply concluding that these and numerous other adherents to

heterodoxy were the victims of grave illusions concerning the prospects of their attempted syntheses?

In a positivist, teleological scholarly perspective the answer would be yes. In the perspective of

religious pluralism and hybrid identities that I propose to take, it is obviously no. Unhappy marriages

often reveal more about people than the happy ones. After all, the main hermeneutic challenges lie not

so much in evaluating the results of any attempted religious synthesis as they do in elucidating the

impulses and motives behind it. In the case of Christian Neoplatonists, Christian Hermetists, Christian

Kabbalists and the like, it all boils down to a simple but daunting question: What is it that makes a

person experience what I term the insufficiency of the Revelation?20 In other words, what makes one’s

religious experience “worn-out,” devoid of its necessary mysterium tremendum? Finally, what is it that

makes one feel entitled to or capable of “enriching” it?21 And how far can one go in this process of
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19
Plethon (c. 1355–1452/1454) advocated the radical abandonment of Christianity and the return to the Greek Olympian
gods interpreted through Zoroastrianism as a sort of new universal religion. His profound knowledge was appealing to the
intellectuals of Florence, but his open anti-Christian sentiments eventually made him unfit for Ficino’s project of re-
establishing the prisca theologia; see John Monfasani, “Marsilio Ficino and the Plato–Aristotle Controversy,” in: Michael J.
B. Allen, Valery Rees, ed., Marsilio Ficino: His Theology, His Philosophy, His Legacy (Leiden: Brill, 2002): 179–202;
Niketas Siniossoglou, Radical Platonism in Byzantium: Illumination and Utopia in Gemistos Plethon (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2011), 163–326.
20
The capitalized first letter restricts this term to Jesus Christ’s revelation as narrated in the New Testament in contrast to
any other notion or tradition of divine revelation.
21
Two striking examples can illustrate my point. In his small treatise titled Dehortatio gentilis theologiae (A dissuasion
against pagan theology) Agrippa speaks about cleaning up the pagan literature until it fits into Christian learning so that it

19
 “enriching” and still consider oneself a true adherent to the same creed?22 All these questions lead to

the main goal of my thesis: to ascertain through the lenses of anthropology what kind of a Christian—

or a Platonist, for that matter—Cornelius Agrippa was, at least based on the image he projected through

his writings.

Demarcational boundaries and terminological considerations

Thus, along with asking the above-mentioned questions, I believe it is important to further clarify the

interpretive categories one chooses to apply to the problem, as well as the very selection of these

categories. In the case of Agrippa and his “split position,” it above all means examining what the

German humanist could have meant when he used labels such as magus, Christianus or Platonicus. At

this point one might recall Paul Oskar Kristeller’s insightful remark on the problem:

Yet if we examine the actual ideas of those thinkers who have been called Platonists by
themselves or by others, we do no only find, as might be expected, a series of different
interpretations and reinterpretations of Plato’s teachings and writings. We are also
confronted with the puzzling fact that different Platonists have selected, emphasized,
and developed different doctrines or passages from Plato’s works. Hardly a single notion
which we associate with Plato has been held by all Platonists.23

In Agrippa’s case, what appears as a major problem is to discern to what extent the notion of

split or crisis has been imposed upon him and his work by the various interpretive models and terms

can “enrich the Church of God” (ecclesiam Dei locupletare); quoted and translated by Marc van der Poel, Cornelius
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Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian and his Declamations (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 25. A second example: in his famous
Kabbalistic conclusions Pico della Mirandola ascertains that “no science offers greater assurance of Christ’s divinity than
magic and the cabala” (Nulla est scientia, quae nos magis certificet de diuinitate Christi, quam Magia & Cabala); quoted
and translated by Wayne Shumaker, The Occult Sciences in the Renaissance. A Study in Intellectual Patterns (Berkeley, Los
Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1972), 16.
22
In this regard it is worth mentioning that Marc van der Poel speaks of “the uncertainties of the revelation” as Agrippa’s
main field of interest; see Van der Poel, Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian, 264. According to Van der Poel, Agrippa
“embraces a theology which confines itself to the study of those elements in Christian revelation which remain uncertain”
(ibid.). In my opinion, “uncertainty” is an understatement in Agrippa’s case; more on this in Chapter Five.
23
Kristeller, Renaissance Thought, 48. Of all Renaissance “Platonists,” this pertains primarily to Marsilio Ficino, the main
translator of Plato and antique Neoplatonists. As Carol Kaske and John Clark note, his repeated claims to be merely
translating Plato and Platonists “is a complex one, in that, first, the line between commentaries and original works was
blurred”—Marsilio Ficino, Three Books on Life, Carol V. Kaske and John R. Clark, ed. and tr. (Tempe, AR: Medieval &
Renaissance Texts and Studies, 1998), 27.

20
 scholars have applied. The problem can be approached in a variety of ways, but what I propose as the

focal point in this work is the examination of Agrippa’s anthropological concepts. Arguably, the human

being is the crux of the author’s interest in all his works, either as a dignified magician (in the De

occulta philosophia), or as one who seeks various ways to know God (the De triplici ratione), or even

one who sees only a single way to God (the De vanitate). It is always about what human beings can do

or know or achieve in their spiritual quest. In other words, Agrippa’s perspective, as befits a

Renaissance humanist, is strongly anthropocentric, albeit in ways greatly different from how Jakob

Burckhardt construed this notion.24 One could even speculate that the two key words in Agrippa’s opus,

had he been able to coin second-order terms the way modern scholars do, would have been ascension

and epistemology. Both are anthropocentric to the core.

As I already mentioned above, what I have in mind by Agrippa’s “anthropological concepts” is

a complex set of beliefs, notions, and doctrines concerning the self, personhood, man’s potentials and

natural propensities, his ontological status, as well as a whole range of questions pertaining to the

relations between body and soul. Who or what is it that attains ascension, be it magical or spiritual?25 Is

ascension attained in spiritu or in corpore, during one’s lifetime (in statu viatoris) or in the afterlife (in

patria)?26 What is the self and is it any different from the carrier(s) of the self? What is it that survives

in the afterlife and is redeemed or condemned (if at all) in the eschaton, and what is the role of

temporality in relation to man’s ontological position? In my opinion, these issues form the core of all
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24
Agrippa’s pronounced anthropocentrism and his personal record of anti-institutional attitudes could indeed be seen as
exemplary of the Burckhardtian notion of individualism. However, on Burckhardt’s construct of “Renaissance
individualism” and the supposed emergence of what he termed geistiges Individuum see John Jeffries Martin, Myths of
Renaissance Individualism (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004), 4–7. In contrast to Burckhardt’s idealized image of the
“Renaissance man,” Martin points out that “new interpretations of the Renaissance ‘self’ … have begun to see the
Renaissance individual not as an autonomous agent or a willful protagonist … but rather as the harbinger of the postmodern
ego: fragmented, divided” (5). Agrippa’s case seems to fit this perspective rather well.
25
For an examination of the similarities and differences between these two modes of ascension see my work, Putnik, The
Pious Impiety, passim.
26
Or, to use I. P. Culianu’s terminology, is it cathartic or eschatological? See Ioan Petru Culianu, Psychanodia I (Leiden:
Brill, 1983), 10–15.

21
 Agrippa’s “magical” and “Christian” convictions alike and can be regarded as the nexus between these

two facets of his thought. I also emphasize that by “Agrippa’s anthropology” I hypothesize only one

subtype of what might be provisionally termed the spiritual anthropology of Renaissance syncretists.27

Certainly, such a complex topic requires a cross-disciplinary approach marked by a

considerable degree of methodological pluralism. However, my initial approach is decidedly

philological and historiographical. I hold that a careful philological examination and historical

contextualization of the terms and concepts related to Agrippa’s anthropology should be the basis for

any further interpretations that fall within the broader boundaries of intellectual history or the history of

ideas. Thus, a textual and semantic analysis—which is practically inseparable from what is nowadays

known as discourse analysis—lies at the heart of my thesis. To certain limited extent I support my

philological research with various analytical tools offered by literary theory to examine the complex

processes of philosophical and theological re-contextualization and appropriation which Agrippa

employed while building his synthesis. In other words, I scrutinize the ways Agrippa read his sources

and, consequently, the ways he utilized them in his own writing. Such an approach should enable a

better assessment of Agrippa’s referencing and rhetorical strategies, which were of crucial importance

in his attempts at making Hermes Trismegistos and Jesus Christ theologically compatible, or at least

not openly inimical.

However, there still needs to be determined a conceptual umbrella, a scholarly field both broad
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enough and specialized enough to encompass different methodological approaches to Agrippa and

unify them in their ultimate purpose. I believe that a convenient overarching disciplinal area in this

27
As other modes of Renaissance “spiritual anthropology” I can mention Marsilio Ficino’s emphasis on the immortal soul
as discussed in his Theologia Platonica or Lodovico Lazzarelli’s doctrine of spiritual regeneration delineated in his Crater
Hermetis. These works will be considered in the course of my analysis. Although the classical, systematic “source-hunt” is
not the purpose of this work, pointing to numerous conceptual ties that bind Agrippa with various other authors is an
integral part of my examination. In any case, this territory has already been extensively charted: see, for instance, Nauert,
Agrippa, 122–27, or Perrone Compagni’s annotations to her critical edition of the De occulta philosophia.

22
 sense can be the academic study of Western esotericism as a newly developed branch of religious

studies. The comprehensive character of this nascent academic field has been formulated by Wouter

Hanegraaff in the following way:

From a strictly historical perspective, Western esotericism is used as a container concept

encompassing a complex of interrelated currents and traditions from the early modern
period up to the present day, the historical origin and foundation of which lies in the
syncretistic phenomenon of Renaissance ‘hermeticism’. (…) When [scholars] refer to
their domain of study by the term “esotericism” they do not mean some kind of
universal and trans-historical sui generis phenomenon (analogous to the “sacred” in
religious studies), but a certain number of historical currents and traditions in western
culture that are available for study regardless of how they are valuated.28

In what sense can one label Cornelius Agrippa as an esoteric writer? I introduce this term aware

of the fact that it carries different meanings in different contexts and tends to be easily misunderstood

or even rejected in academia.29 Wouter Hanegraaff distinguishes between two aspects of “esotericism”

as a scholarly, second-order term, defining them as a typological and a historical construct. 30 As such,

this term can be usefully applied to Agrippa’s work in both senses:

1) As a typological construct, since Agrippa explicitly associates his teachings with the notion

of “secrecy” and considers them as a “certain kind of salvific knowledge [reserved] for a selected elite

of initiated disciples;”31 also, since he explicitly separates “inner mysteries of religion” from their

28
Wouter J. Hanegraaff, “Some Remarks on the Study of Western Esotericism,” Theosophical History, Vol. VII, 6 (April
1999), 223–24; 225. On the other hand, Christopher Lehrich views this new academic field as an unnecessary attempt to
defend studies of magic, since by constructing a narrowly delimited discipline scholars tend to “shut off collaboration and
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criticism from the ‘outside’”: see Christopher I. Lehrich, The Occult Mind. Magic in Theory and Practice (Ithaca and
London: Cornell University Press, 2007), xiv. Aware of this criticism, I will explain why I think the framework of this new
discipline is applicable to and useful for the present study of Cornelius Agrippa.
29
Stephen Clucas, for instance, calls for the outright rejection of the term “esotericism” viewing it as anachronic and
misleadingly ahistorical; see Clucas, “John Dee's Occultism: Magical Exaltation through Powerful Signs by György E.
Szőnyi” (review), Isis, Vol. 99, No. 4 (December 2008): 830–31. This is a surprisingly flawed argument: modern
scholarship is replete with second-order terms, which are almost inevitably anachronic. Even the substantive “occultism”
originated as a neologism only in the nineteenth century. Christopher Lehrich too seems reluctant towards the use of the
term “esotericism” (Lehrich, The Language of Angels and Demons, 159–64), but his reluctance is based on Antoine
Faivre’s by now largely discarded notion of it and he does not reject the term itself.
30
Wouter J. Hanegraaff (ed.), Dictionary of Gnosis & Western Esotericism (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2006), 337–39.
31
Ibid., 337. The most well-known examples are Agrippa’s letter (Epist. III, 56, Opera, 759–60) in which he speaks of a
“secret key” to knowledge, and Trithemius’ advice to Agrippa to “communicate vulgar things to vulgar friends, but higher
and more arcane matters to higher and secret friends only” (Epist. I, 24, Opera, 623).

23
 “external manifestations”;32

2) As a historical construct, since Agrippa’s teachings, comprising the main elements of

Neoplatonism, Hermetism, and Christian Kabbalah, clearly belong to “specific currents in Western

culture that display certain similarities and are historically related.”33

Given the specific features of esotericism and its past academic treatment (or, rather, the lack of

treatment) as “rejected knowledge,” it has been recognized by a number of scholars that this peculiar

and not easily definable field requires a specialized cross-disciplinary approach. Thanks to the

invaluable efforts of Thorndike, Walker, Yates, Zambelli, and many other scholars up to the present

day, such an approach has been developed in various directions over the last several decades. Speaking

of this new field that connects numerous disciplines and fills in a large gap in the religious and

intellectual history of the West, Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke formulates its purpose and scope in the

following way:

Far from treating esotericism as a “rejected form of knowledge,” specialist scholars of

the subject seek instead to distinguish the intrinsic philosophical and religious
characteristics that attend esoteric spirituality. They are also concerned to document the
history of esotericism as a particular form of spirituality, which has characterized
Western thought in various schools and movements from late antiquity through the
Renaissance and Reformation and into the present. Through such a historical approach,
it is possible to examine the cultural and social circumstances that favour the emergence
of esotericism as a world-view.34

If his emphasis on “the intrinsic characteristics” and “a particular form of spirituality” are taken
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with some caution, Goodrick-Clarke’s formulation applies in Agrippa’s case too. “Magic” in Agrippa is

a blanket-term denoting a wide range of cultural, intellectual, and religious phenomena that do not

32
Hanegraaff (ed.), Dictionary of Gnosis & Western Esotericism, 337. Agrippa views religion in whole as “a certain
discipline of external holy things and ceremonies by which we are admonished of internal and spiritual things” (De occulta
philosophia III, 4). See also De vanitate, Ch. 60, where Agrippa extols “inwardness in religion” as opposed to “external
ceremonies.” In this regard see also Nauert, Agrippa, 181–82.
33
Hanegraaff (ed.), Dictionary of Gnosis & Western Esotericism, 337. This is the point of agreement among all the scholars
dealing with Agrippa and needs no specific examples.
34
Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke, The Western Esoteric Traditions. A Historical Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2008), 4.

24
 always have the same characteristics, scope or purpose. Thus, attempts to define Agrippan magic as

such might look like fishing out small fish by throwing a net with wide meshes. At least to some extent,

introducing another term would make it easier to cope with this old scholarly conundrum.35

But what about the term “occultism”? If Agrippa calls his philosophy “occult” and not

“esoteric,” what is the need for the latter at all? One might argue that by introducing a term for

something that already has one I neglect the principle of Occam’s razor. And indeed, the term

“esotericism” is not necessary, but it is useful. There are several points to be made in this regard.

First, “esotericism” is no more anachronic than “occultism” since both nouns were coined in the

nineteenth century.36 Moreover, in its current scholarly usage, “occultism” is mostly used to refer

“specifically to 19th-century developments within the general history of Western esotericism, as well as

their derivations through the 20th century.”37 Thus anyone who attemps to avoid the term “magic” by

referring to Agrippa’s teachings as “occultism” faces the same accusation of falling into anachronism.

Certainly, this does not pertain to the adjective “occult,” which I do not reject but merely complement

with the terms esoteric and esotericism, and this for the following reasons.

A scholarly term should convey as fully and unequivocally as possible the characteristics of the

phenomenon it is attached to. The lexical family of terms based on the verb occulere/occultare conveys

a broad and vague meaning of something that is hidden, as evident from Agrippa’s treatment of the so-

called virtutes occultae, “occult virtues” (which can refer to practically anything that is temporarily or
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permanently beyond man’s sensory perception and rational cognition). Agrippa’s philosophy is

35
On the daunting difficulties of defining magic see a detailed discussion of Benedek Láng, Unlocked Books. Manuscripts
of Learned Magic in the Medieval Libraries of Central Europe (University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University
Press, 2008), 17–43. “Apparently,” writes Láng, “the notion of magic, with all its historical, psychological, ethnological,
sociological, and scientific aspects and modifications, eludes every attempt at one final and exact definition” (19).
36
Hanegraaff (ed.), Dictionary of Gnosis & Western Esotericism, 884–89. Both Classical and Medieval Latin know the
verbs occulere and occultare (“to conceal, hide”) and the adjective occultus (“hidden”), but not the noun occultismus; see
LS, 1251–52, BLS, 631. (For the list of abbreviations see the bibliographical section at the end of this work.)
37
Hanegraaff (ed.), Dictionary of Gnosis & Western Esotericism, 888. However, it should be noted that that the
terminological problems in this field are far from being settled in the ongoing scholarly debates, on which see Hanegraaff’s
Introduction, ibid., x–xi.

25
 “occult” because it is based on such virtues and because it is hidden from and unknown to most people.

However, the interpretive power of the term is more or less exhausted with this notion of secrecy and

mystery.38 On the other hand, the lexical family stemming from the Classical Greek adjective

ἐσωτερικός (“inward,” as opposed to ἐξωτερικός, “outward”39) carries a stronger interpretive power

based on the dichotomy between the internal and the external. As I will show in my analysis, Agrippa’s

religious thought is decisively marked by this pair of opposites (the inner vs. the outer man; the internal

vs. the external religion), which, in my opinion, justifies the use of the lables esoteric and esotericism.

This is how I employ this term throughout my examination, in addition to its more general range of

meanings as the historical construct explained above. I do not take esotericism to be a sui generis

phenomenon, as might be suspected from the way Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke discusses it in the above-

quoted passage. I do not attach any intrinsic qualities to esotericism as something entirely different

from religion and philosophy. My approach is decisively “etic” and I use the term merely as an

analytical tool bereft of its rich non-scholarly load.40

Another analytical advantage of the term “esotericism” is that it tends to be less directly

associated with magic than the term “occultism,” which is often taken almost as its synonym. On the

other hand, as mentioned above, esotericism implies stronger connections to religion. This will be of

considerable importance in my analysis as I will demonstrate that Agrippa’s understanding of magic

was profoundly religious.

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Finally, I occasionally use another apparently vague term, “syncretism,”41 which shows a

double advantage: first, it calls to mind the basic conceptual framework in which Agrippa operated

38
In fact, Agrippa evidently uses the term occulta philosophia instead of magia as being less offensive, but with the idea
that the two are synonymous.
39
LSJ, 700, 601.
40
The reader will notice that large parts of my analysis do not require the use of this term at all. It is true, but the
overarching context and my final interpretation, as becomes evident in Chapter Five, rely heavily on the opposition between
the internal and the external, thus calling for the use of the term “esoteric.”
41
In this I follow Nauert, e. g. Agrippa, 125, and a number of other scholars too.

26
 (that of a postulated spiritual synthesis) and, second, it enables me to skip a terminological trap related

to the problem of determining the “exact” affiliation of the Renaissance syncretists: namely, if they

should be termed Platonists, Neoplatonists, Hermetists, Hermetic Neoplatonists, Christian Kabbalists

or in some other, perhaps even more convoluted way.42 Hence I sometimes use the phrases

“Renaissance syncretism” and “Renaissance esotericism” as second-order blanket terms for all the

alternatives mentioned here. These terms, when used in the above-delineated sense, provide a useful

umbrella concept that surpasses the more narrowly construed phenomena such as magic, astrology,

alchemy, etc. Thus, at least in Agrippa’s case, both “syncretism” and “esotericism” are meant to

encompass all the main sources of his spiritual and intellectual inspiration as punctually delineated by

Charles Nauert: medieval magic, Neoplatonism, Kabbalah, Hermetism, but in a certain sense, which

will be discussed in this thesis, also Biblical Christianity with a significant degree of Christian

antirationalism.43

The problem of selecting the most appropriate term for the Renaissance syncretists has much to

do with one of the main historical sources of their inspiration, the Late Antiquity with its perplexing

religious and philosophical pluralism. One of the main intellectual currents in that age marked by a

thorough-going syncretism of religion, philosophy, and mythology was Plato’s philosophy interpreted

through various eastern traditions. In Agrippa’s case, the most influential interpretations were those of

the Neoplatonists (above all Plotinus and Iamblichus) and the Corpus Hermeticum, especially in their
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42
Speaking of terminological nuances, I adopt Hanegraaff’s distinction between “Hermetism,” understood as referring
strictly to the collection of the late antique Hermetic treatises and their reception history, and the frequently used
“Hermeticism,” a vague category serving as a blanket term for a wide variety of esoteric currents; see Hanegraaff,
Esotericism and the Academy, 332 n. 283.
43
Nauert, Agrippa, 116–56. As for the Christian appropriation of the Jewish Kabbalah, I use that particular term, although
the forms “Cabala” and “Kabbalism” are also in use among scholars. In this I follow Moshe Idel, e.g., his “Revelation and
the ‘Crisis of Tradition’ in Kabbalah: 1475–1575” in Constructing Tradition. Means and Myths of Transition in Western
Esotericism, ed. Andreas B. Kilcher (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2010): 255-292. The form “Christian Cabala” can be found, e.g.,
in Joseph Leon Blau, The Christian Interpretation of the Cabala in the Renaissance (New York: Columbia University
Press, 1944), and “Christian Kabbalism” in Francis Mercury van Helmont, Sketch of Christian Kabbalism, tr. and ed. Sheila
A. Spector (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2012).

27
 various Christianized forms. The same goes for Agrippa’s anthropology, which will be examined in my

thesis with regard to these major fields of religious and philosophical thought.44

The sources

Out of a considerably large number of Agrippa’s works, I focus on those in which he expresses his

anthropological views in some detail. Above all, this pertains to his famous occult encyclopedia. As for

the other sources, I have in mind those texts that must have shaped Agrippa’s own anthropological

views according to what is known about him both from the biographical evidence and from his own

works. They are occasionally discussed in the course of my analysis and provide a comparative

perspective.

De occulta philosophia libri tres (1510/1533)

The De occulta philosophia is by far the most important source for examining Agrippa’s ideas of man

since it is in this work that the author elaborates on some crucial concepts such as the microcosm–

macrocosm correspondences, the emanational origin of man’s presence in this world, the structure of

human psyche, etc. Especially relevant in this regard are Books I and III, dealing with natural and

ceremonial magic respectively. I base my analysis on the indispensable critical edition provided by

Vittoria Perrone Compagni, which is all the more precious since it clearly indicates the textual

differences between the 1510 unpublished draft and 1533 edition of the work. These differences are
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sometimes important for the analysis as they reveal changes in Agrippa’s points of view, attitudes, and

intellectual priorities over time. On the other side, they also emphasize those aspects of Agrippa’s

thought that did not change in the course of his life. Moreover, Perrone Compagni has done most of the

44
My analysis does not include Agrippa’s readings in Jewish and Christian Kabbalah for I lack the required competence in
Hebrew. However, as demonstrate in the analysis, I maintain that the main traits of Agrippa’s anthropology can be
sufficiently delineated by reference to his Neoplatonic and Hermetic sources. After all, Neoplatonism was one of the
formative components of medieval Jewish mysticism too, on which see e.g. Idel, Ascensions on High, 16; 41–46.

28
 necessary source hunt, upon which I rely gratefully and abundantly.

As I put particular emphasis on the philological aspects of my analysis, I juxtapose each Latin

quotation with its 1651 English translation made by a J. F. (often identified as James Freake) and partly

redacted by Donald Tyson.45 Interestingly enough, the translator’s renditions and word choices

occasionally reveal important problems related to some of my main research questions.

My work is thus primarily concerned with Agrippa’s occult encyclopedia. However, it is a

difficult work to analyze due to the author’s peculiar mode of indirect argumentation: he restricts his

authorial role to merely presenting different beliefs and opinions while too often he avoids taking a

clear stance himself.46 Thus Philip Beitchman conveniently calls him “an inveterate name dropper”

whose works sometimes seem like annotated lists of ancient authors.47 In fact, as I discuss later,

Agrippa deliberately uses the strategy of piling up endless enumerations and all sorts of detailed yet all

too vague information in order to conceal his own voice.48

Another problem to be taken into account is the unusual diachronic perspective of the De

occulta philosophia—a work that acquired its final form after more than two decades of reshaping,

rewriting, and rethinking. How should one read a work with such a pronounced temporal perspective?

Virgil took ten years to complete his Aeneid, and yet, he was unable to finish it. The core of the

problem is, of course, Agrippa’s well-known recantation of his own occult work, which first appeared
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45
In doing so, I emulate Marc van der Poel with his way of citing. It leads to a somewhat complicated but necessary way of
referencing, which I will be using in the remaining part of my thesis: first, the number of the book and the chapter; next, the
page in Perrone Compagni’s critical edition abbreviated as DOP; finally, the page in the Freake–Tyson translation
abbreviated as Tyson; e. g. III 36, DOP 507, Tyson 579. This, I hope, will facilitate the reader’s orientation in Agrippa’s
work in both languages. As for the identity of J. F., see Tyson, xl.
46
He makes sure to emphasize this point strongly enough in his preface (Ad lectorem): nam et ego vobis illa non probo, sed
narro (“for I do not approve of them, but declare them to you”); admonui vos multa me narrando potius quam affirmando
scripsisse (“I have admonished you that I have written many things rather narratively than affirmatively”) (DOP 65–66,
Tyson li).
47
Philip Beitchman, Alchemy of the Word. Cabala of the Renaissance (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1998), 119.
48
Thus Christopher Lehrich, The Language of Angels and Demons, 127, rightly points out that it is typical of the De occulta
philosophia that the author’s crucial phrases “should be hidden in the middle of a largely unremarkable chapter.” See the
overview of relevant scholarly contributions, below.

29
 in Chapter 48 of his other main writing, the De vanitate, but was later appended by the author himself

to all the published editions of the De occulta philosophia.49 I briefly discuss Agrippa’s recantation in

the biographical section and in the overview of recent scholarship. In view of much of this scholarship,

the recantation is simply not what it appears to be on the face of it.

Agrippa’s anthropological treatises (1515–18)

In addition to his occult encyclopedia, Agrippa’s three smaller treatises that I label “anthropological”

are of paramount importance for my examination as they discuss in detail various points related to man

and his position in this world. These are the De triplici ratione cognoscendi Deum (On Three Ways of

Knowing God), the unfinished Dialogus de homine (A Dialogue on Man), and the De originali peccato

(On Original Sin). The first two were authored about 1515–16, during Agrippa’s important stay in Italy,

and the last one in 1518, after he moved to Metz.50 These works are characterized by a more

straightforward argumentation and a much simpler structure. They are also an important testimony to

the ways Agrippa’s intellectual horizons developed over time as the period of their origin falls roughly

halfway between the creation of the juvenile version of De occulta philosophia and that of De

vanitate.51 In contrast to their significance for understanding Agrippa’s anthropology, these minor

writings have so far received comparatively little scholarly attention.

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49
For more on Agrippa’s recantation see the biographical section, next chapter.
50
This dating is proposed by Marc van der Poel, Agrippa, The Humanist Theologian, 225–49, and Wouter Hanegraaff,
“Better than Magic. Cornelius Agrippa and Lazzarellian Hermetism,” Magic, Ritual, and Witchcraft , Vol. 4, No. 1
(Summer, 2009): 1–25. Alternately, Nauert places the De originali peccato in 1516.
51
Of these three treatises, only the De originali peccato is still without its critical edition; thus, I use the facsimile edition in
Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa von Nettesheim, Opera II (Hildesheim/New York: Georg Olms Verlag, 1970), 551–65. For the
other two I rely on the existing critical editions: Paola Zambelli, ed., “Agrippa di Nettesheim, Dialogus de homine,” Rivista
critica di storia della filosofia, XIII (1958); Vittoria Perrone Compagni, Ermetismo e Cristianesimo in Agrippa. Il “De
triplici ratione cognoscendi Deum” (Firenze: Edizioni Polistampa 2005). Perrone Compagni, ibid., 37, notes that the
Dialogus de homine is probably closely based on Agrippa’s lost lectures on Ficino’s Pimander that he gave in Pavia in
1515. See also Hanegraaff, “Better than Magic” 17.

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 De incertitudine et vanitate scientiarum atque artium (1526)

Although it is commonly regarded as one of Agrippa’s two most important works, I pay much less

attention to the De vanitate than to the above-mentioned writings: it treats anthropological issues

scarcely, and when it does, it is in the context of man’s epistemological limitations. Certainly,

epistemology cannot be separated from anthropology and I take into account the De vanitate whenever

necessary, but the focus of my research questions makes this work less relevant for me.52

The genre and literary peculiarities of the De vanitate still present serious analytical problems:

here, again, the main difficulty is how to elicit Agrippa’s own standpoint amid endless references to

various Christian and non-Christian authorities. His deliberately elusive strategy of argumentation

leaves plenty of room for interpretation. It has been a matter of long debates as how to approach and

interpret the German humanist’s fierce yet multifaceted rejection of all human arts and disciplines—

magic included—especially in the light of his other writings.

As discussed in my overview of relevant scholarship below, there seems to be a broad if not

universal consensus among present-day Agrippan scholars that the De vanitate does not plainly reject

magic as such. Along with other “arts” and “sciences,” it puts it into a proper epistemological

perspective in which there ought to be an external, divine reference point that makes these disciplines

not only licit but also meaningful.

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The structure of the dissertation

The main body of the dissertation is divided into five chapters. In Chapter One I provide a necessary

historical introduction with an emphasis on those aspects of Agrippa’s life and writings that I examine

more closely. In this chapter I also give a detailed overview of the relevant scholarship and discuss my

own approach and methodology with regard to the main research questions. Chapter Two deals with the

52
To my knowledge, there is no critical edition of De vanitate. Therefore, I use the facsimile edition in the Opera II, 1–310.

31
 basic tenets of Agrippa’s cosmology and cosmogony, which set the ground for his understanding of

man’s nature and ontological status in this world. In Chapter Three I analyse the core notions of

Agrippa’s anthropology, which are articulated in two triads: that of soul, body, and spirit, and of

sensitive soul, rational soul, and the mind. In Chapter Four I apply the results of my analysis to

Agrippa’s magical theory with the idea of elucidating the mechanisms lying behind different types of

magic. Based on my examination, I argue that Agrippa’s magical theory is intrinsically tied to his

religious self-identification. Finally, in Chapter Five I perform a more in-depth analysis of Agrippa’s

anthropological notions by examining his ideas on man’s fall and salvation, which are closely related to

his exegetical work. I use the results of my analysis to revisit the problem of Agrippa’s religious self-

identification and offer a new interpretation of the tense coexistence between his evident heterodoxy

and self-proclaimed orthodoxy.

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 CHAPTER ONE

THE HISTORICAL CONTEXT, PROBLEMS, METHODS

AGRIPPA’S LIFE AND MAIN WORKS

What follows is not an exhaustive account of Cornelius Agrippa’s rather turbulent life, but a necessary

contextualized chronology that aims to locate him more clearly in his time and space. 53 Some relevant

points of his biography will be considered more closely in the course of my analysis.

To some extent, certainly, Agrippa’s incoherent intellectual output could be explained away as a

mark of idiosyncrasy, but pursuing such a track would inevitably lead to over-simplification and

speculative psychologizing: much of what is nowadays viewed as the German occultist’s intellectual

inconsistency undoubtedly owes a great deal to a deeply disturbed and rapidly changing epoch he lived

in.54 Like so many others among his fellow humanists, Agrippa can be seen as a sort of early modern

Ahasver whose frequent travels and abrupt changes of residence made a decisive imprint on his life and

identity. As his biographer succinctly puts it, Agrippa “was involved in the intellectual currents of not

just one or two places, but of a whole succession of milieux. Except for his boyhood, he resided in no

country more than seven years, in no city as much as four.”55 No doubt, even such a minute

biographical detail portends considerable hermeneutic difficulties in facing the works of this

extraordinary character.
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53
This account mostly relies on Nauert, Agrippa, 8–115. To a large extent it also follows the biographical sketch given in
my own work, The Pious Impiety, 10–20. One might also consult the following works: Perrone Compagni’s “Introduction”
in DOP, 1–10; Van der Poel, Cornelius Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian, 15–49; Lehrich, The Language of Demons and
Angels, 25–32; Michaela Valente, “Agrippa, Heinrich Cornelius” in: Hanegraaff, Dictionary of Gnosis & Western
Esotericism, 4–8. Several years before his death Charles Nauert also provided a useful online biography of the German
occultist, see http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/agrippa-nettesheim/ [last accessed: 4/2/2016].
54
For a detailed discussion of the shifting cultural circumstances in the centuries surrounding Agrippa’s lifetime see Steven
Ozment, The Age of Reform 1250-1550. An Intellectual and Religious History of Late Medieval and Reformation Europe
(New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 1980). For an illuminating example of a “hybrid identity” shaped by such
circumstances see Natalie Z. Davis, Trickster Travels: A Sixteenth-Century Muslim between Worlds (New York: Hill and
Wang, 2006).
55
Nauert, Agrippa, 6.

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 The early years: education and encounters with important men

Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa von Nettesheim was born in the free imperial city of Cologne in 1486, in

the year in which Pico della Mirandola wrote his Oratio de hominis dignitate. It was the same year in

which the Hermetist “prophet” Giovanni Mercurio da Correggio appeared in Florence, where he was

arrested and humiliated by the order of none other than Lorenzo il Magnifico, the alleged patron of

Ficino’s “Platonic Academy”—an incident that epitomized all the contradictions and dangers of

pursuing an esoteric career in that day.56

It was during Agrippa’s early childhood that the mass expulsion of the Jews from Spain took

place. Many of them found their way to the Italian lands, where they took part in a newly emerging

scholarly network. This fervent new intellectual climate would prove to be of great importance for the

German humanist several decades later.

Agrippa’s parents most probably belonged to the upper bourgeoisie or lower nobility resident in

the city; in any case, they were able to provide for their son’s formal education at the University of

Cologne, where he matriculated in 1499—the year of Marsilio Ficino’s death—and received his

licentiate in arts in 1502. According to Agrippa’s own testimony, it was his parents who fostered his

early interest in occult arts and taught him the basics of astrology.57

Although not much is known about the period of Agrippa’ studies (there is no surviving

personal correspondence prior to 1507), there is no doubt that it was of pivotal importance for him at
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least in two ways. First, it was during his studies that Agrippa received a firm scholarly basis for his

future esoteric pursuits. He became closely acquainted with Pliny the Elder’s Naturalis Historia,

probably from hearing the lectures of the learned Johannes Rack von Sommerfeld. 58 His readings of

56
Wouter J. Hanegraaff, Ruud M. Bouthoorn, Lodovico Lazzarelli (1447-1500). The Hermetic Writings and Related
Documents (Tempe, Arizona: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2005), 33–35.
57
Agrippa’s remark in a letter to the abbot Trithemius; see Agrippa, Epistolae, I, 23, n.d., in Opera II, 702–3.
58
Nauert, Agrippa, 12. The loose, encyclopedic structure of the De occulta philosophia clearly betrays Pliny’s influence.

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 Pliny, as well as those of Albert the Great, a major native figure of Cologne and its university,

undoubtedly stirred his interest in natural philosophy and magia naturalis related to it.59 Due to the

activities of another of his teachers, Andreas Canterius, Agrippa discovered the Catalonian philosopher

and mystic Ramon Lull, one of the intellectual figures that became highly influential in his own

thought.

What is even more important in the context of my own examination is Agrippa’s exposure to a

particular “mode” of Christianity rooted at the Cologne University. As Charles Nauert points out, this

university was one of the chief centers of Thomism in the late fifteenth century. Interestingly enough,

there was a split in the faculty, but not between the antiqui and the moderni as elsewhere, but between

the Thomists, “who usually had the upper hand, and the Albertists, those who preferred the authority of

the great native doctor.”60 This split might have affected Agrippa in a specific way. As already

mentioned, his “Albertism” is mostly reduced to his interest in Albert’s natural philosophy. On the

other hand, Agrippa’s numerous polemical writings and religious controversies he was involved in later

in his life reveal a strong anti-Thomist position that he must have developed during his student days. In

other words, for Agrippa, the “official” theology of the Church, the one that he so often polemicized

with, was above all Thomist scholasticism.61 The doctrinal Christianity he so vehemently challenged

and refuted was mostly Thomism in its later, degenerated forms that he scathingly called logomachia.62
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59
Agrippa names Albert’s Speculum astronomiae as one of the first texts that he read on the subject of magic and astrology.
See his letter to Theodoricus, Bishop of Cyrene, Metz, 6 February 1518, quoted in Nauert, Agrippa, 12.
60
Nauert, Agrippa, 11–12. On the notions of antiqui and moderni in university and the scholastic documents of the fifteenth
century see William J. Courtenay, “Antiqui and Moderni in Late Medieval Thought,” Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol.
48, No. 1 (Jan. - Mar. 1987): 3–10.
61
Thus, when I examine the extent of Agrippa’s unorthodoxy, I usually take Aquinas as the standard of orthodoxy; see also
Frank Klaassen, The Transformations of Magic. Illicit Learned Magic in the Later Middle Ages and Renaissance
(University Park, PA: Penn State University Press, 2013), 188: “Aquinas’s corpus formed the core of moral theology in the
sixteenth century and, even for humanists, was very much the standard by which orthodoxy was measured.”
62
This is further confirmed by the fact that throughout his life Agrippa’s main theological opponents were the Dominicans.
See also Agrippa’s appeal to the Senate of Cologne, Bonn, 11 January 1533, Epist. VII, 26 (Opera II, 1035), in which “he
described the doctors of the university as slavish followers of Aristotle and Averroes, two pagan philosophers most hostile
to Christian teaching, and of Thomas and Albert, who taught the doctrines of the same pagans” (Nauert, Agrippa, 13). See

35
 There are some doubts about Agrippa’s further university degrees. He often claimed to have

doctorates in theology, canon and civil law, as well as in medicine. There are no documents proving all

these degrees, but Nauert leaves some room for the possibility that the German humanist could have

obtained some of them in the years preceding his earliest known letter (1507), in Paris, or during his

lengthy Italian period.63 As for his doctorate in theology, Agrippa explicitly claimed he had obtained it

in the course of his university lecturing in Dôle (see below).64 In any case, it is evident from many later

occasions in his life that Agrippa possessed a considerable knowledge in all these fields.

The year 1507 marks the beginning of Agrippa’s surviving correspondence. Thus we know that,

for reasons not entirely clear, he moved to Paris, where he soon entered the circle of French enthusiast

humanists such as Symphorien Champier and Charles de Bouelles. The reason for this move could

have been the continuation of his studies or a diplomatic mission on behalf of Emperor Maximilian I,

whose service Agrippa most probably entered after his studies in Cologne.65 During his stay in Paris

Agrippa apparently formed, or joined, a group of like-minded men interested in occult disciplines

which might have had some features of a secret society.66 By the time of his stay in this city Agrippa

was already closely acquainted with Marsilio Ficino’s Latin translations and works on Platonism and

Hermetism, as well as with those of Pico della Mirandola and Johann Reuchlin on the Kabbalah and its

Christian reinterpretation. It evidently follows from the fact that in 1509 Agrippa was offered the

opportunity to give a course of lectures at the University of Dôle on Reuchlin’s Kabbalistic treatise De
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verbo mirifico (“On the Miraculous Word,” 1494). This brought him an accusation from the local

also Van der Poel, Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian, 50–93, for Agrippa’s vehement anti-scholastic position. Van der Poel
notes though that Agrippa respected the three great masters of scholasticism: Albert, Aquinas, and Duns Scotus (58).
63
See his arguments in Nauert, Agrippa, 10–11.
64
Ibid., 26.
65
Maximiliano a prima aetate destinatus aliquandiu illi a minoribus secretibus fui (Epist. I, 21, Opera II, 1021); see also
Nauert, Agrippa, 14–15.
66
On the possible character of this society and its similarities to numerous esoteric “academies” of the Ficinian type, see
Nauert, Agrippa, 18–19.

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 Franciscans of being a judaizing heretic and spoiled his hopes for the academic career in Dôle. It also

marked the beginning of a long series of conflicts between Agrippa and clergymen that followed him

throughout his life. While in Dôle, he wrote his famous treatise titled De nobilitate et praecellentia

foeminei sexus (“On the Nobility and Superiority of the Female Sex”), composed at least partly with

the idea of winning the favor of Margaret of Austria, governor of Franche-Comté and the Low

Countries.67

The year 1510 was of fundamental importance for Cornelius Agrippa and his entire future work

as he met two men who would influence him profoundly and come to symbolize the two main tracks of

his lifelong interests. Firstly, he met Johann Trithemius, the abbot of Sponheim (at that time residing in

the monastery of St. James in Würzburg), a renowned theologian, humanist, and an already ill-famed

occultist himself. Agrippa visited Trithemius in Würzburg and discussed different occult matters with

him. The abbot encouraged the 23-year old man in his studies and advised him concerning a magical

treatise Agrippa had written (and even prepared for publishing, according to Paola Zambelli). It was the

juvenile version of his famous De occulta philosophia, which Agrippa dedicated to his spiritual tutor.68

Later that year, probably accompanying an imperial diplomatic mission, Agrippa traveled to

London, where he met John Colet, a leading English Erasmian humanist and dean of St. Paul’s

Cathedral in London. Agrippa attended Colet’s lectures on the Epistles of St. Paul. If Trithemius

fostered Agrippa’s further interest in the occult, John Colet did the same for Biblical studies, especially
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67
Blau calls this puzzling treatise a “political exercise,” thus indicating that Agrippa’s only intention was to secure
Margaret’s patronage: see Blau, The Christian Interpretation of the Cabala, 82. This broadly held attitude, however, fails to
account for what would be, in terms of theology, quite a strange way of winning a patron as conservative as the daughter of
Maximilian I (see below for Agrippa’s later experiences with this powerful figure). For a more in-depth examination of the
treatise, see Nauert, Agrippa, 27. As for more recent “feminist” approaches, see Barbara Newman, “Renaissance Feminism
and Esoteric Theology: the Case of Cornelius Agrippa”, Viator 24 (1993): 337–56. Newman rightly points out that “the
slippery genre of declamatio or paradox is responsible for much of Agrippa’s ambiguity” (338).
68
Agrippa did not publish the manuscript only because Trithemius advised him not to; on this “prescription of initiatic
silence” see Paola Zambelli, White Magic, Black Magic in the European Renaissance. From Ficino, Pico, Della Porta to
Trithemius, Agrippa, Bruno (Brill: Leiden/Boston, 2007), 187. On the master-apprentice relationship between Trithemius
and Agrippa, and their joint endeavor to cleanse magic from its ill fame, see Noel Brann, Trithemius and Magical Theology.
A Chapter in the Controversy over Occult Studies in Early Modern Europe (New York: SUNY Press, 1999), 152–56.

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 Pauline theology, as will be discussed later in this work. A clear indication of the scope of Colet’s

influence was Agrippa’s commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, unfortunately lost for us, which

best exemplifies the exegetical strand of the Nettesheimer’s thought.

Oriundus Colonia, educatione Italus: Аgrippa’s Italian period

This period lasted from 1511 to 1518. The Nettesheimer spent most of that time as captain in the army

of Maximilian I in northern Italy, and some of it as university lecturer, mainly in Pavia and Turin.

Agrippa’s Italian period was of pivotal importance for the formation of both his humanist and esoteric

perspectives as he was intensely exposed to a humanist culture shaped by the Florentine Neoplatonism

and Hermetism, as well as by the fervent tradition of the Kaballah and its Christian appropriations

mediated by many resident Jewish scholars and converts.69 In this he had a number of predecessors, the

northerners descending to Italy for inspiration, such as Celtis, Reuchlin, and Erasmus, but by the time

of Agrippa’s arrival the cradle of humanism was steeped in the chaos of the French-Italian wars.70

Nevertheless, apart from his military and diplomatic service, he managed to dedicate a considerable

amount of time to his esoteric studies and he quickly established fervent connections with a number of

like-minded scholars. The importance of these formative years spent in Italy was perhaps best

expressed by a friend of Agrippa, who in his letter to the German humanist described him as “being

from Cologne only by birth, but being an Italian by education.”71 As it would show later in his life,

“Italian” above all meant—Ficinian, Lazzarellian, and Mirandolean.

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The Nettesheimer was also engaged in the pursuit of a stable academic position—a goal that

69
As Nauert points out, most of his occultist friends and acquaintances in Italy are not known by name, the only exceptions
being the converted Jewish scholar Agostino Ricci and, possibly, his much more famous brother, the important religious
controversialist and translator Paolo Ricci, see Nauert, Agrippa, 41. Agrippa’s connection with the latter was suggested by
Zambelli, ed., Dialogus de homine, 52–53, whereas Nauert remains more skeptical in this regard.
70
See John. A. Marino, “Italy in the Long Sixteenth Century,” in Handbook of European History in the Later Middle Ages,
Renaissance, and Reformation, 1400–1600, ed. Thomas A. Brady, Jr., Heiko A. Oberman, and James D. Tracy (Leiden:
Brill, 1994), 331–67; Michael Mallett and Christine Shaw, The Italian Wars, 1494–1559 (London/New York: Routledge,
2012), 116–38.
71
Epist. III 15, Opera II, 730 (Amicus ad Agrippam): est oriundus Colonia, educatione Italus.

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 was destined to remain his unfulfilled dream. Thus, for instance, he was invited to lecture at the

University of Pavia on two occasions: first in 1512, when he lectured on Plato’s Symposium, and again

in 1515, when he taught a course on the Pimander, Ficino’s translation of the Corpus Hermeticum. The

only surviving part of that course is his introductory speech titled Oratio habita Papiae in praelectione

Hermetic Trismegisti De Potestate et Sapientia Dei.

Sometime between 1515 and 1517 Agrippa also lectured at the University of Turin, probably on

the Epistles of St. Paul. It was during his flight from Pavia, after the French victory at Marignano in

1515, that he lost his incomplete commentary on Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, found later by a student

of his, but ultimately—and most unfortunately—lost again.72 Towards the end of Agrippa’s stay in

Italy, in 1517, Reuchlin published his second major work on Christian Kabbalah, the De arte

cabalistica—a work that was to be added to the ever increasing list of both acknowledged and

unacknowledged references in Agrippa’s De occulta philosophia. Significantly, Agrippa’s readings in

the Italian period included Francesco Giorgio’s De harmonia mundi and Lodovico Lazzarelli’s Crater

Hermetis, a work that, according to Vittoria Perrone Compagni, the German humanist came across

sometime before 1516.73

Agrippa’s Italian period proved exceptionally important and fruitful for his own literary

production. Sometime around 1515, probably while lecturing on the Pimander, he wrote a short work

titled Dialogus de homine (Dialogue on the human race), which I examine in some detail later in my
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thesis.74 In 1516 Agrippa wrote a treatise titled Liber de triplici ratione cognoscendi Deum (On the

three ways of knowing God, hereafter: De triplici ratione) which he dedicated to Guglielmo Paleologo,

marquis of Monferrato, one of his patrons at the time. Both works treat various anthropological topics

72
Nauert, Agrippa, 51. The student who found it was Christoph Schylling of Lucerne. See also Van der Poel, Agrippa, The
Humanist Theologian, 21. Van der Poel emphasizes St. Paul’s theological influence on the young Agrippa.
73
Perrone Compagni, “Dispersa intentio,” 164.
74
The Dialogus de homine remained unpublished during Agrippa’s lifetime and has only survived in fragmentary form.
Agrippa incorporated parts of it in the final version of the De occulta philosophia.

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 and are thus of considerable importance for my analysis. Another short text dating roughly to the same

time is Agrippa’s Dehortatio gentilis theologiae (A dissuasion against pagan theology), written as a

discouragement to some friends of his who inquired about the teachings of Hermes Trismegistos. Here

already one finds an anticipation of the future rift created by Agrippa’s two major works: the

Dehortatio seems to refute the very foundations of the De triplici ratione. In any case, these three

works, along with the lost commentary of St. Paul, clearly exhibit the two parallel tracks of Agrippa’s

spiritual and intellectual involvement that he would pursue to the very end of his life. It was towards

the closure of Agrippa’s Italian period that Martin Luther posted his ninety-five theses. As if to witness

closely the development of a new major religious development, Agrippa decided to move to “the

spiritually upset North of Europe.”75 This move brought about a series of changes in his life and status.

For a start, it definitely marked the end of his university career.

Back to the North: the years of steady municipal service

Sometime around 1518 Agrippa moved to the free imperial city of Metz, where he had been offered the

position of public advocate and legal advisor to the magistrate. During his stay in Metz Agrippa

followed Luther’s activities with a considerable interest. 76 While in Metz he was also involved in two

important incidents: he rescued a peasant woman accused of witchcraft and debated with local

theologians and clergy over a brief treatise written by Jacques Lefèvre d’Étaples on the monogamy of

St. Anne.77 All of this added fuel to Agrippa’s steadily developing conflict with the Dominicans and
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Franciscans. Having spent two turbulent years in Metz and a short break in his hometown, Agrippa

moved to Geneva (1521-1523), and then to Fribourg (1523-1524). In both places he earned for living

75
Nauert, Agrippa, 154.
76
The questions of Agrippa’s loyalty to the Roman Catholic Church and his inclinations toward various reform movements
will be examined in some detail later in this work. As for his well-known explicit allegiance to Rome, see Van der Poel,
Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian, 133–36.
77
For a different view on Agrippa’s role in the witchcraft episode see Vera Hoorens, Hans Renders, “Heinrich Cornelius
Agrippa and Witchcraft: A Reappraisal,” Sixteenth Century Journal XLIII/1 (2012): 3–18. The authors argue that Agrippa
did believe in witchcraft and actually supported the capital punishment of witches.

40
 mostly as a practicing physician. Contrary to what he sought to achieve, these restless years saw him

change patrons and occupations quite frequently, the only constant being his growing reputation in

European occult and humanist circles. The plurality of Agrippa’s interests thus embraced things so

distant and hardly reconcilable such as magical and alchemical experiments, public humanist

engagement of the Erasmian type (clearly noticeable in Agrippa’s growing participation in the

“republic of letters”), as well as his overt interest in the various emerging forms of the Reformation,

including its radical branches.

The French period: a bitter life at the court

Ever since he left Italy Agrippa was unable to settle down for more than a year or two. Finally another

longer period of stability ensued, at least in terms of the place of abode, the one we might term

Agrippa’s French period. In 1524 he moved to Lyon, accepting the position of physician to Louise of

Savoy, the mother of King Francis I. Contrary to his expectations, however, Agrippa soon discovered

that it was not a promising position. First of all, his engagement in reality turned to be that of a court

astrologer, something Agrippa openly detested. Even worse, the Queen Mother proved to be negligent

of her physician and parsimonious concerning his salary. Before long, the renowned occultist found

himself hopelessly trapped in various intrigues and intricacies of courtly life he could not cope with

subtly enough. With practically no income at all, Agrippa grew increasingly bitter and frustrated, a fact
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his correspondence from the Lyon period shows quite clearly. It was in such circumstances that he

wrote, in 1526, the other of his two pivotal works, a fierce declamation titled De incertitudine et

vanitate scientiarum et artium (“On the Uncertainty and Vanity of Sciences and Arts”), modeled

consciously after Erasmus’s Praise of Folly. Not only did the famous magician attack magic in this

work, but he also explicitly recanted his involvement in magic. To what extent Agrippa’s grave

circumstances influenced the composition of that work is certainly a matter of interpretation, but the

41
 biographical epilogue is straightforward enough: his sharp tongue and careless criticism of Louise

eventually made his further stay in France unbearable and even dangerous: towards the end of 1527 he

resigned and practically fled from France.

Agrippa’ closing years: finally at the printing press

The next five years, from 1528 to 1532, Agrippa spent in the Low Countries, mostly in Antwerp, where

due to the help of some influential friends he obtained the position of imperial archivist and

historiographer on the court of Margaret of Austria, governor of the Habsburg Netherlands. Probably

for the first time ever, Agrippa acquired the opportunity to print his works: in 1529 or 1530, while still

enjoying Margaret’s favor, he obtained an imperial privilegium to publish several of them, most

importantly the De occulta philosophia and the De vanitate. Within a few years’ time Agrippa managed

to publish almost all of the writings he had been working on throughout his life (with the exception of

the Dialogus de homine, a minor work on geomancy, and the majority of his letters): the De vanitate

and a number of smaller treatises appeared in 1529, and the first book of the De occulta philosophia in

1531. This was also the period of Agrippa’s intense engagement in magical and alchemical experiments

with his occultist friends.

The publication of the fiercely intonated De vanitate made Agrippa lose his patron’s favor.

Influenced by the monastic circles, Margaret came to suspect her historiographer’s orthodoxy and
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required an opinion from the theologians of the University of Louvain. They condemned the work as

heretical, a condemnation followed by an even more influential one, that of the Sorbonne theologians.

Instead of trying to minimize the damage, Agrippa reacted by writing two fierce polemical replies, the

Apologia adversus calumnias and Querella super calumnia. In order to provide a stronger support for

his humanist cause, Agrippa wrote to Erasmus and Philip Melanchthon among others, but to no avail.

Once again his position was shaken: meanwhile Margaret died, and he was soon forced to quit his job

42
 and leave the town.

After a brief imprisonment for debt in 1531, Agrippa visited Cologne and found a temporary

refuge there under a new patron, the reform-minded Archbishop elector Hermann von Wied, to whom

he dedicated the first book of his De occulta philosophia. It was in his hometown, in 1533, that

Agrippa finally managed to publish the integral version of the De occulta philosophia. It took him

almost a quarter of century to bring his life’s work to the printing press. Coincidentally, it was the same

year in which the young John Calvin experienced his religious conversion. Calvin, who would later call

Agrippa a “barking dog,”78 commenced his reform work only a year after Agrippa’s death, thus

announcing the closure of a period of relative openness in which the publication of works such as the

De occulta philosophia was still possible without considerable dangers for one’s life. Soon enough, the

council of Trent, the Counter-Reformation with its project of social disciplining, and the violent

process of confessionalization would change the intellectual climate of Western Europe drastically.79

The final publication of the De occulta philosophia is to be regarded as the ultimate proof of the

German humanist’s deep and sincere commitment to his literary works—something that is occasionally

doubted even nowadays due to Agrippa’s centuries-long reputation. Why else would one carry a

manuscript along wherever he went and keep working on it throughout his life, constantly rewriting,

revising and amplifying it? Why else would one take so many troubles to have it published and

vehemently defend it against the criticizers?80

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78
See Perrone Compagni’s “Introduction” in DOP, 44, for the reference.
79
As R. H. Popkin puts it, “[H]ad Agrippa lived a generation later, when many of his own views had become officially
heretical, he might have been forced to make a choice that he had managed to avoid in his own day… But, living in the
generation before the lines were clearly drawn, Agrippa, like Erasmus and Lefèvre d’Étaples, could remain a reform-
minded religious teacher without being a Reformer.” See Richard H. Popkin, “Introduction” in Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa
von Nettesheim, Opera I (Georg Olms Verlag: Hildesheim/New York, 1970), 19.
80
For this type of common-sense argumentation against claims about Agrippa’s frivolousness see Van der Poel, Agrippa,
the Humanist Theologian, 52–53, and Perrone Compagni, “Dispersa intentio,” 161. “In the same years in which he wrote
the skeptical declamation,” writes Perrone Compagni, “Agrippa was busy revising and amplifying his first draft of De
occulta philosophia. Is it possible that the detailed and painstaking reordering of his early manuscript really be looked upon
as only an excuse to discuss religious themes?”

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 Agrippa’s surviving correspondence ends in the second half of 1533 or early 1534. Apart from a

number of fantastic, often intentionally malicious reports depicting Agrippa’s last moments in Faustian

colors, the account of Johann Weyer (1515-1588), his student from the Antwerp days, provides a

favorable and balanced view with a few additional facts. 81 One is Agrippa’s unexplained journey to

France in 1535, where Francis I, the son of the late Louise of Savoy, had him arrested for some old

offences against her.82 He was soon released with the help of his friends, but several months later got

sick and died in Grenoble, at the age of forty-eight. Somewhat paradoxically, he was buried in the local

Dominican church.

Agrippa’s retraction: the epitome of the problem

This brief biographical sketch must end with the well-known chronological mismatch that has become

the landmark of the entire “Agrippan question.” As stated above, the German humanist wrote his De

vanitate in 1526. In a series of chapters (30–48) he attacked and denounced various esoteric doctrines

and practices as false, while in Chapter 48 he explicitly recanted his own Occult philosophy and

involvement in esotericism with the following words:

I also as a young man wrote on magical matters three books in a sufficiently large
volume, which I have entitled Of Hidden Philosophy, in which books whatsoever was
then done amiss through curious youth, now being more advised I will that it be
recanted with this retraction, for I have in times past consumed very much time and
substance in these vanities.83

However, instead of simply withdrawing from his esoteric pursuits, Agrippa had his “Hidden
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81
Weyer gave a biographical sketch of Agrippa in his work De praestigiis daemonum, portraying him as a sober and
honorable person. See also Agrippa, Three Books of Occult Philosophy, xxxiv-xxxv.
82
According to Agrippa’s nineteenth century biographer Henry Morley, referred to by Donald Tyson in Agrippa, Three
Books of Occult Philosophy, xxxiv, Emperor Charles V sentenced Agrippa to death at the urging of the Dominicans, and
then changed his sentence into exile to France. Nauert, Agrippa 113–15, does not mention this sentence and leaves the
question of Agrippa’s final journey to France open.
83
Verum de magicis scripsi ego iuvenis adhuc libros tres, amplos satis volumine, quos de Occulta philosophia nuncupavi:
in quibus quidquid tunc per curiosam adolescentiam erratum est, nunc cautior hac palinodia recantatum volo: permultum
enim temporis et rerum in his vanitatibus olim contrivi (De vanitate, 48, in Opera I, 82). The English translation is by
James Stanford, as given in Lehrich, Language of Demons and Angels, 40.

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 Philosophy” published only a few years later (1533) and, in fact, went through numerous difficulties in

order to accomplish that task. And yet, to make things even more complicated, he appended the entire

section from the De vanitate condemning esoteric doctrines and practices to the published edition of

the De occulta philosophia. This single point of chronological and intellectual inconsistency has

become the watershed for modern scholarly approaches to Agrippa ever since Lynn Thorndike. It also

led Michael Keefer to remark somewhat bitterly: “On the surface level, the question which his

equivocations on the subject of magic pose for us is insoluble: his violent oscillations back and forth,

his praise and condemnation of magic, his boasts, his threats, and his recantations, are quite simply

unintelligible.”84 However, much of the present-day scholarship on Agrippa has come to a more

nuanced picture of the problem, in which the opposites in question seem to lose their formerly

acknowledged power. In fact, for some scholars, they cease to be opposites at all.

RESEARCH QUESTIONS IN LIGHT OF PRESENT-DAY SCHOLARSHIP

In this section I present my perspective of the most important scholarly interpretations of Agrippa’s

work, with the focus on the points relevant for my own examination. My hypotheses and assumptions

will be tested against the background of the most pertinent scholarship. However, before I move on to

the overview itself, I summarize once again my main research questions—this time in a somewhat
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amplified way, as a list of analytical themes to be considered. The overview following the list is

supposed to show which of the themes have already been dealt with and in what manner, as well as to

point at several more general lines of interpretation in the pertinent scholarship.

The main research themes

The complex topic of Agrippa’s anthropology will be better envisaged if divided into single

84
Keefer, “Agrippa’s Dilemma,” 650.

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 anthropological topics or subtopics which in one way or another direct the course of my analysis. These

are the following (not necessarily in the order given here):

(1) Man’s unique position within the great chain of being. The role of cosmic sympathies and

correspondences in establishing man’s position in the universe. The homo imago Dei doctrine.

(2) The personhood and the body–soul relations. Structural components: body, soul, and spirit;

mind, rational soul, and sensitive soul.

(3) Man’s capacity for attaining ascension. The nature of ascension: “magical” vs. “Christian”;

in corpore vs. in spiritu; during one’s lifetime vs. post mortem. Relations between the concepts of

ascension and salvation/redemption.

(4) Man’s prelapsarian status and the nature of the fall in Neoplatonic, Hermetic, and Christian

paradigms. Spiritual regeneration or rebirth (both in its Pauline and Hermetic interpretations).

(5) The insufficiency of the dogmatically articulated Christian revelation as experienced by

Renaissance syncretists. Multiple revelational traditions and their legitimacy.

(6) Last but not least: the notion(s) of piety as a state of mind/soul required for attaining

ascension, either “magical” or “Christian.” Piety as a construct in various contexts and traditions. The

contested concepts of piety.

By examining how Cornelius Agrippa relates to each one of them I take these themes as my

research questions. Obviously, to treat them all with equal scholarly care would require several
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dissertations. Thus I pay more attention to some and less to other issues, but they are all interrelated

and bound to surface at some point of the analysis. Moreover, most of the listed topics and subtopics

have already been dealt with by a number of scholars in different ways (although, as I pointed out

above, not always in a systematic fashion). It is thus necessary to view them in the general context of

scholarly approaches to the Nettesheimer and his intellectual world. To repeat it once again, my main

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 thesis is that Agrippa’s anthropological views provide an excellent insight into his attempt to build

certain Neoplatonic and Hermetic notions of man into his understanding of Christianity.

A redeemed humanist: scholars on Agrippa and his work

Fortunately enough, there is no need any more to justify one’s scholarly interest in Cornelius Agrippa.

The watershed in the academic treatment of the German occultist, marked by the activities of the

scholars of the Warburg Institute from around the middle of the twentieth century, has brought about a

steady increase of interest in Agrippa and his works up to the present day.

In the first place, Agrippa had the “misfortune” to be one of the authors whose thought and

work were clearly recognized as esoteric and as such rejected form the serious academic field of study

in the period ranging from the Enlightenment to the first half of the twentieth century. As Nicholas

Goodrick-Clarke points out, “magic, astrology, and occultism … were generally perceived as survivals

of superstition and irrationalism … and such topics were consigned to epistemological quarantine lest

they cause a relapse from progressive rationalism.”85 Agrippa’s position in this scheme was particularly

unfavorable due to its own peculiarities and it remained so even some time after the academic

“redemption” of esotericism initiated by the research of scholars such as Kristeller, Garin, and

Thorndike. It was precisely the “Agrippan question”—in either of its forms of appearance, i.e. as

skepticism vs. credulity or magic vs. piety—which informed the perception of a great many among the
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earlier generations of scholars. With nothing to indicate a clear pattern of development (such as that of

“repentance” with no return to the previous unorthodox convictions), Agrippa’s statements of spiritual

allegiance are all desperately mixed up, at least in terms of chronology. This circumstance, in addition

to Agrippa’s centuries-long reputation of being a charlatan or black magician, resulted in a rather poor

treatment he received in Lynn Thorndike’s influential History of Magic and Experimental Science,

85
Goodrick-Clarke, The Western Esoteric Traditions, 3–4.

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 where the author judged him to be merely a dilettante, pretending to be knowledgeable and only

superficially engaged in his studies. Thorndike saw Agrippa as a figure of little importance, and his De

occulta philosophia as a “disappointing work.”86

On the other hand, in his groundbreaking study titled Spiritual and Demonic Magic: From

Ficino to Campanella (1958) D. P. Walker, one of the leading Warburg scholars, assigned Agrippa a

more proper place in the Renaissance spiritual tradition. Walker linked the German occultist to Marsilio

Ficino and analyzed his doctrines of magic in comparison to those of the Florentine Platonist. 87 In this

work one no longer reads about the Thorndikean “dabbler and trifler” but instead faces a serious, albeit

controversial thinker (as well as practitioner, as Walker emphasized by calling him a “magician”) who

developed some of Ficino’s timid ideas (such as his image magic appearing under the guise of

medicine) into a full-fledged magical system utterly incompatible with Christianity. In this regard

Walker’s position was clear: speaking of “an unresolved conflict in Agrippa’s mind” 88 (a pattern further

developed by Nauert), Walker maintained that under the mantle of Neoplatonism Agrippa sticks to the

officially forbidden medieval ideas and practices of magic without even trying to make them

theologically acceptable. Agrippa’s terminology and underlying metaphysical scheme are Neoplatonic,

argued Walker, but “he makes no effort to force [his Neoplatonic sources] into a Christian

framework.”89 In addition to his insightful analysis of the links between Agrippa and Ficino, Walker’s

invaluable contribution lies in examining and elucidating Agrippa’s attitude toward all religious and
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86
Lynn Thorndike, History of Magic and Experimental Science (New York: Columbia University Press, 1923-1958), Vol.
5, 129–38. This type of assessment is still found among academic historians of science. A good example is Richard S.
Westfall, one of the foremost Isaac Newton scholars, who blatantly calls Agrippa “a self-aggrandizing liar,” see
http://galileo.rice.edu/Catalog/NewFiles/agrippa.html [last accessed: 29/3/2014]. However, Thorndike’s assessment of
Agrippa is by no means typical of his treatment of the phenomenon of magic in general; see Hanegraaff, Esotericism and
the Academy, 317–22.
87
Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic, 90–96. His contribution by far surpasses the case of Agrippa alone. As Nicholas
Goodrick-Clarke notes, Walker’s work was “a landmark study in Renaissance culture, showing that magic was part of the
mainstream in the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, closely connected with religion, music, mathematics and medicine.”
(Goodrick-Clarke, The Western Esoteric Traditions, 2)
88
Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic, 91.
89
Ibid., 93.

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 spiritual traditions and attitudes including Christianity, superstition, and magic: for him, they are all of

the same nature and can equally serve the magician’s cause—a perspective Walker called a remarkably

thorough-going syncretism. He went on to conclude that Agrippa’s “magic was really demonic,”90

unfortunately without attempting to qualify this attribution as if it were self-explanatory. Such an

evaluation might lead one to suspect that Walker tacitly relied on the very same criteria that had been

used by Agrippa’s arch-enemies, the theologians of the Roman Church.91 One has to bear in mind,

however, that Agrippa made a careful distinction between demons and other forms of celestial

intelligentiae and clearly did not approve of communicating with the former. What he saw as a crucial

criterion in this regard was the discernment of spirits (discretio spirituum), although Walker did

mention it as one of the central issues in any discussion on the problem of demonic magic.92

The case of Frances Yates, perhaps the most famous Warburg scholar, is curious for the

considerable change of her scholarly attitudes over time. In her pivotal work Giordano Bruno and the

Hermetic Tradition (1964) she evidently followed Thorndike in her negative assessment of Agrippa,

which is rather surprising given the prominence of the “man the operator” paradigm within her grand

narrative (the so-called “Yates thesis”) and the fact that Agrippa almost perfectly exemplifies this

paradigm.93 However, in her much later work The Occult Philosophy in the Elizabethan Age (1979) one

finds a different picture of the German occultist: he is now portrayed as a serious systematizer of

90
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Ibid., 96. Emphasis mine.

91
Walker’s binary “spiritual–demonic” scheme perhaps unintentionally replicates the common axiological categories of
mainstream theology by equaling Ficino’s “mild,” “spiritual” magic to the relatively accepted notion of magia naturalis.
This kind of transfer would certainly not be a novelty among scholars. See, for instance, Hanegraaff’s discussion on the
various scholarly theories of magic in Hanegraaff, Esotericism and the Academy, 164–77; also Hanegraaff (ed.), Dictionary
of Gnosis & Western Esotericism, 716–17. He also argues that in developing their theories both Durkheim and Mauss
derived their assumptions from the traditional categories of Christian heresiology. See also Szőnyi, John Dee’s Occultism,
45, and Lehrich, The Language of Demons and Angels, 5–6.
92
See Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic, 36–44. Frank L. Borchardt, “The Magus as Renaissance Man,” Sixteenth
Century Journal 21, No. 1 (1990): 57–76, criticizes Walker for his attempt to clearly differentiate between the “Italian
contemplative magic” and the “crudely operative German magic.”
93
Agrippa’s position in this early version of the “Yates thesis” is evidently less significant than those of Ficino and Pico.
The De occulta philosophia is a “trivial work,” and her interpretation of the Agrippan question, closely following
Thorndike’s, suggests that the renowned magician was a sciolist; see Frances Yates, Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic
Tradition (London: Routledge Classics, 2002), 146–60.

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 magical doctrines and a religious reformer much closer to Erasmus than to a Thorndikean pretender, as

a man who tried to offer “a more powerful philosophy” to troubled Christianity. 94 It is important to pay

attention to this more pronounced recognition and inclusion of the religious dimension of Agrippa’s

thought—a pattern that would prove fruitful in some of the later studies on the Nettesheimer.

Beyond the question of Agrippa’s significance in the eyes of Frances Yates, however, is the

importance of her “man the operator” paradigm for setting the conceptual framework within which to

examine Agrippa’s heterogeneous doctrines.95 His entire spiritual enterprise, at least as delineated in the

De occulta philosophia, is marked by a decisive emphasis on the magician’s resolve and conscious

effort (as elements of dignificatio) in achieving ascension. Certainly, it remains to be seen how exactly

Agrippa’s understanding of piety fits such a Pelagian perspective, which is undoubtedly problematic

from the standard Christian point of view, at least in some of its aspects such as relying on direct

communication with higher spiritual entities. Yates’s view, which Hanegraaff formulates as “the

reification of ‘hermeticism’ as a quasi-autonomous or independent tradition opposed to an ascetic and

world-denying Christian orthodoxy,”96 undoubtedly presents the problem in an over-simplified way.

Another important Yates’s contribution, in which she closely followed D. P. Walker, lies in

firmly establishing direct links between Agrippa and the Florentine Neoplatonists, primarily in terms of

the Neoplatonic conceptual framework he adopted for developing his esoteric doctrines, as well as of

his reliance on the late-antique Corpus Hermeticum. Placing Agrippa within the postulated “Hermetic
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movement,” Yates viewed his doctrines as a further and, as it were, logical development of various

94
Frances A. Yates, The Occult Philosophy in the Elizabethan Age (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1979), 37–47. See
also Putnik, The Pious Impiety, 21–22, for an interpretation of this shift in opinion.
95
This concept implies a major turn in attitude of those aspiring for spiritual ascension: “What has changed is Man,” writes
Yates, “no longer the pious spectator of God’s wonders in the creation...but Man the operator, Man who seeks to draw
power from the divine and natural order,” see Yates, Giordano Bruno, 144. See also Lehrich, The Language of Demons and
Angels, 66–67. I agree with Lehrich that the almost unanimous scholarly rejection of the Yates thesis should not pertain to
the “man the operator” paradigm, as long as it is not viewed in close correlation with the “man the scientist.” For a contrary
opinion and an exhaustive overview of the whole Yates debate see Hanegraaff, Esotericism and the Academy, 322–34. See
also Szőnyi, John Dee’s Occultism, 42–47.
96
Hanegraaff, Esotericism and the Academy, 334.

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 ideas implicated in Ficino’s rather cautious attempts to legitimize his own esoteric theories and

practices.97 Regardless of all the flaws and weaknesses of Yates’s “grand narrative,” Agrippa’s debt to

Ficino and Pico, among other authors, can hardly be overstated. As I intend to demonstrate in my

analysis, this is especially so in the domain of anthropology.

In contrast to Yates and other Warburg scholars, Paola Zambelli, a student of Eugenio Garin and

one of the most important researchers of Agrippa and his work, has taken a different course right from

the outset. As indicated by her pioneering work on the fragmentary Dialogus de homine, Zambelli

focuses on the problematic relations between Agrippa’s engagement in magic and his religious

convictions, especially in the later years of his life, with the outburst of the Protestant Reformation. By

choosing to redirect her analytical attention to the shadowy links between Renaissance esotericism and

the Reformation, Zambelli has effectively downplayed the importance of the former for the birth of

modern science.98 According to Zambelli’s main thesis, in the last decade of his life Agrippa

maintained close personal relations and shared certain doctrinal views with various members of the

Radical Reformation to a much larger extent than previously acknowledged by Nauert and other

Agrippan scholars.99 There is nothing new in claiming that the German occultist held a number of

highly unorthodox convictions while at the same time he considered himself a genuine Christian, but

Zambelli’s close linking of his religious identity to the Radical Reformation, instead of the Erasmian

humanist model of Biblical Christianity, was a bold thesis that has met with little consent among
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97
See also Paola Zambelli, White Magic, Black Magic, 1–10. Zambelli strongly suggests an image of Agrippa as someone
who dared to speak out about things Ficino systematically prevaricated. This is in tune with D. P. Walker’s laconic but
significant remark that with Agrippa “Ficino has got into bad company”; see Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic, 96.
98
“The Renaissance philosophy of magic,” says Zambelli in the retrospective of her work, “which was both complex and
elegant, enjoyed much success and was associated not so much with the “scientific revolution” as with the religious ferment
caused by the Reformation, particularly the Radical Reformation (examples such as Agrippa, Paracelsus and Servetus).” See
Zambelli, White Magic, Black Magic, 4.
99
The core of Zambelli’s argument can be found in her important paper “Magic and Radical Reformation in Agrippa of
Nettesheim,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 39 (1976): 69–103.

51
 scholars.100 In support of her thesis that Agrippa was a “Nicodemite” (a clandestine adherent to some

variant of the Radical Reformation) Zambelli has analyzed his views on the doctrine of

psychopannychism (the so-called “sleep of souls”) indicating that he could have been a secret follower

of that heresy. Given that the “sleep of souls” doctrine was tightly connected with theological

discussions on the soul’s destiny after death and, evidently, on the soul’s very nature and its relations to

the body, Zambelli’s work is of considerable interest for me in my own examination of Agrippa’s

anthropology.

Charles Nauert’s influential Agrippa and the Crisis of Renaissance Thought (1965) is far more

than just a scholarly biography. As the title of this work indicates, it is also an attempt to interpret

Agrippa’s “split position” within the broader context of a postulated spiritual and epistemological crisis

in the Renaissance. In tune with the “Yates thesis,” Nauert establishes a link between Agrippa’s

apparent disillusionment with magic and rising skepticism on the one hand, and a shift towards the

epistemological foundations of science on the other, thus introducing a paradigm of the “disappointed”

or “failed magus.”101 However, this move from credulity to disillusionment and skepticism should not

be taken as a linear, straightforward development. As Noel Brann points out, Nauert is a subtle thinker

who demonstrates that skepticism was operative in Agrippa’s outlook from the beginning, gradually

leading him to look for a “transrational means to truth.”102

Following D. P. Walker, Nauert argues that Agrippa's own unresolved crisis was related to his
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100
Nauert, Agrippa, 321 n.100, flatly rejects the thesis. Reflecting on this disappointing “silence of historians” Zambelli
sees it primarily as a methodological issue: it might be the consequence of “the great distance still existing between the
history of philosophical thought and the history of religious ideas and movements in the sixteenth century”; see Zambelli,
White Magic, Black Magic, 185.
101
Nauert’s view of Agrippa’s magic as proto-science was criticized immediately after the publication of his book; see, for
instance, Donald Weinstein, “Review on Agrippa and the Crisis of Renaissance Thought by Charles G. Nauert, Jr,” The
American Historical Review, Vol. 72, No. 2 (Jan., 1967): 616–17. However, Nauert’s notion of a “failed magus” has
remained an influential idea in later scholarship: see Frank L. Borchardt, “The Magus as Renaissance Man,” where the
author postulates “virtually universal disappointment in magic expressed by the magicians themselves” (61).
102
Noel Brann, “Review on Agrippa and the Crisis of Renaissance Thought by Charles G. Nauert, Jr,” The Journal of
Religion, Vol. 47, No. 1 (Jan., 1967), 69–70.

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 futile attempts to “Christianize” both pagan Neoplatonic and medieval magic. Nauert shares Walker’s

view on the ultimately demonic nature of Agrippa’s magic, but keeps insisting on his firm adherence to

the Catholic church and its dogmas, thus strongly rejecting Zambelli’s hypothesis about Agrippa’s

crypto-Protestantism. In this way Nauert’s interpretation seems to deepen even further the German

occultist’s own split position since, on the one side, he speaks of the demonic character of Agrippa’s

“power-conferring, transitive magic,” while on the other he claims that “Agrippa’s De occulta

philosophia always stressed a mystical illumination of the soul.”103 Much like Walker, Nauert fails to

explain what exactly is demonic about one’s attempt to achieve this kind of illumination. He does point

to the problematic Pelagian aspect of Agrippa’s process of spiritual ascension, but Pelagianism was

traditionally perceived as more heretical than demonic.104 Nevertheless, Nauert’s contribution is crucial

in treating the issues such as the notion of the inwardness of religion in Agrippa, the origins and modes

of his heterodoxy, and the religious and mystical components of his esoteric thought. In this context,

Nauert stresses the paramount importance of an idea articulated by Marsilio Ficino and later embraced

by Agrippa—that of a twofold revelation: “an open revelation contained in the words of Scripture and a

secret revelation which interprets the published words in gnostic fashion.”105 In the final part of the

present examination I refer to this idea as fundamental in my interpretion of Agrippa’s religious

thought.

Furthermore, Charles Nauert was decades ahead of some present-day scholars (such as Vittoria
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Perrone Compagni) in pointing that Agrippa could have resorted to a kind of intentional ambiguity in

treating his topics, which would leave him room for exegetical freedom. In this way he laid ground for

103
Nauert, Agrippa, 126.
104
After all, in all the public attacks coming from the professional theologians of Agrippa’s time (which took place in 1509,
1518, and in 1530) he was accused of heresy, not of necromancy. See Van der Poel, Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian,
264–65.
105
Nauert, “Magic and Skepticism in Agrippa’s Thought,” 168. See also Lewis Spitz’s exhaustive review-discussion of
Nauert’s work for his treatment of patristic and early gnostic influences on Agrippa: Lewis W. Spitz, “Occultism and
Despair of Reason in Renaissance Thought,” Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol. 27, No. 3 (July–Sep., 1966): 464–69.

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 all the later interpretations that have sought to harmonize the two facets of Agrippa’s thought

epitomized by his two main works. Indeed, one could see Nauert’s work as the starting point for the

process of scholarly “Christianization” of Cornelius Agrippa that I mention in my introductory

chapter.106 In this way Nauert has done a lot to recast the Nettesheimer’s role in the intellectual history

of the sixteenth century by claiming for him the epithet of a Biblical or Christian humanist—an

interpretation later taken over and developed particularly by Marc van der Poel.107

Finally, Nauert dedicates considerable attention to Agrippa’s anthropology by discussing his

“tripartite psychology,” that is, the idolum–ratio–mens triad and the role of man’s free will in the

dynamics of this triad. Following Yates, he emphasizes Agrippa’s indebtedness to Marsilio Ficino and

Johan Reuchlin in developing this doctrine, even though the Nettesheimer never gave them credit for

that (as he hardly ever openly referred to his contemporaries).

Present-day scholarship on Cornelius Agrippa has pushed the boundaries of research much

further by making what I provisionally term a “linguistic turn,” i.e. by recognizing in the German

humanist an author sensitive to the various issues of discursive language and its applicability to magic.

It appears that Nauert’s emphasis on Agrippa’s “intentional ambiguity” was instrumental in this regard.

Certainly, the more important source of influence on modern scholars dealing with Agrippa has been

the twentieth century critical theory with its plethora of approaches and “schools.”

By linguistic turn I have in mind a gradual shift of scholarly attention from what Agrippa wrote
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106
See Nauert, Agrippa, 172–75. In the cited section one finds statements such as the one that Agrippa “never consciously
broke with the old faith” (174). The conclusive evidence for my claim is Nauert’s entry on Agrippa written for the online
Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy just a few years prior to the scholar’s death (which took place in 2013). In this essay
he fully endorses the arguments of Vittoria Perrone Compagni concerning the inherent harmony of Agrippa’s views and
their decisively Christian character; see http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/agrippa-nettesheim/ [last accessed: 11/11/2016].
107
Thus in his Stanford Encyclopedia essay Nauert categorically states that “Agrippa wanted to encourage reform of the
church and a deepening of spiritual life in ways typical of the reformist Christian humanism represented by Erasmus”
(ibid.). This view has never been universally accepted among scholars. Lewis Spitz explicitly detaches Agrippa from the
Christian humanism of Erasmian type based on humana sapientia; see Lewis W. Spitz, The Religious Renaissance of the
German Humanists (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1963), 273. In a much more recent scholarly publication
dealing with Christian humanism the Nettesheimer is mentioned only once and almost incidentally: see Erica Rummel, ed.,
Biblical Humanism and Scholasticism in the Age of Erasmus (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 121.

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 about to how he did it, in other words, from the content of his writings to the literary devices and

rhetorical strategies he employed in shaping and articulating it. This change of perspective has opened

up a number of new interpretive possibilities for some old dilemmas. For instance, the scrutiny of

Agrippa’s works from the viewpoint of literary genres has considerably reduced the previously

perceived tension of his “contradictory” intellectual position. Thus by examining Agrippa’s De vanitate

as part of the well-established Renaissance literary genre of paradox, in which the author intentionally

changes tonal registers and creates different authorial voices, Barbara Bowen downplays this old

interpretive conundrum as a “false problem.”108 In a similar vein, Eugene Korkowski approaches this

work as an example of mock-epideictic literature, showing that Agrippa’s meticulous use of irony and

other literary devices characteristic of Menippean satire helped articulate a multilayered, polyphonous

message intended for various types of readers.109 Michael Keefer analyzes Agrippa’s apparently

deliberate custom of misquoting his Biblical sources as a way of legitimizing his heterodox views by

what appears to be verbal manipulation.110 Chris Miles examines the Nettesheimer’s famous retraction

as an example of highly rhetoricized statement based on multiple authorial voices and consciously

intended for different kinds of readers at the same time.111

The linguistic approach has found its most important contributions in the works of Marc van

der Poel, Vittoria Perrone Compagni, and Christopher I. Lehrich. These scholars have significantly
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108
Barbara C. Bowen, “Cornelius Agrippa’s De Vanitate : Polemic or Paradox?”, Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et
Renaissance, T. 34, No. 2 (1972): 249–56, quote on 256.
109
Eugene Korkowski, “Agrippa as Ironist,” Neophilologus 60:4 (1976): 594–607. However, interpretations such as
Bowen’s and Korkowski’s, although sensitive to the issues of language and genre, appear to limit humanist declamations to
mere rhetorical exercises: see Marc van der Poel, “The Latin Declamatio in Renaissance Humanism,” Sixteenth Century
Journal, Vol. 20, No. 3 (Autumn, 1989): 471–78. See also Keefer’s critique of Bowen’s approach in “Agrippa’s Dilemma,”
619.
110
Keefer, “Agrippa’s Dilemma,” 640. To Keefer’s examples of misquoting scriptural authorities one might add Agrippa’s
frequent use of re-contextualizing, as I demonstrated in Putnik, “To Be Born (Again) from God: Scriptural Obscurity as a
Theological Way Out for Cornelius Agrippa,” in Obscurity in Medieval Texts, ed. L. Doležalová, J. Rider, A. Zironi (Krems:
Medium Aevum Quotidianum, 2013), 145–56.
111
Chris Miles, “Occult Retraction: Cornelius Agrippa and the Paradox of Magical Language,” Rhetoric Society Quarterly,
Vol. 38, No. 4 (2008), 433–56.

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 upgraded the scholarship on Agrippa by shifting their primary analytical focus from what the German

humanist wrote about to how he did it. Instead of merely attempting to “reconstruct” Agrippa’s

Weltanshauung, they pay their attention to the literary genres he used (Van der Poel), his rhetorical

strategies (Perrone Compagni), and the language of the works itself (Lehrich), thus further developing

the new major fields for studying Renaissance esotericism in general: rhetoric, linguistics, discourse

analysis, literary criticism.112

Marc van der Poel, a classical philologist and Neo-Latinist, makes a fundamental shift in the

studies on Agrippa by approaching him not as a magician but solely as a Biblical humanist whose

literary role models were those of classical antiquity (Cicero above all) and whose main concern was

the reform of the crisis-stricken Christianity. Van der Poel examines several of Agrippa’s works in

relation to Ciceronian declamation and its reception in the Renaissance as a form of highly rhetoricized

genre used at the time.

For Van der Poel, Agrippa was above all a theologian and exegete who detested the moral and

intellectual climate prevailing in the Church heavily influenced by scholasticism. In its attempts to

clarify the truths of religion by logical reasoning, scholastic theology confused the study of created

things with the study of divine things. It relied on vain intellect instead of faith. For Agrippa, “theology

is not only an intellectual activity, but also one that implies a spiritual and ethical vocation aimed at the

discovery of the essence of God.”113 Instead of focusing on logic, which is applicable to created things,
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one should embrace the revelation formulated in Scripture by developing the attitude of faith and

devotion, and thus reach the enlightenment of the mind (illustratio mentis). Instead of examining the

Biblical text rationally, one should rather “project his thought into the realm of the divine, and allow

112
These scholarly disciplines are certainly not new in themselves; what is really new is their application to the studies of
Western esotericism.
113
Van der Poel, Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian, 55, referring to Agrippa’s definition of theology in the De triplici
ratione cognoscendi Deum, V.

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 himself to be guided by faith and spiritual devotion.”114 The sole purpose of theology should be to help

man restore his original relationship with God.115

Van der Poel strongly emphasizes the genuineness of Agrippa’s Christian self-identification and

the sincerity of his submission to the Church.116 For him, the Nettesheimer “was always scrupulous …

as a Christian” and without any doubt “a Christian philosopher and theologian.”117 He does

acknowledge the heterodox side of Agrippa’s theological engagement, especially his “Neoplatonic way

of thinking” and commitment to the prisca theologia, but does not see it as being in collision with the

“Christian” side of Agrippa’s thought. Throughout his work he maintains a conciliatory tone based on

his conviction that the two facets of Agrippa’s thought coexist in an almost perfect harmony. 118

Agrippa’s theology, argues Van der Poel, “aims, through inductive reasoning, at securing the true

meaning of the Word of God,” but for such an exegesis he needed more than a dedicated, pious life and

the authority of Scripture and the early Church fathers: he also needed “the confirmation of the correct

meaning by authors considered to be worthy of authority.”119 And those authors are none other than the

pagan Neoplatonists and Hermes Trismegistos, the supposed author of what we know as a corpus of

late antique theosophical treatises. Agrippa incorporated these “external” authorities into his Biblical

exegesis in order to “enrich” Christianity.120

One of the most important aspects of Van der Poel’s interpretation is his view that Agrippa’s

114
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Van der Poel, Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian, 57–58.

115
Significantly, Van der Poel brings up this crucial aspect of Agrippa theology as part of his Neoplatonic—not Christian—
affiliation. He refers to Agrippa’s De homine, where the author gave a digest of the “standard Neoplatonic anthropological
notions,” according to which the primordial man had existed “as an asexual (i.e. hermaphroditic), partly material and partly
divine, being in direct relationship with God. As a result of Original Sin, the divine side of man, shaped by his affinity with
God, was violated, and the harmony between the divinity and the earthliness of man was disturbed” (Ibid., 50).
116
Ibid., 135–37.
117
Ibid., 50, 267.
118
E.g. “It is important to understand that the two areas of Agrippa’s intellectual activities which seem contradictory to the
twentieth-century mind were, for Agrippa, in fact closely connected with each other” (Ibid., 9) and many other such
statements.
119
Ibid., 11.
120
This is exactly the word Van der Poel uses (Ibid., 25) referring to Agrippa’s Dehortatio gentilis theologiae, where he
pens the significant phrase ecclesiam Dei locupletare (“to enrich the Church of God”). In this treatise Agrippa also speaks
about “cleaning up the pagan literature until it fits into Christian learning.”

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 attack on all esoteric doctrines and his recantation in the De vanitate were, in fact, an attempt to defend

“good magic” against all misinterpretations, abuses, and distortions of magical art.121 And indeed, Van

der Poel demonstrates that Agrippa did not recant his involvement in magic as such but merely

“whatever erroneous opinions on magic he had expressed in this youthful writing” [i.e. the juvenile

draft of the De occulta philosophia].122 Even more importantly, he sees Agrippa’s theory of magic as an

integral part of his program of spiritual reform and the restoration of mankind’s pristine closeness to

God. In other words, Agrippa’s magic was an important element of his Christian self-identification.

Such an interpretation certainly blurs the contradictions between the De vanitate and De occulta

philosophia.

Van der Poel rightly points out that Agrippa stressed an important difference between faith

(fides) and reason (ratio), with each having its own field of application, but several problems arise with

regard to this division which Van der Poel does not address. Why would someone guided by the

principle of sola fide (as Agrippa presents himself in the De vanitate) feel the need to “enrich” the

source of his fides? Next, is the borderline between fides and ratio as clear in Agrippa as Van der Poel

suggests? To which of the two his magic belongs? It seems to embrace the elements of both. Finally,

Agrippa’s fides is faith in—what exactly? I suggest that the true object of his faith, putting aside the all-

encompassing faith in God, remains somewhat murky.

These questions aside, Van der Poel provides a meticulous analysis of Agrippa’s literary
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strategy and the ways he attempted to articulate his heterodox exegesis so as to be acceptable to his

target audience. This is where the genre of declamatio comes into play. This genre perfectly matched

Agrippa’s conviction that scholars should have the right of freedom of opinion concerning subjects for

121
Van der Poel, Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian, 50–55.
122
Ibid., 52. Referring to the key part of Agrippa’s recantation, Van der Poel puts a proper emphasis on its true object:
“Whatever mistakes I made in those books due to my youthful curiosity, I want now to retract since I have become more
prudent” (quidquid tunc per curiosam adolescentiam erratum est, nunc cautior palinodia recantatum volo) (quote and
reference on the same page; the translation is Van der Poel’s).

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 which the Church did not formulate a universal doctrine. With its rhetorical conventions of

contradiction and equivocation, it provided Agrippa with what he needed the most: a floor for open

discussion, debate, and subtle persuasion.123 Van der Poel concludes with a far-reaching remark:

The declamatio is not a plain text in which abstract truths are formulated for an audience
expected to absorb the text uncritically, but a complicated text, in which the writer puts
forward and discusses, in the tradition of rhetorical theses, more than one point of view.
The author wishes to appeal to the intellect and independent judgment of the reader.124

Vittoria Perrone Compagni has indebted the scholarship on Agrippa with two critical editions of

his texts: that of De occulta philosophia (2000) and of De triplici ratione cognoscendi Deum (2005).125

Her edition of Agrippa’s occult encyclopedia is widely praised among scholars for the meticulous work

of collating the existing versions and identifying Agrippa’s sources, many of which the German

humanist did not bother to credit.126

However, Perrone Compagni’s interpretive work is as equally important as her philological

undertaking. Much like Van der Poel, she envisages Agrippa’s involvement in magic as part of a much

broader program of spiritual, religious, and cultural reform.127 Moreover, she subscribes to her

colleague’s opinion that there is no true rift between the De occulta philosophia and the De vanitate.

One in no way contradicts the other and a careful comparative analysis reveals “a comprehensive

design, which englobed a cultural, religious and moral project for the reform of contemporary

123
Here Van der Poel quotes an important passage from Agrippa’s Apologia adversus calumnias: “The declamatio does not
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formulate a definitive judgment or a dogma. Instead, the propositions of the declamatio are alternately put in a deceiving or
a straightforward way. Sometimes it voices my own opinion, sometimes those of others (…). It does not at all places declare
my own ideas and it brings to the fore many invalid arguments, so that he who takes the counterpart will have something to
reject and to refute” (Van der Poel, “The Latin Declamatio”, 478; the translation is Van der Poel’s).
124
Ibid., 478.
125
See notes 3 and 51 for the references. Prior to the critical edition of the De occulta philosophia scholars were mainly
confined to Nowotny’s annotated edition: De occulta philosophia libri tres, facsimile reprint of Cologne 1533 edition, ed.
Karl Anton Nowotny (Graz: Akademische Druk-u. Verlagenstalt, 1967).
126
The lonely voice in opposition to universal acclaim is that of Zambelli, who accused Perrone Compagni of plagiarizing
her own unpublished critical edition of the De occulta philosophia; see Zambelli, White Magic, Black Magic, 186–87. In
addition, Zambelli claims that Perrone Compagni never really consulted the Würzburg manuscript, otherwise she would
have noticed that “the first version of 1510 was a text revised, completed and ready to be printed. Only Trithemius’
prescription of initiatic silence caused a delay of more than twenty years before it was printed.” The question that readily
comes to mind is what made Agrippa eventually break his “initatic silence.”
127
See her “Introduction” to DOP, 15–50, for a detailed discussion of this view.

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 society.”128 What Agrippa condemns in the De vanitate is not ratio taken in its Ficinian sense, as a

faculty submissive to the divine mens, but the Aristotelian ratio of the scholastics, which is steeped in

the realm of senses and devoid of faith. The latter is the “ratio of the flesh” that needs to be dismantled

as a prerequisite for the restauratio magiae, which is Agrippa’s central idea.129

Significantly, Perrone Compagni terms this idea “the restoration of Christian magic.”130 But

what would be the exact meaning of the qualifier “Christian” here? Does she have in mind a declarative

allegiance to Christianity common to medieval grimoires? Far from that, Agrippa’s magic serves a par

excellence spiritual purpose: it is a means for renewing the relation between man and God, for

returning to man’s prelapsarian perfection. Once its original conceptual core is restored, magic is no

longer a dangerous rival of faith but its powerful ally.131 True magic—as opposed to its historical

distortions—implies man’s spiritual reform. It is the operative side of the believer’s spiritual rebirth.132

In claiming so she accepts Michael Keefer’s emphasis on the notion of spiritual rebirth, but disagrees

with him on its exact nature. Where Keefer notices a rift, Perrone Compagni recognizes unity, albeit a

disguised one. Keefer sees Agrippa’s involvement in esotericism as an impediment to the other,

“spiritual” side of his pursuits, leading to unresolved and irresolvable ambiguities. Perrone Compagni

directly links Agrippa’s magic to a religious experience of deification and views it as being “upgraded

to super-rational dimensions, thereby coinciding with man’s attainment of religious perfection.”133 This
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128
Perrone Compagni, “Dispersa intentio,” 161.
129
Perrone Compagni thus rejects any notion of Agrippa’s skepticism, referring to it as the “so-called skeptical crisis” and
“alleged conversion to skepticism” (ibid., 168). Interestingly enough, she emphasizes that in 1529, when Agrippa’s
skeptical phase was supposed to be at its peak, he was engaged in an alchemical transmutation and even managed to
produce a small quantity of gold (ibid., 168, referring to Agrippa’s letter to a friend, Epist. VI, 56).
130
Perrone Compagni, “Dispersa intentio,” 161. See also her “Introduction” in DOP, 29, 49–50.
131
Perrone Compagni, Ermetismo e Cristianesimo in Agrippa, 13: “Si trattava di ripristinare il nucleo concettuale originario
... affinché la magia ... potesse essere nuovamente considerata una potente alleata della fede anziché una sua pericolosa
concorrente.”
132
Perrone Compagni, “Dispersa intentio,” 166 (italics mine). I emphasize the word “operative” as I consider it important
for my later discussion of Agrippa’s notions of faith and piety. It points to Reuchlin’s idea of thaumaturgy and the much
older Iamblichus’ concept of theurgy as integral components of piety.
133
Ibid., 163.

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 implies nothing less than the conviction that one’s atonement and salvation are directly related to

magical operation! More precisely, Perrone Compagni maintains that man’s deification leads to his

possibility of performing magical operation, not vice versa. It is precisely deification that enables man,

upon reaching the union with God, to “perform legitimate magical operations: the magical power, in

short, is the result of assimilation to God, not the instrument for attaining it.”134

In order to draw such a far-reaching conclusion, Perrone Compagni examines Agrippa’s notion

of magic from a decisively anthropological perspective and clears up the problem of discernment

between magia bona and magia mala. In doing so she significantly upgrades Van der Poel’s thesis that

Agrippa in fact rejected only magia mala (Van der Poel does not provide any criteria for discernment

between the two) and surpasses his clear-cut division between fides and ratio. Instead of looking for

the criteria of discernment in the content of magical practice—which is what Marsilio Ficino did by

attempting to legitimize natural magic—Agrippa focused on the operator’s intention as the key factor

for the discretio spirituum.135 In the framework of Ficinian tripartite psychology of mens, ratio, and

idolum that Agrippa adopted, magia bona implies orienting one’s free reason towards the divine mens

instead of turning it down to the earthly realm of idolum. This can be achieved only by means of faith,

which is a “superior essence” that is “involved as a foundation and guarantee of a wider definition of

magic that was to embrace all the areas of human knowledge and make them operative.” 136 Perrone

Compagni thus provides a more nuanced view on magic than Van der Poel, seeing it as a spiritual
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discipline based equally on reason and faith: ratio serves as the operative force guided by fides.

134
Perrone Compagni, Ermetismo e Cristianesimo in Agrippa, 20 n.38: “La discussione sul furore si colloca nella rassegna
di pratiche religiose che consentono all’uomo di raggiungere la congiunzione con Dio e quindi di esercitare, dopo la
deificazione, operazioni magiche legittime: il potere magico, insomma, e` la conseguenza dell’assimilazione a Dio, non il
suo strumento.” Hanegraaff, “Better than Magic,” 13–14, agrees with this conclusion, but it actually narrows down
Agrippa’s overall conception of magic to ceremonial or intellectual magic, leaving out other (admittedly lower) types of it.
This will be discussed in more detail in Chapter Five, 217–20.
135
Ibid., 169. See also Perrone Compagni, Ermetismo e Cristianesimo in Agrippa, 13: what differentiates “good magic”
from “bad” are not the means the magician utilizes but “his very internal orientation” (suo stesso orientamento interno) and
“his attitude towards God” (suo atteggiamento nei confronti di Dio).
136
Perrone Compagni, “Dispersa intentio,”163.

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 Finally, Perrone Compagni puts critical emphasis on Agrippa’s dispersa intentio, that is, his

intentionally fragmentary composition strategy designed with the purpose of spreading knowledge in

disguise and to those who are worthy of it. In tune with Nauert’s notion of intentional ambiguity and

Van der Poel’s insistence on the open, multilayered nature of declamation, Perrone Compagni

maintains that Agrippa’s habit of reinterpreting his sources results in producing entirely new contexts

of meaning which are hidden “beneath a heap of quotations and borrowed matter.”137 In other words,

his unsystematic exposition of ideas is “a precise theoretical choice” aimed at protecting the true

knowledge from those unfit to obtain it.138 She refers to the author’s unusually straightforward

confession made in the De occulta philosophia:

Some of the notions are expounded in an orderly manner, others disorderly, others are
fragmentary, yet others are hidden and entrusted to the research of those who are
capable of comprehension […] Thus you, children of doctrine and knowledge, search
the book with zeal and piece my dispersed intention together, since I have spread it in
different parts: what in one place is concealed, in another is manifest, so that it may be
revealed to you who are wise.139

Once this task is carried out, points out Perrone Compagni, one finds a coherent and unexpected

structure: a consistent doctrine that aims at producing a renewed world, in which the transformation of

matter through natural magic and the deification of man follow the same path.

In my view, Christopher I. Lehrich stands apart from the “religionist” perspective of Van der

Poel and Perrone Compagni in that he is not interested in the problem of Agrippa’s self-proclaimed
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orthodoxy and does not attempt to “Christianize” him more than he merits. However, Lehrich shares

with these scholars the same basic assumption of the coherence and consistency of Agrippa’s thought

137
Ibid., 162.
138
This effectively amounts to one of Wouter Hanegraaff’s two principle aspects of esotericism: the notion of secrecy and a
hidden knowledge reserved for the initiated elites; see the Introduction, 22 and n. 31.
139
Perrone Compagni, “Dispersa intentio,” 162, referring to DOP 599–600: Horum autem quaedam cum ordine, quaedam
sine ordine scripta sunt, quaedam per fragmenta tradita, quaedam etiam occultata et investigatione intelligentium relicta
[…]. Vos igitur, doctrinae et sapientiae filii, perquirite in hoc libro colligendo nostram dispersam intentionem, quam in
diversis locis proposuimus: et quod occultatum est a nobis in uno loco, manifestum fecimus illud in alio, ut sapientibus
vobis patefiat. Significantly, the same section appears as a motto to Christopher Lehrich’s The Language of Demons and
Angels, which speaks of the central importance it holds in present-day Agrippan studies.

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 and finds the basis of that coherence in Agrippa’s religious outlook. In that sense Steven vanden Broeke

is right when he notes that “Lehrich’s answer agrees well with the conclusions of Van der Poel’s

important study of Agrippa as a humanist theologian … that divine things also occupy central stage in

the Agrippa’s magical De occulta philosophia.”140

However, there is a significant difference in approach. Lehrich is not interested in the humanist

side of Agrippa’s thought—or even in Agrippa himself as a historical person—but only in his theory of

magic as delineated in his writings. Having set as his main goal to determine with more analytical

precision the nature of Agrippa’s magic, Lehrich moves beyond its classical definitions as proto-

science, illicit religion, and social cleavage.141 He maintains that “if there is to be any utility to the term

‘magic’… it must be in some ways distinguishable from religion and science.”142 In order to extract

this distinguishable characteristic, he approaches Agrippa’s work from the perspective of critical theory

and philosophy of language, relying especially on Jacques Derrida’s notion of logocentrism, which

confronts the acts of speech and writing and vindicates the latter from being ancillary to the former.143

Thus the “linguistic turn” in Agrippa’s studies reaches its peak with Lehrich’s highly complex and

original interpretation.

Lehrich’s analysis is largely limited to the De occulta philosophia, with occasional brief

references to the De vanitate. By examining the first book of the magical summa he shows that, unlike

Ficino, Agrippa did not try to legitimize magic by referring to its “naturalness.”144 For the
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Nettesheimer, the dichotomy between natural and unnatural did not play a role in defining the licit

magic since any such clear-cut distinction would be simply illusory. The basis for legitimizing magic,

140
Steven vanden Broeke, Review, Renaissance Quarterly, Vol. 58, No. 2 (Summer 2005): 676–78.
141
Lehrich, The Language of Demons and Angels, 3–11.
142
Ibid., 9.
143
Ibid., 18–24.
144
Ibid., 63–66. In his analysis of Agrippa’s natural magic Lehrich makes a number of important anthropological
observations that I will refer to latter in my examination.

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 according to Agrippa, was the emanational character of the world: the fact that God makes Himself

immanently present in the world and thus vivifies it both justifies and makes possible magical

operation as an appropriate response of man-the-microcosm to the overall structure and potentials of

the macrocosm: “Humans are divided into natural, celestial, and divine portions, in strict microcosm of

the tripartite universe. (…) The body parts are subjects to various spheres, just as gold is subject to the

Sun, and also like gold they are fundamentally part of the natural world. The mental and spiritual

powers, however, are of the three spheres, not merely under their influence.”145 In other words, man is

simultaneously natural, celestial, and super-celestial. In fact, his essence stretches all the way up to the

realm of transcendence and he lays natural claim to divinity. This is why higher forms of magic, such

as celestial and intellectual, are not only licit but necessary for the magus’ project of ascension, as long

as this project is inspired by the pious desire to regain one’s lost prelapsarian status.

This is precisely why natural magic as advocated by Ficino is insufficient in itself and incapable

of explaining itself: it lacks an external point of reference—“a divine point of reference [which]

demands either a renunciative, apophatic mysticism, or some instance of a crossing, at which the divine

becomes entirely natural, or the natural divine.”146 The common medium of magical operation is World

Spirit, but its origin is divine: it is the emanated Word of God. This is an important point in Lehrich’s

interpretation since he views the skepticism of the De vanitate as pertaining only to the epistemological

insufficiency of the natural world/natural magic. Once we move up the ladder and reach the levels of
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celestial and intellectual magic, the divine point of reference comes into sight more clearly. This is how

Lehrich explains the underlying congruence between the De vanitate and De occulta philosophia.147

For Lehrich, the main problem which the author of De occulta philosophia tries to resolve is

that of communication: How do the three levels of the world communicate with each other? How does

145
Ibid., 61.
146
Ibid., 92.
147
Ibid., 92.

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 the emanated world communicate with the divine? Finally, how does man-the-microcosm communicate

with the corresponding macrocosm and how does the magus utilize that communication? The question

is thus eminently linguistic and Lehrich treats it as such. Having established that, in Agrippa’s view, the

foundation of divine–natural communication has been laid by the Incarnation of Christ—that is,

Logos—he construes the world as a book given by God to the magus to read, but also to write upon

and, ultimately, to interpret. In this scheme, Lehrich associates the lowest, natural world with speech in

that the magus learns how to read and “pronounce” the natural, occult virtues imbibed with Logos.148

Surpassing the traditional notion of the world as the Book of Nature, Lehrich interprets the

written signs of Agrippa’s celestial magic as a sort of writing system independent of speech. He

explores the nature of signification in the second book of the De occulta philosophia and extracts

Agrippa’s peculiar theory of language. By using magic squares, sigils, sacred names etc. the magus

writes a message to the intermediary entity (an intelligentia, a demon), who is then obliged to join the

act of communication and respond accordingly. The response becomes a corresponding action in the

natural or any other of the three worlds. This is made possible by the nature of signs, which have an

ontological connection with the objects signified. Due to their emanational origin, they are not arbitrary

but indexical (here Lehrich refers to C. S. Pierce’s triad of icon, index, and symbol), that is, the tie

between signifier and signified is natural.149 Hence he comes to a far-reaching conclusion:

God speaks, and the world comes into being. Given this continuum and a Neoplatonic
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universe, all signs participate in the Divine to some degree. That is, every sign has some
relation to the natural, celestial, or divine world, which by hierarchical participation
requires that all signs ultimately participate in Divinity. Therefore, logically, all signs

148
“[T]he natural magic is at heart a magic of logos, a magic bound up with the Incarnation, with the immanent, physical
presence of God in the world, which grounds language in the material. The mathematical or celestial magic should,
logically, be the magic of writing, and hence of Scripture” (ibid., 98).
149
Ibid., 134–42. See also Francesco La Nave, Review, Sixteenth Century Journal, Vol. 36, No. 1 (Spring, 2005): 180–81.
By insisting on the written character of Agrippa’s celestial magic and the autonomy of written word Lehrich actually
engages in a polemic with Stanley Tambiah’s theory of magic as a spoken act bearing metaphorical meanings. It should be
noted in general that Lehrich uses Agrippa’s work as a testing ground for examining and contesting various aspects of
modern theories of language. This greatly adds to the complexity of his interpretation.

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 have ontological connections to their referents. Furthermore, the power of Divine
expression is that it creates what is expressed, makes its meaning actual. By extension,
all signs have this power, although in the vast majority of cases it is insufficient to create
effects. By recognizing the different modes of signification, then adding them one to
another, it is possible to make a sign more ontologically connected to its referent.150

The reason “why in the vast majority of cases it is insufficient to create effects” is the fallen state of

man, which reflects in the fallen state of his language(s). Thus not only Hebrew but all other languages

(and here Agrippa departs from Pico and Reuchlin) arise from divine providence and are initially not

arbitrary. The degree of their subsequent arbitrariness corresponds to the degree of the fall of those who

use them (and in this regard Hebrew is the least affected and therefore the most powerful).151 The

magus’ task is to penetrate the arbitrariness of language and restore it to the original state in which it

can be utilized for communication with the Divine. Thus the magus, in Lehrich’s perspective, becomes

a hermeneutist whose main goal is to master the original language of the world. The expected result in

reaching that goal is the magus’ liberation from the fallen state.

The last interpretation I take into consideration here is Wouter Hanegraaff’s. A series of his

recent essays on various Renaissance syncretists marks a radical departure from Frances Yates’ thesis

that Marsilio Ficino’s Latin translation of the Corpus Hermeticum forms the basis of Renaissance

magic and esotericism, at least in Agrippa’s and Lazzarelli’s case.152 Hanegraaff downgrades Ficino’s

influence on two grounds: 1) Ficino missed the central message of the Corpus Hermeticum, which is

that of attaining gnosis, or superior divine knowledge; and 2) there was another prominent Renaissance
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syncretist who did understand that message properly and convey it in his translations of CH XVI–

XVIII (chapters not included in Ficino’s Pimander), and that was Lodovico Lazzarelli. Finally, it was

150
Lehrich, The Language of Demons and Angels, 141.
151
Ibid., 135.
152
After his and Ruud M. Bouthoorn’s monograph on Lodovico Lazzarelli (see note 49), Hanegraaff dedicated a number of
essays to Marsilio Ficino and the Corpus Hermeticum, e.g., “Altered States of Knowledge: The Attainment of Gnōsis in the
Hermetica,” The International Journal of the Platonic Tradition 2 (2008): 129–33; “Under the Mantle of Love. The
Mystical Eroticisms of Marsilio Ficino and Giordano Bruno,” in: Wouter J. Hanegraaff and Jeffrey J. Kripal (eds.), Hidden
Intercourse: Eros and Sexuality in the History of Western Esotericism (Leiden/Boston: Brill 2008): 175–207, etc.

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 Lazzarelli who influenced Agrippa’s understanding of the Hermetica more than Ficino did.153 Contrary

to a common misunderstanding, the Corpus Hermeticum, argues Hanegraaff, has nothing to do with

magic; it concentrates entirely on the philosophical quest for gnosis, the knowledge of one’s self and of

God, which leads to spiritual regeneration. This quest can be seen as “a process of initiation into

successively ‘higher’ levels of knowledge and bodily/spiritual transformation that went far beyond

rational philosophy and discursive language.”154 Supernatural powers come only as the result of

attaining gnosis—as an indicator, so to speak, that man has regained his prelapsarian status and come to

share in the essence of the divinity.

Ficino’s translation, claims Hanegraaff, marginalized and obscured the emphasis on gnosis with

these specific religious connotations. On the other hand, Lazzarelli’s interpretation (layed down in his

translation of the three chapters and in his main work, the Crater Hermetis), focusing on spiritual

regeneration that leads to gnosis, is crucial for understanding Agrippa’s religious perspective as

presented in the De occulta philosophia, as well as for his theory of magic.155

Hanegraaff focuses on Agrippa’s Italian period by conducting a close textual analysis of his

“anthropological” treatises and the introductory speech to his now lost lectures on Ficino’s Pimander in

Pavia (Oratio habita Papiae in praelectione Hermetic Trismegisti De Potestate et Sapientia Dei). He

also takes into account both versions of the De occulta philosophia and notes that already in the
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153
Hanegraaff, “Better than Magic,” 3–5. Moreover, the problem with Ficino’s translation turns out to be much bigger than
missing the central point. As Hanegraaff demonstrates in another article, “How Hermetic was Renaissance Hermetism,”
Aries – Journal for the Study of Western Esotericism 15 (2015): 179–209, in addition to Ficino’s apparently
misunderstanding much of the Hermetic message, the first edition of the Pimander (1471) “turns out to be corrupt in many
crucial respects, leading to a long series of defective editions that obscured the actual contents of the Corpus Hermeticum
for Renaissance readers” (179). Hanegraaff bases this conclusion on the meticulous critical edition and philological analysis
of the Pimander by Maurizio Campanelli, Mercurii Trismegisti Pimander sive De Potestate et Sapientia Dei (Torino: Nino
Aragno, 2011).
154
Hanegraaff, “How Hermetic was Renaissance Hermetism,” 187.
155
It was already Perrone Compagni who, especially in her critical edition of the De triplici ratione, showed the extent to
which Agrippa—usually tacitly—relied on Lazzarelli. Hanegraaff, “Better than Magic,” 15, conjectures that Agrippa might
have come in closer contact with Lazzarelli’s work through his friend Symphorien Champier, who met Lazzarelli’s spiritual
teacher Giovanni “Mercurio” da Correggio in 1501.

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 juvenile draft one finds the Hermetic/Lazzarellian idea of converting mind into God, passing into the

nature of God, and thus acquiring the superior knowledge granted to the divinized man. The final

version goes even step further and refers to “a unique and very daring thesis” of the Crater Hermetis,

that of the regenerated man’s participation in God’s power of creation, a power to create souls.156 This

power, however, is granted solely to the Christian hermetist, who is able to go beyond Hermes’ wisdom

and recognize in the personality of Poimandres none other than Jesus Christ.

In a nutshell: according to how Lazzarelli interprets the Corpus Hermeticum (and how Agrippa

takes over his interpretation), there is no true ontological difference between God the creator and the

created soul, and this is the only way to explain man’s divine potentials such as the power to create

souls.157 Agrippa’s anthropological treatises and the Pavian Oratio confirm his adherence to Lazzarelli.

In the Oratio he speaks about “the knowledge of ourselves, the ascent of the intellect, arcane prayers,

the unity with God, and the sacrament of regeneration.”158 He also adopts Lazzarelli’s extraordinary

and bold conviction that Poimandres from CH I is actually Jesus Christ.159

The case of the Dialogus de homine is interesting in itself as this dialogue, in addition to relying

on the above-delineated ideas, brings forth a curious anthropological distinction: the image of God is

not the soul but man as an integrated being consisting of both body and soul.160 This distinction,

expressed in such a straightforward manner and closely approaching the monist anthropology of the

Church, is quite unusual for Agrippa and merits further comparative analysis. The De homine also
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closely paraphrases the Crater Hermetis on the question of man’s fall: it is a well-known narrative of

156
Hanegraaff, “Better than Magic,” 9. Agrippa’s detailed treatment of these Lazzarellian ideas can be found in chapter III
36 of the 1533 edition.
157
DOP 513, III 36: “it is a literal generation in which the son is like the father in all manner of similitude, and in which the
begotten is the same in species as the begetter” (est autem univoca generatio, in qua filius est patri similis omnimoda
similitudine et in qua genitum secundum speciem idem est cum generante). As Hanegraaff, “Better than Magic,” 12, points
out, this is a close paraphrase from the Crater Hermetis, 25.4.
158
Oratio habita Papiae, ed. Paola Zambelli in Eugenio Garin et al., Testi umanistici su l’ermetismo (Rome: Fratelli Bocca,
1955), 124, quoted in Hanegraaff, “Better than Magic,” 14.
159
Oratio habita Papiae, ed. Zambelli, 125, quoted in Hanegraaff, “Better than Magic,” 14.
160
Agrippa, De homine, 50v–51r, ed. Zambelli, 299, quoted and discussed in Hanegraaff, “Better than Magic,” 18–19.

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 the primordial man as a being with a double nature: a divine and an immortal one, and a bodily and a

mortal one.161 The body was mortal but inhabited by the divine light, as long as man was in harmony

with God. Due to man’s transgression the light withdrew, and the body became subject to corruption.162

“The implication,” concludes Hanegraaf, “is that Agrippa systematically juxtaposed two kinds of

‘generation’: a carnal one leading to death, and a spiritual one leading to immortality.”163 One wonders,

however, how this image fits the monist anthropological perspective mentioned in the above lines.

Among a number of observations in Hanegraaff’s interpretation one merits special attention: it

is his thesis that Agrippa’s magia, in essence, amounts to the third and highest type of magic discussed

in the De occulta philosophia.164 This means that Hanegraaff equates Agrippa’s intellectual magic with

the theosophical quest for gnosis as expounded by the author of the Corpus Hermeticum and Lazzarelli,

as opposed to the lower types of magic such as astral and natural. The difference, then, is that of kind,

not of degree. I discuss this issue at length in Chapters Four and Five.

MAPPING A NO-MAN’S LAND: HOW TO APPROACH AN ESOTERIC AUTHOR?

Now that I have given a basic overview of the several most important contributions to Agrippan

studies, I move on to a discussion of my own approach. Certainly, I base a considerable part of my

analysis on some of the above-delineated theses and conclusions. Somewhere between the painstaking

archival and philological work of Nauert and Perrone Compagni, and the complex theoretical
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examinations of Lehrich, I propose a more narrowly oriented examination that should clarify some

aspects of Agrippa’s anthropology vis-à-vis his religious self-identification.

161
Ibid., 19–20.
162
In another anthropological treatise, the De originali peccato, Agrippa claims that the original sin consisted of the sexual
intercourse. This will be a subject of detailed analysis in Chapter Five.
163
Hanegraaff, “Better than Magic,” 20.
164
Ibid., 13–14, 23–24. As I discuss in Chapter Five, this view influences the way in which Hanegraaff understands the
relation between magical miracle-working and deification.

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 As already indicated in the Introduction, dealing with Agrippa’s writings in the proposed way

requires the following methodological steps: 1) a detailed, narrowly focused philological examination

of his works in search of all the relevant loci pertaining to the above-listed anthropological themes; 2) a

discourse analysis and interpretation of the acquired data with the aim of elucidating Agrippa’s

anthropological views within the broader context of his theory of magic as well as his professed

allegiance to Christianity.

How to read Agrippa?

It has often been stated that Cornelius Agrippa’s frequent changes of authorial voices and his shifting

opinions resulted in a highly inconsistent, at times even unintelligible text.165 The readers appear to be

faced with a recurring necessity to choose which Agrippa they are dealing with: the magus, the skeptic,

the Erasmian Christian, the humanist with sympathies for the Protestants, etc. Does the author exhibit

even a minimum of intellectual coherence to be analyzed in a meaningful way? Is it possible to avoid

all those easy solutions that explain away his literary and intellectual inconsistencies as coming from an

undecided, perplexed, intellectually unsound or simply dishonest personality (the “Thorndikean”

paradigm)? On the other hand, is it possible to resist a tendency to impose harmony and system on

Agrippa’s worldview at all costs, to read them into his works to a much greater extent than the texts

themselves justify, to project consistency into all aspects of Agrippa’s thought? I believe the answer to
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all these questions is a careful yes, provided that one relies on the most important results of present-day

scholarship on Agrippa, but without expecting a necessary coniunctio oppositorum at the end of the

road.

As shown above, the common thread of all the “linguistic” approaches to Agrippa’s work is the

assumption that he did not see language as founded on the notions of fixity and identity and that

165
See Michael Keefer’s remark quoted on p. 36, where he speaks of Agrippa’s verbal and doctrinal “violent oscillations.”

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 consequently each of his texts can be viewed, to put it in Chris Miles’s words, as “a complex and

bewildering matrix of authorial tones and implied (or invoked) readers that are presented in cross-

conversation with each other.”166 What follows is that Agrippa’s language reaches metalingustic levels

where the very structure of his works, the alteration of authorial voices, the skillful use of the shifting

nature of discourse often serve to point the reader to something other or more than the plain text

suggests. In other words, I read Agrippa with an eye on Nauert’s notion of “intentional ambiguity,” Van

der Poel’s insistence on his rhetorical subtlety, and Perrone Compagni’s emphasis on dispersa intentio.

With this conceptual framework in mind, I propose the above-mentioned twofold

methodological approach. The first step consists in a close reading of the selected paragraphs. As

classical philologist, I am particularly interested in the lexical and semantic aspects of the proposed

topic, in Agrippa’s terminological choices and the meanings with which he loads the chosen terms,

especially with regard to his sources of references, both synchronic and diachronic. 167 My own

application of “close reading” implies a broader, theoretically less loaded meaning of the term in

contrast to the specialized analytical tool introduced by adherents to the so-called New Criticism, who

advocate the semantic autonomy of text.168 I do not fully subscribe to the view that the “real author’s

intention” can be easily disposed of, although I also do not think that the text alone can lead the reader

to the absolute reconstruction of the “true meaning” intended by the author.

It might be argued that the “close reading” of single sentences or paragraphs—taken in its more
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“ordinary” form as a traditional philological word-by-word examination—is a methodologically

166
Miles, “Occult Retraction,” 444.
167
Admittedly, this level of analysis has its limitations: as Jonathan Z. Smith notes, “[g]iving primacy to native terminology
yields, at best, lexical definitions which, historically and statistically, tell how a word is used. But, lexical definitions are
almost always useless for scholarly work. To remain content with how ‘they’ understand ‘magic’ may yield a proper
description, but little explanatory power.” Jonathan Z. Smith, “Trading Places,” quoted in Lehrich, The Language of
Demons and Angels, 10.
168
For a comprehensive discussion, with accompanying references, on the concept of close reading of the New Critics and
its implications for the study of ancient texts see Thomas A. Schmitz, Modern Literary Theory and Ancient Texts. An
Introduction (Malden, Ma: Blackwell Publishing, 2007), 91–94.

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 backward approach similar to the methods of the traditional Christian exegesis. However, I start off

with an assumption that each word in Agrippa’s works is a result of a carefully planned scheme and a

meticulous selection revealing different authorial voices and at least hinting at the positions of the

projected (if not the real) author. The textual history of Agrippa’s works seems to confirm my

assumption: in the case of the De occulta philosophia, for instance, it took him more than twenty three

years to bring his manuscript to the printing press, and those were not simply idle years, but periods in

which Agrippa constantly reread, rewrote, and rearranged the whole text. In tune with Wouter

Hanegraaff, I see a careful philological analysis as a necessary prerequisite for establishing any

interpretive model that would apply to a complex and subtle homo literatus as Cornelius Agrippa

certainly was.169

Difficulties of interpretation

Although reading already implies interpreting, a scholarly work, of course, requires a final, logical, and

coherent articulation of the offered interpretation. One needs to choose a bag from which to pull out

one’s scholarly labels. This second methodological step presents even more serious problems than the

first. Once it comes to interpreting the collected data, the question arises as to which discipline is best

applicable to such a complex and disparate author, who has been largely marginalized by the

traditionally established branches of history. In this regard, in a somewhat apophatic manner, I first
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ought to clarify what the present examination is not about.

Agrippa’s own all-inclusive definition of magic as his principal field of interest is not

particularly helpful in formulating the conceptual framework of my analysis. He views it as a “science”

169
See Hanegraaff, “Altered States of Knowledge,” 129–33. Speaking about “erudite textual criticism and philology, on a
basis of essentially descriptive historiography” he also warns of the dangers of misunderstanding such an approach by
taking it as “a quasi-positivist doctrine of descriptivism.”

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 (perfectissima, summaque scientia) and a “philosophy” (altior sanctiorque philosophia),170 but it does

not, of course, qualify his doctrines as strictly belonging either to the domain of the history of science

or the history of philosophy as present-day scholarly disciplines. The former was definitely ruled out as

a relevant scholarly field with the fall of the so-called “Yates thesis,”171 whereas the latter has only a

limited scope when applied to Agrippa. As Lehrich points out, both disciplines are to a considerable

extent marked by a teleological orientation, that is, they tend to “treat an author’s thought in terms of

the disciplines which ultimately emerged from the lineage in which that author participated.”172 Against

such a stern criterion, Agrippa’s work undoubtedly falls short of being relevant in either field. 173

Nevertheless, the history of philosophy remains an important conceptual framework as long as

one keeps in mind that the “blind alley” of the Renaissance syncretism relied on important

philosophical concepts inherited from the antiquity and the Middle Ages. For example, it would be

difficult to analyze Agrippa’s views on man without taking into account Plato’s intermediary gods in

the Timaeus or various ideas that Fritz Graf calls the “theological turn” of late antique philosophy.174

Or, it is well known that some of the Renaissance esotericists, such as Pico della Mirandola, took more

or less active part in the debates on the differences between Plato and Aristotle that gushed out in the
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170
Agrippa, DOP, 86. The author uses the term scientia not simply as denoting “knowledge”—which is the ordinary
meaning of the word in Classical Latin—but rather “science,” as evident from his usage of the word in the De vanitate
scientiarum. In his occult encyclopedia too Agrippa treats magic as a full-fledged scientific discipline encompassing
elements of physics, botany, meteorology etc., just as he consistently links magia naturalis to—or even equates it with—
natural philosophy.
171
See Hanegraaff, Esotericism and the Academy, 325–27. He notes, however, that “it has now become quite normal for
historians of science to discuss topics like alchemy, astrology, and natural magic” (quote on 327). Yet, this type of interest
is insufficient in studying the religious dimensions of Agrippa’s esotericism, which is the focal point of my dissertation.
172
Lehrich, The Language of Demons and Angels, 12.
173
Concerning the history of philosophy as a proper framework for studying Agrippa, one might add Cassirer’s insightful
remark that the spiritual essence of the Renaissance did not primarily reflect in its philosophy, but rather in the syncretistic
religious assumptions as well as the philological and artistic concerns of the epoch; see Ernst Cassirer, The Individual and
the Cosmos in Renaissance Philosophy, tr. Mario Domandi (Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, 2000), 1–2.
174
Fritz Graf, “Magic II: Antiquity” in: Hanegraaff (ed.), Dictionary of Gnosis & Western Esotericism, 721.

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 fifteenth century,175 even though Agrippa’s own numerous debates, as I showed in the biographical

section, had much more to do with theology than philosophy proper.

However, in coping with an author as eclectic as Agrippa not even theology is entirely

applicable. Many aspects of his thought, such as his numerous exegetical attempts, fall within the scope

of this discipline, while many others (to mention only alchemy or ceremonial magic) evidently cross its

boundaries and require a more interdisciplinary approach even when they go hand in hand with

theological considerations.

Such an approach is provided by religious studies as a multidisciplinary academic field

comprising disciplines as divergent as cultural anthropology, sociology, psychology, and intellectual

history with their particular methodologies. The need for such a cross-disciplinary perspective can best

be illustrated by the example of Agrippa’s De vanitate. In any attempt to interpret this puzzling work

one has to take into account many different aspects and layers of the problem: Agrippa’s religious

convictions and philosophical attitudes, his literary role models and main sources of influence (in this

particular case Erasmus and Giovani Francesco Pico della Mirandola), his personal circumstances at

the time of writing (poverty, disillusionment, anger), the various aspects of patronage (even a failed

one, as in the case of Louise de Savoy), the humanist literary and rhetorical vogues and strategies such

as self-fashioning, love of irony and literary paradox, etc.

As already discussed in the Introduction,176 I believe that Agrippa’s thought and work can be
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efficiently examined in the conceptual framework of the academic study of Western esotericism as a

newly developed branch of religious studies. This field provides a cross-disciplinary approach which

takes into account all those liminal areas of intellect and spirituality that lie in the murky space between

175
For a detailed discussion on this see S. A. Farmer, Syncretism in the West. Pico’s 900 Theses (1486). The Evolution of
Traditional Religious and Philosophical Systems (Tempe, Arizona: Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies, 1998), 1–
58.
176
See Introduction, 20–28.

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 religion, philosophy, art, science, and other major fields of human thought and creativity. Thus a

number of apparently disparate phenomena in Agrippa, when examined within the conceptual

framework of the study of Western esotericism, exhibit some similarities and discernable patterns. They

can be usefully described by the classical taxonomic definition of esotericism given by Antoine Faivre,

one of the “fathers” of the modern scholarship of Western esotericism. According to Faivre, there are

several characteristics common to what he terms “esoteric spirituality” in contrast to other modes of

spirituality: 1) The doctrine of correspondences; 2) The idea of living nature; 3) Imagination and

mediations (as the means for both “vertical” and “horizontal” communication); 4) The experience of

transmutation (i.e. personal transformation); 5) The practice of concordance (a search for similarities

between various esoteric traditions with the idea of reaching a single, universal point of divine

revelation), and 6) Transmission (the principle of handing down the esoteric knowledge through a

disciplic succession and initiation).177 Faivre considers the first four criteria as necessary for defining

esotericism, and he adds the last two as secondary. Except for point four, all these features are evident

and amply documented in Agrippa’s works. In Chapters Four and Five of this thesis I emphasize—in

tune with Perrone Compagni and some other Agrippan scholars discussed above—that the idea of

personal transformation also played a prominent role in his thought.

And yet, despite the basic congruity of his main ideas, Agrippa’s shifting authorial voices and

modes of argumentation, as well as a perplexing chronology of his publicly articulated attitudes, pose
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significant problems for interpreting his work. What complicates matters further is the complexity of

the spiritual traditions—or “traditions”—he relied upon. Speaking of the problems with the partly

corrupt and misleading Ficino’s 1471 translation of the Corpus Hermeticum, Wouter Hanegraaff

177
Antoine Faivre, Access to Western Esotericism (New York: SUNY Press, 1994), 3–47. Faivre’s definition has been
contested from the various points of view and more or less discarded as a valid scholarly definition, but it is still quite useful
as a description of the main traits of Renaissance esotericism. Critics question the universality of Faivre’s criteria and see
them as theoretical generalizations.

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 somewhat downheartedly concludes that “it cannot be said that the transmission and reception of the

Hermetica resulted in a ‘tradition’ in any meaningful sense of the word. We are then left with only a

Renaissance discourse about Hermes.”178

However, this is exactly my position regarding Agrippa and his treatment of the spiritual

traditions he built into his synthesis. I examine precisely Agrippa’s discourse on Christianity,

Platonism, Hermetism, etc. as it can be easily misleading to examine his doctrinal synthesis without

taking into account this aspect of the problem. For instance, when I analyze the role of Pauline

Christianity in his thought, I view it as entirely determined by the way he read St. Paul; any other way

would hardly make any sense in light of Agrippa’s aberrations from what was considered the orthodox

interpretation of the Pauline theology. The same goes for his readings of translated works, whether the

translations were faithful to the original or flawed: both affected his own understanding of the issues

involved.179

As is well-known from the twentieth century literary theory, the act of reading is a complex

process of reception and production in which the reader is not a passive receiver of the predetermined

meaning of the text. Instead, readers actively form—or reformulate—the meaning by building into their

interpretation a whole set of presumptions and convictions. What grants the reader such a “power” is

what Wolfgang Iser terms the “empty places” in the text, which leave it in the state of interpretive

indeterminacy and “invite” the reader to fill in the “blank space.”180 I will argue that this kind of textual
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ambiguities—Van der Poel calls them “the uncertainties of the revelation” and considers them the main

178
Hanegraaff, “How Hermetic was Renaissance Hermetism,” 2. See note 153. Hanegraaff refers to Maurizio Campanelli’s
discovery of serious shortcomings in Ficino’s original translation of the Corpus Hermeticum. In this regard, I analyzed the
way in which Ficino completely misinterpreted Plato’s Ion and came to the conclusion that one can only speak of Ficino’s
discourse about Platonism: see Noel Putnik, “Plato Ficinianus: jedan renesansni primer recepcionističke kritike” [Plato
Ficinianus: A Renaissance Example of Reader-Response Criticism], Lucida Intervalla, A Journal of Classical Studies, Vol.
43 (2014): 165–94.
179
This is why, when examining Agrippa’s use of the Corpus Hermeticum, I also rely on Maurizo Campanelli’s critical
edition of Ficino’s problematic translation.
180
Wolfgang Iser, The Act of Reading. A Theory of Aesthetic Response (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press,
1978), 34–38.

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 area of Agrippa’s theological interests181—was particularly productive for Agrippa’s exegesis.

With all this in mind, I proceed now to the analysis of the cosmic scenery in which the

Agrippan man appears and takes on his or her role as a divinely empowered microcosm.
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181
See Introduction, 20 n. 22.

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 CHAPTER TWO

SETTING THE COSMOLOGICAL SCENE: HOMO MINOR MUNDUS

It is no exaggeration to say that Agrippa’s notion of man depends almost entirely on, or is intrinsically

connected to, his understanding of the cosmos. In the first book of De occulta philosophia one reads

that “man’s nature is the most complete image of the whole universe, containing in itself the whole

heavenly harmony” (humana natura … sit totius universi completissima imago, in seipsa omnem

continens harmoniam).182 This idea of the microcosmos in macrocosmo, fairly common in the

Renaissance, gained particular importance in Agrippa’s thought as it provided a necessary conceptual

backup for his doctrine of spiritual ascension. In other words, human nature as conceived by the

Nettesheimer cannot be fully comprehended independently of man’s position and participation in the

universe. It is therefore necessary to pay some attention to Agrippa’s understanding of the

macrocosmos before moving on to the scrutiny of his anthropological views stricto sensu. In this

chapter I examine some crucial cosmological concepts adopted and developed by the German humanist

by going through those primary sources that offer some insight into this matter. It will come as no

surprise that the main target of my analysis is Agrippa’s occult encyclopedia, which remains the most

elaborate exposition of his philosophical tenets. One finds very few direct reflections on cosmology

and cosmogony in the other works considered in this thesis.183

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THE UNIVERSE OF THE DE OCCULTA PHILOSOPHIA

The De occulta philosophia is the largest, most important, and most complex among Cornelius

182
I 33, DOP 148, Tyson 102.
183
Parts of this chapter appear in my text “Agrippa’s Cosmic Ladder: Building a World with Words in the De Occulta
Philosophia,” in Lux in Tenebris. The Visual and the Symbolic in Western Esotericism, ed. Peter J. Forshaw (Leiden: Brill,
2016): 81–102.

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 Agrippa’s works. It is a summa of virtually all the esoteric doctrines and magical practices accessible to

the author. As is well known and discussed in scholarship, this vast and diverse amount of material is

organized within a tripartite structure that corresponds to the common Neoplatonic notion of a cosmic

hierarchy. Thus the first book deals with natural magic corresponding to the physical realm, the second

with astral or mathematical magic corresponding to the celestial realm, and the third with ceremonial or

ritual magic corresponding to the intellectual realm of the created world. 184 Each of these three parts

embraces a number of doctrines and practices coming from different esoteric traditions—ranging from

late Hellenistic Neoplatonism and Hermetism through medieval magic and Kabbalah to the doctrines of

Florentine Neoplatonists and Christian Kabbalists—which Agrippa expounds and interconnects

according to his hierarchical scheme. As already discussed above, the final form and the content of this

work are the result of a long and complex creative process: one should remember that the juvenile draft

Agrippa presented to the abbot Trithemius in 1510 differs greatly from the final version published in

1533. The former is considerably shorter and even structured differently. 185 Certainly, it is quite

difficult to analyze such a work from the viewpoint of consistency if one has in mind more than two

decades of revising and rewriting the text, with an ever increasing body of both acknowledged and

unacknowledged sources Agrippa relied upon. This diachronic aspect of Agrippa’s cosmological and

anthropological observations needs to be addressed with particular care.

It is often (perhaps too often) stated that this monumental synthesis is neither an original
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contribution to the study of magic nor a practical manual. A considerable body of modern scholarship

184
The cosmological aspects of the De occulta philosophia have been extensively analyzed in scholarship: see, for instance,
Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic, 90–96; Yates, Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition, 146–60; Nauert,
Agrippa, 220–59; Lehrich, The Language of Demons and Angels, 36–42; Szőnyi, John Dee’s Occultism, 110–20, etc.
Hermann F. W. Kuhlow has dedicated his entire doctoral thesis to Agrippa’s cosmology and its religious implications: see
Kuhlow, Die Imitatio Christi und ihre kosmologische Überfremdung. Die theologischen Grundgedanken des Agrippa von
Nettesheim (Berlin und Hamburg: Lutherisches Verlagshaus, 1967).
185
The juvenile version is preserved in its original form at the University Library of Würzburg, Universitätsbibliothek, ms.
M.ch.q.50. For a discussion on the differences between the two editions see Perrone Compagni’s Introduction, DOP 1–59.
Pages 54–59 offer a particularly valuable table of comparison between the 1533 published edition and the 1510 manuscript.

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 has not done justice to the Nettesheimer’s legacy in viewing him simply as an encyclopedist and

compiler who, to use Christopher Lehrich’s words, “merely collected odd bits of obscure knowledge

and fantasy.”186 Following Lehrich and some other of the above-mentioned scholars, I maintain that

behind the compilatory structure of the De occulta philosophia one can detect the work of a

considerably coherent thinker and a relatively creative exegete. The weight of Agrippa’s interpretation

is precisely in providing an all-encompassing cosmological and theological framework for what had

reached his time as a jumble of heterodox philosophies, odd practices, obscure beliefs, superstition, and

strange literary reminiscences.

The opening sentence

The main intention of the author of the De occulta philosophia is to rehabilitate and re-establish magic

in its original, incorrupt form, as Agrippa declares in a letter to Trithemius attached to the first book of

his work.187 He views magic as the most sublime ancient form of philosophy and religion which had

degenerated due to the misuse and ignorance of those who applied it. It is now his task to vindicate the

honorable name of magic and make it acceptable to the general Christian public if not to the Church

itself. In order to do this, it is not enough merely to catalog all the existing forms of magic and separate

the authentic from the false; one needs to put magic into a broader philosophical and theological

context within which one should be able to prove the genuine value and purpose of magic. Certainly,
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Agrippa had predecessors in this enterprise; to mention Marsilio Ficino is enough for the moment.

However, what differentiates Agrippa from his predecessors is the scope as well as the daring of his

vindication of magic.

What then would be the lost original purpose of that “sublime ancient philosophy” according to

Agrippa? In the very first sentence of his De occulta philosophia he answers that question and

186
Lehrich, The Language of Demons and Angels, 214.
187
DOP 68–71, Tyson liii–lv. The letter is dated April 8, 1510.

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 delineates a magical program that he develops in the rest of the work:188

Seeing that there is a threefold world, elementary, celestial, and intellectual, and that
every inferior is governed by its superior and receives the influence of the virtues
thereof, so that the very original and chief Worker of all does by angels, heavens, stars,
elements, animals, plants, metals, and stones convey from himself the virtues of his
omnipotence upon us, for whose service he made and created all these things, wise men
conceive it no way irrational that it should be possible for us to ascend by the same
degrees through each world, to the same very original world itself, the Maker of all
things and First Cause, from whence all things are and proceed, and also to enjoy not
only these virtues which are already in the more excellent kind of things, but also
besides these, to draw new virtues from above.

Cum triplex sit mundus, elementalis, coelestis et intellectualis, et quisque inferior a

superiori regatur ac suarum virium suscipiat influxum ita ut ipse Archetypus et summus
Opifex per angelos, coelos, stellas, elementa, animalia, plantas, metalla, lapides, Suae
omnipotentiae virtutes exinde in nos transfundat, in quorum ministerium haec omnia
condidit atque creavit, non irrationabile putant magi nos per eosdem gradus, per
singulos mundos, ad eundem ipsum archetypum mundum, omnium opificem et primam
causam, a qua sunt omnia et procedunt omnia, posse conscendere: et non solum his
viribus quae in rebus nobilioribus praeexistunt frui posse, sed alias praeterea novas
desuper posse attrahere.189

The importance of this somewhat too complicated sentence cannot be overstated; with just a

little bit of exaggeration, one might even say that the rest of the De occulta philosophia is but a huge

commentary on this single sentence. If it is broken into a more user-friendly, comprehensible form, its

crucial elements begin to surface more clearly:

Seeing that there is a threefold world, elementary, celestial, and intellectual, and that
every inferior is governed by its superior and receives the influence of the virtues thereof
... wise men conceive it no way irrational that it should be possible for us to ascend by
the same degrees through each world, to the same very original world itself.190
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It is essential to notice here that the sentence in the original opens with a causal cum, which determines

188
Here I give a slightly modified version of James Freake’s 1651 translation. Wherever I consider it necessary or desirable
for the sake of clarity, I insert my modifications based on the Latin original.
189
I 1, DOP 85, Tyson 3.
190
Italics mine. Just in passing, note the interesting way James Freake chose to render the Latin magi as “wise men.” Note
also that Freake’s verb ascend corresponds to the Latin conscendere. One is tempted to speculate that Agrippa was careful
not to use the theologically more loaded form ascendere.

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 the logical perspective of the whole sentence: “since there is a threefold world.”191 The opening word is

thus undoubtedly a deliberate choice. In addition to explaining the core concept of the work, it can also

be interpreted as carrying a covert apologetic intention: the fact that the world is created in such a

manner that it enables the way back up the ladder vindicates the magus from the accusations that his

spiritual project is a transgression of the divine rules. The author is also particularly keen to emphasize

that the created world is not static and uniform: “every inferior is governed by its superior and receives

the influence of the virtues thereof” means that the three postulated worlds are structured hierarchically

as a result of the process of divine emanation.192 The “chief Worker of all,” “the Maker of all things and

First Cause”—that is, God—does not merely create the world; he invests it with his divine presence

and omnipotence which flow down continuously through the created chain of beings, starting from

angels and stars and ending with metals and stones.193 God’s divine virtues are distributed vertically, in

such a manner that every preceding level of creation rules the one below. Agrippa sees this outpouring

of God’s essence—or at least his virtues if not the essence—as a natural process, which then leaves the

way back to the Godhead also naturally open. This is emphasized by the important words non

irrationabile, which conceal, in nuce, a philosophical justification and defense of magic confronted

with the inimical and suspicious mainstream theology. The magician (not Freake’s euphemistic “wise

man”) perceives this whole process of natural emanation and comes to an utterly rational conclusion

that it is possible to climb back to transcendence by using the same cosmic ladder. Thus Agrippa
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proclaims the main goal of his magic: to return to the One from whom all things proceed and to share

191
On causal cum see LS 495, II B.
192
As indicated by Perrone Compagni, DOP 86, Agrippa’s notion of triplex mundus comes directly from Pico’s Heptaplus
and Reuchlin’s De arte cabbalistica. The same doctrine of unus mundus in tres particulares singulos partitus is found in
Agrippa’s juvenile treatise Dialogus de homine (ed. Zambelli), 48r–v.
193
As a theoretical concept, the “great chain of being” was introduced by Arthur O. Lovejoy in his classic The Great Chain
of Being: A Study in the History of an Idea (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1964). It was further developed
by S. K. Heninger in his Touches of Sweet Harmony: Pythagorean Cosmology and Renaissance Poetics (San Marino, Cal.:
Huntington Library, 1974) and The Cosmographycal Glass: Renaissance Diagrams of the Universe (San Marino, Cal.:
Huntington Library, 1977) and by a great number of other scholars. For a discussion of the concept more particularly
applied to Renaissance Neoplatonists see Szőnyi, John Dee’s Occultism, 24–34.

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 in his omnipotence.194 In other words, the aim of Agrippa’s magician is clearly some sort of ascension

and deification. To use Moshe Idel’s words, he wants to become “capable of touching or being touched

by the divine”195 with a delicate but constant emphasis on gaining divine powers. The whole idea rests

on a logical and causal connection that Agrippa establishes between the possibility of ascent and the

factual descent of the divine virtues through the process of emanation. It is precisely the latter that

enables the former and, to emphasize it once again, makes it a natural and “rational” idea.196

Imagines imaginum: the sequence of mirrors

The notion of a threefold world is thus crucial for examining Agrippa’s views on cosmology. The

hierarchical interconnectedness of all the parts of such a world is what enables the two-directional

communication along the cosmic spinal cord. Such a permeable structure is made possible by two

fundamental and mutually related features of the world: 1) it is emanated from the One, i. e. it is the

creation and image of God (Dei imago mundus);197 2) it is alive, rational, and intelligent, i.e. it has a

soul of its own (anima mundi).198

Agrippa is particularly keen to emphasize the second point. He deduces the living nature of the

world from the above-discussed principle of hierarchical influence: in order to be able to exert their

influence, the sky and celestial bodies, and indeed the whole universe, must themselves be ensouled
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194
See also Kuhlow, Die Imitatio Christi, 30–33.
195
Moshe Idel, Ascensions on High in Jewish Mysticism: Pillars, Lines, Ladders (Budapest: CEU Press, 2005), 23. This is
what György E. Szőnyi calls exaltatio; see his elaboration of this concept in Szőnyi, John Dee’s Occultism, 34–37. The
term deificatio, with all its ambivalent connotations, has also been used by scholars in this context: see, for instance, Jean-
Pierre Brach, “Magic IV: Renaissance–17th Century,” in Hanegraaff (ed.), Dictionary of Gnosis & Western Esotericism,
731–38.
196
Agrippa’s idea of ascending by degrees had its immediate literary predecessor in Pico’s image of the ladder given in his
Oratio and taken over from Genesis 28:12–13, but interpreted within Pico’s doctrine of man’s ontological freedom to
determine his own nature; see Pico della Mirandola, On the Dignity of Man. On Being and the One. Heptaplus, tr. Douglas
Carmichael, with an introduction by Paul J. W. Miller (Indianapolis/Cambridge: Hackett Publishing Company, 1998), 3–4;
9–10.
197
I 37, DOP 155, Tyson 110: Prima autem Dei imago mundus; and III 36, DOP 506–507, Tyson 579: Exuperantissimus
Deus...cum ipse sit unus, unum creavit mundum.
198
II 55–57, DOP 383–87.

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 (animata) in the first place, since no influence can come from the body alone (puro corpore).199 For

another line of argumentation Agrippa reaches back to Plato’s thesis that this world is the most perfect

of all worlds as it originates from the Good;200 and since “the soul is the perfection of the body”

(perfectio corporis anima est), it follows that this world, corpus mundi, must be alive, conscious, and

intelligent.201 For Agrippa, the anima mundi is a unifying and all-pervasive principle of the universe

that, among other ways of communication, makes a magical operatio possible. The author underlies his

point by providing a precise definition of this concept:

The soul of the world therefore is a certain kind of universal life filling all things,
bestowing all things, binding, and knitting together all things, so that it might make one
frame of the world, and that it might be as it were one instrument making out of many
strings one sound, sounding from three kinds of creatures ‒ intellectual, celestial, and
corruptible ‒ with one common breath and life.

Est itaque anima mundi vita quaedam unica omnia replens, omnia perfundens, omnia
colligans et connectens, ut unam reddat totius mundi machinam sitque velut unum
monochordum ex tribus generibus creaturarum, intellectuali, coelesti et corruptibili
reboans, unico flatu tantummodo et unica vita.202

The cosmos thus reflects the unity and all-pervasiveness of the divine. However, it has its own image,

man. In a curious and significant diversion from the Christian homo imago Dei paradigm, man is seen

as an ensouled, rational, and intelligent image of the cosmos, an image of the primary image of God. In

a number of chapters Agrippa stresses this homo imago mundi paradigm: e.g. in I 33, where he says

that “the human nature is the fullest image of the entire universe” (humana natura…totius universi
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completissima imago), or in I 37, where one reads that “the world is the image of God, and man the

199
II 55, DOP 383. This whole statement was added to the 1533 edition.
200
Plat. Timaeus 28A–30D. Agrippa could have found this line of argumentation developed in Ficino’s Theologia Platonica
XI, 4; see Marsilio Ficino, Platonic Theology, Vol. 3, tr. Michael J. B. Allen, ed. James Hankins (Cambridge, MA London:
Harvard University Press, 2003), 265–67.
201
II 57, DOP 386. This argument again rehearses Ficino’s reasoning in Theol. Plat. XI, 4.
202
II 57, DOP 387, Tyson 421. This definition is Agrippa’s addition to his discussion in the 1533 edition. Freake’s
translation is slightly modified. For some reason the translator omitted the important word vita from the beginning of the
sentence.

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 image of the world” (Dei imago mundus, mundi homo).203

Agrippa’s assertion that “man is not created simply the image of God, but after the image, or the

image of the image” (quod homo non simpliciter imago Dei creatus est, sed ad imaginem, quasi

imaginis imago) is very important in this regard as it argues for the gradual, emanational creation of the

human being as opposed to the Genesis creation narrative.204

However, the matters become somewhat complicated with the Hermetic account of creation

(Corpus Hermeticum, I 5–12), in which the first image of God appears to be—at least according to

some passages—not the world but the Word. Moreover, in the same account one finds that man was

created directly by “Mind, the father of all” (I 12), whereas in CH VIII 5 Hermes explains to Tat that

“mankind, the third living being, came to be in the image of the cosmos.”205 Thus there appear to be

two conflicting accounts of man’s creation in the Corpus Hermeticum, which are further complicated

by the problem of what exactly imago imaginis stands for: is it the image of the cosmos or the image of

the first image, the holy word (λόγος ἅγιος)? In CH I 5–6, Hermes sees in his vision how “from the

light…a holy word mounted upon the <watery> nature” (ἐκ τοῦ φωτός τις λόγος ἅγιος ἐπέβη τῇ φύσει;

Ficino reads somewhat differently: ex hac luminis voce verbum sanctum prodiit)206, and Poimandres

explains to him that “I am the light you saw, mind, your god” and “the lightgiving word who comes

from mind is the son of god” (Τὸ φῶς ἐκεῖνο ἐγώ εἰμι νοῦς ὁ σὸς θεός … ὁ δὲ ἐκ νοὸς φωτεινὸς λόγος,
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203
DOP 148, 155. Other such instances are II 27, DOP 328, and III 36, DOP 507–508, where Agrippa states that “man is
called the other world, and the other image of God, because he has in himself all that is contained in the greater world”
(Homo itaque alter mundus vocatus est et altera Dei imago, quia in seipso habet totum quod in maiori mundo continetur).
See also Agrippa, Dialogus de homine (ed. Zambelli), 46r–47v, for a clear exposition of the homo minor mundus doctrine.
204
III 36, DOP 507, Tyson 579. Again, note Agrippa’s cautious wording. He begins the sentence with a double syntactic
retreat: “some think that it is said that…” (putant quidam dictum esse…). However, the very fact that the sentence was
added to the 1533 edition speaks of its importance for the author and effectively neutralizes the retreat.
205
Brian P. Copenhaver, Hermetica. The Greek Corpus Hermeticum and the Latin Asclepius in a New English Translation,
with Notes and Introduction (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 3, 26. Here Ficino’s translation does not
depart from the original. He renders the Greek words Τὸ δὲ τρίτον ζῶον, ὁ ἄνθρωπος κατ’ εἰκόνα τοῦ κόσμου γενόμενος
(given here according to a critical edition: Hermetis Trismegisti Poemander. Ad fidem codicum manu scriptorium
recognovit Gustavus Parthey [Berlin: Libraria fr. Nicolai, 1854], 59) in the following way: tertium quoque animal, homo,
ad imaginem mundi genitus (Campanelli, Pimander, 50).
206
Copenhaver, Hermetica, 1; Hermetis Trismegisti Poemander, 3; Campanelli, Pimander, 8.

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 υἱὸς θεοῦ; Lumen illud ego sum, mens, deus tuus … mentis vero germen verbum lucens, dei filius).207

From these words one concludes that the first image of God must be the verbum sanctum. Then again,

in CH I 9 Poimandres clearly states that the “second mind” (ἕτερον νοῦν, mentem alteram) who he

creates is a “craftsman” (δημιουργόν, opificem), who further carries on the task of creation.208 Finally,

to make things even more complicated, in the passage quoted above, from CH VIII 5, Hermes relates to

Tat that mankind is the image of the cosmos. Thus one finds three possible candidates for the Hermetic

imago Dei: the Word, the Demiurge, and the cosmos. When it comes to the imago imaginis, the

problem simply reproduces itself.

This confusion and ambiguity are reflected in the Nettesheimer’s train of thought as he is not

entirely consistent in his exposition of the imago imaginis doctrine. Thus several times in his work (e.g.

III 36) he equates imago Dei not with the created world but with the Verbum Dei. Instances of this

ambiguity, arising from two competing imago imaginis concepts, show up persistently in the De

occulta philosophia. I will return to this problem in Chapter Four, where I analyze Agrippa’s

understanding of soul and of the Verbum Dei.

Once one moves down the chain of images, things get less complicated. The production of

images does not end with man. In a fascinating enumeration of cosmic images Agrippa describes the

downward movement of the divine beam as if penetrating a sequence of refracting mirrors: “The first

Image of God is the world, of the world man, of man beasts, of beasts the zoophyton, of zoophyton
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plants, of plants metals, of metals stones” (Prima autem Dei imago mundus, mundi homo, hominis

animal, animalis zoophytum, illius vero planta, plantae autem metalla et horum lapides similitudines

imaginesque repraesentant).209 Furthermore, all these degrees of the living world are not only

interconnected as progressively gross images of the same archetypal reality; each shares a decisive

207
Copenhaver, Hermetica, 2; Hermetis Trismegisti Poemander, 3; Campanelli, Pimander, 8–9.
208
Copenhaver, Hermetica, 2; Hermetis Trismegisti Poemander, 5; Campanelli, Pimander, 8.
209
I, 37, DOP 155, Tyson 110–11. This is also an addition to the 1533 edition.

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 quality with the preceding and the following one: plants and animals share the simple quality of being

alive (convenit vegetatione); animals and men share consciousness (sensus), men agree with higher

entities (Agrippa says daemones) in intelligence (intellectu), higher entities with God in immortality.

The terms Agrippa uses for this kind of universal interconnectedness are colligantia (alliance) and

continuitas (continuity); superior virtues flow down in a “long and continuous series” (longa et

continua serie) and “disperse their rays even to the very last things” (radios suos dispertiendo usque ad

ultima). Agrippa finishes his description in a distinctly Ficinian musical imagery. The upper and lower

levels are connected in such a way that

an influence from their head, the first cause, proceeds as a certain string stretched out to
the lowermost things of all, of which string if one end be touched, the whole does
presently shake, and such a touch does sound to the other end, and at the motion of the
inferior, the superior also is moved, to which the other does answer, as strings in a lute
well tuned.

ut influxus ab eorum capite prima causa, tanquam chorda quaedam tensa, usque ad
infima procedat, cuius si unum extremum tangatur, tota subito tremat et tactus eiusmodi
usque ad alterum extremum resonet ac moto uno inferiori moveatur et superius, cui illud
correspondet, sicut nervi in cithara bene concordata.210

A simple diagram (Figure 1) can show this interdependence within the given cosmic structure.

As evident, Agrippa’s scheme of emanation is Neoplatonic: there is a first cause (prima causa) or the

Maker of all things (omnium opifex), from whom all things proceed in three successive stages known

as the intellectual, the celestial, and the elementary or physical world. 211 It is important to emphasize
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once again that, in Agrippa’s understanding, emanation is also seen as theophany since God relegates,

deposits his divine virtues, such as omnipotence, in every stage and every aspect of the created world.

A good example of this notion is Agrippa’s description of the emanation of light: it begins its way

I 37, DOP 155, Tyson 111. On Ficino’s musical imagery: Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic, 3–24.
210

The ultimate source of Agrippa’s doctrine of emanation is undoubtedly Plotinus, Enneads V 1–2, but through Pico’s and
211

Reuchlin’s mediation; see note 192.

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 downwards from God the Father as a divine attribute, “the first true light” (prima vera lux), and ends

up as the physical phenomenon visible to our eyes (visibilis claritas).212

As a consequence of this divine outpouring, God is simultaneously transcendent and immanent,

and it is precisely his immanence that a magician should utilize to reach transcendence. All the

emanated levels are united under the rule of interdependence and such a structure allows for the

possibility of influence and communication between the worlds. This is precisely how Agrippa defines

this kind of communication: it means “receiving from heaven and answering its superior.” 213 One

should also note that the line on the diagram dividing the created world from the realm of

transcendence is broken. It is to imply that in Agrippa’s Neoplatonic understanding of the universe

there is no clear ontological boundary and gap between the Creator and his creation so peculiar to

Christian theology. Another ontological implication, as Ernst Cassirer pointed out long ago, is that the

created world is no longer seen as a static creation of the Christian God; it is no longer a “non-being”

of Christian theology, but a dynamic living organism, a “symbol” reflecting the original world.214
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212
I 49, DOP 177–80.
213
I 37, DOP 153–54, Tyson, 110: unumquodque inferum suo superiori et per hoc supremo suo genere respondere et ab
eisdem suscipere.
214
Ernst Cassirer, Das Erkenntnisproblem in der Philosophie und Wissenschaft der neueren Zeit, (Darmstadt:
Wissentschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1974), 155. This point is particularly emphasized in the context of the Renaissance
magi by Szőnyi, John Dee’s Occultism, 9.

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 Figure 1: Agrippa’s cosmic hierarchy

What one finds then, as delineated in the very first sentence of the De occulta philosophia, is a

condensed image of a living, dynamic universe which links God and man through a two-directional

chain of successive stages. Agrippa underlines this unity of the created world by introducing the well-
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known concept of harmonia mundi (sometimes also termed concordia mundi), which he explains by

using another important notion, that of virtus operativa or virtus opifex:

For this is the harmony of the world, that things supercelestial be drawn down by the
celestial, and supernatural by natural, because there is one operative virtue that is
diffused through all kinds of things; by which virtue indeed, as manifest things are
produced out of occult causes, so a magician makes use of things manifest to draw forth
things that are occult.

Ea enim est mundi concordia, ut etiam supercoelestia trahuntur a coelestibus et

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 supernaturalia a naturalibus conspirent ac trahuntur, quia una virtus opifex et
specierum participatio per omnia diffunditur. Quae enim virtus opifex sicut ex occultis
rationibus manifesta producit, ita magus assumit manifesta, occulta ut attrahat.215

The words una virtus opifex strongly point to what might be termed the common ontological backbone

that enables a magical operatio. In a differently structured world there would be no room for the kind

of magic Agrippa speaks about. This in itself makes an important link between the Agrippan

cosmology and anthropology.

Elements and correspondences

As is well known, one of the basic principles of harmonia mundi is the principle of correspondences

and attractions that arise from them. In a living world, organically connected with its Creator and

pervaded by his spirit, everything is connected with everything. Different aspects of the created world

are interrelated either on the basis of being composed of the common four elements (however, on

different levels of subtlety) or being pervaded by the “occult virtues,” which are termed so, in

Agrippa’s words, “because their causes lie hidden, and man’s intellect cannot in any way reach and

find them out” (quia causae earum latentes sunt, ita quod humanus intellectus non potest eas

usquequaque investigare).216 In either case, a skilled person, a physician or a magician, is able to track

the occult relations between things and use them to exert influence upon someone or something outside

themselves. Agrippa speaks of these relations in terms of natural sympathies and antipathies, or

“friendship” (amicitia) and “enmity” (inimicitia).217 The cosmic attraction (attractus, συμπάθεια) is
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215
I 38, DOP 156, Tyson 112. Italics in the translation mine. Freake omits the words specierum participatio, which mean
either “participation in [all] species” if specierum is taken as an objective genitive, or “participation of [all] species” if it is
interpreted as a subjective genitive. Both interpretations fit the context.
216
I 10, DOP 105, Tyson 32. It is important to note that by this definition Agrippa implicitly rejects the idea that these
virtues are something unnatural. By defining them merely in epistemological terms he attempts to remove their theological
stigmatization. In this way he also draws a subtle parallel between occult and scientific knowledge as both kinds of
knowledge are acquired by gradual empirical progress away from ignorance. Note also Agrippa’s observation from I 59,
DOP 211, Tyson 186, that “by the knowledge of many experiences, little by little, arts and sciences are obtained” (ex
pluribus peritiis paulatim cumulatur ars et scientia).
217
I 17, DOP 117.

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 manifested either naturally (per naturam) or through art (per artem);218 the other option is important as

it leaves room for magical action even in the cases where there is lack of natural sympathy.

In DOP I 37 Agrippa speaks of universal correspondences that pervade and interconnect the

created world: a mineral can exist in the state of mutual attraction with an animal, a star, a color, etc.

(such as the case of gold, lion, and the Sun). However, overarching all the other levels is the

correspondence between the macrocosm and the microcosm, in other words—the universe and man, its

image.

A closer look at Agrippa’s understanding of the correspondences between the four classical

elements reveals that he does not limit them to the elementary and celestial worlds. Instead, he states

that earth and the other three elements are to be found on all levels of existence, even in the realm of

transcendence:

It is the unanimous consent of all Platonists that as in the original and exemplary world
all things are in all, so also in this corporeal world all things are in all [although in
different modes, according to the nature of each thing]. So also the elements are not only
in these inferior bodies, but also in the heavens, in stars, in devils, in angels, and lastly
in God, the maker and original example of all things.

Est Platonicorum omnium unanimis sententia, quemadmodum in archetypo mundo

omnia sunt in omnibus, ita etiam in hoc corporeo mundo omnia sunt in omnibus esse,
modis tamen diversis, pro natura videlicet suscipientium: sic et elementa non solum sunt
in istis inferioribus, sed et in coelis, in stellis, in daemonibus, in angelis, in ipso denique
omnium Opifice et Archetypo.219

In their ontologically highest forms, the elements are Ideas abiding in God. Describing the
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gradual descent of Ideas into increasingly grosser forms, Agrippa concludes that “every species has its

celestial shape, or figure that is suitable to it, from which also proceeds a wonderful power of

operating, and it receives this proper gift from its own Idea, through the seminal forms of the Soul of

the World” (quaelibet species habeat figuram coelestem sibi convenientem, ex qua etiam provenit sibi

218
I 37, DOP 154.
219
I 8, DOP 101, Tyson 26. The bracketed words are missing in Freake’s translation. Clearly, Agrippa refers to Plato’s
doctrine of Ideas, but what strikes the eye here is his attributing the presence of elements to the personality of God himself.

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 mirabilis potestas in operando, qualem per rationes animae mundi seminales propriam ab idea sua

suscipit dotem).220 In other words, it is the common ontological “backbone” of the hierarchically

structured universe that makes any magical operatio possible.221

This idea is perhaps best visually expressed in a diagram made by Robert Fludd (1574–1637)

(Figure 2) in his early seventeenth-century work titled Utriusque cosmi, maioris scilicet et minoris,

metaphysica, physica, atque technica historia (1617–21): two opposite triangles represent the so-called

“formal” and “material” pyramids that connect all the levels of the creation with the Creator. On its

way down every Idea, as a pure spiritual and conceptual form, loses in its formality and acquires

increasingly gross material components, with the earth as the basis of the material pyramid and the

symbol of the Holy Trinity as the basis of the formal one. If the formal pyramid stands for the process

of emanation, the material stands for the magician’s ascent to the transcendental domain.
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220
I 11, DOP 107, Tyson 35.
221
Here, like in so many instances, Agrippa relies on Ficino by referring not to him but to the unnamed Platonici. Ficino too
emphasizes the homogeneity of the elemental and celestial regions and claims that the elements exist in the metaphysical
realm as well, thus forming a link in a causal change extending from the ideas of the elements in the Divine Mind to the
physical world; see Marsilio Ficino, Platonic Theology, Vol. 1, ed. James Hankins, tr. Michael J. B. Allen
(London/Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001), 263. See also James Hankins, Humanism and Platonism in the
Italian Renaissance II. Platonism (Rome: Storia e letteratura, 2004), 169–72.

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 Figure 2: The material and the formal pyramidal components of the created world.
Robert Fludd, Utriusque cosmi, maioris scilicet et minoris, metaphysica, physica, atque
technica historia, 1617–1621, 1:89. Courtesy of Somogyi Library, Szeged.

Within this conceptual framework Agrippa develops his well-known tripartite typology of

magic that embraces traditions as diverse as ancient Greek natural philosophy, medieval talismanic

magic, and Kabbalah. They all serve the same purpose: to enable the magician’s rise to power, crowned
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with the restoration of his prelapsarian, Adamic state, in which he once partook of the eternal

omniscience and omnipotence of God. Agrippa begins with natural magic, seeking the correspondences

and occult virtues of things in the realms of herbs, animals, stones, and so forth, and then moves on to

the celestial sphere, in which he utilizes its basic elements – numbers and planets – by means of

celestial images, geometry, and astrology. Finally, he reaches the intellectual sphere, in which he

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 employs forms of magic closest to religion: attaining ritual purity, deriving angelic and demonic names,

their characters and seals, summoning spirits, etc.

One should bear in mind, however, that all these different forms of magic rest on the same

fundamental principle of ontological unity, of which the universal correspondences and occult virtues

are only indicators. This, in my opinion, is why Agrippa stretched the scope of the term magia: his

intention could have been to cover all the three levels of the created world and the human disciplines

corresponding to them. As Perrone Compagni and Hanegraaff point out, Agrippa probably modeled his

division of magic after, or was at least influenced by, Johan Reuchlin’s division of the ars

miraculorum.222 There was, however, a significant difference: Reuchlin divided all the artes

miraculorum into physics, astrology, and magic, each linked to its own world. Thus he reserved the

term magia only for the intellectual world, while Agrippa used it as the umbrella term for all three

worlds. Hanegraaff’s thesis that Agrippa certainly agreed with Reuchlin that “the true and pure magic

that his work was all about was the divine theurgy belonging to the third level” will be discussed later

in my thesis.223

Given all outlined above, it may come as a surprise that the editions of the De occulta

philosophia published during Agrippa’s lifetime and prepared by him contain practically no visual

representations of any of these pivotal concepts. Images in these editions are by and large limited to the

representations of magical seals and astrological symbols, with only a few anthropomorphic
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emblematic representations. One finds such examples mainly in the second book, which deals with

celestial harmony and proportions. Various tables of correspondences, characters, and scripts—

particularly Hebrew letters and examples of “celestial writing”—appear throughout the work,

222
Perrone Compagni, Introduction to DOP, 17–18; Hanegraaff, “Better than Magic,” 7–8. The reference is to Reuchlin, De
verbo mirifico, 2.
223
Hanegraaff, “Better than Magic,” 7–8. See Chapter Four, 185–95 for a further discussion.

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 especially in the third book, and these could also be regarded as images. 224 However, symbolic images

and emblematic figures representing Agrippa’s vision of the hierarchically structured universe, in

which the idea of ascension acquires its logical—and even visually perceptible and representative—

justification, appear only in the much later editions and translations of De occulta philosophia and are

borrowed from the works of other authors.225

Symbolic images such as this one were fairly common in early modern treatises on cosmology,

natural philosophy, magic, and similar disciplines. But why are they entirely absent from Agrippa’s

work? Given the importance he attributed to the cosmological framework of his magical theory, one

would expect to find elaborate diagrams and images of this kind. However, there are none and this

curious absence is something to be considered.

The immediate reasons appear to be evident. To begin with, one should have in mind that

medieval and ancient authors did not make as sharp a distinction between the verbal and the visual as

we do nowadays. However, to say that Agrippa simply did not care for visual language would be an

easy way out. The distinction in question began to emerge more and more clearly in the Renaissance,

as indicated by the appearance of a completely new genre of emblem books, and one wonders what

makes the Nettesheimer an exception in this regard.

Undoubtedly the time factor played a significant role in his case. Agrippa finally managed to

have his De occulta philosophia printed only in 1531 (the first book) and in 1533 (the integral version).
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Given the manifold difficulties accompanying Agrippa’s attempts to publicize his life’s work (such as

224
That is, if one follows Mino Gabriele’s classification given in Gabriele, Alchimia e Iconologia, 28, quoted in Peter J.
Forshaw, “Alchemy in the Amphitheatre. Some consideration of the alchemical content of the engravings in Heinrich
Khunrath’s Amphitheatre of Eternal Wisdom,” in J. Wamberg (ed.), Art and Alchemy (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum
Press, 2006), 154–76, quote on 201. Although Gabriele’s division pertains to alchemical images, the basic definition of the
category matches Agrippa’s use of characters too: they can be understood as parts of “a secret vocabulary composed of
cryptographic and hieroglyphic ciphers, such as geometrical shapes.” Conversely, it might be argued that Agrippa treated
his characters as letters, not as images, emphasizing their semantic component.
225
This is the case with many modern editions, such as Donald Tyson’s annotated and richly illustrated edition of Freake’s
translation.

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 his incarceration or the condemnations by the theologians of Sorbonne and Louvain), it would be

difficult to imagine the German humanist searching for a suitable artist to decorate his work with

illustrations even if he wanted to. Even more importantly, the genre of emblem book, which would

inaugurate a whole new model of symbolic communication and become highly influential, was only

beginning to emerge around the time of the publishing of Agrippa’s work. Andreas Alciato’s

Emblemata, the first emblem book of all, appeared in 1531 (while the first, unpublished draft from

1522 did not even contain images) and was followed and emulated by many in the ensuing decades, but

too late for Agrippa to be influenced by this new literary fashion. Its influence is clearly seen in the

practice of illustrating new editions or translations of old books, such as Petrus Bonus’ Pretiosa

margarita novella (1546) or the first French translation of Horapollo’s Hieroglyphica (1543)226—

something that was in store for later editions of the De occulta philosophia too.

Horapollo is a useful example in this context. Agrippa refers to him a number of times,

especially in terms of animal symbolism discussed in the first book of his occult encyclopedia,227

which indicates that he read either the first Latin translation by Bernardino Trebazio (Augsburg, 1515)

or the second one by Filippo Fasanini (Bologna, 1517), if not the Greek editio princeps published by

Manutius in 1505. However, none of these editions contains extensive illustrations; as mentioned

above, it is only in the 1543 French translation that a large number of engravings appear. It thus

parallels the pattern observed in the De occulta philosophia, which received convenient didactic
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diagrams only in its later editions.

One such diagram, for instance, comes, again, from Fludd (Figure 3); it contains all the above

discussed elements of Agrippa’s universe. The Great Chain of Being is represented by its explicit

physical metaphor, linking God with man through the medium of Anima mundi. Man is represented in

See Forshaw , “Alchemy in the Amphitheatre,” 196–97.

226
227
See, for instance, DOP 120–21. For other examples see Perrone Compagni’s Index nominum, s. v. Orus Apollo, Ibid.,
640.

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 an ape-like form as the imitator of Nature or the “lesser world.”228 The three spheres, physical,

celestial, and intellectual, are also clearly visible and represented by the creatures or entities inhabiting

them. It is interesting to note that Fludd’s diagram contains the same pictorial articulation of the notion

of unclear ontological boundaries as shown above in my simplified diagram. The head of Anima mundi,

whose feet are firmly placed on the earthly soil, penetrates the realm of intelligences. Even more

importantly, the same realm is distinctly penetrated by another object of the diagram: the divine cloud

marked by the sacred letters of Yahweh’s name.

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Figure 3: Robert Fludd, Utriusque Cosmi ... Historia, Oppenhemii 1617, p. 9.

Copyright: Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel, http://diglib.hab.de/drucke/na-4f-
41/start.htm?image=00009 [last accessed: 27/3/2016].

228
However, it should be noted that, although he discusses the homo minor mundus concept throughout his work, Agrippa
himself does not use the ape-metaphor.

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 CONTESTED VIEWS: EMANATION OR CREATION?

Going back to the first fundamental feature of the world—namely, that it is God’s creation—one must

admit a certain degree of ambiguity in Agrippa’s statements in this regard. In DOP III 36, a chapter that

is essential for our understanding of the homo minor mundus doctrine, Agrippa elaborates on the act of

creation. A substantial part of his elaboration is an addendum to the 1533 edition. Yet, what was

supposed to clarify the young Agrippa’s ideas of the universe and man has only made things more

complicated. The 1510 version of the text reads as a straightforward Hermetic account:

God also created man after his image; for as the world is the image of God, so man is
the image of the world; (…) therefore he is called microcosm, that is, the lesser world.
The world is a rational creature, immortal; man in like manner is rational but mortal; for,
as Hermes says, seeing the world itself is immortal, it is impossible that any part of it
can perish: therefore we say a man dies when his soul and body are separated (…)
Therefore man is called the other world, and the other image of God, because he has in
himself all that is contained in the greater world.

Creavit Deus etiam hominem ad imaginem suam: nam sicuti imago Dei mundus est, sic
imago mundi homo est; (…) iccirco microcosmus dictus est, hoc est minor mundus.
Mudus animal est rationale, immortale; homo similiter animal est rationale sed
mortale ; nam, ut inquit Hermes, cum mundus ipse immortalis sit, impossibile est
partem eius aliquam interire: mori igitur dicimus hominem quando anima et corpus
separatantur. (…) Homo itaque alter mundus vocatus est et altera Dei imago, quia in
seipsum habet totum quod in maiori mundo continetur.229

I will return to this important passage in a later part of my analysis, but for the moment it will suffice to

say that it appears to be in congruence with all what has been said above about Agrippa’s views on
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cosmology, especially with his opening programmatic sentence. The problems arise with his later

additions. The 1533 version of the chapter begins with a big chunk of added text that closely articulates

the relations between God and his creation:

229
III 36, DOP 507–8, Tyson 579. Ad imaginem suam clearly comes from Genesis 1:27, but the rest is a direct reference to
the Corpus Hermeticum VIII.

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 The most abundant God, as Trismegistus says, has framed two images like himself,
namely the world and man, that in one of these he might sport himself with certain
wonderful operations, and in the other, that he might enjoy his delights. Since he is one,
he has created a single world; since he is infinite, he has created a round world; since he
is eternal, he has created an incorruptible and everlasting world; (…) and since he is
omnipotent, by his will alone and not by any necessity of nature, he has created the
world not out of any foregoing matter, but out of nothing; and since he is the chief
goodness, embracing his word, which is the first idea of all things, with his sublime will
and essential love, he has fabricated this external world after the example of the internal,
namely ideal world, yet sending forth nothing of the essence of the idea, but created out
of nothing that which he had from eternity by the idea.

Exuperantissimus Deus, ut Trismegistus ait, duas sibi similes finxit imagines, mundum
videlicet atque hominem, in quorum altero luderet miris quibusdam operationibus, in
altero vero deliciis frueretur. Qui, cum ipse sit unus, mundum creavit unum; cum ipse
sit infinitus, mundum creavit rotundum; cum ipse sit aeternus, mundum creavit
incorruptibilem et aeviternum; (…) et cum ipse sit omnipotens, sola voluntate sua, non
ulla naturae necessitate mundum non ex praeiacente material, sed ex nihilo creavit; et
cum sit summa bonitas, verbum suum, quod est prima omnium rerum idea, optima sua
voluntate essentialique amore complexus, mundum hunc extrinsecum ad exemplar
mundi intrinseci, videlicet idealis, fabricavit, nihil tamen extramittendo de essentia
ideae, sed ex nihilo creavit quod ab aeterno habuit per ideam.230

One might notice here that Agrippa, even though he begins by referring to Hermes Trismegistus,

apparently reverts to the orthodox Christian concept of the creation: in just a few lines he mentions

creatio ex nihilo twice, emphasizing that the act of creation was due to sola voluntate sua, non ulla

naturae necessitate (“by his will alone and not by any necessity of nature”). Moreover, God’s essence

does not take part in the process of creation; it remains transcendental and eternally aloof as Verbum

Dei or idea. Why did Agrippa feel the need to add a section that would so strongly contradict the
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Neoplatonic notion of spontaneous emanation suggested by his opening sentence and, indeed, by the

rest of the work?

Before even starting to answer this question, one comes across another problem in the same

chapter, another late addition that contradicts the main argument here, namely that man is an imago

imaginis. In this passage, which reads like another statement of creed, Agrippa says:

230
III 36, DOP 506–7, Tyson 579.

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 Notwithstanding the true image of God is his Word, the wisdom, life, light and truth
existing by himself, of which image man’s soul is the image, in regard of which we are
said to be made after the image of God, not after the image of the world or of the
creatures.

Veruntamen vera Dei imago Verbum suum est, sapientia, vita, lux et veritas, per
seispsum existens, cuius imaginis animus humanus imago est, propter quam ad
imaginem Dei facti esse dicimur, non ad imaginem mundi aut creaturarum.231

Time and again, the reader is faced with Agrippa’s indirect mode of argumentation. How should one

understand the passive phrase esse dicimur (“we are said to be”) here? Does the German humanist

merely refer to another opinion, another philosophical stance by saying “this is why we are also said to

be…”? Had he used sumus instead of esse dicimur, things would have been somewhat less confusing.

However, I maintain that this passage cannot simply be a “neutral” reference to another point of view

and that it should be read in correlation with the above-cited passage from the beginning of the chapter.

This kind of occasional retreat to what looks like a more orthodox position is not such a rare

phenomenon in the De occulta philosophia. It is not impossible that statements like this—even when

they are in collision with other expressed opinions—serve to occasionally remind the reader of

Agrippa’s allegiance to the true creed.

And yet, it might be that Agrippa’s ambivalence comes not only from the abiding strength and

authority of Scripture, but also from the peculiarities of the Hermetic narrative of creation. I already

mentioned the unclear situation with imagines in the Hermetic treatises. Perhaps some of those
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ambiguities are reflected in the passages quoted above. I believe, however, that it is the Hermetic

account of creation that causes a strong overlapping of traditions in the Nettesheimer’s view on this

issue. As noticed by a number of scholars, the Hermetic account of creation bears certain similarities

231
Ibid. Italics in the translation mine.

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 with the Biblical one and could thus have pushed Agrippa’s thinking in that direction.232

In contrast to the Neoplatonic notion of spontaneous emanation, the Corpus Hermeticum paints

a more personalized image of God who creates the world out his free will; it calls him “the Father” and

repeatedly states that the world is “begotten” and “created” by him (ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ γενόμενος, ab eo

genitus; ὑπὸ τοὺ πατρὸς γέγονε, a patre factus).233 Moreover, CH VIII 3 makes it clear that the act of

creation was due to the Father’s will, who “wanted to adorn what comes after him with every quality”

(πάσῃ ποιότητι κοσμῆσαι βουλόμενος τὸ μετ’ αὐτοῦ ποιόν; exornare autem voluit id quod post

ipsum)234 Also, at the beginning of his vision of the creation in CH I 4–5, in a well-known mythical

scene, Hermes sees “darkness [that] arose separately and descended” (καὶ μετ’ ὀλίγον σκότος

κατωφερὲς ἦν ἐν μέρει γεγενημένον; umbra quedam horrenda obliqua revolutione subterlabebatur).235

It turns into a watery substance, from which gradually everything else proceeds. Perhaps the image of

darkness resonated better with the Christian creatio ex nihilo, leading Agrippa to his ambiguous

statements.236

Despite these ambiguities, however, the concept of emanation (or at least gradual creation)

definitely prevails in the De occulta philosophia, and so does one of its central ideas: that God does not

232
On the similarities between the Hermetic and Biblical accounts of creation see Copenhaver, Hermetica, 100–102, with
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the accompanying references. Some scholars even find traces of Manichaean and Mandaean dualism in that account
(Copenhaver, Hermetica, 98).
233
VIII 2, Copenhaver, Hermetica, 25; Hermetis Trismegisti Poemander, 57; Campanelli, Pimander, 53.
234
Copenhaver, Hermetica, 25 (italics mine); Hermetis Trismegisti Poemander, 58; Campanelli, Pimander, 50.
235
Copenhaver, Hermetica, 1; Hermetis Trismegisti Poemander, 2; Campanelli, Pimander, 8.
236
When speaking of the relations between the Hermetic and Neoplatonic views of creation, one should be cautious about
the term “spontaneous,” which has stirred a great deal of discussion among scholars. Generally, it is accepted that the
Plotinian emanation from the One is a “spontaneous” act: see, for instance, A. H. Armstrong’s old but still valuable
discussion “Emanation in Plotinus,” Mind, New Series, Vol. 46, No. 181 (Jan., 1937): 61–66; or Dmitri Nikulin, “The One
and the Many in Plotinus,” Hermes, 126. Bd., H. 3 (1998): 326–40, who refers to Ennead V.1.6.38 for the claim that
“everything which is perfect necessarily produces or gives” (quote on 326). However, Dominic J. O’ Meara, Plotinus. An
Introduction to the Enneads (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), 68–9, warns against simplifications and refers to Plotinus
himself, Ennead VI.8, who is cautious about applying human language to the sphere of transcendence. In other words, the
opposites of necessity/free will cannot be straightforwardly applied to the One. In sum, Agrippa’s ambiguity in this context
might have something to do with Plotinus’ own ambiguity with regard to the exact meaning of emanation.

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 create directly but through intermediaries.237 In order to reaffirm Agrippa’s predominantly unorthodox

view on the act of creation, in the followings I refer to several important loci where he claims that

lesser levels are not created by God directly, but by the secondary creator—the universe. In Chapter II

55 he quotes Virgil, Aeneid 6:724–31, and interprets the lines as follows: “For what else do these verses

seem to mean than that the world not only has a spirit and soul, but also partakes of the divine mind

and is the source of all inferior things?” (Quid enim hi versus aliud velle videntur, quam mundum non

modo habere spiritum et animam, sed etiam mentis divinae esse participem atque omnium inferiorum

originem).238

Even if it could be argued that this statement is again indirect and inconclusive (velle videntur =

“seem to mean”), the following chapter begins with a rare example of straightforward pronouncement:

“The world, the heavens, the stars, and the elements have a soul, with which they cause a soul in these

inferior and mixed bodies.” (Habet mundus, habent coeli, habent stellae, habent elementa animam,

cum qua causant animam in istis inferioribus atque mixtis).239 What one finds here is a clearly

unorthodox attempt to transfer the divine prerogative of soul-making from God to the created world.240

Once the creative power is relegated from the creator to the creation, the next logical step would be to

attribute such a power to man.

Finally, Chapter I 61 (“On the forming of man”) contains some crucial arguments in favor of

gradual, mediated creation as opposed to the concept of creatio ex nihilo. The opening lines set the
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context for the rest of the chapter; even though Agrippa resorts again to his evasive strategy by

referring to theologorum quorundam opinio, it is evident from the rest of the discussion that he counts

237
Certainly, the idea of intermediaries is present in the Corpus Hermeticum too, as opposed to the orthodox Christian
doctrine; see Copenhaver, Hermetica, 2–3, on Demiurge or “the craftsman.” Thus it is not easy to discern between the
Neoplatonic and Hermetic background of some of Agrippa’s statements.
238
II 55, DOP 383–4, Tyson 417. Italics in the translation mine.
239
II 56, DOP 384, Tyson 419. Italics in the translation mine.
240
For the contrary, theologically orthodox position see Aquinas, Summa Theol. I, Quaest. 44.1–45.8.

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 himself among those theologians. These highly important lines read as follows:

It is the opinion of some theologians that God did not immediately create the body of
the primeval man, but that he compounded and framed it by the assistance of the
heavenly spirits. This opinion is favored by Alcinous from Plato’s school; he thinks that
God is the chief creator of the whole world, of both good and bad spirits, and that he
thus immortalized them, but that all kinds of mortal animals were produced by the lesser
gods at the command of God Almighty; for if he should have created them, they must
have been immortal.

Est theologorum quorundam opinio Deum ipsum hominis primaevi corpus non
immediate creasse, sed coelitum adiutorio ex elementis composuisse atque formasse; cui
opinioni adstipulatur etiam Alcinous ex Platonis dogmate, putans summum Deum mundi
totius deorumque et daemonum creatorem esse atque illa iccirco immortalia esse,
caetera autem et mortalium animantium genera iuniores deos ad mandatum summi Dei
procreasse: nam, si ipse haec etiam genuisset, immortalia nata fuissent.241

The strength of the argument is based on the two closely interrelated pairs of terminological

dichotomy: creare vs. componere/formare and immortalis vs. mortalis. Moving away from his initial

evasiveness, Agrippa continues by stating —this time in the indicative mood—that the lesser gods “put

together” (confecerunt) the body of the first man by combining the four principle elements and that

they subjected it to the service of the soul. The remainder of the chapter discusses man’s external and

internal senses; to say it once again, this discussion is decisively marked by the grammatical indicative

mood and based on the opening sentence of the work quoted above.

To sum up, despite occasional inconsistencies in his argumentation, it is beyond doubt that

Cornelius Agrippa subscribed to a Neoplatonic/Hermetic view of the universe, which is characterized

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by several crucial aspects: It originates from God through a process of emanation that keeps the

ontological umbilical cord between the progenitor and its progeny intact.242 As a consequence of this

241
I 61, DOP 216.
242
It should be noted though that scholastic theologians also operate with the term emanatio, but in a very different context;
see Aquinas, Summa Theol. I, Quest. 45, a. 1, where he argues that God is the universal cause of all emanation and adds that
“this emanation we designate by the name of creation” (hanc quidem emanationem designamus nomine creationis). Note:
all the citations from Aquinas’ Summa Theologiae, both in the Latin original and English translation, are given according to
the Benziger Bros. edition (New York, 1947–48), translated by Fathers of the English Dominican Province, available online
at http://dhspriory.org/thomas/summa/index.html [last accessed: 27/10/2016].

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 ontological unity, all segments of the universe partake of the divine nature, albeit in different degrees,

according to their position in the tripartite cosmic scheme. The participation in the divine makes the

universe a living organism in which all parts are interconnected according to the laws of subordination

and correspondences. God not only creates but also delegates his creative power to lower agents, who

then carry on the process of creation on progressively lower levels. In such a universe, using the same

cosmic ladder to climb back to the archetypal state of unity with God appears to be a natural and

reasonable idea.
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 CHAPTER THREE

TWO TRIADS OF AGRIPPA’S ANTHROPOLOGY

Agrippa’s Occult Philosophy provides abundant, albeit scattered material for elucidating his views on

the nature of man. It is safe to say that the German humanist’s anthropology stems directly from his

cosmology. As demonstrated in the previous chapter, the first book of the De occulta philosophia paints

the picture of a living, hierarchically structured cosmos in which magical operation is seen as both

possible and natural—that is, perfectly in tune with the nature and structure of the cosmos itself.

Moreover, the author perceives magia as a highly efficient means for ascending back to the original

realm of transcendence. Accordingly, the focal point in this picture is the operator himself, the human

being.

Viewed in its main contours, Agrippa’s anthropology is articulated in what might be called two

triads. The first, more fundamental triad consists of the opposites of soul and body, with the spirit as

their mediator. The second pertains to the domain of the soul itself and consists of what Agrippa terms
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the mens, ratio and idolum. He adopts this terminology directly from Marsilio Ficino; Charles Nauert

calls it Agrippa’s “tripartite psychology.”243 Agrippa’s indebtedness to Ficino pertains to the first triad

too: throughout my analysis I take into consideration the fact that he relies heavily on Ficino’s tripartite

243
Nauert, http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/agrippa-nettesheim/ [last accessed: 11/11/2016]. Perrone Compagni, “Dispersa
intentio,” 163–64, calls it Ficino’s “psychological conception” and rightly points out that Agrippa remained basically
faithful to it despite his own modifications.

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 notion of the human being, whereby body and soul, being the two poles of what is perceived as “man,”

are united by a third component—the spirit, serving as an intermediary between the two extremes.

In the present chapter I set out to examine the key terms of those two triads and the coordinates

of the field within which Agrippa envisages his “man the operator.” These coordinates, as I argue

throughout my thesis, correspond more closely to the Neoplatonic and Hermetic than to the Christian

views on man’s nature, although Agrippa interprets them as elements of the latter. Even in cases such as

his short but important Dialogus de homine, which might be taken to represent a monist anthropology

peculiar to Christianity, the dualist perspective, in my opinion, remains more fundamental to Agrippa’s

understanding of man.244

THE FIRST TRIAD: ANIMA, CORPUS, SPIRITUS

At the beginning of the first book of his masterpiece, the Platonic Theology, Marsilio Ficino pens the

following inspired lines:

Only after the death of the body can man become any happier. It seems therefore to
follow of necessity that once our souls leave this prison, some other light awaits them.
(…) But I pray that as heavenly souls longing with desire for our heavenly home we
may cast off the bonds of our terrestrial chains; cast them off as swiftly as possible, so
that, uplifted on Platonic wings and with God as our guide, we may fly unhindered to
our ethereal abode.245

Even though the cautious author, an ordained priest, appends a strong disclaimer to the beginning of his

work (“Whatever subject I discuss, here or elsewhere, I wish to state only what is approved by the
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244
It is important to clarify here that I use the term “dualist” solely in the eschatological sense, i.e. with regard to that
component of man which is immortal and that which is not. How this dualism relates to the proposed tripartite scheme will
be discussed in the present chapter.
245
Solum autem post mortem corporis [homo] beatior effici potest, necessarium esse videtur animis nostris ab hoc carcere
discedentibus lucem aliquam superesse. (…) Solvamus, obsecro, caelestes animi caelestis patriae cupidi, solvamus
quamprimum vincula compedum terrenarum, ut alis sublati platonicis ac deo duce in sedem aetheream liberius pervolemus.
(Theol. Plat. I. 1,1) – Marsilio Ficino, Platonic Theology, Vol. 1, Books I–IV, tr. Michael J. B. Allen, ed. James Hankins
(Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press, 2001), 14–15.

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 Church”)246, the quoted lines reveal several provoking ideas that necessitate closer examination. The

most striking is, of course, that “man” can become happier only after the death of the “body.” What one

finds almost explicated here is the idea that man is not his body. Ficino clearly juxtaposes two distinct

subjects, homo and corpus, and brings them into a relation of dissent or disharmony. The bearer of

desires is the “heavenly soul” (caelestis animus), which is trapped in the Platonic prison (carcer) and

tied by its “terrestrial chains” (vincula compedum terrenarum). One might thus conclude that, for

Marsilio Ficino, “man” is actually his soul.247

The opening sentences set the tone for the entire Book I, in which Ficino argues not only for the

immortality of the soul, but for its centrality. As Michael Allen and James Hankins note in their

Introduction to the work, Ficino sees the problem of the soul as in essence a metaphysical, and

specifically as an ontological issue.248 Thus in the first three chapters of Book I he sets out to establish

the basic coordinates of his conceptual framework. In this framework, the role of body is downgraded

to being merely an instrument of soul, which is the midpoint of the cosmic spinal cord: it is “the link

that holds all nature together—it controls qualities and bodies while it joins itself with angel and with

God.”249 In opposition to the inert mass of our bodies (pigram hanc molem corporum) there exists a

higher sort of form which is in a certain sense changeable but indivisible. That is the rational soul,

which is the moving force behind the body. Significantly, Ficino links the active nature of soul and the

passive nature of body to the physical qualities of solidity and density: the more solid an entity is, the
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less capable it is of penetrating other objects and, consequently, acting upon them. So all power of

246
Ficino, Platonic Theology, Vol. 1, 1.
247
Being a humanist and a translator of Plato and Neoplatonists, Ficino was naturally exposed through his education and
readings to ancient Greek anthropological dualism. For a useful overview of this dualism in the context of Christian and
Pauline anthropology see Robert H. Gundry, Sōma in Biblical Theology. With Emphasis on Pauline Anthropology
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 83–156.
248
Ficino, Platonic Theology, xiv.
249
Ibid., 17 (I.1,3): vinculum naturae totius apparet, regit qualitates et corpora, angelo se iungit et deo. However, Ficino
explicitly rejects the preexistence of souls: see Theologia Platonica XVIII, 3, in Marsilio Ficino, Platonic Theology, Vol. 6,
Books XVII–XVIII, tr. Michael J. B. Allen, ed. James Hankins (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006), 89.

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 acting, concludes Ficino, must be attributed to an incorporeal nature alone.250

Although it is sometimes noted that Ficino owes a lot to Thomas Aquinas and deploys

scholastic concepts in his Platonic Theology,251 even a cursory glance at the way Aquinas treats the

issue of body and soul (Summa theol. I, Quest. 75) shows significant differences. For Aquinas, “it is

clear that man is not a soul only, but something composed of soul and body” (manifestum est quod

homo non est anima tantum, sed est aliquid compositum ex anima et corpore).252 The soul is a part of

the human species and is not a hypostasis or person in itself. Finally, the body is necessary for the

action of the intellect: rather than saying that the soul understands, it is more correct to say that man

understands through the soul. Thus, even if Ficino, as Allen and Hankins observe, tried to sketch out a

unitary theological tradition in which he would reconcile ancient philosophy with Christianity,

anthropology is certainly not one of the fields in which he succeeded.

Cornelius Agrippa must have studied Ficino’s Theologia Platonica with great care: Vittoria

Perrone Compagni tracks down at least a hundred instances of Ficino’s mostly unacknowledged

influence in the De occulta philosophia, many of them coming from the Platonic Theology.253 It thus

comes as no surprise that Agrippa’s first anthropological triad is distinctly Ficinian in nature.

Soul and body: a polar conception of man?

It would seem that the basic frame within which Agrippa expounds his anthropological views is that of
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a dichotomy between—but at the same time a unity of—soul and body. However, this picture is

250
Ibid. 20–21 (I.2,2).
251
See Michael Allen’s and James Hankins’ Introduction to the Theologia Platonica, viii–ix. See also Frank Klaassen’s
remark about Aquinas’s corpus as being the benchmark by which orthodoxy was measured even for humanists (Chapter
One, 35 n. 61).
252
Summa theol. Ia q. 75 a. 4 co.
253
DOP 636, Index nominum, s.v. Ficinus Marsilius. In addition to the Theologia Platonica I, of particular importance for
Agrippa’s anthropological views must have been the following parts of the work: III.1–2, IV.1, V.1–15, VI.1–16, XII.1–7,
XIII.1–10, XIV.1–8 (“Why are rational souls imprisoned in earthly bodies?”), XVII.1–4 (“What is the soul’s status before it
approaches the body, and what after it leaves?”), and XVIII.1–4. See also Zambelli, “Magic and Radical Reformation in
Agrippa,” 92–94.

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 complicated by Agrippa’s persistent emphasis on spirit, which evidently plays a prominent role in his

anthropology and theory of magic. Moreover, the problem is to discern what exactly spirit is in

Agrippa’s understanding and how it relates to soul and body. Is it sufficiently different from both to be

considered a separate hypostasis of man and does it imply a tripartite scheme of the human nature?

As already discussed, the German humanist views the creation of man as the result of a gradual

emanation, which is aptly represented by the imago imaginis doctrine: man is not a direct image of

God, but a mediated one, an image of God’s direct image, the world (or the Word, according to the

alternative version), wherefrom man draws his own qualities. In other words, being a microcosm or

minor mundus, he partakes of the basic qualities of the greater world he belongs to. This view

inevitably leads to some difficulties since the two fundamental features of the world, as stressed by

Agrippa, are its rationality and immortality.254 Whereas man’s rationality is undisputed, the other

feature is obviously more problematic. Of course, Agrippa does not—and cannot—claim that man is

immortal. Yet, what he does is qualify human mortality as mere “dissolvability.” Death does not mean

vanishing; it simply implies a separation of the soul from the body, whereupon both continue to exist in

some form.255 As I argue bellow, this ontological downgrading of the role of death might be an

indication of the way the Nettesheimer understands man’s post mortem status and, indeed, the nature of

man as such. In other words, if it is obvious that the physical body is not immortal, what about man’s

soul? It is certainly immortal, but is it immortal in its entirety? And what about spirit in this regard? Is
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it subject to mortality like body or is more akin to soul? These questions form the core of the analysis

presented in this chapter.

254
III 36, DOP 507, Tyson 579: Mundus animal est rationale, immortale (“The world is a rational creature, immortal”).
255
Ibid.: Mori igitur nomen vanum est et, quemadmodum vacuum, nusquam est; mori igitur dicimus hominem, quando
anima et corpus separantur, non quod aliquid eorum intereat sive convertantur in nihilum. (“Therefore to die is a vain
word, and in the same way as vacuum is nowhere, so is death; therefore we say a man dies when his soul and body are
separated, not that anything of them perishes or is turned into nothing.”) See also Hanegraaff, “Better Than Magic,” 8, for a
comment on this passage.

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 A definition of soul

Agrippa’s treatment of the subject of body and soul is almost hopelessly scattered throughout his occult

encyclopedia and at times considerably inconsistent; yet, the most condensed and coherent discussion

on the topic is to be found in the chapters 36 and 37 of the third book. At the beginning of chapter 37

one comes across a straightforward definition of the soul:

The soul of man is a certain divine light, created after the image of the Word, [which is]
the cause of causes and first example, and the substance of God, figured by a seal whose
character is the eternal Word. Also, the soul of man is a certain divine substance,
indivisible and present in every part of the body, so produced by an incorporeal author
that it depends on the power of the agent only, not on the bosom of the matter.

Anima humana est lux quaedam divina ad imaginem verbi, causae causarum, primi
exemplaris creata, substantia Dei sigilloque figurata cuius character est verbum
aeternum. Item anima humana est substantia quaedam divina, individua et tota cuique
corporis parti praesens, ab incorporeo autore ita producta ut ex agentis virtute solum,
non ex materiae gremio dependeat.256

Several points should be made with regard to this definition. First, one finds here the imago verbi

instead of the imago mundi doctrine, indicating once again Agrippa’s confusion concerning this

question. More importantly, soul is said to be of the same substance as God and no ontological

difference between them is even hinted at. On the contrary, Agrippa is keen to underline this view by

varying the same idea thrice in only a few lines: soul is lux divina, substantia Dei and, again,

substantia divina. Clearly, it is in sharp discrepancy with the doctrine of the Church; the Nettesheimer

here contradicts Thomas Aquinas almost verbatim. This is how the Doctor Angelicus draws a sharp
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ontological boundary between God and soul:

I answer that, to say that the soul is of the Divine substance involves a manifest
improbability. For, as is clear from what has been said, the human soul is sometimes in a
state of potentiality to the act of intelligence—acquires its knowledge somehow from
things—and thus has various powers; all of which are incompatible with the Divine
Nature, Which is a pure act—receives nothing from any other—and admits of no variety

256
III 37, DOP 514, Tyson 585. From the English translation one does not get clearly what Latin with its cases renders quite
straightforwardly: the “cause of causes” and “first exemplar” refer to the Word, whereas the “substance of God,” being in
the nominative case, refers to the soul.

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 in itself, as we have proved.”257

Next, Agrippa states that soul is “produced” by God (producta), not created (facta), a

terminological nuance that should not be taken lightly.258 Further, the soul being sealed and figured

(that is, shaped) by the Word of God is another repetition of the imago imaginis doctrine, but, as I said,

with respect to its alternative interpretation: that the first imago Dei is not the world but the Word.

There is an interesting collateral indication here that this ambiguity is not a mere coincidence: James

Freake erroneously translates Agrippa’s words ad imaginem verbi as “created after the image of the

world.” It appears that, for a moment, the two contested and strongly intertwined interpretations of the

imago imaginis doctrine confused Agrippa’s otherwise reliable English translator.

Finally, there is an even more significant implication concealed in the quoted words. I have

already shown that the idea of man being the (indirect) image of God is central to Agrippa. However,

upon carefully reading this and other passages,259 one conclusion seems inevitable: in some instances it

appears that, when Agrippa says “man,” he actually has in mind his anima (or animus; see below for

the terminological distinction). In this view, “man” seems to be primarily his soul; the body comes later

and is only of secondary importance. Agrippa, at least here, resonates Ficino’s basic conception

discussed at the beginning of this chapter. Such a “spiritualist” perspective is perhaps confirmed by

Agrippa’s occasional reinterpretation, or rewording, of the well-known Biblical templum Dei image:

257
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Aquinas, Summa theol. I, Quest. 90.1: Respondeo dicendum quod dicere animam esse de substantia Dei, manifestam
improbabilitatem continet. Ut enim ex dictis patet, anima humana est quandoque intelligens in potentia, et scientiam
quodammodo a rebus acquirit, et habet diversas potentias, quae omnia aliena sunt a Dei natura, qui est actus purus, et
nihil ab alio accipiens, et nullam in se diversitatem habens, ut supra probatum est. In DOP I 49 Agrippa himself uses the
term actus purus referring to the divine light, but this “actus purus” ends up in the process of emanation as plain visible
light.
258
The general meaning of the verb producere in Classical and Medieval Latin is “to lead/bring forward” something that
already exists (LS, 1455-56; BLS, 738; DCG, 524; NRM, 858). It is very rarely synonymous, and only as a trope, with the
verb facere (e. g. Plaut. Rud. 4, 4, 129: ego is sum qui te produxi pater). For Augustine (Contra Adv. Leg. et Proph. 1), not
even creare is synonymous with facere: facere est quod omnino non erat, creare vero est ex eo quod iam erat educendo
aliquid constituere (“To make concerns what did not exist at all; but to create is to make something by bringing forth
something from what was already”). For Aquinas, however, the two terms appear to be synonymous; see Summa Theol. I,
Quaest. 45, a. 1. Agrippa too uses creare and facere synonymously.
259
For instance, III 36, DOP 507, Tyson 579: cuius imaginis animus humanus imago est; DOP 508, Tyson 579: animum
hominis verbo Dei sigillatum necesse fuit, etc.

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 contrary to the Apostle Paul, who refers to the whole man and, more specifically, to man’s body as a

“temple of God” (or the Holy Ghost),260 Agrippa in several instances restricts this image to the pure

soul.261

Agrippa’s tendency to identify man with his soul has its roots above all in the Pimander, the

first of the Hermetic discourses, a text of fundamental importance for the German humanist and his

theological thought.262 It provides the Hermetic account of man’s creation, according to which man is

consubstantial (ὁμοούσιος) with God, immortal, and entirely spiritual in nature: God “gave birth to a

man like himself” (ἀπεκύησεν ἄνθρωπον ἑαυτῷ ἴσον; hominem sibi similem) and man “had the father’s

image” (τὴν τοῦ πατρὸς εἰκόνα ἔχων; patrisque sui ferebat imaginem).263 Man lost his immortality only

after the fall into the material world, which the Pimander describes as a loving embrace of man and the

nature, but this loss was only partial: “Because of this, unlike any other living thing on earth, mankind

is twofold—in the body mortal but immortal in the essential man” (τὸν οὐσιώδη ἄνθρωπον; hominem

substantialem).264 The crucial expression here is “the essential man,” which implies that the “true” man

is the one that existed prior to the fall, and that he is mortal only “in the body” (διὰ τὸ σῶμα; propter

corpus)—a wording that leaves no room for the assumption that the material body is intrinsic to the

human being.

However, there is a contradiction in this view vis-à-vis Agrippa’s definition of soul that needs to

be addressed. On the one hand, man is said to be an indirect image of God; on the other, he is primarily
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soul and a divine substance. As such, man should be identical with God and not his imago. How to

260
I Cor 3:16; 2 Cor 6:16; 1 Cor 6:19.
261
E.g. III 55, DOP 566, Tyson 643: Abstinentia…quasi templum Dei reddit animum (“Abstinence … makes the soul a
temple of God”). See also DOP 507–8, 568, 579.
262
He lectured on it in Pavia in 1515 and referred to it at length in several works, such as the De originali peccato and
Dialogus de homine.
263
CH I, 12 in Copenhaver, Hermetica, 3; Hermetis Trismegisti Poemander, 6; Campanelli, Pimander, 10. The more
accurate translation for ἑαυτῷ ἴσον is “equal to himself”: see LSJ, 839. s.v. ἴσος.
264
CH I, 15 in Copenhaver, Hermetica, 3; Hermetica, 3; Hermetis Trismegisti Poemander, 7; Campanelli, Pimander, 12.

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 account for this contradiction? In my opinion, it arises because Agrippa conflates two distinct sets of

terms, Christian and Neoplatonic. In the Christian context, the term imago implies a reflection which,

in man’s case, does not fully share the identity of the reflected object. 265 On the other hand, this term in

Agrippa’s use appears to be synonymous with “emanation” in the Neoplatonic sense and hence implies

an ontological identity as discussed throughout Chapter Two. That man is an imago imaginis Dei

means that he is created after the world in the process of divine emanation in which every level of

emanation retains its consubstantiality with its source. In contrast to its Christian use, this is how the

term imago is interpreted in the Corpus Hermeticum.

Embodiment and body

That soul is “produced” by God means that it “proceeds” from Him in a gradual process of

emanation:266 proceeding from God, soul is joined to “this grosser body” (corpori huic iungitur

crassiori), but only after it is wrapped in “a celestial and aerial body” (coelesti aëroque involvitur

corpusculo) which the Platonists call “the ethereal vehicle of the soul” (aethereum animae vehiculum).

Through this medium (hoc medio) soul is then infused into the middle point of the heart, which is the

center of man’s body, and from there it is spread through all the parts and members of the body. From

that point on, the interaction between soul and body is regulated by two complementary principles:

extension and obedience. It is the property of the soul, being moveable of itself, to extend itself into

matter, which obeys the soul’s commands and is set into motion accordingly. 267 Had Agrippa known of
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it at his time, he could have given an analogy with electric current that energizes the appliance.

265
Aquinas, Summa Theol. Ia q. 93 a. 1 ad 2: “And since the perfect likeness to God cannot be except in an identical nature,
the Image of God exists in His first-born Son; as the image of the king is in his son, who is of the same nature as himself:
whereas it exists in man as in an alien nature” (Et quia similitudo perfecta Dei non potest esse nisi in identitate naturae,
imago Dei est in filio suo primogenito sicut imago regis in filio sibi connaturali; in homine autem sicut in aliena natura).
266
III 37, DOP 514, Tyson 585.
267
I 14, DOP 112–13, Tyson 44. This relation corresponds to obedientia of matter in general to the World Soul (I 12, DOP
108–9, Tyson 37). The principles of extension and obedience are also important for understanding Agrippa’s views on
magic, since he holds that the soul can extend beyond the body and thus exert its influence on other objects too. I discuss
this issue in Chapter Four.

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 This process, he explains, is necessary for all those souls that are destined to dwell in the

created world: since man is the image of the world, he replicates the very process of its creation, which

implies the infusion of the World Soul (Anima mundi) into the World Body (Corpus mundi).268

Significantly, Agrippa uses the image of dressing (induere), as well as the phrase “corporeal man”

(homo corporeus), which both underline his notion of the “grosser body” and the duality of man:

Animum igitur hominis, sic verbo Dei sigillatum, necesse fuit etiam corporeum hominem … induere.

(“Therefore it was necessary that the soul of man, thus sealed by the Word of God, should put on also

the corporeal man.”)269 The context of this statement is important for a better understanding of its

implications. Agrippa explains why it is that man is privileged over all other creatures and compares

him to God: just as God comprehends the created world in his thought and governs it, so man

comprehends and governs his body and for that reason only he has been embodied. What one finds

here, thus, are the two clearly expressed, parallel opposites of God–the world and man–body.

If my reading of this passage is correct, it appears that, for Agrippa, there are actually two

different meanings—or modes—of “man”: the “inward” man, who seems to be non-different from his

soul, and the “corporeal man,” who is barely anything more than an external garment—a “spacesuit” of

sorts for living in a hostile environment.270 This homo corporeus is the seat of the external and internal

senses, organs, and members, through which, as if through an interface, the soul interacts with the

world.
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Perrone Compagni traces back this idea to Pico della Mirandola (Heptaplus 5:6), but there is, in

268
III 36, DOP 508, Tyson 579. The classical formulation of the doctrine of embodiment that Agrippa deploys here is Plato,
Timaeus 42d–43c. Plato describes how the task of creating bodies was relegated by God to “the younger gods” (τοῖς νέοις
παρέδωκεν θεοῖς). The notion of the Corpus mundi as deployed in Ficino and Agrippa also goes back to Timaeus 36e–37a.
269
Ibid. Freake renders animus as “mind,” thus contributing to the overall terminological confusion in the work. Just in
passing, I note that a similar phrase, homo carnalis, is used by Thomas à Kempis (e.g. De imitatione Christi I, 6,2); in my
MA thesis I explored the possibility of an indirect influence of his notion of imitatio Christi and other ideas of the devotio
moderna on Agrippa; see Putnik, The Pious Impiety, 54–65.
270
Aquinas, Summa theol. Ia q. 75 a. 4 co. and ad 1, commenting on 2 Cor. 4:16 where St. Paul speaks of an “inward” and
“outward” man, explicitly rejects the identification of soul with man as a whole. However, this duality is there in Paul and it
has been subject to various exegetical attempts.

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 my opinion, an even more important conceptual and terminological parallel, that with the Corpus

Hermeticum VII.271 In this short discourse one finds exactly the same imagery of clothes related to

body and soul. In addition to the stern observation that “the soul [is] shut up in the body, preventing it

from anchoring in the havens of deliverance” (τὴν ἐν τῷ σώματι κατακεκλεισμένην ψυχήν;

animamque…corporis vinclis inclusam), Hermes advises his son in the following way:

But first you must rip off the tunic that you wear, the garment of ignorance, the
foundation of vice, the bonds of corruption, the dark cage, the living death, the sentient
corpse, the portable tomb (…). Such is the odious tunic you have put on. It strangles you
and drags you down with it so that you will not hate its viciousness, not look up and see
the fair vision of truth and the good that lies within, not understand the plot that it has
plotted against you when it made insensible the organs of sense, made them inapparent
and unrecognized for what they are, blocked up with a great load of matter. 272

“Ripping off the tunic one wears,” “the garment of ignorance,” “a great load of matter that blocks up

the organs of sense”—these images closely match Agrippa’s own metaphor of induere,273 even though

he is much more ambivalent—and has to be as a self-professed Christian—in passing a judgment on

such a state of affairs. In the dualist perspective of the Hermetica, body is evidently a burden to be

dispensed with. In his own account of the formation of body Agrippa does not go that far, but

elsewhere, as I will show, he exhibits more clearly his anti-corporeal attitude, such as when he states

that “one who wants to enter this sanctuary of secrets must die, I say die to the world, and to the flesh,

and all senses, and to the whole man animal” (Mori enim oportet, mori, inquam, mundo & carni, ac

271
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Copenhaver, Hermetica, 24; Hermetis Trismegisti Poemander, 54; Campanelli, Pimander, 47. Speaking of Pico,
however, it should be mentioned that this idea appears in his Oratio too, where he speaks of man as “a divinity clothed with
human flesh” (numen humana carne circumvestitum); see Pico, On the Dignity of Man, 6. Describing the man who has
attained the state of pure intellect, Pico says that he is “ignorant of the body, banished to the innermost places of the mind”
(corporis nescium, in penetralia mentis relegatum).
272
CH VII 2–3, Copenhaver, Hermetica, 24; Hermetis Trismegisti Poemander, 55; Campanelli, Pimander, 47. The italics in
the translation mine. I give only the clothes-imagery parts in Greek and Ficino’s Latin: περιρρήξασθαι ὃν φορεῖς χιτῶνα, τὸ
τῆς ἀγνωσίας ὕγασμα ... Τοιοῦτός ἐστιν ὃν ἐνεδύσω χιτῶνα; vestem quam circumfers exuere, indumentum inscitie …
Huiuscemodi est, quo circumtegeris, umbraculum inimicum. In other words, body is equaled to chiton (a sewn garment
worn by both sexes in ancient Greece).
273
In Ficino’s translation of the above-quoted sentence one even finds a compound verb of the same root: induere / exuere
= to dress / undress. The same verb is used in a similar context by the Apostle Paul in Eph 4:24: ἐνδύσασθαι τὸν καινὸν
ἄνθρωπον τὸν κατὰ Θεὸν κτισθέντα; induite novum hominem qui secundum Deum creatus est (“And that ye put on the new
man, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness”). However, Paul’s concept of homo novus differs
considerably from the Hermetic one, as I discuss in Chapter Five.

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 sensibus omnibus, ac toti homini animali).274

Agrippa’s description of the reverse process—death—shows similar traits of the dualist

perspective. To repeat it, the Nettesheimer understands the process of embodiment as infusing the soul

into the body and fixing the one to the other by the medium of spirit or the “ethereal vehicle.” So, what

happens when this bond is broken?

But when by a disease or some mischief these middle things [i.e. the bonds of spirit] are
dissolved or fail, then the soul herself by these middle things recollects herself and
flows back into the heart which was the first receptacle of the soul; but the spirit of the
heart failing, and heat being extinct, it leaves him and man dies, and the soul flies away
with this celestial vehicle, and her genii, keepers, and daemons follow her on the way
out and carry her to the judge, where sentence being pronounced God quietly leads forth
the good souls to glory, and the fierce demon drags the evil souls to punishment.

Quando vero per morbum malumve solvuntur vel deficiunt haec media, tunc anima ipsa
per singula media sese recolligit refluitque in cor, quod primum erat animae
susceptaculum; cordis vero deficiente spiritu extinctoque calore, ipsum deserit et
moritur homo et evolat anima cum aethereo hoc vehiculo illamque egressam genii
custodes daemonesque sequuntur et ducunt ad iudicem, ubi lata sententia bonas animas
Deus tranquille perducit ad gloriam, malas violentus daemon trahit ad poenam.275

In this passage, which gives a glimpse of Agrippa’s views on eschatology (at least as delineated in the

De occulta philosophia) one finds several interesting points. First of all, death is a process precisely

reverse to that of embodiment: the soul takes the same steps, but backwards, and leaves the body

carried away by the same ethereal medium that enabled the bond in the first place. The idea that the

recollection of the soul, its return to the heart and the subsequent abandonment of the body all take
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place through the medium of spirit (“by these middle things”—per singula media) implies that there is

no direct contact between soul and body. They are, so to speak, separate hypostases, with one of them

274
Epist. V 19, in Agrippa, Opera II, 880 (Aurelio ab Aqua-pendente). Perrone Compagni’s edition does not contain this
letter as an appendix, but Tyson 681 does. Of course, the attitude of corporeal mortification expressed here still cannot be
said to be non-Christian.
275
III 37, DOP 514–15, Tyson 585. Italics in the translation mine. I had to make considerable changes in Freake’s
translation of this important section. First of all, he renders violentus daemon as “the Devil,” a solution clearly loaded with
theological bias. Next, he translates genii custodes daemonesque in singular as “the Genius his keeper and the demon,”
while erroneously attributing these to man instead of the soul. It is the free soul that these entities escort to the judge, as is
clear from the Latin original. To avoid confusion, I refer to the soul here as feminine.

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 becoming ontologically insignificant upon death: in the soul’s post mortem perspective sketched here

body does not figure at all. There is a final trial before God, but the result of the trial, whether good or

bad, pertains only to the soul, who is taken either to glory or to punishment.276 There is not a mention

of the bodily resurrection; moreover, there is strong indication that the final trial is individual and takes

place immediately upon the person’s death (this is clearly emphasized by the temporal conjunction

quando).277

Of equal importance is that the quoted passage, in my opinion, does not support Paola

Zambelli’s suggestion that Agrippa could have had some adherence to the Radical Reformation

doctrine of psychopannychism (“sleep of souls”), against which Jean Calvin strongly reacted in 1534

with his work Psychopannychia.278 What one finds here is an account of an active soul which is being

escorted by her attendants, and it should be read in tune with another statement from DOP III 41,

where Agrippa says that “separated souls retain the fresh memory of those things which they did in this

life and their will.”279 With the pronounced role of genii, custodes, and daemones, the whole passage

reads as Platonic, which Perrone Compagni notes by identifying the original references in Plato’s

Phaedrus (246–48), Phaedo (107d), and Timaeus (41e),280 but Donald Tyson finds another interesting

276
This idea undoubtedly goes back to Plato, Republic, 614b–618b, where the philosopher narrates about the Armenian
soldier Er, who was wounded in battle, left his body, and spent twelve days wandering around. He saw the heavenly judges
and witnessed the trial. Agrippa could have found the same idea in Ficino’s translations of Gorg. 523 E f., 524 E–525 B,
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526 B–C, and Phaedo 107 D, 113 D.

277
Elsewhere, however, Agrippa speaks of the Day of Judgment (e.g. III 41, DOP 534: quia enim animarum iudicium ad
extremum diem dilatum est). A more detailed examination of his views on eschatology will follow in Chapter Five.
278
Zambelli, “Magic and Radical Reformation in Agrippa,” 92–103. In truth, she is not too insistent on this thesis, but
alludes in that direction when, for example, she comments on Agrippa’s words (DOP III 41): “the common opinion of
theologians is that funeral prayers and rites cannot be of any help to the guilty in the cave of Dis” in the following way:
“The classicistic style and the cave of Dis are intended to disguise a statement which is completely anti-Roman” (Ibid.,
102).
279
DOP 524, Tyson 595: animas separatas eorum quae in hac vita gesserunt nondum extinctam retinere memoriam atque
voluntatem. For a diametrically opposite view see Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theol. IIIa, suppl., q. 70, a.1, resp.: potentiae
sensitivae et aliae similes non manent in anima separata; […] in anima enim separata manet efficacia influendi iterum
hujusmodi potentias si corpori uniatur—that is, only after the resurrection.
280
DOP 514. On the nature of these attendants see III 22, DOP 464–66, Tyson 527–29, chapter title Triplicem
uniuscuiusque hominis custodem esse et a quibus singuli procedant (“That there is a threefold keeper of man, and from
whence each of them proceed”).

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 parallel, that with the Asclepius.281 There one finds a similar account of the soul who leaves the body

and “passes to the jurisdiction of the chief demon who weighs and judges its merit, and if he finds it

faithful and upright, he lets it stay in places suitable to it. But if he sees the soul smeared with the stains

of wrongdoing and dirtied with vice, he sends it tumbling down…to the depths below.”282

To sum up, the textual evidence presented so far seems to suggest that the author of the De

occulta philosophia more or less directly sticks to the Platonic/Hermetic duality of man, whereby the

ontological importance of soul outweighs that of body and reduces it to a mere carcer animi.

The perspective of the Dialogus de homine

If in Agrippa’s occult encyclopedia, despite its equivocal mode of argumentation, one finds numerous

elements of a dualist anthropology, the situation becomes more complicated with one of Agrippa’s

Italian treatises—the short, unfinished Dialogus de homine. This dialogue, written in 1515/16 (see the

section on sources in the Introduction), reveals s strong influence of Pico della Mirandola and

Lodovico Lazzarelli on Agrippa in his Italian period, as demonstrated by Zambelli, Perrone Compagni,

and Hanegraaff.283 Perrone Compagni supposes that the dialogue could have contained the same

material as Agrippa’s now lost course on the Pimander taught at the University of Pavia.284 Much in

line with the De occulta philosophia III 36, it expounds man’s position in the universe. Man is said to

be a “smaller world” since he incorporates all the ingredients of the greater world around him: the four
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elements, vegetative life like plants, sensual perception like animals, celestial spirit, angelic mind, and,

281
Tyson 586. Copenhaver, Hermetica, 84: Asclepius, ch. 28.
282
Copenhaver, Hermetica, 84. From Agrippa’s point of view, the “chief demon” of the Asclepius could hardly be identified
with the Christian Devil, and this is why I said in n. 275 that Freake’s rendition of violentus daemon as “the Devil” might be
inappropriate.
283
Zambelli’s “Introduzione” in Agrippa, Dialogus de homine, 55, and her annotations throughout the text; Perrone
Compagni, Ermetismo e Cristianesimo in Agrippa, 37–51; Hanegraaff, “Better Than Magic,” 17–20.
284
Perrone Compagni, Ermetismo e Cristianesimo in Agrippa, 37. Speaking of this link, it is interesting to note Agrippa’s
spelling error, if it is an error at all, in Dialogus de homine, 46v: hoc est quod Hermes innuit in primandro (“this is what
Hermes agrees with in the Pimander”). If “primandro” can be understood as Agrippa’s παρετυμολογία (primus + ἀνήρ,
ἀνδρός, “man”), it would mean that he interpreted Pimander, or Poimandres, as the primordial Man.

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 finally, dei similitudo—resemblance of God Himself.285

The problem arises when Christophore, Agrippa’s interlocutor in the dialogue, voices his

opinion—which he shares with the writer of the De occulta philosophia— that “man, the smaller

world, is an image of the greater world. Namely, the greater world is the image of God, so man is not

the image of God but is formed after an image of God.”286 Surprisingly, Agrippa tells him that he got it

all wrong. Explicitly contradicting his imago imaginis argumentation from the De occulta philosophia

(e.g. I 37, II 27 or III 36), he replies that man is not formed after an image of God (that is, after the

world) but that he is the true image of God (hominem non tam ad imaginem dei formatum, quam esse

ipsam veram dei imaginem).287 There is a strong semantic opposition here between the infinitives

formatum esse and plain esse, and also between the subject imaginem and the adverbial ad imaginem. It

eliminates the world as the first image and the emanational medium between God and man.288

Things get even more complicated when Christophore, apparently trying to show his

agreement, adds that “the common opinion of theologians is that our soul is the image of God” (est

communis theologorum sententia, quod anima nostra est imago dei) which bears three faculties: will,

intellect, and memory. Reacting to this, Agrippa asserts that “it is not the soul that is the image of God,

but man is the image of God” (Non igitur nunc, quomodo anima sit imago dei, sed quomodo homo sit

285
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Dialogus de homine, 46r: Homo microcosmus hoc est minor mundus dicitur quum in seipso habeat totum quod in maiori
continetur: nam in ipso mixtum ex elementis corpus, celestis spiritus, plantarum vita vegetative, brutorum sensus et ratio,
angelica mens et atque dei similitude conspiciuntur. This is a direct paraphrase of Pico’s Heptaplus V, 6, of a paragraph
which the exalted author concludes with Hermes’ words: “A great miracle, oh Asclepius, is man!”; see Pico della
Mirandola, Heptaplus, tr. Douglas Carmichael, with an introduction by Paul J. W. Miller (Indianapolis/Cambridge: Hackett
Publishing Company, 1998), 134–35.
286
Ibid., 49r: Intelligo quia homo minor mundus imago sit mundi maioris. Mundus autem maior imago dei, atque hinc homo
non imago dei, sed ad imaginem dei formatus est. The translation of all the quotes from Dialogus de homine is mine.
287
Dialogus de homine, 49v.
288
The difference between imago Dei and ad imaginem Dei was discussed by Aquinas in Summa Theol. Ia q. 93 a. 1 ad 2,
but with a different conclusion: for Aquinas, only Christ, “the First-Born of creatures is the perfect Image of God, reflecting
perfectly that of which He is the Image [this is a reference to Col. 1:15], and so He is said to be the “Image” (imago) and
never “to the image” (ad imaginem). But man is said to be both “image” by reason of the likeness; and “to the image” by
reason of the imperfect likeness.” In other words, man’s imago Dei does not imply an identical nature with God but exists in
him “as in an alien nature” (sicut in aliena natura). It appears that “Agrippa” from the dialogue supports this view.

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 imago dei).289 Needless to say, this view is in direct collision with a number of statements from the De

occulta philosophia (such as III 37, quoted above), where Agrippa explicitly designates soul as an

image of divinity, not mentioning man at all. Here, in his clarification of this monist—and thus

apparently Christian—perspective, Agrippa states, quite surprisingly for a Platonicus, that the

Aristotelians understand this point more correctly than the Platonists:

And if you say, together with those theologians of yours, that this imago pertains only to
the essential or inward man, whom the Platonists define as the soul using the body as an
instrument, the Peripatetics were more correct in asserting that man is a compound made
of soul and body—a judgment that is professed as sacrosanct by the Catholic Church.

Et si tu dixeris cum tuis theologis hanc imaginem non nisi de homine substantiali sive
interiori dictum esse, quem platonici diffiniunt esse animam utentem corpore ut
instrumento, tamen rectius peripatetici locuti sunt, dicentes hominem esse illud
suppositum, quod constat de anima et corpore, quem sententiam sacrosanctam
confitetur catholica ecclesia.290

He then adds that, just as man is a unity of rational soul and flesh, in the same way Christ is God and

man in one (sicut anima rationalis et caro unus est homo, ita deus et homo unus est christus). What

Christophore says about pure soul pertains more to angels than to man: angels are closer to divine

nature and cognizance than men, and yet—it is man, not angel, who is said to be the image of God.

This is precisely so by virtue of man’s mixed nature, since angels lack grosser bodies and thus cannot

symbolize the totality of the world.

What must puzzle the student of Agrippa’s thought is, once again, the question of chronology.
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Most of the above-mentioned sections from the De occulta philosophia, in which the German occultist

explicates the imago imaginis doctrine and hints at a dualist anthropology appear in both versions, the

1510 Würzburg draft and the 1533 published work. Yet, between these two works one comes across the

Dialogus de homine, which seems to affirm quite different views: the homo imago Dei doctrine and a

289
Ibid., 49v. Italics in the translation mine.
290
Dialogus de homine, 49v–50r. I translate suppositum as an equivalent of compositum, which is confirmed by LS, 1815,
s.v. sup-pono, II A.

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 monist anthropology. How to account for such a discrepancy?

First of all, it should not be overlooked that the De homine is a dialogue. Perrone Compagni

rightly points out that by casting his argumentation in the form of a dialogue, with its own rules as a

literary genre, the author inevitably makes his stance more difficult to elucidate.291 In other words,

Agrippa the interlocutor thus becomes a sort of Socrates, who appears to be arguing in one direction,

but always with an open end in the discussion. It looks like he is persistent in his argumentation, but, as

I will show, he changes it in the course of the dialogue to such an extent that by the end he approaches

the dualist perspective of the De occulta philosophia. In fact, the Dialogus de homine is a remarkable

piece of writing in that the two characters appearing in it clearly stand for the two sides of Agrippa’s

own ambivalence: in contrast to “Agrippa,” who is prone to a Hermeticized Christian anthropology as

advocated by Pico in his Heptaplus, “Christophore” represents the dominant views of the De occulta

philosophia.

Is body good or bad?

Paola Zambelli points to Pico della Mirandola as the main source of Agrippa’s argumentation in the

Dialogus de homine. She identifies enough textual similarities, including long, uncredited quotations,

for deriving such a conclusion. Agrippa’s exposition of man’s nature indeed corresponds to the

Heptaplus IV and V, where Pico identifies man as the imago Dei and defines him as a unity of body

and soul.292 As Paul Miller notes, Pico’s understanding of imago Dei is based on the idea that man
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unites the three worlds in his own nature: “Man is made of body and soul, and so literally embodies or

291
Perrone Compagni, Ermetismo e Cristianesimo in Agrippa, 37: “Lʾadattamento in veste dialogica mascherava la struttura
inevitabilmente discontinua del commento originario, giustificandola con le regole genere letterario.” It is worth repeating
here her reference to Erica Rummel, The Humanist-Scholastic Debate in the Renaissance and Reformation (Cambridge
MA/London: Harvard U.P., 1995), 3, who characterizes this genre in the following way: “The necessity of maintaining a
literary conceit prevents the author from pursuing a tightly constructed, sustained, linear argument […] Indeed, the rules of
the art absolve the author from developing a logical argument or presenting logically derived conclusions.”
292
Pico, Heptaplus, 118–19, 125, 134–35, etc. As if to sum up Agrippa’s own confusion, Pico confesses: “It is a difficult
question why man has this privilege of being in the image of God” (134).

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 reproduces in himself both the angels and physical nature. Thus man has the intermediate place in

creation, since he is constituted by the combination of extremes.”293 Consequently, the scheme of

salvation in Pico’s thought is not Plotinian but Christian, even though he employs Neoplatonic

terminology: man’s ultimate purpose and goal, a return to God, “we do not make, but receive.”294 In

such a perspective, man’s body, both symbolically and ontologically linked to Christ’s incarnation,

plays a significant and constructive role. It is an integral part of man, it participates in man’s

redemption and salvation, and cannot be dispensed with.

Following Pico, Agrippa ascertains that man is superior to angels in that he, like God, embraces

the entire nature, not as the beginning of everything (omnium principium) but as “the middle link and

bond of everything” (omnium medium vinculum et nodus).295 Asked by Christophore whether man’s

similitude with God is reflected in the shape of his body, Agrippa rejects possible anthropomorphic

insinuations behind the question but confirms that figura corporis is distantly (procul) related to God’s

“intrinsic qualities” as their signum; however, this relation is entirely beyond our rational

comprehension.296

Finally—and this is the peak of Agrippa’s argumentation—the participation of body in

similitude with God is made clear beyond any doubt by the incarnation of Christ, who redeemed man

and recovered him from his fall “through the mystery of regeneration” (per regenerationis

mysterium).297 This is the same regeneration of the “inward” man as opposed to the corruption of the
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“outward” man that St. Paul speaks about in 2 Cor. 4:16, a quote that Agrippa uses to defend the role of

293
Ibid., “Introduction” by Paul J. W. Miller, xv.
294
Ibid., xvii, referring to Heptaplus, VII, 150–51.
295
Agrippa, Dialogus de homine, 51r. Another mode of containing everything is having knowledge of it (50v–51r):
whatever one knows is in a way contained by that person. Even in that sense men are better off than angels, who lack the
experience of the grossest aspects of the world, i.e. of the physical body.
296
Ibid., 52r: Sed est in deo aliquid intrinsecum unde defluunt hec universa, quod tamen ab illorum essentia figuraque
procul habes; sed cum deus ipse nos suas imagines sibique similes esse voluit, eiusmodi membra artus et figuras…tanquam
latentium suarum virtutum ac humane menti incomprehensibilium signa construxit.
297
Ibid., 56r.

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 body in man’s salvational drama.

However, Christophore does not seem content with Agrippa’s explanations and keeps

challenging him with a growing dissent. The culminating part of the debate concerns death: “You speak

a lot”, says Christophore, “but I don’t believe you. If man is so close to God, if his dignity is above all

other creatures, why is he mortal instead of being incorruptible like angels, the sky, and stars?”298

Agrippa’s response amounts to what I called the ontological downgrading of death, although it could

also be seen as its apology. Man is superior to angels precisely on account of his mortality since he

embraces both mortal and immortal nature, whereas angels are “only” immortal (ex sola immortali

natura formati sunt). Man shares with angels the inner spiritual nature (by having mens), whereas they

lack what he has—a mortal body. In other words, both his composition and sphere of experience are

more universal that those of angels. This includes man’s experience of death, which is altogether

inaccessible to angels and which thus make man nobler and better than angels, as confirmed by the

passion of Christ.

However, Christophore remains dissatisfied and launches a new attack, corresponding to

various ideas appearing in the De occulta philosophia, but more explicitly based on Agrippa’s

exegetical treatise De originali peccato:

Based on my faith and the sacred scriptures, I am certain that God created man as
immortal, but that he later became mortal because he disregarded God’s command and
ate from the forbidden tree. […] It is thus clear beyond any doubt that mortality is the
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result of the original sin, whereas you are perversely trying to misinterpret it as man’s
praise and virtue, and say that it makes man nobler.

Ego certus sum ex fide et scripturis sanctis quoniam creavit deus hominem immortalem,
qui postea prevaricatus divinum preceptum comedens de ligno vetito … factus est
mortalis. […] Ex quo sufficienter et clarissime constat mortalitatem esse effectum
peccati originalis, quam tu sinistre conaris torquere homini ad laudem et virtutem,
atque per hanc hominem nobiliorem esse.299

298
Ibid., 53r: Tu quidem multa dicis, sed ego tibi parum credo. Si tanta est hominis ad deum vicinitas, si tanta hominis
super omnem creaturam dignitas, cur mortalis, ac non potius incorruptibilis, ut angeli celum stelle?
299
Ibid., 54r.

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 Agrippa’s defense of mortality and embodiment is interesting as it partly embraces the esoteric doctrine

of “rays” as developed by Al-Kindi and later extensively employed by Marsilio Ficino. Moreover, it is

in this part of the dialogue that Agrippa makes a subtle turn towards a dualist anthropology. God

created man with a twofold nature: one is divine and immortal, the other corporeal and mortal.

Furthermore, God endowed man with mind, spirit, and speech, as well as with the ability to

contemplate and obey Him, so that man could attract and “drag down the rays of divine light” (ut…ad

se divini luminis radios traheret) which would permanently keep death away from him, although he

received a mortal body.300 And he was admonished that he would be subject to dying if he did not act

accordingly. In other words, the mortal side of man “did not count” as long as he obeyed God’s

commands and worshiped Him. His mortality was mere potentiality, not actuality. However, it turned to

actuality once man transgressed divine commands and “embraced the body” (corpus amplectens).301

Man fell down to the dark sphere of concupiscence and become subject to dying.

At this point, just when it looks like Agrippa has finally won the debate, he makes a strange

twist.302 Sensing in Christophore’s words fear of death, Agrippa tells him that there is no reason for

such fear since death does not exist. It is no more real than Scylla, Hydra, Cerberus or any other

monster from mythical antiquity. In response to his confused friend’s inquiry Agrippa suddenly seems

to have forgotten everything he said about body. Death exists neither for the living (since they are
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obviously alive) nor for the dead, because once you die, “you will definitely not exist” (tu namque non

300
Ibid., 54v–56r.
301
The idea of “embracing the body” can be interpreted in two ways. One is Hermetic, in the sense of bodily garments of
the soul discussed above. However, Zambelli, ibid., 67 n. 41, suggests that this could be an allusion to Agrippa’s De
originali peccato, in which he interprets the Fall as a result of the sexual intercourse between man and woman. In that—
literal—sense, the embraced body is that of woman.
302
Agrippa, Dialogus de homine, 57r–57v.

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 eris)!303 “Does it mean that we migrate to non-existence?”, asks Christophore, who is probably no less

perplexed than the reader. In Agrippa’s reply, all of a sudden, body ceases to be important and he

reverts to the Hermetic cloths-image: “You will migrate neither to non-existence nor to death, but to the

very immortality. But you should, as Hermes says, undress that garment that you wear around

yourself.” (Nec in nichillum, nec in mortem, sed in ipsam immortalitatem migrabis; oportet autem te

(ut inquid hermes) vestem quam circumfers exuere). Not only does one find the same verb that Ficino

used in his translation of the cloth-image passage (exuere), but Agrippa goes on to quote the same lines

from the Corpus Hermeticum VII that I quoted above, strongly arguing for the corpus animae carcer

doctrine: body is a garment of evil, living death, sensible corps etc.

In an even more spectacular twist of exegesis, he directly links this ultimately anti-corporeal

passage to Christ’s words from Matt. 16:24: “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and

take up his cross, and follow me.”304 That cross, explains Agrippa, is nothing else but “this material

body, which we wear as a sort of cross. We should get rid of it and leave it, so that we could return to

the pristine immortality together with Christ” (quo crux nil aliud est quam corpus hoc materiale, quod

in similitudine crucis geritur. Hoc nos abnegare et relinquere oportet, ut cum christo ad pristina

mortalitatem revertamur).305 As if to nail down the argument, he quotes the Apostle Paul’s words from

Phil. 1:23: cupio dissolvi et esse cum christo (“For I am in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to

depart, and to be with Christ”). In other words, in order to be with Christ, one must await for the
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dissolution, the separation of the soul from the body!

303
One is tempted to see in these words a link to Zambelli’s hypothesis of Agrippa’s hidden adherence to
panpsychonychism, but at that point of time (1515/16) this controversy is still far from blossoming, and besides, it appears
that Agrippa has something else in mind.
304
English Bible quotes throughout this work are given according to King James Version; see
https://www.kingjamesbibleonline.org/Matthew-Chapter-16/ [last accessed: 18/10/2016].
305
Ibid., 57v. Italics in the translation mine. Although Zambelli suggests no emendations in her apparatus criticus, it is
obvious that ad pristina mortalitatem should read ad pristinam immortalitatem. The former makes no sense, both
grammatically and theologically.

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 To sum up, the reader is tempted to conclude that, as the dialogue approaches its preserved end,

Agrippa and Christophore are getting closer in their positions, with Christophore boasting an

unexpected win, since his interlocutor has gone a long way from the eulogy of death and corporeality

to their negation. Reverting to the De occulta philosophia, one notices a similar ambivalence, albeit in

a subtler form: even though, as discussed above, the author of the magical summa tends to see human

nature in the light of Neoplatonic/Hermetic polarity, he does not denigrate body entirely and

consistently. In fact, much of Book Two is dedicated to body and its harmonious proportions, which

Agrippa clearly sees as vestigia divinitatis. In fact, he explicitly claims in DOP II 27 that the perfection

of body marks the perfection of soul.

In his essay “Better Than Magic: Cornelius Agrippa and Lazzarellian Hermetism” Wouter

Hanegraaff emphasizes Agrippa’s indebtedness to Lodovico Lazzarelli and his interpretation of the

Corpus Hermeticum (see Chapter One, the overview of scholarship). In this context, he briefly

examines the Dialogus de homine and points out that Agrippa takes basic lines of his argumentation in

the dialogue straight from Lazzarelli’s Crater Hermetis.306 Thus, for example, Agrippa’s differentiation

between the concepts of imago dei and ad imaginem dei goes back directly to Lazzarelli.307 Hanegraaff

also observes that Agrippa firmly insists on the notion of man—and not the soul—as an image of God.

However, he does not say anything about the changing course of Agrippa’s argumentation in the

dialogue and the evident tension between the Christian and Hermetic paradigms of human nature that I
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demonstrated in my analysis of the text.308 Nevertheless, Hanegraaff’s linking of Agrippa to Lazzarelli

306
Hanegraaff, “Better Than Magic,” 18.
307
Crater Hermetis, 18.2: “For we are the image of God, as may be read in the Sacred Scriptures—although many people
assert that there is a difference between being after an image and being an image: but I have discovered that they mean the
same thing” (Hanegraaff and Bouthoorn, Lodovico Lazzarelli, 221). However, as I show above, Agrippa claims
straightforwardly that they do not mean the same thing (Dialogus de homine, 49r–49v), although he occasionally switches
between the two concepts.
308
Thus, when he notes that by stating that man really is the image of God “Agrippa is…correcting his own position in
chapter 22 of the 1510 draft of De occulta philosophia” (“Better Than Magic,” 18 n. 62), Hanegraaff appears to be

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 is important in the context already discussed in my overview of scholarship and I explore it in more

detail in Chapter Five, which deals with man’s fall, salvation, and eschatological perspective. 309

Vehiculum: the ethereal carrier of the soul

In contrast to his views on soul and body, Agrippa’s understanding of the third component of human

existence—spirit—is much less marked by ambiguities. In his exposition of spirit he sticks closely to

Marsilio Ficino310 but goes much further than the Florentine humanist in exploring the possibilities

offered by this evasive yet all-pervading element of the universe. Following Ficino, Agrippa

distinguishes between two types of spirit: cosmic and bodily, which are interrelated in the same way as

the World Soul and individual souls.

As I showed above, the two components of what is perceived as the terrestrial human being—

soul and body—cannot be joined together directly, but only through a medium. Belonging to different

ontological levels, they require a unifying element that is subtler than the physical body and grosser

than soul:

Seeing that the soul is the first thing that is moveable … and the body, or matter, is of
itself unfit for motion and by far inferior to the soul, they [sc. ancient philosophers] say
that there is a need of a more excellent medium (i.e. such a one that may be as it were
not a body but almost a soul, or as it were not a soul but almost a body), by which the
soul may be joined to the body. They conceive such a medium to be the Spirit of the
World, i.e. what we call the quintessence, because it is not from the four elements, but a
certain fifth thing, having its being above and besides them.

Cum vero anima primum mobile sit … corpus vero vel materia per se ad motum
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inefficax et ab ipsa anima longe degenerans, iccirco ferunt opus esse excellentiori

overlooking a number of Agrippa’s statements in the final version of his encyclopedia that I refer to above. For instance, in
III 36, in a sentence added to the final version, Agrippa states that “human soul is the image of the Word.”
309
In that chapter I also explore the possibility that in his consideration of man’s corporeal nature Agrippa could also have
in mind a sort of spiritual body. For instance, in III 36, DOP 509, Tyson 580, one finds an enigmatic statement about the
process of uniting with God: the mind draws with itself even the body and leads it forth into a better condition and a
heavenly nature, until it is glorified into immortality.
310
E.g. Tres libri de vita, III 3, in Ficino, Three Books on Life, 254–57: Talis namque spiritus necessario requiritur
tanquam medium, quo anima divina et adsit corpori crassiori et vitam eidem penitus largiatur. (“For such a spirit is
necessarily required as a medium by which the divine soul may both be present to the grosser body and bestow life
throughout it.”)

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 medio (scilicet quod sit quasi non corpus sed quasi iam anima, sive quasi non anima et
quasi iam corpus), quo videlicet anima corpori connectatur. Medium autem tale fingunt
esse spiritum mundi, scilicet quam dicimus essentiam quintam, quia non ex quatuor
elementis, sed quoddam quintum super illa aut praeter illa subsistens.311

Agrippa further explains that this spirit is related to the World Body in the same way as “our”

spirit to the human body (Hic quidem spiritus talis ferme est in corpore mundi, qualis in humano

corpore noster). Just as the powers of the soul are communicated to the members of the body by spirit,

the virtue of the World Soul is diffused through all things by the cosmic quintessence. In other words,

the Spiritus Mundi is distributed locally (through individual bodies) and universally.312 Taken in its

Ficinian sense, it is as a non-personal substance that pervades the universe and links all its parts both

horizontally and vertically.313 When in its localized form, Agrippa calls it “a celestial and aerial body”

(coeleste aërumque corpusculum) and “the ethereal vehicle of the soul” (aethereum animae

vehiculum).314

The World Spirit is distributed, or diffused, through the rays of the stars: by the medium of

visible celestial bodies (the Sun and other planets) it is conveyed into herbs, stones, metals, objects,

animals, and man, to the degree that the receivers render themselves conformable to them. As I

demonstrate in Chapter Four, Agrippa takes the ray-theory much further than Ficino, who largely limits

it to extracting and manipulating the spirit for medical purposes.

Spirit is the main subject of Ficino’s Tres libri de vita (Three books on life), especially the well-
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known Book Three, titled De vita coelitus comparanda (On obtaining life from the heavens). As noted

311
I 14, DOP 113, Tyson 44. Although Perrone Compagni does not make notice of it, this is a direct paraphrase of Ficino’s
definition of spiritus in the Tres libri de vita III, 3: Ipse vero est corpus tenuissimum, quasi non corpus et iam anima. Item
quasi non anima et quasi iam corpus; see Ficino, Three Books on Life, tr. and. ed. Kaske and Clark, 256.
312
Agrippa alternatively calls it “celestial power” (vis coelestis) and “middle nature” (media natura); see III 37, DOP 154,
Tyson 585.
313
As pointed out by Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic, 12–13, and Kaske–Clark, “Introduction” to Three Books on
Life, 41–44, the concept of Spiritus Mundi is Stoic in origin and tightly linked to the notion of the world as a living being;
Walker also points to Plato, Timaeus, 30c–31a and Plotinus, Enn. IV, iv, 32 as even more important sources of influence on
Ficino in articulating his triad of Corpus Mundi–Anima Mundi–Spiritus Mundi, which Agrippa takes over from him.
314
III 37, DOP 514, Tyson 585.

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 already by D. P. Walker, Ficino is cautious not to go too far beyond the safe field of natural magic and

medicine; after all, the proclaimed purpose of his Tres libri de vita is medicinal and psychological—

helping scholars deal with their excessive melancholy by harmonizing their spirits.315 Thus he first

defines spirit in medical and biological terms, as a bodily vapor that is “generated by the heat of the

heart out of the more subtle blood.”316 It then flies to the brain, where the soul uses it for the work of

the interior and exterior senses. In other words, spirit is at the same time the finest component of blood

and the link between soul and body. In Book Three, however, Ficino widens his concept of spirit

beyond its biological meaning to denote an all-pervading cosmic substance that links Anima Mundi

with Corpus Mundi in the above-delineated sense. Thus, based on the explanations of both authors, one

can assume that Agrippa and Ficino actually postulate three separate yet interrelated chains of

emanation, as presented in the diagram below (Figure 4).

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315
Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic, 4. For a general discussion on this work see ibid., 2–59, and Kaske–Clark,
“Introduction,” 42–55. It is interesting to note that this self-limiting scope of Ficino’s treatment of spirit has made him
subject to over-psychologizing interpretations in our time, especially by the adherents of the so-called archetypal
psychology; e.g. Thomas Moore, The Planets Within. The Astrological Psychology of Marsilio Ficino (Great Barrington,
MA: Lindisfarne Books, 1990).
316
Ficino, Three Books on Life, 111 (I, 2). For a detailed overview of the relationship between spirit and blood in Greek and
Roman antiquity see Richard Broxton Onians, The Origins of European Thought. About the Body, the Mind, the Soul, the
World, Time, and Fate (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 23–65.

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 Figure 4: Three parallel chains of emanation

Having being encapsulated in the individual human being, the ethereal vehiculum serves two

crucial purposes: to provide a link between soul and body, and to secure man’s participation in, and

communication with, the higher levels of the universe. Just as man’s soul (at least her highest part, the
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mens) is of the same nature as the intellectual realm and God himself, so his ethereal vehicle makes

him akin to the all-pervasive Spiritus Mundi, the third pillar of Agrippa’s cosmology, which allows him

the possibility of universal communication. As I demonstrate in the next chapter, in which I deal with

the nature and functions of spirit in more detail, the Spiritus Mundi and its individual embodiment as

vehiculum are of paramount significance in Agrippa’s theory of magic. They provide a cosmic-wide

network of communication and influence that works both vertically and horizontally, both universally

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 and individually.317

Furthermore, the threefold participation of man in the cosmos plays a central role in Agrippa’s

notion of dignitas hominis. By being simultaneously present in the realms of intellect, spirit, and

matter, the human being is in the unique position of “containing in himself all things which are in

God.”318 In other words, Agrippa’s homo imago Dei doctrine—taken in whatever of its modes of

interpretation—is intrinsically tied to his notion of the threefold participation. Man is thus seen to be

“everywhere” and is therefore called “the other world.” Angels enjoy celestial existence but do not

have gross bodies; plants are alive, animals are alive and sensitive, but both lack participation in the

higher realms of the soul. Man alone stretches everywhere along the cosmic backbone and draws from

this unique position his unique privileges.

In the same way as Ficino in his Tres libri de vita makes an effort to detheologize the concept of

spiritus, thus avoiding potential troubles with the basic tenets of Trinitarian theology, Agrippa too

shows that he is aware of the problem and makes a careful distinction: the natural spirit, says he, which

is the medium uniting the soul and the flesh (spiritu naturali, qui est medium per quo unitur anima cum

carne) must not be confused with the Holy Ghost of the Trinity, which is worshipped by Hermes

Trismegistos himself.319 Agrippa’s unorthodox position, however, can be hinted in the lines that

immediately follow, where he establishes a closer connection between one particular aspect of the

corporeal spirit and the divine spirit:

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However, here we speak of the rational spirit, which, although it is in some way also
corporeal, does not have a gross body, tangible and visible, but a very subtle body which
is easily united with the mind, i.e. that superior and divine one which is in us. And let no
one wonder if we say that this spirit is the rational soul, and that it has or experiences
something of corporeality while it is in the body and uses it as an instrument, if this is

317
Here I find it difficult to resist comparing Agrippa’s understanding of cosmic and individual spirit with the contemporary
phenomenon of Internet and access to it, upon which modern man’s communication capacities depend to an ever increasing
extent.
318
III 36, DOP 507, Tyson 580.
319
III 36, DOP 510, Tyson 581.

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 how you should understand what the Platonists call the ethereal body or vehicle of the
soul.

Sed hic agitur de spiritu rationali, qui tamen etiam corporeus quodammodo est, non
tamen habet corpus crassum, tangibile et visibile, sed corpus subtilissimum et facile
unibile cum mente, scilicet superiori et divino illo quod est in nobis. Nec miretur
quispiam si animam rationalem dicimus esse illum spiritum et quid corporeum sive
habere et sapere aliquid corporeitatis dum est in corpore et illo utitur tamquam
instrumento, si modo intellexeritis quod sit apud Platonicos aethereum illud animae
corpusculum, ipsius vehiculum.320

Here Agrippa introduces a hitherto not mentioned division of the corporeal spirit into a lower, “natural

spirit” and a higher, “rational spirit.”321 It appears, however, that he confuses this “rational spirit” with

rational soul (as one of the three constituents of anima), or else that he sees these two as a point of

junction between the spirit and the soul. If, as I think, the latter is the case, this is an important

statement for understanding Agrippa’s views on the dynamics of the tripartite human being: the three

“pillars” of man’s earthly existence—soul, body, and spirit—have identifiable points of merging one

into another. I pay more attention to this issue in the next section of this chapter, dedicated to the

second anthropological triad.

As I discuss at some length in Chapter Four, Agrippa departs from Ficino’s understanding of

spiritus in two ways. In Ficino’s theory of sensation, according to which the sense organ is of the same

substance as what is sensed,322 only sound is directly linked to spirit. As a matter of fact, it is a mode of

spirit in it own right, the spiritus auerus, as it transmits movement and is able to affect the hearer
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powerfully and directly. This is why Ficino pays considerable attention to music. On the other hand, he

considers eye-sight as static and therefore denies this mode of sensory perception a direct presence of

320
III 36, DOP 510–11, Tyson 581. Italics in the translation mine.
321
Ficino too mentions a division of corporeal spirit, which in his case displays three types or modes—natural, vital, and
animal (Tres libri de vita, II, 15; III, 11), but, as Walker points out, he does not work out these distinctions in detail, nor
employ them consistently (Spiritual and Demonic Magic, 5). It appears that Agrippa’s “rational spirit” corresponds to
Ficino’s vital and animal spirits. In the quoted passage Freake mistranslates spiritus rationalis as “natural spirit,” thus
rendering the whole sentence almost unintelligible.
322
See Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic, 5–11.

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 spirit: “As regards sight,” says he, “although visual impressions are in a way pure, yet they lack the

effectiveness of motion and are usually perceived only as an image, without reality; normally,

therefore, they move the soul only slightly.”323 Reflecting on this peculiar difference between hearing

and sight, which is supposed to be directly connected to light, the substance of heavens, Walker

concludes: “Hearing, then, both puts us in more direct contact with external reality, since sound

consists of aerial movements which can actually occur in our spirit, whereas sight merely reproduces

surface-images of things.”324 In contrast to Marsilio Ficino, I demonstrate in Chapter Four that

Agrippa, much in line with Al-Kindi’s theory of rays, views eye-sight as literally made of spirit and in

this way explains much of the natural magic that he deals with in the first book of his occult

philosophy.

The second, even more profound difference is the significance that Agrippa attributes to the

notion of aethereum vehiculum. Ficino is extremely cautious about this concept: in his Tres libri de

vita, he neither uses the term vehiculum in this context nor explicitly refers to its astral origin as it

could easily implicate him in some of the unorthodox doctrines which assume pre-existence of the soul

and metempsychosis. D. P. Walker insightfully remarks the following:

The immense importance which Ficino attributes to astral influence on man’s spirit and
his acceptance of a cosmic or celestial spirit both suggest that, at least in the De vita
coelitus comparanda, his conception of the former is not merely the orthodox medicinal
one. I think that he has at the back of his mind the Neoplatonic astral body, that is, the
aetheric vehicle (ὄχημα) which the soul acquires from the various stars and spheres it
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passes through during its descent into the earthly body. […] The astral body was for the
Neoplatonists primarily a religious conception—an explanation, I think, or justification
of theurgic practices, i.e. methods of approaching God and salvation which are non-
intellectual.325

As Walker notes, Ficino does mention the spiritual vehicle in his Theologia Platonica (XVIIII, 4),

323
Ficino, Comm. in. Tim., c. xxviii, quoted in Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic, 9.
324
Ibid., 9–10. The three lower senses (taste, smell, and touch) are regarded by Ficino as plainly inferior since they cannot
transmit an intellectual content.
325
Ibid., 38–39.

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 where he describes it in the terms delineated above, but he readily adds a denial of the astral descent of

the soul and ends the chapter with a declaration of submission to Christian theologians.326 Whatever

Marsilio Ficino had at the back of his mind Cornelius Agrippa brought to the fore and developed much

further. As I argue based on the textual references presented here, Agrippa’s own conception of the

vehiculum animae is more openly Neoplatonic, more clearly dualistic in terms of anthropology, and

crucial for his explanation of certain magical phenomena. And, what is even more important, it brings

him much closer to the risk of interpreting Christian doctrines through the lenses of Neoplatonic

theurgy.

THE SECOND TRIAD: MENS, RATIO, IDOLUM

As I pointed out at the beginning of this chapter, Cornelius Agrippa articulates his anthropology in two

triads. The second, smaller triad pertains to soul and considers her main constituents. Here the German

humanist sticks closely to Marsilio Ficino; Ficino’s own threefold division, of course, goes back to

Plato’s tripartite theory of soul, according to which she is divided into reason, spirit, and appetite

(Republic, IV), as well as to Aristotle’s division of souls into the nutritive, the sensitive, and the

rational (On the Soul, II, 412–13). However, a closer scrutiny of Ficino’s and Agrippa’s division of soul

suggests that the first triad of anima, corpus, and spiritus should not be taken to designate three

monolithic blocks without “grey zones” between them. In fact, a more nuanced examination shows that
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only the highest part of soul—the mind or mens—corresponds to what has so far been designated as

“immortal soul.” The other two constituents have different ontological destinies, with the lowest part—

idolum—being mortal just like body and displaying a range of similarities both with body and spirit.

My examination shows that in Agrippa’s view, apart from the spirit as her vehicle, the soul herself

326
Ibid., 40.

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 needs to undergo internal changes in order to be able to participate in man’s terrestrial existence. The

relations between the three constituents of soul are crucial both for the dynamics of man’s psychic and

spiritual life and for the performance of magical operation.

How do earthly bodies accommodate celestial souls?

Although Perrone Compagni does not point to Marsilio Ficino in this particular instance, I believe that

his Theologia Platonica (especially Books XV, 12 and XVIII, 4) must have been instrumental in

Agrippa’s own tripartite division of the soul in the De occulta philosophia. In XVIII, 4, a chapter titled

“From where does the soul descend into the body?,” Ficino discusses the old problem of embodiment,

namely how an incorporeal soul, which was created by God as non-temporal,327 can be joined to a

temporal, gross body. The only solution, according to Ficino, is a set of intermediaries, one among

them being vehiculum animae (a rare place in the Theologia Platonica where Ficino discusses this

concept). Here one also finds the division of soul that most probably inspired Cornelius Agrippa.

Not referring to the Florentine humanist, but to Plotinus, the unnamed Platonici, and Hermes

Trismegistos, Agrippa asserts that man’s soul is divided into the supreme, middle, and lowest part.328

The highest part is mens, the mind or intellect, which is a divine thing (illud divinum) coming from the

intellectual world and as such inappropriate for a direct contact with body. The lowest is the animal or

sensitive soul (sensitiva anima), which is also called idolum and is in charge of the sensory perception

and other bodily functions such as reproduction, growth, and nutrition. 329 Significantly, the animal soul
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is produced out of matter and thus tightly connected to body. It can also be understood as bodily

327
Ficino, Platonic Theology, 1, 87 (XVIII, 2, 3): “Our souls were born after the birth of time …, yet they are not temporal
entities” (Animae nostrae post temporis ortum natae … neque tamen sunt temporales).
328
III 36, DOP 511, Tyson 581. Interestingly, Agrippa does not explicitly say “soul” but “man”: all the mentioned ancient
authorities “place three things in man” (tria ponunt in homine). Of course, it is clear that the division pertains to soul, but
Agrippa’s ambiguous phrasing might point to the above-mentioned blurred boundaries between the entities in question.
329
Idolum is term used by Ficino (e.g Theologia Platonica, XVIII 4) and attributed by him in this sense to Plotinus (Enn.
IV, 3). Freake renders it as “image” following Agrippa’s explanation from III 41 that idolum is animae imago. In III 44,
however, he translates the same term as “imagination.”

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 consciousness. The middle part, connecting the two extremes, is the reason, ratio, to which Agrippa

alternately refers as to “rational spirit” or “rational soul.” The origin of ratio is the celestial world. If

my reading of the above-quoted passage on two types of spirit (natural and rational) is correct, it would

follow that the two lower parts of the tripartite soul are closely akin to spirit, which would rearrange

my diagram of emanation in the following way (Figure 5):

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Figure 5: An alternative version of the emanational chains. The two-directional arrows

link the elements that constitute the entirety of the human being.

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 This interpretation entails that the boundary between two emanational chains—that of Anima Mundi

and of Spiritus Mundi—is blurred, with ratio being the midpoint of intersection. In other words, two of

the three parts of soul belong more properly to the realm of spiritus or are closely akin to it.330

Moreover, the diagram shows that neither idolum nor body are in direct touch with the mind, which is

the only divine ingredient in man. They can only appeal to ratio, which thus “favors of the nature of

both extremes” (utriusque sapiens naturam extremorum) and can turn to both sides as it chooses. In

other words, ratio is the true battlefield for those who strive for ascension:

For as the supreme portion never sins, never consents to evil and always resists error …
and the inferior portion is always overwhelmed in evil, in sin and concupiscence, and
draws to the worst things… but the spirit, which Plotinus calls the reasonable soul,
being free in its nature, can according to its pleasure adhere to either of them: if it
constantly adheres to the superior portion, it will ultimately be united and blessed with
it, until it be assumed into God; but if it adheres to the inferior soul, it will be depraved
and become vicious, until it be made a wicked demon.

Sicut enim portio illa suprema nunquam peccat, nunquam malo consentit semperque
errori restitit … sic inferior illa portio in malo et peccato et concupiscentia semper
demergitur et trahit ad pessima … spiritus vero, quae rationalis anima a Plotino dicitur,
cum sit natura sua liber et utrique ad libitum adhaerere potest, si superiori portioni
constanter adhaereat illi tandem unitur et beatificatur, donec adsumatur in Deum; si
adhaereat animae inferiori, depravatur et demeretur, donec efficiatur malus daemon.331

Agrippa here clearly delineates his view on the question of free will: it is confined to ratio only, with

mens and idolum having their predestined and unchangeable roles in the drama of man’s earthly

existence. This point is of significant importance for Agrippa’s understanding of salvation and
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ascension, which I discuss in Chapter Five.

Which soul is actually immortal?

At the beginning of DOP III 44, Agrippa gives another fascinating description of the descent of soul

330
This interpretation poses some problems too. For instance, if ratio and idolum are spirit by nature, what is the purpose of
the ethereal vehicle? Notwithstanding the difficulty of this question, Agrippa is very explicit (see the quotation above, n.
320) in calling rational soul spiritus rationalis and linking the two in a form of definition: Nec miretur quispiam si animam
rationalem dicimus esse illum spiritum.
331
III 36, DOP 511, Tyson 581. Certainly, one senses in these words Pico della Mirandola’s notion of hominis dignitas.

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 into body, this time with regard to her main constituents and the emanation of divine light:

Man’s soul consists of a mens, ratio, and idolum.332 The mens illuminates the ratio, and
the ratio flows into the idolum: all are one soul. Unless illuminated by the mens, the
ratio is not free from error, but the mens cannot give it light until enlightened by God,
that is, the first light. For the first light in God is far beyond any understanding; hence it
cannot be called an intelligible light. But when infused into the mens, it is made
intellectual and can be understood. Then, when infused by the mens to the ratio, it is
made rational, and is not only understandable but also cogitable. Then, when infused by
the mens to the idolum333 of the soul, it is made not only cogitable, but also imaginable.
However, it is not yet corporeal. But when from there it comes into the celestial vehicle
of the soul, it is made corporeal for the first time. Yet, it is not manifestly sensible until
it has passed into the elemental body, either simple and aerial334 or compound, in which
the light is made manifestly visible to the eye.

Anima humana constat mente, ratione, et idolo: mens illuminat rationem, ratio fluit in
idolum, omnia una est anima. Ratio, nisi per mentem illuminetur, ab errore non est
immunis; mens autem lumen rationi non praebet nisi lucescente Deo, primo videlicet
lumine. Prima enim lux in Deo est supereminens omnem intellectum, quapropter non
potest lux intelligibilis vocari; sed lux illa quando infunditur menti fit intellectualis
atque intelligi potest; deinde quando per mentem infunditur rationi fit rationalis ac
potest non solum intelligi, sed etiam cogitari; deinde quando per rationem infunditur in
idolum animae efficitur non solum cogitabilis, sed etiam imaginabilis, nedum tamen
corporea; quando vero exinde migrat in aethereum animae vehiculum efficitur primum
corporea, non tamen manifeste sensibilis, donec transierit in corpus elementale sive
simplex aëreum sive compositum, in quo efficitur lux manifeste visibilis ad oculum.335

I quote this long passage in full as it masterfully combines two significant themes of the De occulta

philosophia: embodiment and emanation. Of crucial importance is also a clear relation that Agrippa

establishes between various levels of embodiment and man’s epistemological limitations. This criterion

is valid universally: the divine light can be replaced with any other virtus divina, which can be tracked
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all the way down from its transcendent origin to its gross, sensible manifestation.

Furthermore, the passage underlines the subordination of different types of soul, which is here

332
Freake translates these as “mind, reason, and imagination,” but I preserve the original Latin terms in order to avoid
terminological confusion.
333
Here, however, Freake renders idolum as “phantasy,” thus perpetuating his confusion.
334
“Aerial” refers to one of the subtypes of ethereal body. Ficino, Platonic Theology 6, 111 (XVIII, 5, 7), refers to the
opinion of “many Platonists” that there are actually three vehicles of the soul: the celestial, the aerial, and the composite
(amounting to physical body). Also, note that, according to this passage, idolum is spirit by nature but different from the
ethereal vehicle, which appears to be subordinate to idolum.
335
III 43, DOP 538, Tyson 609.

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 presented in its epistemological perspective. This subordination, or psychic hierarchy (graphically

represented in Figure 6), also determines the fate of each component upon the death of the physical

body.

Figure 6: The tripartite structure of anima humana

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Idolum, the sensitive or animal soul, being closest to the elementary world and made of its

matter, perishes together with the body, although it is possible that it remains in existence a short time

after the death of the body as its shadow.336 This is, Agrippa explains, what the ancients meant when

they described shadows in the underworld and he gives the example of Dido, the queen of Carthage,

who in the Aeneid (IV, 650) described herself upon death as “the great image of me” (magna mei

336
III 44, DOP 542, Tyson 613.

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 imago).337 The temporary survival of idolum is often due to a person’s impious life filled with sins and

misdeeds. In such cases, idolum can even take up an aerial body (the grossest form of ethereal body)

and become perceptible as a ghost or apparition. Although this might look just like another detail from

Agrippa’s stock of curiosities, it confirms his view that idolum is different from the ethereal vehicle of

the soul, which stays with ratio upon leaving the physical body.

Ratio has a better future than idolum in that it is of celestial origin and therefore “long lived” (a

coelo suae originis beneficio longaeva est). It continues its existence in its ethereal vehicle but is

ultimately doomed to disappear “unless it be restored in the circuit of its new body” (nisi in novi

corporis circuitu restauretur).338 During its post mortem existence, the rational soul dwells in “certain

secret receptacles” (secreta quaedam receptacula) in which Agrippa recognizes the notions of the

heathen underworld and the Christian heaven and hell.339 However, after a long consideration of what

exactly these receptacula are, he admits that “these things are of an incomprehensible obscurity” (haec

omnia… sint incomprenhensibilis obscuritatis) and chooses not to say his final word on the subject.340

Significantly, ratio carries with itself consciousness and self-awareness: “when the soul is

separated from the body, the perturbations of the memory and sense remain. […] And Virgil himself,

together with the Pythagoreans and Platonists, confesses that separated souls retain the fresh memory

of those things which they did in this life and their will” (cum in anima seiuncta a corpore

perturbationes memoriae sensusque remanent […] Et Vergilius ipse cum Pythagoricis et Platonicis
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fatetur animas separatas eorum quae in hac vita gesserunt nondum extinctam retinere memoriam atque

337
III 41, DOP 523, Tyson 594.
338
III 44, DOP 542, Tyson 613. Perrone Compagni gives no reference for this enigmatic statement which, as Donald Tyson
duly notes, evidently refers to transmigration of souls. It is enigmatic due to its explicitly non-Christian character and the
unequivocal tone of the Latin indicative mode. Furthermore, the entire chapter was added to the 1533 edition and did not
exist in the Würzburg manuscript.
339
The idea of “certain secret receptacles” is derived verbatim from Augustine, De civ. Dei XII,9, whom Agrippa explicitly
mentions a few lines above.
340
III 41, DOP 534, Tyson 600. This reluctance clearly indicates that, just like Augustine before him, Agrippa had problems
reconciling the Platonic eschatology of the separation of the soul from the body and its ascent upon death with the Christian
eschatology of a bodily resurrection at the end of times.

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 voluntatem).341 In other words, while idolum can be understood as the animating force behind the body

and senses, ratio appears to be the seat of ego-consciousness and personhood as experienced during

one’s lifetime. Together with the fact that ratio retains the willpower (voluntas), it attributes to this part

of soul a central role in Agrippa’s understanding of man’s salvation and ascension. Namely, besides a

new embodiment, the only other opportunity for ratio to avoid disappearance is to be united with mens,

which is the only immortal part of the soul (uniatur menti immortali). Actually, even idolum can

survive if it is united with “a more sublime power” (nisi ipsa quoque sublimiori potentiae uniatur).342

This possibility, which might even extend to the physical body, is discussed in more detail in Chapter

Five.

For Agrippa, then, the answer to the question posed in the title of this section is clear: whenever

he mentions “immortal soul,” he actually means mens or the mind: “The mind, because it is from God,

or from the intelligible world, is therefore immortal and eternal” (Mens, quia a Deo est sive a mundo

intelligibili, iccirco immortalis est et aeterna).343 The other two components of the soul have the

opportunity to unite with the mind but are not themselves immortal. Thus the best thing for the rest of

the soul is to achieve the unity with mind. Otherwise, both ratio and idolum eventually perish just like

physical body.

Anima stans et non cadens: the source of all magical power

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What strikes the attentive reader of the above-discussed passages is the fact that Agrippa says nothing

of the whereabouts of mens upon the death of the body. Based on his discussion in DOP III 44, I

conclude that, for him, it remains immoveable and fixed to the sphere of pure intellect, entirely

separated from the lower levels of existence. In fact, the German occultist suggests a dialectical relation

341
III 41, DOP 524, Tyson 595. It is clear from the context that by “separated souls” Agrippa has ratio in mind.
342
III 44, DOP 542, Tyson 613.
343
Ibid.

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 between mens and ratio that is reminiscent of Plotinus’ troubles to explain how the soul simultaneously

participates in the world and stays aloof.344

To begin with, ratio is and has to be connected to mens, otherwise no life would be possible: the

vivifying power flows down from the sphere of transcendence through the various stages of emanation,

both cosmic and personal. However, this connection appears to be “technical” in that it merely secures

life; in other words, its direction is downward and, as such, necessary. This is the only way to

understand Agrippa’s statement that the mind has to be obtained: “Not all men obtain this mind

because, as Hermes says, God wished to put it forward as a prize, so to speak, and reward for souls

(Verum non omnes homines mentem adepti sunt quoniam, ut inquit Hermes, voluit illam Deus pater

tamquam certamen praemiumque animarum proponere).345 What happens when one “obtains” a mind

Agrippa explains in the following way:

Whoever therefore, being upheld by the divine grace, have obtained a mind, these
according to the proportion of their works become immortal, as Hermes says, having
comprehended by their understanding all things which are in the earth, and in the sea,
and in the heavens, and if there be anything besides these above heaven, so that they
behold even goodness itself.

Quicunque vero divina gratia fulti mentem consecuti sunt, hi secundum operum
comparationem immortales evadunt, ut inquit Hermes, intelligentia sua cuncta complexi
quae in terra sunt et quae in mari et quae in coelis et si quid praeter ea super coelum, ut
ipsum quoque bonum intueantur.346

“Obtaining the mind” thus means achieving spiritual ascension and coming in direct contact with ipsum
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bonum, i.e. the Divine. In other words, uniting the three components of soul leads directly to a union

with God, since mens is already in the divine sphere. In both quotations Agrippa refers to the Corpus

Hermeticum IV 3–5, where Hermes discloses this secret to Tat.347 It means activating the upward

344
Enn. IV, 8, 6.
345
III 44, DOP 542, Tyson 613.
346
III 44, DOP 543, Tyson 613.
347
Copenhaver, Hermetica, 15: “God shared reason among all people, O Tat, but not mind, though he begrudged it to none.
[…] He wanted it put between souls, my child, as a prize for them to contest.”

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 connection between ratio and mens—a connection that exists only in potentiality. The achievement of a

full, two-directional connection between the two parts of soul amounts to a unity of ratio and mens

whereby the former transcends its limitations and attains its divinity and immortality. If obtaining plain

life through a downward movement from the mind is man’s first birth, then obtaining the mind itself by

man’s upward movement can be considered a second birth, or rebirth.

The phrase Agrippa employs in this context is significant: a soul that has achieved such unity,

says he, is called “the soul standing and not falling” (anima stans et not cadens).348 He repeats the

phrase three times in this fairly short chapter, which was appended as a whole to the 1533 edition, and

ends with a remark that the unity of soul is the secret of all magic: “the form of all magical power is

from the soul of man standing and not falling” (forma igitur totius magicae virtutis est ab anima

hominis stante et non cadente).349 This repeated phrasing, which is indeed conspicuous and not

followed by any explanation, has led Michael H. Keefer to link Agrippa’s notion of the unity of soul, or

rebirth, to the heresiarch figure of Simon Magus, which makes Agrippa’s adherence to Christianity

look even more problematic. Keefer finds a lexical link in the pseudo-Clementine Recognitiones (II, 7),

in which Simon is described as someone who wished himself to be called the Standing One (cupidus

Stantem nominari).350 Simon’s demonic reputation in Christianity is unquestionable, which by analogy

taints Agrippa’s doctrine of ascension with demonic intentions. Yet, Keefer seems to be insufficiently

aware of the context in which Agrippa uses this phrase: while he speaks of the upward movement of
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ratio toward mens, pseudo-Clement explains the meaning of the name Stans by referring to Simon’s

physical body.351 I will resume this discussion in the Chapter Five of my thesis.

348
III 44, DOP 542, Tyson 613.
349
III 44, DOP 544, Tyson 614.
350
Keefer, “Agrippa’s Dilemma, ” 646. For the whole argument see 643–50.
351
Ibid., 646: “And he uses this name as implying that he can never be dissolved, asserting that his flesh is so compacted by
the power of his divinity that it can endure to eternity.”

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 Animus and anima: a conundrum of terms

It is necessary to make several additional observations on Agrippa’s use of the terminology related to

soul. Based on the above discussion, I argue that, in Agrippa’s view, the common notion of human soul

as the bearer of personhood and self-awareness mostly corresponds to ratio. As I have shown, idolum is

on the verge of being corporeal, devoid of any intrinsic psychic faculties, whereas mens belongs more

to the realm of transcendence than to the created world, as a potential “prize” for those who aspire to

achieve it. This is confirmed by Agrippa’s use of anima where one would expect ratio, for instance in

III 44 (quae igitur menti unita est anima).

On the other hand, Agrippa sometimes mentions animus too. I tried to discern whether there are

any differences in meaning between the masculine and feminine forms of the word—animus and

anima—but nothing in the De occulta philosophia suggests that the author makes a semantic difference

between the two.352 In fact, a number of instances reveal that he uses animus and anima

interchangeably and synonymously. This is the case, for example, with the prominent phrase “the

passions of the soul,” which sometimes appears as passiones animi and sometimes as passiones

animae.353

This is an interesting question because Marsilio Ficino in his Tres libri de vita does make a

difference, at least in the third book. As Kaske and Clark note in their “Principles of Translation,”354

Ficino too does not distinguish between animus and anima in the first book of this work, but in Book
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Three he introduces a difference: there animus denotes “mind,” and anima refers only to the human

soul (in the above-delineated meaning of ratio). I suppose that this difference could have influenced

352
See LS, 123, s.v. animus for the relative difference in Classical Latin: anima is derived from animus (akin to Greek
ἄνεμος, “wind”) to denote the living force of the physical body (Greek ψυχή), whereas animus stands for the rational soul in
man, the mind, the intellect (Greek νοῦς). See also Onians, The Origins of European Thought (chapter “Anima and
Animus”), 168–73, for a discussion on the complex relation between the two terms.
353
E.g. I 62, DOP 220, Tyson 197. After all, in Perrone Compagni’s Index rerum, DOP 645, animus and anima appear
under the same entry, with nothing to indicate any differences.
354
Kaske–Clark, “Introduction” to Ficino, Three Books on Life, 14.

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 Agrippa’s translator, James Freake, who in a number of instances translates animus as “mind,” and

anima as “soul.”355 However, elsewhere he erroneously translates mens as “spirit,”356 which only

testifies to the complexity of Agrippa’s anthropology, both in terms of terminology and semantics. As

evident from my discussion in this chapter, his anthropology is not devoid of ambiguities and internal

inconsistencies.

In conclusion: Agrippa’s Plotinian soul

Based on all the above said, it is safe to say that Agrippa’s concept of the tripartite soul bears

considerable similarities to Plotinus’ notion of soul as discussed in The Enneads IV, 8.357 Although

Plotinus does not come up with a clearly delineated system containing three psychic hypostases and his

convoluted style of discussion does not encourage simplified interpretations, it is beyond doubt that the

ancient philosopher and his Renaissance successor were troubled by the same problem: how can an

immaterial soul, which is the seat of the self, be present in the material body? The only solution,

according to both, is that the immaterial soul partly transforms itself through a sequence of descending

stages, while partly remaining what it is—a transcendent entity somehow partaking of the spiritual

realm.

Plotinus’ unique testimony of his own experience epitomizes the problem:

Many times it has happened: lifted out of the body into myself; becoming external to
other things and self-encentered; beholding a marvelous beauty; then, more than ever,
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assured of community with the loftiest order; enacting the noblest life, acquiring
identity with the divine; (…) yet, there comes the moment of descent from intellection to
reasoning, and after that sojourn in the divine, I ask myself how it happens that I can
now be descending, and how did the Soul ever enter my body, the Soul which, even
within the body, is the high thing it has shown itself to be.358

355
See a whole section in Book One dealing with the passions of the soul, which he renders as “the passions of the mind” (I
62–68). Needless to say, mens in Agrippa’s above-discussed tripartite scheme cannot have any passions.
356
III 41, DOP 523, Tyson 594.
357
Plotinus, The Enneads, tr. Stephen MacKenna, with notes by John Dillon (London: Penguin Books, 1991), 334–43.
358
Enn. IV, 8, 1 in ibid., 334. Italics mine.

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 It is evident from Plotinus’ words that for him the only true life (“the noblest life”) and true identity

belong to the soul that is immersed in intellection, which corresponds to Agrippa’s understanding of

mens and its role. However, there comes a moment of descent from intellection to reasoning, which,

again, closely corresponds to the relation that Agrippa establishes between mens and ratio: it appears

that mens partially and temporarily delegates its life and identity to ratio, while itself remaining aloof

and barely perceived by the lower psychic hypostasis. This simultaneous emanation of the immortal

soul and its remaining identical to itself is explained by Plotinus in the following way:

So it is with the individual souls; the appetite for the divine Intellect urges them to
return to their source, but they are, too, a power apt to administration in this lower
sphere; (…) In the Intellectual, then, they remain with the All-Soul, and are immune
from care and trouble; in the heavenly sphere, inseparable from the All-Soul, they are
administrators with it just as kings, associated with the supreme ruler and governing
with him, do not descend from their kingly stations: the souls indeed are thus far in the
one place; but there comes a stage at which they descend from the universal to become
partial and self-centered; in a weary desire from standing apart they find their way, each
to a place of its very own. This state long maintained, the Soul is a deserter from the
totality; its differentiation has severed it; its vision is no longer set in the Intellectual; it
is a partial thing, isolated, weakened, full of care, intent upon the fragment; (…) With
this comes what is known as the casting of the wings359, the enchaining in body. (…) It
has fallen: it is at the chain: debarred from expressing itself now through its intellectual
phase, it operates through sense; it is a captive; this is the burial, the encavernment, of
the Soul.360

Despite the fall, emphasizes Plotinus, the soul preserves “for ever, something transcendent.” It only

needs to turn toward the Intellectual and it will be freed from the shackles of the body. This turn

activates its memory of the spiritual realm, which is “the starting point of a new vision of essential
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being.”361 Plotinus thus comes to a far-reaching conclusion, which, in my opinion, fits Agrippa’s

tripartite understanding of the soul: “Souls that take this way have place in both spheres, living of

necessity the life there and the life here by turns, the upper life reigning in those able to consort more

359
A reference to Phaedr. 246C.
360
Enn. IV, 8, 4 in ibid., 338–39. Italics mine.
361
Ibid., 339. This is a reference to Plato’s notion of ἀνάμνησις (see, for instance, Phaedr. 249e 5), which Agrippa
persistently employs when he calls for ratio to turn towards mens, and not towards idolum.

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 continuously with the divine Intellect, the lower dominant where character or circumstances are less

favorable.”362 As discussed above, this is precisely Agrippa’s position: ratio as the seat of one’s this-

wordly identity can either turn toward mens and reawaken its forgotten divine identity or immerse itself

in idolum and sink even deeper in its fragmented state of existence. In this sense it is significant that

Plotinus speaks of mens as “the upper phase” of soul (τὸ τῆς ψυχῆς ἄνω, literally: “that part of soul

which is above”).

Plotinus’ final verdict on the question—and this is the core of Agrippa’s anthropology as

discussed throughout this chapter—is given in the following words:

And—if it is desirable to venture the more definite statement of a personal conviction

with the general view—even our human Soul has not sunk entire; something of it is
continuously in the Intellectual Realm, though if that part which is in this sphere of
sense, hold the mastery, or rather be mastered here and troubled, it keeps us blind to
what the upper phase holds in contemplation.363

Within this overarching frame, Agrippa adopted Marsilio Ficino’s tripartite psychology and wedded it

to his own notion of triplex mundus taken over from Pico’s Heptaplus and Reuchlin’s De arte

cabbalistica.364 In this way he came up with an elegant and convincing tripartite model of the human

soul that offered an explanation for the paradoxical union between an immaterial entity and its material

receptacle.

To sum up, Agrippa inherited Plotinus’ diagnosis of the problem. Where he clearly parted from

the ancient philosopher was his understanding of the remedy. Whereas Plotinus did not endorse
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362
Ibid. In my opinion, MacKenna’s rendering of παρὰ μέρος as “by turns” in this passage does not imply a differentiation
between souls with regard to their upward or downward orientation. It rather implies oscillations within every single soul,
i.e. their moving upwards and downwards intermittently. Plotinus has in mind a twofold position of each embodied soul:
they simultaneously live a double life, with the spiritual or material aspects more dominant in proportion to the souls’
proximity to or distance from the sphere of the Intellect. “In proportion to” is another way to understand the phrase παρὰ
μέρος: see LSJ, 1104, s.v. μέρος.
363
Enn. IV, 8, 8 in Plotinus, The Enneads, 342. Italics mine. This statement goes against Gregory Shaw’s insistence on “a
Plotinian Platonism where the soul never descended into a body;” see Gregory Shaw, Theurgy and the Soul. The
Neoplatonism of Iamblichus (University Park, Pennsylvania: The Pennsylvania University Press, 1995), 10–12. What he
terms “the doctrine of an undescended soul” does not take into account the twofold position of soul discussed by Plotinus in
the above-cited passages.
364
See Chapter Two, 82 n. 192.

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 theurgic rituals as the means for achieving ascension, the German occultist saw them as God-given

instruments in reaching his main goal proclaimed at the beginning of the De occulta philosophia:

conscendere ad ipsum archetypum mundum. The following chapter discusses this other aspect of

Agrippa’s anthropology.
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 CHAPTER FOUR

FIXA INTENTIO: THE MECHANISMS OF MAGICAL OPERATION

In the previous chapter I showed that Agrippa’s anthropology entails a sequence of closely interrelated

entities with an increasing degree of materiality, ranging from the immortal mens to the mortal body. I

argued that, in Agrippa’s interpretation, “soul” does not have a single meaning, which is reflected in the

terminology he employs. In the broadest sense, soul consists of three parts: mens, ratio, and idolum.

Yet, in a more narrow, Platonic sense, only mens can be considered a “true soul” since soul is by

definition immortal, while both ratio and idolum are perishable. Moreover, I showed that the latter two

are more akin to cosmic spirit and that they can be turned into a true soul only if united with mens.

However, in contrast to its ontological centrality, mens remains, so to speak, a relatively passive

element in man’s psychological life and the magician’s project of spiritual ascent: it is the ultimate goal

in the process, something yet to be obtained, a “prize” to be won (to use Hermes’s phrase), but it

remains high above the sublunary and celestial spheres, aloof from all the everyday activities of ratio

and idolum. It is precisely through the activities of the two lower souls that human beings live like

rational creatures and magicians operate. Ratio is, as I argued, the seat of man’s self-awareness and

personhood (the “I” feeling), while idolum is the nodal point of both internal and external senses. Thus
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one comes to a third possible definition of soul: it is the “operative soul” of man, which consists of

ratio and idolum and is constantly faced with a choice to move upward towards the immortality of

mens or downward towards the mortality of elemental body.

“Operative soul” and “true soul” are my own concepts and terms that Agrippa himself does not

use. However, based on my analysis in Chapter Three, I believe that there are enough reasons to

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 introduce them in the above-delineated sense. In doing so I was partly inspired by Jan Bremmer’s

discussion of the ancient views on the dichotomy of soul and her division into “body soul” and “free

soul,” whereby the former provides life, self-awareness, and ego-consciousness, whereas the latter has

no contact with the ego-soul, never carries psychological features and is inactive while the body is

awake (and vice versa).365 The “free soul” represents one’s original identity and reveals her existence in

dreams, trance, and after death (and thus amounts to “dream soul” in shamanism and other traditions).

Although there are differences between this concept and Agrippa’s “true soul” and “operative soul,”

and I do not make a direct comparison between Bremmer’s and my division, there are, in my opinion,

conceptual similarities that can help one better understand Agrippa’s views on human soul.

To the extent mens is “obtained” it becomes an active participant in the operative soul.

Meanwhile, it remains a more or less isolated part of the soul and personhood, locked up in its sphere

of intellect and immortality, man’s dormant link to the realm of God. As discussed throughout this

thesis, Agrippa sees magic as the best means for activating that link. Thus it needs to be examined what

kind of magic is appropriate for such an exalted goal, and what kind of magic serves other, less lofty

purposes. In the present chapter I analyze different kinds of magical influence described in the De

occulta philosophia in the above-discussed anthropological framework.

The plethora of magical practices examined by Agrippa have one principle in common:

manipulating various virtutes by directing one’s operative soul in certain ways. Whatever these virtutes
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are—and they can vary depending on the type of magical operation—the process of manipulation is

based on one crucial element: that of a focused attention (fixa intentio). Thus, in my view, all types of

magic described in the De occulta philosophia, regardless of their purpose and objectives, have the

same anthropological and psychological foundations stemming from the above-discussed tripartite

365
Jan Bremmer, The Early Greek Concept of the Soul (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983), 13–69.

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 scheme. They all follow the same basic pattern of mental direction and focusing, which is the main

point of my interest in this chapter.

PASSIONES ANIMI: OPERATING BY AFFECTS AND EMOTIONS

When discussing Agrippa’s understanding of magic, authors usually emphasize its cosmological

aspects: the hierarchy of worlds, the laws of correspondences, and other ideas examined in Chapter

Two. It is regularly pointed out that the use of sympathetic magic is made possible by the hierarchically

structured, living universe. However, of equal importance is the psychological basis of magical

operation. Namely, for magic to be feasible at all, the fact that the cosmos is structured in a certain way

is not enough; within that structure man should also fulfill certain requirements if he is to rely upon and

utilize such a favorable cosmic structure. To express it with a trivial metaphor, in order to be able to use

an existing network of roads, one must first have some fuel in the car. What kind of “fuel” or driving

force is required for the magician to operate, Agrippa explains in some detail in the first book of the De

occulta philosophia, in an important series of chapters (I 62–68) discussing what he terms passiones

animi.

The magician’s driving forces

Taken in a broader sense, this sequence of chapters provides an insight into Agrippa’s views on man in

general, not only on those who nurture the ambition of becoming magicians. In a more narrow sense, it
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is of importance for my examination since it explains the psychological nature of the interaction

between magicians and the objects of their influence. In his discussion Agrippa also treats one of the

most important human capacities—fantasy or vis imaginativa. Finally, the Nettesheimer’s scrutiny of

the passiones animi clearly points to the magician’s main tool: the mental state of fixa intentio (focused

attention).

In his discussion of the passiones animi Agrippa relies on Marsilio Ficino’s physiological

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 definition of spiritus—a thin substance created from blood. Within the larger framework of Book One

of the Occult Philosophy, he does so in order to justify magic as an entirely natural discipline closely

akin to medicine. However, this cautious initial approach gradually develops into a full-fledged

doctrine of sympathetic magic that reaches far beyond the boundaries of psychophysiology. Thus in

Book Three the reader learns that Agrippa considers even piety and faith as types of “affects” which

enable the magician to “operate through religion” (operari per religionem). Based on this, I will argue

that the particular types of magic, which are commonly divided into natural, image, and intellectual

magic, are to a large extent determined by the types of passions or affective states involved.

External and internal senses

The main channels of communication between man’s soul and the external world are bodily senses. As

such, they are also mediators of passions: they receive and channel external stimuli, which then meet

with appropriate responses within man’s soul, spirit, and body. In a chapter titled “On the forming of

man” (De formatione hominis, DOP, I 61) Agrippa accepts a common division of senses into external

and internal.366 He arranges the five external senses hierarchically, according to the following criteria:

1) their location on the body, 2) their affinity with the nature of elements, and 3) their spatial reach.

Eyesight is thus the best external sense since the eyes are placed in the uppermost part of the body,

have affinity with the element of fire, and the objects of their perception are farthest off.367 In the same
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vein, hearing is associated with air, smell with a mixture of air and water, taste with water, and touch

with earth.368 Based on this taxonomy and on the ray-theory which he combines with Ficino’s doctrine

of spiritus (which I discuss below), Agrippa regards eyesight as a form of spirit and thereby departs

366
As Perrone Compagni notes, DOP 216, Agrippa’s immediate source is Ficino’s work De voluptate, 8, 4, but these are
mainly traditional notions dating back to the classical authorities, most notably Aristotle and Galen.
367
I 61, DOP 216–17, Tyson 193. Agrippa regards fire as the best of the four elements since it corresponds to mens, just as
air corresponds to ratio, water to imaginatio, and earth to corpus; see I 7, DOP 100, Tyson 24. Fire is also an emanation of
the divine light, which plays an important role in Agrippa’s theory of ascension.
368
As for olfaction, Agrippa says it has “a middle nature between air and water” (medium inter aërem aquamque). Ficino
calls this middle nature simply vapor: see Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic, 7 n. 2.

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 from Ficino, who confines this quality only to sound, i.e. the sense of hearing.369

Agrippa divides the internal senses into the following four: the common sense, imagination,

fantasy, and memory.370 The function of the common sense is to collect the impressions of the external

senses and convey them to imagination, which the German humanist understands as a container of all

sensory impressions. In other words, its only function is to “retain” and “present” them to fantasy

(imagines… acceptas retinere easque… phantasiae … offerre), which then processes the sensory data

by examining and discerning them (iudicare atque … discreverit).371 Finally, fantasy commits the

processed images to memory, which stores them as elements of one’s personal experience and self-

awareness, thus enabling them to participate in a variety of cognitive activities.

It strikes the eye that Agrippa’s understanding of the function of imaginatio is rather narrow:

according to him, it merely serves as a channel between the sensus communis and phantasia. However,

upon a more careful examination, his division between imagination and fantasy appears artificial,

especially as elsewhere he uses these terms synonymously.372 Such a conclusion is supported by the

fact that the ultimate source of Agrippa’s and Ficino’s notion of imaginatio/phantasia must have been

Aristotle, who in his work De anima does not make any such differentiation.373 On the contrary, his

term φαντασία is regularly translated as imaginatio and he defines it by referring to the notion of
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369
See Chapter Three, 132–33.
370
Ancient and medieval theories of sensation, together with the notion of sensus interiores, have a long and complex
history, starting with Aristotle and embracing key-figures such as Galen, Nemesius of Edesa, and Avicenna. For a
comprehensive discussion and the most relevant references see Muhammad U. Faruque, “The Internal Senses in Nemesius,
Plotinus, Galen: The Beginning of an Idea,” Journal of Ancient Philosophy 10, No. 2 (2016): 119–39.
371
I 61, DOP 217, Tyson 193–94.
372
For instance, in I 63, DOP 221, Tyson 199. Agrippa attributes his division of the interior senses to Averroes, and Perrone
Compagni identifies this source as Averrois Opera (Venetiis 1562), Suppl. I, 2:7, 17 A–K, but I did not have the
opportunity to see that text.
373
He discusses imagination in the De anima III, 3, 428a–429a, where he carefully distinguishes it from both perception and
mind, but does not mention anything similar to Agrippa’s division between imagination and fantasy.

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 image: fantasy is that in virtue of which an image occurs in us. 374 Finally, Plotinus, who was an even

more important source for Renaissance syncretists than Aristotle, understood φαντασία in a similar

way, as the faculty of image-making or imagination.375 Thus, in my opinion, imaginatio and phantasia

can be understood as one: a place where external stimuli are interiorized by being turned into mental

images. The only difference that Agrippa makes between these two faculties is that he attributes

cognitive powers to fantasy and not to imagination (yet he does not explicitly deny them to the latter),

but this still does not explain the difference in kind that he makes.376

Given all the above said, the following conclusion seems plausible to me. The fact that Agrippa

(via Ficino) names the sensitive soul idolum by Latinizing the Plotinian εἴδωλον (which means

“image” and is commonly rendered in Latin as imago)377 suggests that imagination/fantasy is closely

akin to or even identical with idolum. In other words, it is the point of intersection between the psychic

and physical components of the human being: the lowest part of the soul is simultaneously the finest

part of the body. This is confirmed by the fact that Agrippa defines idolum as the only component of

the soul which is of material (elemental) origin.378 Furthermore, he accepts the common Galenic

encephalocentrist notion that the head is the seat of the internal senses (Figure 7): the common sense

and imagination occupy “the front cells of the brain” (priores cerebri cellulas), fantasy is in “the

highest and middle part of the head” (supremum et medium capitis), and memory in the hindmost part
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374
Arist. De anima, III, 3, 428a. “Imagination” is a common rendering for φαντασία in English translations: see Aristotle,
On the Soul, trans. J. A. Smith, in The Basic Works of Aristotle, ed. Richard McKeon (New York: The Modern Library,
2001), 587–89.
375
Enn. IV, 3. On Plotinus’ understanding of φαντασία see G. M. Hutchinson, “Apprehension of Thought in Ennead
4.3.30,” The International Journal of the Platonic Tradition 5 (2011): 262–82; Edward Warren, “Imagination in Plotinus,”
The Classical Quarterly 16, No. 2 (1966): 277–85; Faruque, “The Internal Senses in Nemesius, Plotinus, Galen,” 125–30.
376
Based on Agrippa’s attribution of cognitive powers to phantasia, one might speculate that it goes beyond the level of
idolum and even reaches ratio, which is the seat of all cognitive faculties. However, ratio is of celestial origin, and fantasy,
as shown in the text below, is of somatic nature: it occupies a part of the brain, whereas ratio is infused into the heart and
then spread through the rest of the body by the medium of spirit.
377
Enn. IV, 3, passim.
378
See Chapter Three, 135–40.

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 of it (postremum).379 This means that there is a direct link—if not even identity—between the brain and

idolum.

On closer scrutiny, some of Agrippa’s views presented here reveal inconsistencies. For instance,

in DOP III 41 he clearly states that ratio in the post mortem state retains the memory of life: “separated

souls retain the fresh memory of those things which they did in this life and their will.” 380 Even idolum

appears to retain some kind—or some degree—of memory, as suggested by Agrippa’s example of

Dido’s shadow, who angrily recognizes Aeneas in the underworld. However, one reads in DOP I 61

that memory (along with the other interior senses) is located in the brain. Furthermore, in DOP III 43

Agrippa explicitly attributes cogitation and discernment to ratio (which is of celestial nature), whereas

in I 61 he views them as functions of fantasy, which is located in the brain.381

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379
I 61, DOP 218, Tyson 194. On Galen and his encephalocentrist theory see Jules Rocca, Galen on the Brain: Anatomical
Knowledge and Physiological Speculation in the Second Century AD (Boston: Brill, 2003). Agrippa’s locating of
imaginatio and phantasia in different parts of the brain probably follows Averroes’ division since Galen does not make
such a distinction. Galen’s list of δυνάμεις (psychic faculties), which include both cognitive faculties and internal senses,
consists of φαντασία, ἀνάμνησις, μνήμη, ἐπιστήμη, νόησις, and διανόησις; see Galen, On the Doctrines of Hippocrates and
Plato, trans. P. de Lacy, Vol. I (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1980), 438,27–440,8.
380
DOP 524, Tyson 595: animas separatas eorum quae in hac vita gesserunt nondum extinctam retinere memoriam.
381
According to the Galenic encephalocentrist theory, the activities of the internal senses do not take place in the brain
tissue itself but in the ventricles (κοιλίαι), which are filled with bodily spirits (πνεῦμα) and are “less material” due to their
hollowness. Galen inherited the Stoic notion of πνεῦμα but moved the center of pneumatic activity from the heart to the
brain; see Rocca, Galen on the Brain, 171–237.

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 Figure 7: The three brain cells as the seats of internal senses. Gregor Reisch, Margarita
philosophica nova (Strasbourg, 1508) [VD16 R 1037], p. F7 r. Courtesy of Bayerische
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Staatsbibliothek. http://daten.digitale-sammlungen.de/bsb00007953/image_505

How can the same cognitive faculties be parts of the soul and the body at the same time? The same

problem troubled Plotinus and he attempted to solve it by asserting that the faculties of the soul are not

in the body as its constituent parts, but that their “activity” takes place there.382 In this way he sought to

382
Enn. IV, 3, 23. See also Faruque, “The Internal Senses in Nemesius, Plotinus, Galen,” 125–30.

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 reconcile the immaterial nature of the soul with its central role in the functioning of the internal bodily

senses.

A possible answer from Agrippa’s perspective, as I suggested above, is that the internal senses

are of a mixed nature, partly physical and partly psychic, and that they are thus the nodal point between

the two ontological poles of the human being. In other words, the Plotinian “activity” of the soul equals

Agrippa’s lower parts of it. This is strongly reminiscent of Ficino’s description of spiritus, which is

“almost not a body but not yet a soul, and almost not a soul but not yet a body.” 383 Ultimately, it

supports my thesis that, for Agrippa, both ratio and idolum are closely akin to spirit, amounting to what

I term the operative soul. Such an understanding would enable him to find a middle way between the

immateriality of the Plotinian soul and the physicality of Galen’s interpretation of psychic processes—

the only way for the magical operatio to be feasible at all: to be able to operate, the magician’s soul

should not be inseparable from his body, but at the same time he should be sufficiently attached to the

elemental world.

As ever, Agrippa remains ambiguous in attempts to systematize his anthropology, but one thing

is certain: the first stage in the emergence of passions is the perception and mental processing of

sensory data, a process that he sees as the creation of imagines. As I will show, some senses, such as

eyesight and imagination, can function in the opposite direction too: they can reflect passions back to

the external world and thus influence it.

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The types of passions

What exactly are passiones animi according to Agrippa? In general, he uses this term to denote the

entirety of emotional and affective states experienced by a human being. They can be understood as

points of interaction between the homo miscrocosmos and the surrounding macrocosm. More precisely,

383
Tres libri de vita, III 3, in: Ficino, Three Books on Life, 256.

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 Agrippa defines them as certain “motions” within the soul (quidam motus) or “inclinations” proceeding

from man’s overall perception of the world (inclinationes proventientes ex apprehensione alicuius

rei).384 Even based on these few initial remarks it is evident that the English word “passion” is not

entirely compatible with the Latin passio, which has a much broader scope of meanings. It derives

from the verb patior, whose general meaning is “to experience,” whereas the most common present-

day meaning of the word “passion” can even be misleading in this context. Passio implies both a

stimulus that is turned into an image and a reaction to it. For the sake of convenience, however, I

mostly use the term employed by Agrippa’s English translator.385

Agrippa’s typology of passions follows the basic division of soul into mens, ratio, and

idolum.386 Hence there are three general modes of apprehension: sensual, rational, and intellectual.

Corresponding to these are the three types of passions:

1) passiones naturales sive animales (natural or animal passions): the lowest type of

affective and emotional states that emerge as responses to the basic perception of

commodities and incommodities (e.g. the fear of fire, the enjoyment derived from eating

palatable food, etc.);

2) passiones rationales seu voluntariae (rational or voluntary passions): the affective

and emotional states arising from one’s apprehension of more subtle or abstract notions

such as virtues and vices, praise and condemnation, etc. (e.g. the feeling of shame);
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3) passiones intellectuales (intellectual passions): the highest level of affective and

emotional states arising from one’s apprehension of abstractions such as truth and

384
I 62, DOP 220, Tyson 197.
385
An alternative and probably more adequate translation would be “affect,” but it is not unambiguous either. Passio in the
sense Agrippa uses it derives from Plotinus’ term πάθος; see Enn. IV, 6, 3.
386
Perrone Compagni, DOP 220, notes that in his explication of the types of passions Agrippa also relies on Thomas
Aquinas, Summa theol. IIa, quest. 22–25.

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 delusion, justice and injustice, etc. (e. g. a hope in salvation).387

In my opinion, these “types” can also be understood as different levels of manifestation of the same

basic passions: for instance, depending on the source and type of perception, fear can appear as

naturalis, rationalis or intellectualis. The fear of a beast is arguably not the same affect as the fear of

being rejected by the society or the fear of eternal torments in hell, even though all these cases are

linguistically marked by the same word. Similarly, “love” can denote states that range from the carnal

passions of idolum to the ecstatic unity with God experienced by mens. That Agrippa understands

passions in this way is indicated by the fact that he enumerates only eleven of them: love, hatred,

desire, horror, joy, grief, hope, despair, boldness, fear, and anger. 388 One can thus assume that all other

affective and emotional states that can take place in man’s inner life are combinations of the basic

eleven.

However, there is an important limitation in Agrippa’s treatment of the topic in Book One. He

restricts his discussion to the first type, natural or animal passions, which are ruled by fantasy

(phantasia) or imaginative power (virtus imaginativa).389 The other two types of passions are linked to

the higher parts of soul, as Agrippa explains at the end of chapter 65:

Now, if the above-mentioned passions have such a great power in fantasy, they certainly
have a greater power in reason, inasmuch reason is more excellent than fantasy; and
lastly, they have much greater power in the mind. For the mind, when it is fixed upon
higher entities for some good purpose with whole intention of the soul, often affects
another’s body as well as its own with some divine gift. (…) But of those more fully in
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the following chapters, where we shall discourse of religion.

Nunc vero, si passiones supradictae tantam vim habent in phantasia, certe maiorem
habent in ratione, quatenus iam ratio ipsa phantasia est excellentior; multo denique
maiorem in mente. Haec enim, quando ad beneficium aliquod tota animi intentione erga
superos defigitur, saepe corpus tam proprium quam alienum divino aliquo munere

387
I 62, DOP 220, Tyson 197. This highest kind of hope equals faith. But, as I discuss later, it is not the only way in which
Agrippa understands faith. He also views it as an emanated divine virtue that enlightens those who capture it.
388
Ibid. I 62. This list also comes from Aquinas.
389
In other words, by idolum: I 63, DOP 221, Tyson 199.

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 efficit. (...) De his latius patebit inferius, ubi de religione disseremus.390

These words confirm both my interpretation that imagination/fantasy is identical with idolum and my

suggestion that passions can move vertically through different parts of the soul and hence manifest

themselves in different ways. In other words, in their lowest form of appearance passions are linked to

idolum; on a more subtle level they appear in ratio, and finally in mens. Why, then, Agrippa discusses

only the first group, while he entirely omits the examination of the other two? The reason is obvious:

the whole discussion falls within the first book of the De occulta philosophia, which is mostly

dedicated to natural magic, and the author needs to remain faithful to his design. The passions linked to

ratio and mens belong to the higher realms of life (Agrippa here explicitly mentions religion). Since his

main goal in Book One is to argue for the natural basis of magic as an activity deeply rooted in man’s

biology and psychophysiology, it is a part of Agrippa’s rhetorical strategy to leave aside any details that

might point to a broader perspective.

As mentioned in Chapter Three, a similar tactic was employed by Marsilio Ficino in his De vita

libri tres, in which he started off with a deliberately limited concept of spiritus, taken in its biological

sense as a corporeal vapor, only to broaden his discussion of it far beyond its biological aspects.391

Such an approach was undoubtedly apologetic, for its purpose was to make potentially suspicious

notions not sound dangerously unnatural. However, apart from the cautious “urge for naturalization”

that should protect the author from suspicions of heresy, there is another important reason for such a
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gradual and scattered disclosure of ideas: the subtle change of authorial tones and emphases, both in

390
I 65, DOP 227, Tyson 205. I italicized two interesting details in Freake’s translation. First, he equates the terms mens
and animus by entirely leaving out the latter: he translates the phrase tota animi intentione by omitting the genitive animi
and linking the phrase to the subject mens (“with its whole intention”; properly: “with the whole intention of the soul”).
This clearly testifies to the translator’s confusion about the basic anthropological terminology. Secondly, Freake translates
the words erga superos as “upon God” (properly: “upon higher entities”). This can be interpreted as a tacit Christianization
of Agrippa’s text since the pluralized substantive superi is certainly not used to denote the Christian God.
391
Thus in Book One of his Tres libri de vita (I, 2) Ficino defines spiritus as “a certain vapor of the blood” (vapor quidam
sanguinis), whereas in Book Three he introduces the notion of a cosmic spirit pervading the universe (III, 3 and passim).
See also Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic, 3–4 and 12–13.

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 Ficino and (even more) in Agrippa, served to prepare their target audiences for bolder steps in

unfolding their argumentation (in Agrippa’s case, in accordance with the already discussed principle of

dispersa intentio).

The influence of passions upon one’s own body and soul

Agrippa’s first step in his discussion of the topic is to establish a direct causal link between the

passiones animi and the psychosomatic processes that take place in man. As mentioned above, the first

mediator of this interaction is fantasy or the imaginative power of the soul. Fantasy is incited either

directly by sensual perception or indirectly by cogitation (which includes the reactivation of imagines

stored in memory). Once activated, it further affects various changes in the body and soul by stirring up

the passiones animi and thus influencing man’s spiritus. Depending on the nature of the stimuli it

receives, the fantasy literally moves the spirit around the body and even out of it, upward or downward,

inward or outward (movendo spiritum sursum vel deorsum, ad extra vel ad intra).392 The spirit then

conveys that particular movement to various bodily fluids and organs, and the result is a perceptible

physical or psychic change. If, for instance, I perceive something that causes anger or vengefulness, my

fantasy will act correspondingly and set my bodily spirit into motion in such a way as to produce heat,

redness in my face, and a bitter taste in my mouth.393 In fear my fantasy induces coldness, trembling,

speechlessness, and paleness.394 Agrippa goes on to enumerate and describe various emotional and
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affective states that activate the same causal chain: joy, sadness, anxiety, love, etc. It is crucial to note

that in all these examples he operates with the physiological concept of spirit inherited from Ficino: it

is a subtle bodily vapor—or, more precisely, a group of vapors—created from blood and capable of

being “moulded” in different ways. By being moulded (that is, by being moved around, shaped,

392
I 63, DOP 221, Tyson 199.
393
Ibid.: ira vel cupiditas vindictae producit calorem, rubidinem, amarum saporem.
394
Ibid.: timor inducit frigus, cordis trepidationem, vocis defectum atque pallorem.

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 impressed) it can convey information—to use a modern analogy—from the passions to the physical

body.395 In other words, the bodily spirit is capable of receiving impressions from various passions

(species passionum impressae sunt spiritibus)396 and of conveying these impressions to the physical

body. This gives Agrippa the grounds to claim that the process is entirely natural, with the bodily spirit

serving as an interface between the soul and the body.

The mediating power of fantasy and spirit as its main tool becomes even more evident in those

cases which Agrippa defines as “imitative” (per modum imitationis a similitudine).397 In such cases

one’s perception of the external world triggers the process by activating the mimetic nature of fantasy:

when I see someone yawn, I will start yawning myself; if I hear someone mention something sour, I

will immediately feel that taste on my tongue and make the corresponding facial expression; if I see

someone’s blood, I might faint, etc.398 All these bodily reactions, no matter how accidental and

insignificant they might seem, serve in Agrippa’s eyes as indicators of the imaginative power of the

soul—a sine qua non for any magical operation.

This is also how the German humanist explains the efficacy of medicine, at least in some of its

aspects: the mere knowledge of the result one can expect after taking a prescribed medicine or

submitting oneself to the physician can yield that same result. Even more helpful than knowledge is

faith, “when the patient places much faith in the physician, thus disposing himself for receiving the

virtue of the physician and the medicine.”399 Agrippa reports a story told by William of Paris400 of a
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patient who could pass stool merely at the sight of a laxative, “even though he did not get in touch with

395
Speaking of spirit in this context, Agrippa occasionally uses the terms “movement” (movendo) and “imprint” or
“imprinted image” (impressio); see I 63, DOP 221–22.
396
I 64, DOP 223, Tyson 201.
397
Ibid.
398
Ibid., DOP 222–23: Sic videns alium oscitare etiam oscitat. (...) Aliqui cum audiunt acida nominare, lingua acescit. (...)
Quidam sanguinis humani aspectu syncopantur.
399
I 66, DOP 228, Tyson 206: quando ille medico adhibens fidem eo ipso sese disponit ad medentis et medicinae virtutem
suscipiendam.
400
De universo, I, 1, 65 (see DOP 223 n. 1).

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 the substance of the medicine, nor with its smell or taste; only a kind of resemblance (sola similitudo)

was apprehended by him.”401 One could thus say that the modern-day concepts of placebo and

autosuggestion have their predecessors in Agrippa’s and William’s notion of sola similitudo.

Moving one step closer to the realm of esoteric phenomena, Agrippa discusses the power of

passions per modum imitationis in dreams and in some trans-like states. It seems that the author

implicitly attributes even greater powers to fantasy when it operates in such altered states of

consciousness, not prohibited by the restrains of the normal state of mind. For instance, those who

dream that they are burning in a fire are likely to have a strong and genuine impression of that

particular kind of suffering: they are “tormented unbearably,” says Agrippa.402

While one is tempted to downplay this and similar examples as mere indicators of a vivid

imagination, the German humanist goes even further and speaks of some quite exceptional changes that

the influence of passions can bring about, namely bodily transformation and teleportation. (In the

second case Agrippa uses the verb transportare, but his account remarkably corresponds to the

modern-day idea of teleportation.) He writes: “And sometimes men’s bodies are transformed, and

transfigured, and also transported, and this often [happens] when they are in a dream, and sometimes

when they are awake.”403 The strange story of Genutius Cippus, a praetor of Rome, which Agrippa

derives either from Ovid or Valerius Maximus,404 provides an example of transformation per modum

imitationis. Cippus was so absorbed in his thoughts of bullfight that he spent the whole night dreaming
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of this event and finally woke up with newly grown horns on his head. It was his intense passion,

401
I 64, DOP 223, Tyson 201: cum tamen nec substantia medicinae, nec sapor, nec odor ipsius ad ipsum pervenisset, sed
sola similitudo apprehensa.
402
Ibid.: Somniantes se ardere vel esse in igne quandoque cruciantur intolerabiliter, tanquam si vere ardeant.
403
I 64, DOP 223, Tyson 201: Nonnunquam etiam ipsa humana corpora transformantur, transfiguranturque et
transportantur, saepe quidem in somniis, nonnunquam etiam in vigilia. This whole passage was added to the 1533 edition.
Of course, given the literary character of the most of Agrippa’s examples, it is hard to imagine that any of these additions
were based on his own practical experiments.
404
Metamorphoses 15. 6, c; Val. Max. V, 6.

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 mediated by fantasy, which elevated the “horn-making humors into his head and produced horns.”405

Agrippa’s explanation of this bizarre incident is particularly important as it reveals his intention to

emphasize the physiological basis of such phenomena:

For a vehement cogitation, while it vehemently moves the species [of bodily spirits],
pictures out the figure of the thing thought of, which they [sc. spirits] represent in their
blood, and the blood impresses it on the members that are nourished by it, as upon those
of the same body, so upon those of another’s.

Vehemens enim cogitatio, dum species vehementer movet, in illis rei cogitatae figuram
depingit quam illi in sanguine effingunt; ille nutritis a se imprimit membris cum
propriis, tum aliquando etiam alienis.406

The masculine plural pronoun illi here refers to various bodily spirits which receive through the

medium of fantasy the impression or image (figuram) of the thing perceived. This image is literally

impressed (depingit, imprimit) onto the spirits, and they in turn convey the impression to the blood,

which carries it on to different parts of the body and moves them accordingly. The whole process can

thus be understood as entirely natural, abiding by the laws of biology and physics. The same can be

said, Agrippa adds, of St. Francis and his stigmata: his intense contemplation of Christ’s wounds, aided

by their innumerable pictorial representations that he could see everywhere, activated the whole chain

of reactions that ultimately led to the appearance of stigmata. 407 As expected, Agrippa refrains from

more esoteric explanations of the famous phenomenon; it befits his overall rhetorical strategy, which is

based on the hierarchical arrangement of topics and a gradual exposition of his tenets from the natural
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to the supernatural context.

Agrippa’s psychosomatic interpretation of St. Francis’ stigmata (just like his overall treatment

of the vehemens imaginatio) has a well-established medieval tradition beginning with the Dominicans,

who as early as in the thirteenth century explained Francis’ stigmata as the result of his ardent

405
I 64, DOP 223, Tyson 201: corniferos humores in caput elevante et cornua producente.
406
Ibid.
407
Ibid.:Francisci stigmata referre volunt, dum Christi vulnera vehementius contemplatur.

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 imagination.408 This explanation was reiterated by Petrarch in 1366 and employed, in Agrippa’s own

time, by Pietro Pomponazzi in his treatise De naturalium effectuum causis sive de incantationibus

(1520).409 In Agrippa’s eclectic perspective, this naturalist tradition of interpreting stigmata and other

bodily phenomena suits well his apologetic claim for the “naturalness” of magic in the first book of De

occulta philosophia.

Another curious phenomenon caused by passiones, which Agrippa interprets again in a

psychosomatic manner, is teleportation. He briefly discusses it in the same chapter but, oddly enough,

does not provide any examples of the phenomenon. What the reader finds instead is a general

explanation of the mechanism itself:

Many are thus transported from place to place, passing over rivers, fires, and impassable
places when any vehement desire or fear or intention are impressed upon their spirits and,
being mixed with vapors, move the organ of the touch accordingly, together with fantasy,
which initiates that particular motion. Whence they set into motion the members and organs of
motion and are moved without any mistake unto the imagined place, not with the aid of sight,
but from the interior fantasy. So great a power is there of the soul upon the body that,
wherever it imagines and dreams that it goes, thither it carries and leads the body.

Sic multi etiam transportantur de loco ad locum, transeuntes flumina et ignes et loca
inaccessa, quando videlicet vehementis alicuius concupiscentiae aut timoris aut audaciae
species, spiritibus impressae, vaporibus permixtae movent organum tactus in sua origine una
cum phantasia, quae motus localis principium est. Unde concitantur membra et organa motus
ad motum moventurque sine errore ad locum imaginatum, non quidem ex visu, sed ex
phantasia interiore: tanta est vis animae in corpus ut, quorsum ipsa imaginatur et somniat,
ipsum corpus simul attollat atque traducat.410

Again, the passions mediated by imagination move the spirits, which in turn influence various bodily
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408
This idea appeared in one of the four sermons that James of Voragine (ca. 1230–1298) dedicated to this topic. He based
his argumentation on a broader set of medical theories that discussed the influence of imagination on the physical body: see
Gábor Klaniczay, “Illness, Self-inflicted Body Pain and Supernatural Stigmata: Three Ways of Identification with the
Suffering Body of Christ” in Infirmity in Antiquity and the Middle Ages. Social and Cultural Approaches to Health,
Weakness and Care, eds. Christian Krötzl, Katariina Mustakallio and Jenni Kuuliala (London and New York: Routledge,
2016): 119–36, discussion on 126–27. See also Carolyn Muessig, “The Stigmata Debate in Theology and Art in the Late
Middle Ages” in The Authority of the Word: Reflecting on Image and Text in Northern Europe, 1400–1700, eds. Celeste
Brusati, Karl Enenkel, and Walter Melion (Leiden: Brill, 2012): 481–504, discussion on 484–86.
409
In a letter to Tommaso Garbo Petrarch asserts that “the force of that thought [of the death of Christ] was able to pass
from the soul into the body and leave visibly impressed in it the traces” (Petrarca, Lettere senili VIII, lettera 3, 465, quoted
in Klaniczay, “Illness, Self-inflicted Body Pain and Stigmata,” 126).
410
I 64, DOP 223–23, Tyson 201–202.

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 parts and set the body into motion, in this case spatially. One might speculate that here Agrippa alludes

to the ordinary phenomenon of moon walking, but the sheer dimensions of the spatial movement refute

such an assumption: he mentions “passing over rivers, fires, and impassable places” and emphasizes

that the locus imaginatus could be just everywhere (quorsum). The reader is thus left with no other

choice but to imagine some sort of teleportation that occurs in an altered state of consciousness.

Described in this way, the process appears remarkably physical: fantasy impresses the vehement

passion onto the bodily spirits (spiritibus impressae) and in this way mixes it with the bodily vapors;

subsequently, these move the members and organs of motion, and the body starts to move of itself

“without any mistake” (sine errore), not by using its eyes (non quidem ex visu) but by relying on

fantasy (sed ex phantasia interiore).

The phenomenon of teleportation described here bears certain similarities with another topic

mentioned or discussed in a similar imagery throughout Agrippa’s occult encyclopedia, that of the out-

of-body experiences. This resemblance is suggested by Agrippa himself. At the end of the chapter, he

briefly mentions that the influence of passions can lead to this type of experience too: “Sometimes, due

to a vehement imagination or speculation, the soul is altogether abstracted from the body” (sic anima

nonnunquam per vehementem imaginationem vel speculationem a corpore omnino abstrahitur).411

Agrippa does not go into details on this matter, although he offers a literary example of a presbyter who

could extend his sense perception far beyond its normal scope while remaining in a sleep-like state.
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This is a significant departure from Aristotle and Galen, as well as from Thomas Aquinas, who all

maintain that the soul cannot exist out of the body during one’s lifetime. Moreover, this remark paves

the way for the next part of the discussion, in which the author examines the influence of passions that

surpasses the body and pertains to the soul.

411
I 64, DOP, 224, Tyson 202.

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 To sum up, the psychosomatic chain that I have so far examined could be roughly schematized

in the following way:

Fantasy or imagination molds the bodily spirits by impressing onto them the images of the external

world, which is perceived by the senses and interiorized in the form of the corresponding passions. The

spirits convey the impression to various bodily parts and functions (organs, members, vapors) thereby

initiating an appropriate psychosomatic reaction. This is the same chain that, according to Agrippa,

forms the basis of magical influence.

The influence of passions upon other bodies and souls

Having ascertained that human passions, accompanied by fantasy as their main catalyst and mediator,

are a powerful force that influences both body and mind, Agrippa goes a step further by claiming that,

if particularly strong and channeled, they can influence other people too. In the opening sentence of

DOP I 65 he writes:

The passions of the soul which follow the fantasy, when they are most vehement, do not
only change their own body, but also can transcend so as to work upon another body, so
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that some wonderful impressions are thence produced in elements and external things.

Passiones animae quae phantasiam sequuntur, quando vehementissimae sunt, non

solum possunt immutare corpus proprium, verumetiam possunt transcendere ad
operandum in corpus alienum, ita quod admirabiles quaedam impressiones inde
producantur in elementis et rebus extrinsecis.412

It is evident that the words transcendere ad operandum in corpus alienum (“transcend so as to work

412
I 65, DOP 225, Tyson 204.

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 upon another body”) refer, inter alia, to magical operation. However, Agrippa has in mind an even

more fundamental mechanism of interaction, as indicated by his paradigmatic example of a pregnant

woman who shapes her fetus by impressing upon it the marks of the things longed for. 413 In other

words, this kind of influence can also be— and often is—spontaneous and unintended. Be it magical or

not, it can take place only if there is a strong channeling of imagination: in order to be able to affect its

own body and the bodies of others, imagination must “intend itself vehemently” (vehementius se

intenderit).414

Among a number of examples for this “leap” of imagination that transcends its own somatic

limitations, Agrippa stresses the phenomenon of the evil eye used by witches. Again, he explains it by

resorting to the Ficinian pneumatology of vapors: having channeled their passions (in this case a desire

to hurt, nocendi cupiditas) and having shaped their spirit accordingly, witches literally emanate this

spirit (which is a kind of vapor itself, vapores oculorum in Agrippa’s wording) from their eyes and send

it to the eyes of another person. Once the “eye-ray” reaches the victim, the whole process begins in a

somewhat retrograde direction: the witch’s spirit moulds that of the victim, which then influences his or

her psychophysical functions.415. Evidently, Agrippa regards the transmission of vapores oculorum as a

flux of pneumatic rays. Based on this conviction, he warns against the influence of evil people, whose

souls are “full of noxious rays” (noxiorum plena radiorum).

As I discuss in Chapter Three, there is a significant difference here between Agrippa and
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Marsilio Ficino in their treatment of eyesight vis-à-vis the transmission of spirits. In Ficino’s theory of

sensation, according to which the sense-organ is of the same substance as what is sensed, sound affects

the bodily spirits more strongly than sight. On this ground, Ficino downgrades the power and magical

413
Ibid.: Sic praegnantis mulieris cupiditas in corpus alienum agit, quando inficit foetum in alvo rei desideratae nota. The
example was taken over from Ficino, Tres libri de vita III 16.
414
I 65, DOP 226, Tyson 204. Iamque his exemplis patet quomodo phantasiae affectus, ubi vehementius se intenderit, non
modo corpus proprium sed et alienum afficiunt.
415
Ibid.

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 importance of sight.416 As evident from the evil-eye paradigm described above, Agrippa departs from

the Florentine humanist. His own theory of sensation attributes to eyesight the same spirit-like nature

and qualities as it does to sound: various bodily spirits can be transformed into eye-rays, which is the

only way to explain their ability to influence other people. Clearly, Agrippa adheres to al-Kindi’s

cosmic ray-theory and combines it with Ficino’s doctrine of spirit to create a firm basis for his own

theory of magical influence.417

The process of harmonization: capturing and exposing

In DOP I 66 the German occultist incorporates his discussion of passions into the overarching theme of

cosmic correspondences examined throughout Book One and thus openly integrates it into his theory of

magic. In the previous chapters he analyzed human passions from a general point of view, treating the

transfer of influence as a natural phenomenon that occurs even in the world of animals. 418 Now he

establishes an explicit link between the passions and celestial influences by introducing the idea of

controlling, cultivating, and channeling the former so as to correlate them with the latter:

The passions of the soul (…) become most powerful when they are in agreement with
the heavens, be it a natural agreement or voluntary election, i.e. the free will. (…) It
conduces therefore very much for receiving the benefits of the heavens if we too make
ourselves suitable to it in our thoughts, affections, imaginations, elections, deliberations,
contemplations, and the like.

Passiones animi (…) potentissimae evadunt, quatenus cum coelo consentiunt vel
naturali quodam pacto vel voluntaria electione seu libero arbitrio. (...) Conducit ergo
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maxime in qouvis opere ad beneficia coeli suscipienda, si cogitationibus, affectibus,

imaginationibus, electionibus, deliberationibus, contemplationibus et similibus nos

416
As discussed in the previous chapter, Ficino based his view on two arguments: 1) unlike eyesight, sound is a form of
spirit; 2) sound transmits movements, whereas eyesight transmits only static images and is thus less powerful than sound.
However, Ficino was not entirely consistent in his preference for hearing over eyesight: Walker, Spiritual and Demonic
Magic, 7, n. 2, points to Ficino’s hierarchical order of senses in which sight occupies the highest position.
417
Al-Kindi (c. 801–873), an Arabic philosopher whose treatise On the Stellar Rays (De radiis stellarum, preserved only in
a Latin translation) had a considerable influence on medieval natural philosophy and magic. According to him, all things are
interconnected by the invisible stellar rays which form the basis of the cosmic correspondences. On Agrippa and Al-Kindi’s
theory see Lehrich, The Language of Demons and Angels, 116–19.
418
He gives the examples of white peacock and basilisk: I 65, DOP 226.

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 quoque coelo consonos praestiterimus.419

This is a decisive step in Agrippa’s treatment of the passiones animi as he calls for the self-conscious

utilization of a natural propensity. The wording of the paragraph points to the main source of his idea:

the phrases beneficia coeli (“the benefits of the heavens”) and coelo consonus (literally “in tune with

the heavens”) betray a decisive Ficinian influence.420 Throughout his Tres libri de vita Ficino speaks of

the “consonance” of the human spirit with the heavenly rays which penetrate everything. 421 Sometimes

he uses the adjective cognatus (“akin”) instead of consonus as Agrippa does here, but the emphasis is

always on the strong and fixed attention which can increase the degree of “kinship.”422 However,

Ficino confines both the purpose and scope of this process of harmonization to one’s own body and

soul in the already discussed sense of medical and psychological self-help (with the exception of Book

Three, where he cautiously discusses his spiritual program of becoming “as celestial as possible”).

Influencing others in a direct way—that is, not as a physician who prescribes appropriate diets, music,

perfumes, colors etc—is a non plus ultra for the Florentine humanist.

Agrippa emphasizes that the key element in the process of harmonization is a focused attention

(fixa intentio). This point is evidently so important to him that he expresses it with two additional

similar phrases in a single sentence, “firm adhesion” (firma adhaesio) and “strong application”

(vehemens applicatio): “For, our mind accomplishes various things by faith, which is a firm adhesion, a

fixed attention, and strong application either of the one who operates or the one who receives [the
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influence from above].” (Multa enim mens nostra per fidem operatur, quae est firma adhaesio, fixa

419
Tyson 206, DOP 227, 19-26.
420
Perrone Compagni notes that this whole section relies heavily on the Tres libri de vita III 22.
421
In Ficino’s interpretation, however, these heavenly rays are not directly related to the “eye-rays.” See also Walker,
Spiritual and Demonic Magic, 22–23.
422
Ficino too uses the adjective vehemens (“energetic, vigorous”) in conjunction with nouns such as intentio, applicatio,
affectus, etc. Both in Ficino and Agrippa this type of syntagmata reads as a technical term loaded with a specific meaning.
Vehemens intentio can be understood a special state of deep contemplation leading to an altered state of consciousness.

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 intentio et vehemens applicatio operantis aut suscipientis.)423 This mental process can also be

understood as channeling, or even binding, if the word applicatio in this sentence is taken in its original

meaning as “the process of attaching.” In other words, by focusing his mental forces the magician

binds the desired “celestial benefits” to himself.424

How does one connect his passions to the celestial realm and what happens then? The answer

Agrippa gives surpasses a mere transfer of bodily spirits that, somewhat simplistically, might be

compared to contracting a virus from another person. I already described the first step in the process:

the passions mould the bodily spirits to their likeness (ad similitudinem suam). Thus transformed, the

spirits can cause various changes in the body and soul of the subject and in those of other people as

well. But Agrippa seems to regard this phenomenon as superficial and accidental. According to him, a

far more important thing can happen by channeling one’s passions: one can be noticed by those higher

entities who partake of the same kind of passions or spirits. To use a modern metaphor, the nature and

type of passions and the corresponding spirits that one carries can serve as signposts along the cosmic

highway of correspondences. Our strong passions, says Agrippa, “suddenly expose us and ours to the

superior entities signifying the same type of passions” (passiones…subito nos nostraque superis

exponunt, eiusmodi passiones significantibus).425

In my view, the idea of exposition stands in contrast to the idea of capturing heavenly

influences expressed throughout Ficino’s and Agrippa’s works, usually with the verb haurire (“to
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imbibe”). Unlike capturing, which is an entirely active process, exposition bears a passive connotation

and the implication that at one point the subject of magical operation turns into its object. In this sense,

it is important that Agrippa describes exposition as happening “suddenly” or “immediately” (subito). It

423
I 66, DOP 228, Tyson 206.
424
For applicatio as “binding” or “joining” see OLD, 152, or LS, 142. Elsewhere Agrippa uses the term ligatio, which
carries the same meaning.
425
I 66, DOP 227, Tyson 206. Italics in the translation mine. It is not entirely clear to me what the plural neuter nostra
means here. It could be understood as “surroundings,” “environment,” “things connected to us.”

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 carries the implication that the magician is only in charge of the first part of the process, the

“capturing.” Once he is “recognized,” the higher entities take over the initiative. Such conspicuous use

of this adverb can also indicate an abrupt change of consciousness as in trans-like states or raptures.

There is a thin but important line of difference in attitude here: the idea of being passively exposed to a

higher entity does not sit well with Ficino’s understanding of the licit natural magic, which excludes

the involvement of higher intelligences and in which one remains in full command of the process of

“breathing in the influx which comes from the deities.”426

My interpretation of Agrippa’s emphatic use of the adverb subito partly rests on several

interesting terminological and semantic parallels. In describing the divine epiphany achieved by

contemplation Plotinus uses the adverb ἐξαίφνης, which is the exact Greek equivalent for subito.427 In

other words, the desired effect of contemplation takes place all of a sudden. This adverb also appears

twice in the Corpus Dionysiacum. In the Celestial Hierarchy Pseudo-Dionysius compares the divine

nature with fire and adds that it appears suddenly, naturally, and of itself. In his Third Letter he

describes the revelation of Christ as “sudden.”428 Agrippa’s idea of the magician’s sudden rapture or

transition to a trans-like state could have been inspired by these authors, both of whom he studied

carefully. However, in lack of additional textual references this remains a tempting hypothesis.

As discussed in Chapter Two, the basis for this sudden recognition between the magus and

various higher entities is the ontological kinship of all parts of the universe and, ultimately, the Spiritus
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426
Spiritus enim…cognatior effectus numini, uberiorem haurit illius influxum. (Ficino, Comm. on Plotinus, Op. omn., p.
1747).
427
Enn. V, 3, 17: “We may know we have had the vision when the Soul has suddenly taken light” (Plotinus, The Enneads,
385); VI, 7, 36: “Suddenly, swept beyond it all by the very crest of the wave of Intellect surging beneath, [the quester] is
lifted and sees, never knowing how” (ibid., 505). See also John Panteleimon Manoussakis, “The Promise of the New and
the Tyranny of the Same,” in Phenomenology and Eschatology. Not Yet in the Now, ed. Neal DeRoo, J. P. Manoussakis
(New York: Routledge, 2016), 69–90; John Panteleimon Manoussakis, God after Metaphysics. A Theological Aesthetic
(Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2007), 65–66.
428
Manoussakis, “The Promise of the New,” 79–81, especially n. 33; Alexander Golitzin, “’Suddenly, Christ’: The Place of
Negative Theology in the Mystagogy of Dionysius Areopagites,” in Mystics: Presence and Aporia, ed. Michael Kessler and
Christian Sheppard (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2003), 8–37.

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 Mundi as the omnipresent medium of that kinship. By recognizing a certain type of spirit in the human

being higher entities recognize what they already partake of and the link is established automatically by

the law of similitude—or, as Agrippa says, suddenly. The passiones animi are instrumental in this

process: by their very nature, which is subtler than any material thing one uses for capturing celestial

influences (such as minerals, plants, unguents, odors, etc.), they are more akin to higher entities and

therefore more efficient in attracting their attention.429 This kinship enables the soul “to conform to any

star to such a degree that she is suddenly filled with the virtues of that star as it were a proper receptacle

of its influence.”430 Interestingly enough, the adverb subito surfaces once again. It might point to

Agrippa’s understanding of the psychological impact of magical operation: it is supposed to result in an

altered state of consciousness that occurs all of a sudden.

The power Agrippa attributes to human affects and emotions is clearly a resonance of Ficino’s

hierarchically and astrologically arranged scheme of things by which celestial influences can be

attracted: out of the seven positions corresponding to the seven planets (or “seven steps from which

something from on high can be attracted to the lower things,” as Ficino describes it), affects and

imagination (vehementes imaginationis conceptus) occupy the high fifth rank, leaving behind stones,

metals, plants, animals, powders, odors, and even words, songs and sounds, and being surpassed only

by discursive reason, intellectual contemplation, and divine intuition.431 Passions could thus be said to

represent a liminal element of natural magic, connecting it to the two higher forms, celestial and
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intellectual.

Based on the proposed “exposition–capturing” scheme, it follows that one of the most

429
I 66, DOP 227–28, Tyson 206: tum etiam, ob dignitatem et propinquitatem suam cum superioribus, multo magis atque
amplius coelestia capiunt quam res quaevis materiales (“and also by reason of their dignity and nearness to the superiors,
they [passions] partake of the celestials much more than any material things”).
430
Ibid.: Potest enim animus noster…ita alicui stellae conformari ut subito eiusdem stellae muneribus impleatur tanquam
sui influxus proprium receptaculum. Italics in the translation mine.
431
Tres libri de vita III 21, in Ficino, Three Books on Life, 355–57.

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 important things for the magus is to become visible by channeling his passiones and molding his spirit

in an appropriate way. The sheer visibility—meaning, of course, cosmic visibility—triggers the rest of

the process, which results in establishing a magical connection.

To sum up, the first book of the De occulta philosophia treats all those forms of magic whose

basis is the sensible soul (idolum) with its faculties, especially fantasy/imagination. The magician’s

“fuel” are the stimuli received by the external senses (hence the emphasis on the use of minerals, herbs,

unguents, etc.) and the corresponding affective states mediated by the internal senses. His main tool in

exerting magical influence is spirit, molded according to the affective states and channeled by the

magician’s steady focus.

Agrippa’s discussion moves in a carefully designed progression from merely describing a

natural phenomenon to affirming it in what appears to be a supernatural context.432 To emphasize it

once again, the reason for such an approach is partly apologetic: for Agrippa, there seems to be a thin

line between a pregnant woman whose thoughts and emotions shape her fetus and a magus who

willingly affects other people. At first glance, it looks like a difference in degree, not in kind. In other

words, the question is: are different types of “magical influence” determined only by the intensity of

the affections involved? If yes, then magic pervades all the relations between living beings. All sentient

creatures experience affective states of consciousness, and some of these states are intense enough to

influence other creatures as well, although human beings alone have the capacity to channel their
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emotions and affects by using them to attract the attention of higher entities. Thus it needs to be

examined whether the unconscious “magic” of a pregnant woman is indeed of the same kind as that of

a magus fully dedicated to achieving spiritual ascension, or this identification only serves Agrippa’s

432
In the anthropological model that I propose the terms “natural” and “supernatural” can be taken to correspond to
different levels or spheres of soul: everything that occurs in relation to the “operative soul”, i.e. the one that is created and
mortal (idolum and ratio), can be termed natural, and the sphere of the “true soul” (mens, with or without the lower two part
united with it) can be deemed supernatural. Whereas idolum and ratio exist and operate in natura, the immortal and ever-
lasting mens is super naturam.

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 apologetic and rhetorical purposes.

FIDES: OPERATING BY RELIGION

One should not conclude that all forms of magic described by Cornelius Agrippa must be interpreted by

referring to mental focusing or channeling. After all, in a living universe interwoven with

correspondences many phenomena carrying the label of natural magic take place independently of

human involvement. One such prominent example is menstrual blood, which is attributed with various

powers: it makes dogs mad if they taste it, it cures certain types of fever; a menstruous woman that

walks naked around the crops in the field terminates all the flies, worms, and other sorts of vermin

feeding off the crops, etc.433 It carries magical power in and of itself, regardless of the involvement of

human knowledge and intention.

However, Agrippa clearly regards such cases as the lowest forms of influence, which is

indicated by the term he uses: instead of magia he calls them veneficia (sorceries).434 This difference

becomes prominent in Book Three, where the German occultist strongly advocates the abandonment of

carnal affections and material passions for the sake of spiritual ascension, and the idea of focusing fits

well into this context. The same idea appears even in Book Two, which otherwise offers little material

for analyzing Agrippa’s anthropological views. Aiming at the magician’s mathematical knowledge

(which is by definition rational and theoretical, devoid of any affects), this book mostly discusses
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abstract concepts such as numbers, geometrical figures, and proportions. Yet, even in such a context,

the author emphasizes the importance of a focused attention, which he describes as a sort of meditation

or contemplation. Agrippa suggests that it is not enough to be a skilled astrologer, to be familiar with

number symbolism, the seals, sigils, and other planetary properties, with arithmetic proportions, etc.

433
I 42, DOP 162, Tyson 123.
434
Ibid.

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 Theory and mere procedures are insufficient in themselves. Thus, for instance, in DOP II 60 the author

gives an important instruction on how to capture the influence of the Sun:

As for example, the Sun is the king of the stars, most full of light, but receives it from
the intelligible world above all other stars, because its soul is more capable of that
intelligible splendor. Therefore, he who desires to attract the influence of the Sun must
contemplate the Sun, not only by observing the exterior light, but also the interior. And
no man can do this unless he turns to the soul of the Sun and becomes like it, and
comprehends its intelligible light with an intellectual sight, as the sensible light with a
corporeal eye.

Verbi gratia: Sol, rex stellarum, luce plenissimus, recipit illam a mundo intelligibili
super omnes alias stellas, quoniam anima sua illius intelligibilis splendoris capacior
existit; quapropter, qui Solis attrahere cupit influxum, oportet illum contemplari Solem
non tantum speculatione exterioris luminis, sed etiam interioris; atque hoc nemo potest,
nisi redeat ad ipsummet animum Solis evadatque illi assimilis visuque intellectuali
comprehendat illius intelligibile lumen, sicuti oculo corporeo sensibile lumen.435

Contemplating the souls of the stars, becoming like them, comprehending their interior, intelligible

light—these ideas, appearing throughout the chapter, clearly point to something more than the common

talismanic magic, in which the appropriate material, shape, time, and circumstances automatically

capture the desired celestial rays. This closing chapter of Book Two, which appears only in the 1533

edition, marks an important point of transition towards the last book of the De occulta philosophia—

the one in which Agrippa finally expounds the core of his doctrine: spiritual ascension by means of

religious magic.

Acquiring the mind. The supercelestial Bacchus

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As is well-known, the third book of Agrippa’s occult encyclopedia treats the highest type of magic

conceivable in a hierarchically organized universe. It is usually termed ceremonial or intellectual magic

since it is conducted through religious-like rituals and addresses the highest entities in the created

world, the incorporeal intelligences. For the reasons elaborated below, I prefer the term religious

magic. In Book Three the German occultist deals with some of the most arcane topics such as the

435
II 60, DOP 396, Tyson 431. Italics in the translation mine.

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 nature and names of intelligences, demons, and angels, their characters and seals, the techniques of

summoning higher entities etc., but in a general and deliberately obscure way. However, his bold and

extraordinary linking of magic to religion in the initial chapters is far from being obscure. In these

chapters, Agrippa’s idea that a true magus should be equally expert in natural philosophy, mathematics,

and theology reaches its logical conclusion: having conquered natural and image magic, one should

attempt to obtain the highest goal of all magic—to make one’s mind divine and achieve spiritual

regeneration.

This idea is laid down explicitly in the first chapter of Book Three, titled “On the necessity,

power, and utility of religion” (De necessitate, virtute et utilitate religionis).436 It is of utmost

importance for my examination that in this chapter Agrippa directly links magic to piety. In other

words, piety as a general inclination of the soul and faith as its main constituent present the magus with

the best possible “fuel” to operate. This is so because the ultimate purpose of magic is no other than to

teach one “how to obtain truth by divine religion” (quomodo veritatem religione divina debeamus

adipisci).437 In the anthropological terms discussed so far, it amounts to obtaining the mind (mens), a

task that requires piety: “But, as Hermes said, we cannot obtain a firm and stout mind otherwise than

by integrity of life, by piety and, last of all, by divine religion, for holy religion purges the mind and

makes it divine” (Firmam autem et robustam mentem, ut inquit Hermes, consequi non aliunde

possumus quam a vitae integritate, a pietate, a divina denique religione).438

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In other words, religious magic, as Agrippa defines it, serves the purpose of bringing idolum

and ratio to the level of mens. This is nothing less than the completion of the ultimate goal set in the

very first sentence of the De occulta philosophia: to ascend to the archetypal world (conscendere ad

archetypum mundum). Agrippa characterizes this goal as entirely pious:

436
III 1, DOP 402–403, Tyson 441.
437
Ibid, DOP 402.
438
Ibid.

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 To conclude, nothing is more pleasant and acceptable to God than a man perfectly pious
and truly religious, who so far excels other men as He is distant from the immortal gods.
Therefore, we ought, being first purged, to offer and commend ourselves to divine piety
and religion.

Denique nil Deo gratius et acceptius quam homo perfecte pius ac vere religiosus, qui
tam homines caeteros praecellit, quam ipse a diis immortalibus distat. Debemus nos
igitur prius quidem purgatos offerre et commendare divinae pietati et religioni.439

This statement is far from being a declaration of religious loyalty given as a safety precaution. The

author here interprets piety through religious magic and vice versa, as two complementary phenomena.

The pious man is he who excels others by virtue of acquiring the divine mind, which is the highest goal

of magical operation. Agrippa views this achievement as spiritual regeneration, which is more than

evident by his addressing God metaphorically as “that supercelestial Bacchus” (supercoelestem illum

Bacchum), who is “the supreme ruler of the gods and priests, the author of regeneration, whom the old

poets sang was twice born” (summum deorum et sacerdotum antistitem, regenerationis autorem, quem

bis natum veteres cecinere poëtae).440 It is the “transcendental Dionysus” who is pleased with the

perfectly pious magus. Such a boldly chosen association, a metonymy based on the Greek myth of a

twice-born god, unequivocally points to the magician’s main task: to achieve spiritual rebirth. Just as

Dionysus Zagreus, the cultic figure of the Dionysian mysteries, died and was reborn, so does the magus

die to this worldly existence and is reborn as a son of God.441

Agrippa’s understanding of fides

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Going back to the fixa intentio passage quoted above, I want to emphasize several important points. I

quote it once again: “For, our mind accomplishes various things by faith (per fidem operatur), which is

439
III 1, DOP 402–403, Tyson 441.
440
Ibid.
441
Given his negative reception in Christian tradition, choosing Bacchus as a metonymy for God indeed sounds awkward
and almost sacrilegious, even for an author as heterodox as Agrippa. However, it is only a further development of the term
“celestial Bacchus” that he uses in DOP II, 58. According to Agrippa, this term comes from the Orphic hymns and denotes,
in a metaphorical language, the cognitive aspect of celestial souls. Both Tyson and Perrone Compagni identify Ficino as
Agrippa’s source for the notion of the Celestial Bacchus: see Tyson 424, DOP 387.

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 a firm adhesion, a fixed attention, and strong application either of the one who operates or the one who

receives [the influence from above].”442 The phrase operari per fidem is given a prominent place here,

just as in Book Three one comes across similar phrases, e.g. operari per religionem (“to operate by

religion”) or operari per solam religionem (“to operate by religion alone”).443 These expressions

indicate that, in Agrippa’s perspective, fides relates to religious magic in the same way as passiones

animi relate to natural magic: the magus utilizes it as a powerful boost in his magical operation.

However, the purpose of the operation is entirely different: while natural magic seeks to manipulate the

virtutes occultae, religious magic aims at the restoration of man’s soul to her divinity.444

Also, it should be noted that in this passage Agrippa uses the concept of fixa intentio to give a

definition of faith. He says that faith is nothing else but a focused attention arising from a strong desire.

In other words, it can be understood as a channeled, concentrated stream of particular states of mind

directed by the magician’s unfaltering will. To come upon such a simplistic—and yet psychologically

sensitive—definition of faith in Agrippa is somewhat surprising. The phenomenon of fides is one of the

most important questions for the German occultist and he examines it in several other works, where he

takes a considerably different stance: fides is always seen as a divine virtue coming from above and

enlightening the soul.

Another passage can be helpful in resolving this ambiguity. In the same chapter, in a similar

context, Agrippa chooses different terms, which seem better suited to the “psychological” definition of
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faith. These are “confidence” (confidentia) and “credulity” (credulitas):

Therefore those who operate in magic must be of a constant belief, trustful, and must
not at all hesitate or have doubts about obtaining the result. For, as a firm and strong
belief effects wonderful things (…) so distrust and indecision dissipate and break the
strength of the operator’s mind. Thus it happens that he is utterly frustrated of the

442
I 66, DOP 228, Tyson 206.
443
E.g. III 6, DOP 414–15, Tyson 455.
444
See III 3, DOP 407, Tyson 448: religious magic is for Agrippa the art “which is both the beginning, perfection and key
of all magical operations.”

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 desired influence of the superiors, as this influence cannot be joined and united to our
labors without a firm and solid virtue of our soul.

Ideoque oportet in magia operantem esse constanti credulitate, confidentem et de

consecutione effectus nullatenus dubitare nec animo haesitare; nam, sicut firma et
pertinax credulitas mirabilia operatur ... sic diffidentia atque haesitatio virtutem animi
operantis ... dissipat atque frangit. Unde contigit optatum a superioribus influxum
frustrari atque deperdi, qui sine animi nostri stabili ac solida virtute rebus et operibus
nostris coniungi atque uniri minime potest.445

This indicates that here Agrippa uses the terms fides, confidentia, and credulitas synonymously, as

denoting a focused state of mind and a steady determination requried for the magician. In other words,

fides, linked here to the idea of fixa intentio, does not bear its common theological meaning and

significance but serves to denote a particular state of consciousness, that of confidence and

determination.

In the De vanitate, however, Agrippa views faith not merely as a state of mind or consciousness

but as one of the archetypal virtutes divinae descending to the human intellect “by reflection from the

first light” (superne a primo lumine descendat).446 This view is in full concordance with those

expressed in the young Agrippa’s treatise Liber de triplici ratione cognoscendi Deum (1516),

particularly the fifth chapter of that work, where he defines faith as the only instrument of the soul

desiring to know God and ascend to him.447 The main topic of the De triplici ratione is not magic but

epistemology—how man comes to know God. In this treatise, in a manner that seems typical of the

praeparatio evangelica, Agrippa examines three ways to know God, or three books, as he calls them:
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the book of nature given to the heathens, the book of laws given to the Jews, and the book of the

Gospels given to the Christians. However, his treatment of the last is not entirely evangelical: he

stresses that the liber Evangelii surpasses the other two and is the perfect way to God, but his frame of

445
I 66, DOP 228, Tyson 206. Here the translator copes well with the unexpected use of the word credulitas, which in this
passage evidently bears the general meaning of “belief,” whereas in a different context Agrippa uses it to denote credulity as
opposed to the “true religion”; see, for instance, III 4, DOP 409.
446
De vanitate, Ch. 61, in Agrippa, Opera II, 102.
447
De triplici ratione, V, 15–16, in Perrone Compagni, Ermetismo e Cristianesimo, 138–48.

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 reference is conspicuously Neoplatonic and Hermetic. Faith descends directly from the “first light” (a

primo lumine) and is the only means for apprehending those things which are above the world (sola

potest ea quae supra mundum apprehendere).448 Moreover, it is the only “instrument” (instrumentum)

by which one can approach God and obtain divine virtues (qua sola ad Deum accedimus divinamque

nanciscimur…virtutem).

Significantly, in this passage Agrippa describes the process of approaching God through faith in

terms of the “operative soul” being transformed into the “true soul.” The soul (anima) should ascend to

the mind (in mentem), its “head” and highest portion, and entirely turn herself into it.449 He takes up

this more “spiritual” understanding of faith in the third book of the De occulta philosophia too and

views it as an emanated divine virtue which the magus can utilize as an instrumentum to climb back to

the realm of transcendence: “It is the supreme virtue, grounded…on divine revelations wholly, piercing

all things through the whole world…as it descends from above from the first light.”450 Finally, the

author explicitly links faith to magical operation and its effects in the following way:

To conclude, by faith man is made somewhat the same with the superior entities and
enjoys the same power with them. […] For faith is the root of all miracles, by which
alone (as the Platonists testify) we approach God and obtain the divine protection and
power.

Denique per fidem efficitur homo aliquid idem cum superis eademque potestate fruitur.
[…] Est enim fides omnium miraculorum radix, qua sola (ut Platonici testantur) ad
Deum accedimus divinamque adsequimur protectionem virtutemque.451
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The mention of divine protection is important as it points to one of Agrippa’s main concerns: the

problem of discerning between the benevolent and malevolent superior entities. It is another area in

which fides plays a crucial role. It is not only a powerful force which pulls the magus upwards towards

448
Ibid., 140.
449
Ibid.: illa [sc. anima] quae ascendendo in mentem, caput suum, supremam eius partem, tota in eam convertitur. The
image of the mind as the head of the soul comes from the Phaedrus 246e–248b.
450
III 5, DOP 412–13, Tyson 453: Fides vero, virtus omnium superior…divinae revelationi tota innititur, per universum
omnia lustrat…cum ipsa superne a primo lumine descendat.
451
Ibid.

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 the sphere of divinity; it is the perfect, infallible tool for the discernment of spirits (discretio spirituum),

one of the gravest problems in ceremonial magic. “Whoever, therefore,” says Agrippa, “lays religion

aside and confides only in natural things very often becomes deceived by evil spirits; but from the

knowledge of religion…arises a safeguard against evil spirits.”452

To conclude, in the first five chapters of Book Three of the De occulta philosophia the author

elaborately discusses religion and faith for a single purpose: to provide the overarching context for

everything else that follows in that book. Without the notion of spiritual ascension achieved through the

unification of the soul with the divine mind, the rest of the discussion on ceremonial magic largely

remains a compendium of data collected from a variety of sources.

Dignification and corporal mortification

That religious magic is not only about “knowing” the appropriate rituals, angelic and demonic names,

seals, sigils, etc., Agrippa makes clear by emphasizing that a true magician must fulfill certain

requirements in order to be dignified for that sacred art. This kind of dignity is sometimes given to man

as an inborn capacity, which the author defines as “the best disposition of the body and its organs, not

obscuring the soul with any grossness and being without distemper.”453 In other words, it is a state of

existence in which the body does not obscure or hinder the soul in any respect. Whoever does not

possess such an innate advantage must recompense the defect of nature by a conscious, focused effort
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and practice. Agrippa refers to this process as dignification (dignificatio).

The first stage of dignification consists of learning, i.e. the acquisition of necessary occult and

theological knowledge and skills. However, it only leads to the second and more important stage,

452
III 1, DOP 402, Tyson 441: Quicunque vero religione relicta naturalibus tantum confidunt, solent a malis daemonibus
saepissime falli; ex intellectu autem religionis…nascitur…contra malos daemones tutamentum. Based on the context of the
discussion in this chapter it is clear that intellectus religionis does not pertain to theoretical knowledge.
453
III 3, DOP 407, Tyson 448: Naturalis dignitas ipsa est corporis organorumque optima dispositio, animam ipsam nulla
crassitudine obscurans, nec ullo tumultu praeveniens. The title of this chapter is “What dignification is required that one
may be a true magician and a worker of miracles” (Quae dignificatio requiritur ut quis evadat in verum magum et
mirandorum operatorem).

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 which can be best described as a state of deep contemplation in which the magician’s soul turns inward

and “converts itself into itself” (animam ipsam contemplationi penitus admovere et in seipsam

convertere).454 In this state of consciousness the magician realizes that the true miracle working comes

from the summa mens animae, the highest faculty of the soul, which is ordinarily “overwhelmed by too

much commerce with the flesh and occupied with the sensible soul of the body” (nimio carnis

demersus commercio et circa sensibilem corporis animam occupatus).455 Even though Agrippa is

somewhat inconsistent here in claiming that the divine mens can be busied with idolum (as already

discussed above, it is the middle part, ratio, which keeps that intermediary position), the underlying

scheme is readily recognizable: the purpose of religious magic is to uplift the operator to the level of

mens, where he obtains divine powers, but what drags him down is the flesh (caro) and the lowest part

of the soul immersed in it:

Therefore, we who endeavor to attain such a great height should especially meditate on
two things: first, how we should leave carnal affections, frail senses, and material
passions; secondly, by what way and means we may ascend to the pure intellect.

Oportet nos itaque, qui ad tantam celsitudinem nitimur, duo potissimum meditari: unum
videlicet qua ratione affectus carnales caducumque sensum materialesque passiones
deseramus; alterum qua via et quo modo ad purum ipsum intellectum ascendamus.456

Divine powers are already in us, claims Agrippa, but we are hindered by carnal passions and

immoderate affections from the moment of our birth. Once we dispense with these, the divine

knowledge and powers instantly take place. Here the author calls for various religious practices such as
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prayer, consecrations, ritual purification etc., but also for an ascetic way of life that would tame the

belligerent flesh and turn the sensitive soul upwards.

One finds this call for corporal mortification, expressed with very similar words, in the fifth

454
III 3, DOP 408, Tyson 449. This is a distinctly Plotinian thought, a reverberation of the famous opening of his Eighth
Tractate: “Many times it has happened: lifted out of the body into myself; becoming external to all other things and self-
encentered” etc. (Plotinus, The Enneads, 334).
455
III 3, DOP 407, Tyson 448.
456
Ibid.

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 chapter of the De triplici ratione, where the author gives the following warning to prospective

magicians:

Thus our soul, imprisoned in this corruptible flesh and being too immersed in its
activities, attempts in vain to reach the divine unless she raises above the way of the
flesh and, having obtained her pristine nature, becomes the pure mind.

Anima itaque nostra, carne inclusa corruptibili nimioque eius demersa commercio, nisi
viam carnis superaverit fueritque pristinam naturam sortita evaseritque mens pura,
frustra laborat in divinis.457

In addition to supporting my thesis that Agrippa views corporal mortification as part of magical

dignification, this passage corroborates two other points that I made earlier in my discussion: 1) for

Agrippa, ascension implies the transformation of anima into mens (or the “operative” into the “true”

soul), and 2) in this respect, his attitude is strongly marked by anthropological dualism, whereby the

“flesh” is seen as an impediment to the “pure mind.”458

With the distance between the De triplici ratione (1516) and the De occulta philosophia (1533)

being about eighteen years, a letter dated 1527 makes a convenient in-between case that testifies to the

stability of Agrippa’s convictions. Writing to Aurelius Aquapendente, an Augustinian monk and his

longtime friend, he gives an important summary of these convictions—again, in a very similar

wording:

Now, concerning that philosophy that you require to know, I would have you know that
it is to know God himself, the worker of all things, and to pass into him by a whole
image of likeness…whereby you should be transformed and made as God. […] This is
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that true, high occult philosophy of wonderful works. Its key is the intellect, but it
cannot be united to those divine virtues if it is included in the corruptible flesh, unless it
exceeds the way of the flesh and obtains its proper nature. [...] For how shall he who has
lost himself in mortal dust and ashes find God? How shall he apprehend spiritual things
if he is swallowed up in flesh and blood? For we must die, I say die to the world, and to
the flesh and all senses, and to the whole man animal.

Iam vero quod ad postulatam philosophiam attinet, te scire volo, quod omnium rerum

457
De triplici ratione V, 16 in Perrone Compagni, Ermetismo e Cristianesimo, 142. Translation mine.
458
See Chapter Three of this thesis, the subchapter titled “The Second Triad: Mens, Ratio, Idolum.”

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 cognoscere opificem ipsum Deum et in illum tota similitudinis imagine…transire, quo
ipse transformeris efficiareque Deus. […] Haec est illa vera et summa mirabilium
operum occultissima philosophia. Clavis eius intellectus est. Verum intellectus noster
carni inclusus corruptibili, nisi viam carnis superaverit fueritque propriam naturam
sortitus, divinis illis virtutibus non poterit uniri. […] Quomodo enim qui in cinere et
mortali pulvere seipsum amissit Deum ipsum inveniet? Quomodo apprehendet
spiritualia carni immersus et sanguini? […] Mori enim oportet, mori, inquam, mundo et
carni, ac sensibus omnibus, ac toti homini animali.459

Based on these statements coming from three very different periods of Agrippa’s life, I conclude that

his understanding of religious magic is predominantly Neoplatonic and Hermetic in that he evaluates

the body and its entanglement in the elemental world as the main obstacles to accomplishing spiritual

ascension. In all the quoted passages he clearly links the process of magical dignification to that of

corporal mortification, in a way which is closely reminiscent of the Hermetic ideas of “ripping off

one’s tunic” and removing “the garment of ignorance.”460

The magic of Logos. Theurgy

From all the above said, it is clear that Cornelius Agrippa does make a substantial difference between

natural and celestial magic on the one side and religious magic on the other: the first two are forms of

magic related to the “operative soul,” that part of soul which functions within the created world; the

third is a type of magic reserved for the immortal mens, although it cannot exclude the lower parts of

soul. In DOP III, 6 Agrippa gives an important warning in this regard when he says that “no man can

work by pure religion alone unless he be made totally intellectual” (nemo potest operari per puram and
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solam religionem, nisi qui totus factus est intellectualis).461 Within Agrippa’s tripartite psychological

scheme, becoming “totally intellectual” cannot mean anything else but achieving the state of union

with mens. Unless one has achieved that state, Agrippa warns, operating “without the mixture of other

459
Agrippa Aurelio ab Aqua-pendente, Epist. V, 19 (Lyons, 19 November 1527) in Opera, 879–80. Tyson, 681–82, gives
an English translation by James Freake. Perrone Compagni’s critical edition does not contain this important letter.
460
CH VII 2–3, Copenhaver, Hermetica, 24. See Chapter Three, 115–17.
461
DOP 414–15, Tyson 455. The italics in the translation mine. I will return to this important point once again in the next
chapter.

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 [i.e. lower] powers” (sine admixtione aliarum virtutum) is dangerous and the operator might easily be

“swallowed up by the divine power” and end up dead (absorbetur a numine nec diu poterit vivere).

That is to say, one’s current position on the emanational vertical determines the type of magic—or,

better said, the mixture of various types of magic—one is supposed to use. The closer one is to mens,

the more safely and efficiently one can rely on religious magic. Thus it might be said that the lower

forms of magic serve as a kind of praeparatio theurgica.

Undoubtedly, Agrippa views all the three types as interrelated aspects of a unified system of

subordination, communication, and influence (i.e. the cosmos) and recognizes the underlying

cosmological and anthropological principles that make any magical operation possible at all.

Nevertheless, in Agrippa’s hiearachical model, religious magic appears as a sui generis phenomenon

both with regard to its purpose and its modus operandi: only through religious magic can one

ultimately achieve what Agrippa sets as the ultimate goal of the true magician—spiritual ascension and

rebirth—and to achieve that goal it is not enough to rely on the law of cosmic correspondences. In

Agrippa’s view, it appears that the cosmic membrane dividing the sphere of transcendence from the

created world is only semipermeable and that to penetrate it from below one needs a much greater force

than the common “fuel” for natural and celestial magic.

A magus aspiring for spiritual ascension must consciously and carefully cultivate his piety and

purify himself both internally (through a contemplation of divine things and corporal mortification) and
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externally (through religious rites). He should strive to perfect his dignity by engaging in religious

ceremonies, expiations, consecrations, etc. Agrippa views all these activities as “external” and, in fact,

defines religion in general as “a certain discipline of external holy things,” but even in this capacity it

plays a crucial role for the following reason:

Therefore, religion is a certain discipline of external holy things and ceremonies by

which, as it were by certain signs, we are admonished of internal and spiritual things,

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 and it is so deeply implanted in us by nature that we differ from other creatures more by
this than by rationality.

Est itaque religio disciplina quaedam externorum sacrorum ac ceremoniarum, per quam
rerum internarum et spiritualium tamquam per signa quaedam admonemur; quae ita
nobis a natura insita est, ut plus illa quam rationabilitate a caeteris animantibus
discernamur.462

This definition reveals the esoteric character of Agrippa’s sense of religiosity, as discussed in the

Introduction of my work. To remind the reader, I proposed to designate the German humanist’s spiritual

worldview as esoteric precisely on account of the clear distinction he makes between external and

internal religion—one of the defining traits of esotericism.463 At best, external religion is regarded by

esotericists as auxiliary, and this attitude is evident in the above-quoted statement too. Internal religion,

esoteric religion, is something altogether different from religious customs, rites, and ceremonies.

And yet, although Agrippa views religion as something external, it is still necessary both as a

means for purification from sensual passions and as a catalyst for achieving a sort of anamnesis, a

reawakened memory of one’s primordial state. In addition, religious practice provides the necessary

discretio spirituum (discernment of spirits): “Whoever neglects religion … and confides only in the

strength of natural things is very often deceived by the evil spirits” (Quicunque ea neglecta naturalium

viribus tantummodo confidunt solent a malis daemonibus saepissime falli).464

If common religious practice (by which Agrippa seems to imply, among other things, attending

the Mass and taking the Eucharist) is considered external, what would constitute internal religion in his
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view? I argue that, based on his discussion in Book Three of the De occulta philosophia, internal

religion is not different from religious magic and its rituals as Agrippa understands them. Due to his

462
III 4, DOP 409, Tyson 450. The whole passage appears only in the 1533 version, which additionally underlines the
position it presents. Agrippa’s definition of religion closely corresponds to one of the two criteria defining esotericism
discussed in the Introduction, namely separating “inner mysteries of religion” from their “external manifestations.” This
important point is discussed at length in Chapter Five, in my examination of Agrippa’s religious self-identification.
463
On esotericism as a typological construct see Introduction, 23 and n. 32.
464
III 4, DOP 409, Tyson 450.

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 custom of writing in the manner of dispersa intentio (or intentional ambiguity), it is difficult to

reconstruct a coherent system of religious magic (especially with regard to concrete ritualistic

procedures, of which Agrippa says next to nothing).465 However, once the reader gets through the thick

bushes of theoretical discussions on angelic and demonic names, seals, sigils, consecrations, frenzies,

etc., a clearer picture begins to emerge of what could be the core of Agrippa’s religious magic: it is the

pious contemplation and invocation of the divine names. The author obviously does not have in mind

just a form of prayer; invocation should be understood as a ritual performance preceded by—or

accompanied with—the above-discussed procedures of dignification and purification.

In DOP III, 10–12 Agrippa discusses the divine names and their powers in various religious

traditions, most notably the Kabbalah, and emphasizes their emanational character: “God … has

diverse names, which … expound … certain properties flowing from him, by which names he pours

down, as it were by certain conduits, on us and all his creatures many benefits and gifts” (Deus …

sortitur diversa nomina … quae exponent quasdam proprietates ab eo emanantes; per quae nomina in

nos et ea, quae creata sunt, multa beneficia et munera velut per canales quasdam distillant).466 By

applying the logic delineated in the opening sentence of the De occulta philosophia (i.e. emanation

enables ascension), Agrippa concludes that

[t]hese names of God are the most fit and powerful means of reconciling and uniting
man with God. (…) The religious observation and devout invocation [of these names]
with fear and trembling yield us great virtue and deifying union, and gives a power to
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work wonderful things above nature.

Haec itaque divina nomina sunt aptissimum atque efficacissimum medium hominis cum
deo conciliandi atque uniendi. (…) Quorum religiosa observatio devotaque cum timore

465
Some hints can be found e.g. in DOP III, 11 and III, 24. See also Lehrich, The Language of Demons and Angels, 200:
“The reader may now expect (or hope for) a reconstruction of a demonic summoning ritual, incorporating all these elements
in some fashion, perhaps with commentary. Unfortunately, I cannot fulfil that hope without wild speculations extending the
present analysis far beyond DOP and into the literature of ritual magic more generally; in short, Agrippa simply does not
provide sufficient information to perform the reconstruction.” Nevertheless, Lehrich does make an attempt to reconstruct a
ritual of religious magic, of which see ibid., 200–206.
466
III 11, DOP 427, Tyson 474. Italics in the translation mine.

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 ac tremore invocatio virtutem nobis magnam praestant deificamque unionem atque
etiam supra naturam mirabilium operum effectuumque potentiam.467

Finally, in DOP III 36 the author fully explicates this notion, by which he openly theologizes

magic and links it to the doctrine of the Logos or Verbum Dei. It is significant that the conceptual

framework he employs in developing his idea is both Hermetic and Christian. He equates the Hermetic

Word, which is the first image of the Mind,468 with Jesus Christ, “the Word of the Father made

flesh,”469 and consequently equates the emanation of the Word with the incarnation of Christ. In

Agrippa’s understanding, the Word of God is received through the process of emanation just like any

other virtus divina and this is what confers to man’s words the power of invoking God’s names with

miraculous effects:

Therefore, all our speech, words, spirit and voice have no power in magic unless they
are formed by the divine Word. (…) Our words can do very many miracles if they are
formed by the Word of God. (…) This is the power of the Word formed by the mind and
received into a subject rightly disposed, as seed into the matrix for the generation.

Omnis itaque sermo noster, omnia verba, omnis spiritus et vox nostra nullam virtutem
habent in magia, nisi quatenus divina voce formentur. (…) Verba nostra plurima
producere possunt miracula, modo formentur verbo Dei. (…) Haec est potentia verbi a
mente formata in subiectum rite suscepti, veluti semen in matricem ad generationem.470

If read in correlation with the already discussed role of faith and with the eulogy of the Word of God in

Chapter 100 of the De vanitate, this statement proves that, for Agrippa, the highest form of religious

magic is one based on invoking divine names with the intention of achieving mystical union with God
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and partaking of his powers.

This begs the question whether religious magic should be termed magic at all. Wouter

467
III 11, DOP 430, Tyson 475.
468
CH I, 6, Copenhaver, Hermetica, 2.
469
III 36, DOP 513, Tyson 582.
470
III 36, DOP 512–13, Tyson 582. This is a rare instance where Agrippa refers to Lodovico Lazzarelli and quotes from his
Crater Hermetis, which contains very similar ideas. I discuss this link in Chapter Five. The importance of the Word of God
and the incarnation of Christ in Agrippa’s magical theory has been keenly recognized by Christopher Lehrich, but he seems
to restrict the role of these theological concepts to natural magic only, which he calls “a magic of logos” (Lehrich, The
Language od Demons and Angels, 98–99). In my view, it makes sense to extend this qualification to the type of magic
based on the invocation of divine names.

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 Hanegraaff points out that Agrippa’s division of magic into three levels probably followed Johan

Reuchlin’s categorization of the ars miraculorum into physics, astrology, and magic.471 Agrippa

adopted the term “magic” as the umbrella term for all three levels, but Reuchlin reserved it only for the

third level, which he divided into superstitious goetia and religious theurgia. Hanegraaff concludes—

and, based on my analysis, I concur—that Agrippa “certainly agreed with Reuchlin that while the three

are intimately connected, the true and pure magic that his work was all about was the divine theurgy

belonging to the third level.”472 Consequently, terming Agrippa’s religious magic theurgy would make

a welcome distinction from the lower types of magical influence discussed in the first part of this

chapter. Theurgy is the only type of magic that pertains to the immortal, transcendent part of soul. It is

the magic of mens.

However, the third book of the De occulta philosophia is not only about religious magic, the

one that focuses on a direct communication between man and God. Much of it is also dedicated to what

might be termed demonic magic—in the sense of operating with incorporeal intelligences other than

God who serve as various intermediaries—but not with the common Christian understanding of the

word “demonic.” Yet, there is no real inconsistency here. First, it is well known that Agrippa’s

proclaimed intention was to theoretically cover all the existing types of magic, from the lowest to the

highest, which he eventually did in a quasi-neutral, encyclopedic way. Secondly, it is clear that

Agrippa’s understanding of the term daemon was vastly different from that of the majority of
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mainstream theologians. As Benedek Láng points out, there was a certain confusion throughout the

Middle Ages caused by the fact that “the medieval concept of ‘demon’ was born of two different

traditions: the Christian notion of ‘demon’ as a fallen angel working under the Devil, and the Greco-

Roman concept of a more material ‘daimon,’ who is a neutral (even occasionally benign), powerful,

471
Hanegraaff, “Better Than Magic,” 7, referring to Reuchlin, De verbo mirifico, 2.
472
Hanegraaff, “Better Than Magic,” 7–8.

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 and knowledgeable spirit who, in certain circumstances, may obey its invoker.” 473 This confusion was

partly reflected in Agrippa himself: as I discuss in Chapter Five, he did share the Christian notion of

“demon” to some extent (as evident from his treatise De triplici ratione cognoscendi Deum), but his

predominant view in this regard was nevertheless Platonic; in other words, daemones were simply

incorporeal intelligences, whether good or bad.474 Provided that the magician knew how to maintain his

discretio spirituum, communicating with good demons could only foster his ascension towards the

Summus Archetypus. Therefore, given the deeply rooted perception of the term “demonic” in

Christianity (and especially the spurious Fourth Book of the Occult Philosophy), I find that the term

“demonic magic,” if not carefully qualified, lacks analytical precision and might even be misleading.

As for theurgy, I want to use this term to further scrutinize the nature of Agrippa’s Neoplatonic

convictions. I suggest that his understanding of what the “good half” of religious magic is does not

only rest on Reuchlin’s theurgia/goetia division, but also on Agrippa’s adherence to the legacy of

ancient Neoplatonists, most notably Iamblichus of Chalcis (c. 245–c. 325 AD), a Syrian Neoplatonist

and a disciple of Plotinus’ disciple Porphyry. To my knowledge, Agrippa does not use the term theurgia

in the De occulta philosophia. He rather sticks—much to his later interpreters’ dismay—to his

preferred blanket-term “magic.” Yet, it is possible to draw certain parallels between Agrippa’s notion of

religious magic as delineated in his esoteric encyclopedia and Iamblichus’ concept of θεουργία.
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Agrippa explicitly refers to the Syrian Neoplatonist several times, although usually as one of

473
Láng, Unlocked Books, 21. Láng points to the examples of medieval authors who held more positive views on the nature
and activities of demons, such as Johannes of Francofordia, a professor of theology at the University of Heidelberg, or
Witelo, a Polish-born scholar from the thirteenth century.
474
The De occulta philosophia is replete with instances of such understanding. A good example is the already quoted
passage from III 37, DOP 514–15, Tyson 585, where Agrippa describes how upon death the soul is escorted by its “genii,
keepers, and daemons” to the judge (see Chapter Three, 116 n. 275). Consider also the title and the content of III 32, DOP
497–501, Tyson 566–68: Quomodo alliciantur a nobis boni daemones et quomodo mali daemones a nobis convincantur
(“How good demons may be called up by us, and how evil demons may be overcome by us”). Obviously constrained by the
mainstream understanding of daemons, James Freake mistranslated this word in the title as “spirits”—for how can a demon
be good?

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 the authoratitative Platonici whose arguments he merely reiterates.475 However, some of these

mentions are not simply for the sake of piling up references but reveal Agrippa’s familiarity with

Iamblichus’ teachings.476 This is not surprising if one recalls that in 1492 Marsilio Ficino published his

translations of Iamblichus, Proclus, Porphyry, and Psellus, which Agrippa must have read if not

possessed. One of the treatises in this collection was Iamblichus’ Letter of Porphyry to Anebo, which

Ficino translated as De mysteriis Aegyptiorum, Chaldaeorum, Assyriorum. It is to this work that

Agrippa, openly or tacitly, refers a number of times in his De occulta philosophia.

Iamblichus’ theurgical Platonism marks a significant point of departure from Plotinian

contemplative Platonism. Employing the term θεουργία, for which the earliest surviving record is

found in the Chaldean Oracles (second century AD), he used it to denote “a series of rituals and

practices with the goal of attaining the divine essence by discovering traces of the divine in the

different layers of being.”477 In what Fritz Graf calls the “religious turn” in the late antique Greek

philosophy,478 Iamblichus distanced himself from Plotinus’ doctrine of contemplation as being based

merely on “god-talk” or theology, which he deemed insufficient for achieving ascension. As Gregory

Shaw puts it, “Iamblichus’s distinction between theurgy and theology is crucial for understanding his

Platonism. Theology was merely logos, a ‘discourse about the gods,’ and however exalted, it remained

a human activity, as did philosophy. Theurgy, on the other hand, was a theion ergon, a ‘work of the

gods’ capable of transforming man to a divine status.”479

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According to Shaw, the main difference between theurgical and non-theurgical Platonism is in

475
For instance, in DOP I 2, I 38, II 32, III 11. In addition to these explicit mentions, Perrone Compagni detects a number of
unacknowledged references to Iamblichus’ De mysteriis, on which see her Index nominum, s.v. Iamblichus, DOP 638.
476
For instance, Iamblichus’ discussion on fate in relation to celestial bodies, from De mysteriis 8, 7, which Agrippa
comments upon in DOP III 59.
477
Paul M. Collins, “Between Creation and Salvation. Theosis and Theurgy,” in Deification in Christian Theology, ed.
Vladimir Kharlamov (Cambridge: James Clarke & Co. Ltd., 2012), 192–204, quote on 193. However, just like in Agrippa’s
case, Iamblichus does not provide any specific details on, or descriptions of, theurgic rites. He is only interested in
providing a philosophical rationale for theurgy; see Shaw, Theurgy and the Soul, 47.
478
See Chapter One, 74 and n. 174.
479
Shaw, Theurgy and the Soul, 5.

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 the attitude towards the cosmos. Whereas for Plotinus sensible matter is evil, and Nature is perceived

as a “demon enchantress,”480 Iamblichus adopts a more positive view on the world and does not

exclude it from his project of ascension. What is at stake here is the divinity of the world: in both

Plotinus’ and Iamblichus’ perspective, it is emanated from the One, but while the former sharply

distinguishes between the sensible and the noetic realms, the latter views them as intertwined.481 Thus,

according to Iamblichus, matter not only can but must be engaged in the process of ascension. By its

own theurgy the soul imitates the divine demiurgy and uses the same, already existing cosmic ladder.

I believe it is evident from the above that Agrippa’s own view on spiritual ascension bears more

similarities with Iamblichus’ concept of theurgy than with Plotinus’ idea of pure philosophical

contemplation. Agrippa’s understanding of the cosmos as a divine emanation with the uninterrupted

connection to the realm of transcendence, as I discussed at length in Chapter Two, justifies his own

preference for religious magic in the same way as Iamblichus’ cosmological views do for theurgy.

Moreover, just like Agrippa, Iamblichus treats the phenomenon of souls’ embodiment with much less

optimism.482 As opposed to divinely emanated matter that can serve as cosmic instrument for

ascension, the body, according to Iamblichus, traps and impedes the soul in the same way as Plotinus

taught. For this reason, a theurgist must live an ascetic, pious life and commit himself to ritual

purifications and consecrations.483 Interestingly, Iamblichus too differentiated between theurgia and

goetia by viewing the former as intrinsically related to gods and the latter as an indication of arrogance
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480
Enn. IV 4, 43–44. In this section Plotinus also expresses his refusal of magic by viewing it as intrinsically linked to
Nature, whose “sorcery is to pursue the non-good as a good” (Plotinus, The Enneads, 331). In other words, magic is the
means by which Nature enchants souls. On the other hand, “[c]ontemplation alone stands untouched by magic” (ibid., 330).
481
For a detailed discussion on these issues see Shaw, Theurgy and the Soul, 1–45. Although I disagree with Shaw on the
matter of the Plotinian soul, as noted in Chapter Three, I consider the other aspects of his analysis highly convincing and, in
a comparative perspective, relevant for my own analysis of Agrippa’s magic.
482
Ibid., 37–44.
483
This fine distinction between cosmic and bodily matter—that is, the “good” and the “bad” matter—is aptly expressed by
Iamblichus in the following words: “One must not, after all, reject all matter, but only that which is alien to the gods” (De
mysteriis V, 23, in Iamblichus, De mysteriis, translated with an introduction and notes by Emma C. Clarke, John M. Dillon,
and Jackson P. Hershbell [Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003], 269).

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 and impiety.484

In conclusion, Agrippa’s Neoplationism is Plotinian with regard to the problem of the soul’s

descent (as discussed at the end of Chapter Three),485 but Iamblichean when it comes to the question of

its ascent and ultimate deification. However, being a Christian dedicated to prayer and theological

introspection, Agrippa took care not to disregard the idea of contemplation but rather accepted it as

being complementary to the idea of theurgy.

To sum up, in this chapter I mostly analyzed Agrippa’s approach to magical operation in a

psychological perspective. I showed that it is intrinsically related to his view of the human soul as a

partly descended, tripartite entity and I examined the role of the external and internal senses vis-à-vis

each of the three psychic components. In this context, I examined how the magician, according to

Agrippa, utilizes various emotional and affective states in his operation and how the nature of these

states determines the purpose and scope of magical operation. In this regard, the crucial concept is that

of passiones animi, which covers the entirety of psychological states and which accounts for the

magician’s ability to exert influence beyond his own body and soul. By combining the Ficinian

doctrine of spiritus and al-Kindi’s ray-theory Agrippa explains in detail the mechanisms of magical

operation, while at the same time he stresses the importance of focused attention as a necessary element

in any form of magic. Finally, I demonstrated that, for Agrippa, intellectual or religious magic serves
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ultimately one purpose: that of obtaining the divine mind, i.e. uniting the lower parts of the soul with

the highest one. It is thus evident that, in Agrippa’s perspective, magic in its highest form of appearance

bears a predominantly religious significance. As such, it is fully comparable to Iamblichus’s notion of

theurgy, from which, as I argued, Agrippa draws much of his understanding of magic.

484
E.g. De mysteriis, I, 21; III, 18–19.
485
Iamblichus viewed the soul as fully descended; see Shaw, Theurgy and the Soul, 1–27). As I demonstrated in Chapters
Three and Four, Agrippa, following Plotinus, developed a notion of the partly descended soul.

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 CHAPTER FIVE

ESCHATOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVE: THE FALL AND SALVATION

So far my analysis has been limited to Cornelius Agrippa’s understanding of man’s nature within the

created world and its temporal frame. This is reflected in the way he treats anthropological issues in the

De occulta philosophia: this work does not at all deal with the cause of man’s fall or with the way it

happened. Although man’s fallen state is implied throughout Agrippa’s discussion, he does not dwell on

that topic in particular. Agrippa’s man is a divine soul encapsulated in the physical body through a

range of intermediaries with an increasing degree of materiality. In contrast to the mainstream Christian

doctrine, the psychic component can function independently of the somatic one even during man’s

lifetime. In the perspective of the De occulta philosophia, the fall does not pertain to the physical body,

which properly belongs to the elemental world and is only a receptacle, but to the soul that departs

from the realm of transcendence, in a process in which the divine mens is emanated into the celestial

ratio and the semi-earthly idolum.

The fall is explicitly mentioned in DOP III 40, where one reads of the “sin of transgression”

due to which man fell from his prelapsarian dignity, 486 but the author’s attention is mostly focused on

the lost divine powers and the ways to regain them. He speaks of these powers as divine “characters”
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imprinted on man and points out that they are blurred according the degree of man’s sinfulness: “Yet

this character is not altogether extinct in us. But to the extent one is laden with sin, so much farther off

is he from these divine characters and receives less of them” (neque tamen omnino character ille in

nobis extinctus est, sed quanto magis quis gravatur peccato, tanto magis a divinis istis characteribus

486
III 40, DOP 520, Tyson 591: Verum post praevaricationis peccatum a dignitate illa decidit cum omnibus posteris suis.

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 longius abest minusque recipit).487 However, Agrippa does not specify the nature of that sin. The reason

for this could be that he already dealt with that problem in some of his earlier writings, most notably in

his exegetical treatise the De originali peccato. Having already diagnosed the problem, so to speak, he

now offers his solution to it: a program of spiritual ascension aiming at renovatio or regeneratio. This

goal is achieved when ratio and idolum are purified, uplifted, and ultimately united with mens.

In this chapter I examine those of Agrippa’s works that contain his views on man’s prelapsarian

state and the fall. These are, as I already mentioned, the De originali peccato and, to a lesser extent, the

De triplici ratione cognoscendi Deum, Agrippa’s treatise written in Italy. In the first part of the chapter

I demonstrate how in these works Agrippa coalesces the Christian and Hermetic narratives of the fall

and how it reflects on his anthropological views. In the second part I examine the ways in which

Agrippa’s eclectic understanding of man’s prelapsarian position and fall affected his notion of piety and

his religious identity.

THE ORIGINAL SIN

To begin with, it is significant that Agrippa uses the very term “sin” (peccatum). It indicates that, at

least to some extent, he embraces the Christian paradigm of man’s fall. The Neoplatonic and Hermetic

interpretations of the problem of soul’s embodiment, even when they view it as a kind of fall, do not

entail a clearly developed theological and ethical concept of sin. 488 Thus, it can be said that Agrippa’s
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treatment of this problem represents the more Christian side of his eclectic theological thought, even

though it is sometimes difficult to discern at which point his understanding of Christian doctrines

overlaps with his Neoplatonic and Hermetic convictions.

487
Ibid.
488
The Corpus Hermeticum does recognize the term κακία ψυχής (“the evil of soul”), which Copenhaver translates as
“vice” (e.g. CH X, 8, in Copenhaver, Hermetica, 32). It is defined as ignorance (ἀγνωσία) and bears certain similarities to
the concept of sin but is not identical with it.

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 Liber de triplici ratione cognoscendi Deum

In this treatise, which Vittoria Perrone Compagni calls the first autonomous exposition of Agrippa

religious thought,489 the German humanist centers his discussion around the problem of epistemology,

namely how man comes to know God, not in terms of theoretical knowledge (ἐπιστήμη, scientia) but as

an inner, experienced realization of the divine realm (γνῶσις, cognitio).490 In what appears as a

conceptual framework of praeparatio evangelica, he discusses the three ways—or books, as he calls

them—by which man obtains the knowledge of God: in a hierarchical order, he examines the book of

nature given to the pagan wise men, the book of laws given to the Jews, and finally the book of the

Gospels given to the Christians as the perfect way of knowing God. Agrippa’s evident preference for

γνῶσις over ἐπιστήμη leads him to a fierce attack on scholastic theologians, whose custom of vain and

ostentatious disputation he even proclaims diabolical.491 As I already discussed, Agrippa’s interest in

the knowledge of God surpasses theoretical considerations: his goal is to reach God (ad Deum

accedimus) by ascending to the divine mind (ascendendo in mentem).492 He sees this process as the

restoration of man’s pristine dignity, which he expounds in the first book of the treatise. 493 This is

where the reader finds Agrippa’s account of the fall, which is closely based on Biblical references.

The fall of angels led by Satan preceded that of man.494 Not content with their sublime position,

ambitiously striving for more, some angels rebelled against God and for that transgression they were

expelled from their divine abode. However, the very words Agrippa attributes to Satan as an
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announcement of his intentions reveal potential flaws in the basis of his (Agrippa’s) spiritual synthesis:

489
Perrone Compagni, Ermetismo e Cristianesimo, 52.
490
This difference pertains to what Wouter Hanegraaff, referring to Garth Fowden, terms “the hierarchy of knowledge.” He
points out that this concept was explicitly emphasized in several key passages of the Corpus Hermeticum such as X, 9:
“Γνῶσις is the goal of ἐπιστήμη” (Γνῶσις δ’ ἐστὶν ἐπιστήμης τὸ τέλος). See Hanegraaff, “Altered States of Knowledge,”
133.
491
De triplici ratione V, 15, 18–20, in Perrone Compagni, Ermetismo e Cristianesimo, 136, 154–64.
492
Ibid., 140.
493
Perrone Compagni, Ermetismo e Cristianesimo, 92–101.
494
Obviously, the implied reference here is to Luke 10:18: “And he said unto them, I beheld Satan as lightning fall from
heaven.” Another possible reference is 2 Peter 2:4.

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 I will ascend to the heavens and exalt my throne above the stars of God. I will sit upon
the mountain of the testament on the northern side. I will ascend above the high clouds
and be similar to the Highest one.

In coelum ascendam, super astra Dei exaltabo solium meum, sedebo in monte
testamenti in lateribus aquilonis. Ascendam super altitudinem nubium et similis ero
Altissimo.495

Curiously enough, this quotation contains two synonymous expressions of a concept crucial for

Agrippa’s spiritual program—ascension and exaltation—but this time put in the Devil’s mouth.496 He

fell from his exalted position because he wanted to be “similar to the Highest one.” How is it different

from countless statements in the De occulta philosophia that attribute divine powers to a pious, exalted

magician?497 It is unimaginable that at the time of writing these lines (in Italy, around 1516) the young

Agrippa was unaware of this inherent contradiction. To remind the reader, this is roughly the same

period in which the German humanist wrote (and soon lost) his commentary on Paul’s Epistle to the

Romans, along with his intense Neoplatonic and Hermetic readings. His dedication to the cause of

Biblical humanism was amply testified by his surviving correspondence and other activities from that

period.498 The only way out of this seeming contradiction is to assume that Agrippa made a sharp

distinction between enjoying divine powers in union with God and in opposition to him. In other

words, the problem is not in the powers themselves but in their independent use. As I discuss later in

the chapter, this is one of the key elements of Agrippa’s understanding of piety.

Back to the account of the fall, the author relates how man followed Satan’s bad example:
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created to obey God’s will, which was the source of a perpetual life for him, man was tempted by Satan

and decided to go after him, thus himself becoming a transgressor. As a consequence of his

495
Ibid., 94. Translation mine. It is a quotation from Isaiah 14:13-14. Another implied reference is obviously Luke 10:18.
496
On György E. Szőnyi’s term exaltation as a synonym for spiritual/magical ascension or deification see Introduction, 16
n. 12.
497
For instance, DOP III 3 (obtaining the divine knowledge, power, and deifying virtue), DOP III 5 (obtaining the divine
power), etc.
498
See Nauert, Agrippa, 35–54.

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 transgression, God expelled him from the “garden of bliss” into the “valley of misery,” where he

became subject to death.499

Agrippa does not say anything else about the circumstances of man’s fall but rather

concentrates on its consequences. Here, significantly, Hermes Trismegistos comes into play. Along

with a handful of references to the Apostle Paul, the author abundantly cites the Corpus Hermeticum in

his depiction of the sad state of existence in which man found himself upon the fall.500 In addition to

losing his immortality (which Agrippa terms vita perpetua, not aeterna), the second main consequence

is losing one’s divine mind. It implies the loss of a direct knowledge of God, the loss of his grace, and

man’s transformation into a brutish nature immersed into all kinds of sensual allurements. The author’s

vision of such an existence is somber: man’s soul is dragged away by impure spirits, who force it to

commit all kinds of abominable sins to its own misery.

This first chapter serves Agrippa to set the stage for his discussion on the various ways of

reacquiring the lost knowledge of God, which should directly lead to regaining one’s pristine unity with

the Divine. In other words, Agrippa views the question of epistemology as a critical point in man’s

salvational drama: γνῶσις is not about theoretical knowledge, but about personal transformation that is

supposed to annul the consequences of the fall.

Agrippa refers to this transformative nature of knowledge in the De occulta philosophia too, in

an already cited passage from Book Three, where he points to obstacles that prevent man from
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enjoying his inborn divine powers. These are various “passions, vain imaginations, and immoderate

affections,” but then he adds an important remark: once these obstacles are removed, “the divine

499
Perrone Compagni, Ermetismo e Cristianesimo, 94–96: Homo autem, creatus … ut divinae obsequeretur voluntati, ex
quo … vita perpetua donatus est, petitus est a diabolo infesta tentatione; quem auscultans, similiter divinae voluntatis
transgressor effectus est. Quare etiam ipse pulsus ex hoc delitiarum horto in hanc vallem miseriae… In the most general
sense, Agrippa’s account is evidently based on Gen. 3:1–8.
500
Perrone Compagni, Ermetismo e Cristianesimo, 97, n. 24–29, 98, n. 30 and 33, 99, n. 35–37. Perrone Compagni traces
two unacknowledged references to Lazzarelli’s Crater Hermetis: 94, n.12, and 95, n.17.

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 knowledge and power take place immediately” (quibus expulsis, subito adest divina cognitio atque

potestas).501 The knowledge of God is thus directly linked to the divine power, and the attainment of

both is described here as taking place “immediately” (subito).

It is significant that Agrippa again uses this adverb, which I already discussed in Chapter Three

with regard to the magician being exposed to the influence of higher entities.502 And as I suggested

there, this sense of immediacy could indicate a sort of rapture, or a sudden change of consciousness

that occurs as a result of ascent. The already cited letter to Aurelius Aquapendente contains an

additional indication in this sense: writing about man’s transformation through the knowledge of God,

Agrippa refers to St. Paul’s own experience related in 2 Cor. 12:2–4: “And elsewhere he speaks more

clearly of himself: I know a man, whether in the body, or out of the body I cannot tell, God knows,

caught up unto the third heaven, etc.” (Et alibi clarius de seipso ait, Scio hominem, in corpore vel extra

corpus, nescio (Deus scit) raptum usque ad tertium coelum & quae reliqua sequuntur.)503 It is

important to note that the raptus Paul speaks about in this passage took place as an individual event, in

contrast to the doctrine of rapture as a collective event, which implies the sudden return of Christ who

takes the resurrected and the surviving believers to heaven.504

De originali peccato disputabilis opinionis declamatio

In this declamation, as evident from its title, Agrippa deals with the specifics of the original sin and the
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fall. In contrast to the De triplici ratione, where he rather briefly narrates than interprets the fall, the De

originali peccato is a full-fledged exegetical work in which Agrippa applies the allegorical method of

501
III 3, DOP 408, Tyson 449.
502
See Chapter Three, 171–73, with references to DOP I 66: the magician becomes suddenly exposed to the superior entity
he invokes and he is suddenly filled with the virtues of the celestial body whose influence he seeks to attract. “Immediately”
and “suddenly” are common synonyms for subito.
503
Agrippa Aurelio ab Aqua-pendente, Epist. V, 19 (Lyons, 19 November 1527) in Opera II, 879–80.
504
There are several scriptural passages serving as the basis for the interpretation of rapture as a collective event at the
Eschaton, with 1 Thes. 4:17 being among the most important: depicting it as a sudden event, Paul uses the verb
ἁρπαγησόμεθα (rapiemur, “we shall be caught up”). See Watson E. Mills, ed., Mercer Dictionary of the Bible (Macon,
Georgia: Mercer University Press, 1997), 736–37.

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 exegesis on Genesis 1–3.505 In a dedicatory letter to Theoderich Wichwael, titular bishop of Cyrene and

suffragan bishop of Cologne, he claims that he offers an entirely new perspective and that he is

unaware if anyone before him had come to such conclusions; instead, that his opinion is based on his

own consideration of the problem.506 However, Marc van der Poel notes that Agrippa’s interpretation

bears similarities with “the circle of certain heretics, notably the Cathars,”507 in addition to being

openly based on the Corpus Hermeticum. This is clearly seen from the negative role that his

interpretation attributes to body and materiality.

At the very beginning, Agrippa makes it clear that his conceptual framework is that of

anthropological dualism. Already in the second sentence one finds two familiar expressions—“the

inner man” (homo interior) and “garment” (indumentum). The inner man is defined as the rational soul

that puts on a bodily garment. The man whom God created after his image according to Genesis 1:26 is

precisely that inner man, i.e. the soul. The “complete man” (homo integer) whom God vivified by

blowing the breath of life into his nostrils according to Genesis 2:7 is a compound made of the inner

man and his corporeal garment, joined together by the celestial spirit.508 In other words, God’s act of

“vivifying” pertains only to the body, which is vivified by being joined to the already existing divine

soul. Completely neglecting the second part of the Gen. 2:7, namely that “man became a living soul”

(καὶ ἐγένετο ὁ ἄνθρωπος εἰς ψυχὴν ζῶσαν; et factus est homo in animam viventem), Agrippa produces

a stunning Neoplatonic exegesis of the Biblical account of creation: the living soul was already there, it
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was merely tied to a body by the medium of spirit. In Agrippa’s words:

505
For a meticulous analysis of this work in the general context of the humanist genre of declamatio see Van der Poel,
Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian, 225–45.
506
De originali peccato, disputabilis opinionis declamatio, in Agrippa, Opera II, 550: aliam novamque et meam opinionem
adseram, nescius si quispiam ante me eandem opinatus sit … quatenus illam non aliunde quam proprii ingenii diligentia.
507
Van der Poel, Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian, 228.
508
This is reminiscent of Philo’s exegesis of the two accounts of man’s creation: based on differences in the accounts, the
Alexandrian scholar postulates two different—and even mutually opposed—human beings: a “heavenly man” (ὁ οὐράνιος
ἄνθρωπος), who is an immortal, divine entity, and an “earthly man” (ὁ γήϊνος ἄνθρωπος), a mortal compound of the earthly
body and divine spirit (Philonis Alexandrini De opificio mundi 134–35; Legum allegoriarum libri I 31–32).

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 At the beginning of the Book of Creation it was written that God said: Let us make man
in our image, after our likeness. And God created man in his own image, by which we
understand the inner man, who is a rational soul created in the likeness of the divine
trinity and unity. To this inner man, created in such a divinely manner, God bestowed an
appropriate garment and a residence, namely the human body, which is in agreement
with the following words: And God formed man of the dust of the ground and breathed
into his face the breath of life, which is a certain virtue by which the intellectual soul
and the terrestrial body are joined together and united into a complete man. Man is,
therefore, composed of the divine soul, the terrestrial body, and the celestial spirit.

In principio libri Geneseos scriptum est, dixisse Deum, faciamus hominem ad imaginem
et similitudinem nostram, et fecit Deus hominem ad imaginem et similitudinem suam
perfecit illum. Quod de homine interiori dictum putamus, qui est anima rationalis ad
divinae trinitatis simul ac unitatis similitudinem create, quo homine interiore sic
divinitus constituto idoneum Deus illi largitus est indumentum ac domicilium, corpus
scilicet humanum: quod et sequens litera respondit quando dicit: Formavit Deus
hominem de limo terrae et inspiravit in faciem eius spiraculum vitae, quae virtus
quaedam est qua intellectualis anima et terrenum corpus coniunguntur atque in unum
integrum hominem uniuntur. Ex anima itaque divina et corpore terreno spirituque
celesti homo constitutus est.509

Apart from the exegetical component, this passage strongly supports my theses presented in Chapter

Three: Agrippa clearly distinguishes between “the inner man” and the terrestrial man (whom he also

explicitly calls homo exterior); the inner man is no different from the divine soul, which Agrippa also

terms mens;510 the physical body is seen as the inner man’s garment; this ontological dichotomy is

reconciled by the middle element—the celestial spirit. This is the overarching frame of Agrippa’s

exegesis.

Another confirmation of the tripartite structure of soul is found in Agrippa’s statement that ratio
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mediates between the pure intellect and the sensible soul, and that it is also ratio that “grasps the good

and the bad, truth and falsehood.”511 Moreover, the author in the same sentence equates ratio with

spiritus by claiming that the latter “thrives with the power of the soul manifested in the body, which

509
De originali peccato, in Opera II, 551. Translation mine. The italicized words are quotes from the Bible.
510
Ibid., 552.
511
Ibid., 552: …in ipsa ratione … quae mediat inter purum intellectum et sensibilem animam, utriusque boni et mali,
veritatis et erroris capax. This is an important textual indication that, for Agrippa, ratio is the seat of will-power and that,
consequently, the main battle for man’s salvation takes place there.

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 mediates between the material body and the immaterial mind.”512

Having created the “whole man,” God placed him in the Garden of Eden, which is located on

the Earth, in the middle of the macrocosm. Although described as a garment and thus ontologically

inferior to the divine soul, man’s vivified body was at first immortal due to its uninterrupted connection

to the soul and God himself. Only after the sin of disobedience did it lose its immortality.

Before interpreting the sin, Agrippa expounds his allegorical understanding of the two trees in

the Garden of Eden: the tree of life represents the knowledge of God (cognitio Dei) and the constant

contemplation of God (eiusque assidua contemplatio). The fruits of divine knowledge and

contemplation are wisdom and chastity (sapientia et castitas), which bring forth eternal life (ex quo

vita aeterna).513 As shown below, already the direct linking of chastity and eternal life points to the

moral and practical implications of Agrippa’s exegesis. The tree of the knowledge of good and evil

represents carnal desire (affectus carnis) and the knowledge of earthly things (prudentia

terrenorum).514 Tasting the fruit of this tree resulted in the fall from the primordial state of bliss.

The creation of woman is related in a far more concise way than that of man: Agrippa simply

asserts that “Eve was created from Adam’s rib” (ex costa Adae creata est Eva).515 However, as I argue

below, this brief remark conceals Agrippa’s Neoplatonic understanding of Genesis, according to which

Eve (or what she represents) emanates from Adam. This is evident from the way Agrippa interprets the

three persons involved in the act of primordial fall:

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Adam is faith established in God, the foundation of reason. Therefore, Eve, the free
reason, was created from Adam’s rib. On the other hand, the serpent is sensuality itself,
which crawls on the ground amidst the fallen, feeble, carnal things. Henceforth the

512
Ibid.: in spiritu … in quo vigent potentiae animae in corpore ogranisatae, quae mediant inter materiale corpus et
immaterialem mentem. For my thesis that ratio is closely related to—if not equal with—spiritus see Chapter Three, 135–37.
513
De originali peccato, 552.
514
Note that Agrippa makes a clear terminological distinction between cognitio and prudentia that mirrors the above-
discussed relation between γνῶσις and ἐπιστήμη. By analogy with the two modes of man, they can be said to represent
“internal” and “external” knowledge.
515
Ibid.

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 serpent tempted Eve—that is, the reason—with the lust for sensual pleasures, and Eve
accepted the serpent—that is, the allurements of the senses—and she was thus deceived.
Thereafter she deceived the man Adam, rejecting faith, which fell down into the realm
of the sensible … and was abandoned by God.

Adam quidem fides est stabilita in Deo, fundamentum rationis. Ideo ex costa Adae
creata est Eva ratio libera. Serpens autem est ipsa sensualitas, quae serpit in terrenis,
caducis, infirmis et carnalibus. Hinc itaque serpens, per concupiscientiam sensibilium,
tentavit Evam, rationem scilicet, quae acquiescens serpenti, ipsis puta sensuum
illecebris, decepta est. Quae deinde … decepit virum Adam, deiiciens fidem, quae
delapsa in sensibilia … defecit a Deo.516

This is the core of Agrippa’s exegesis of the Biblical creation narrative: Adam stands for fides, Eve for

ratio, and the serpent for sensualitas. It is not difficult to recognize in this interpretation a tripartite

scheme that corresponds to the mens–ratio–idolum model discussed in the previous chapters of this

thesis. Fides is a divine virtue and hence the main constituent of the divine mind, which is permanently

absorbed in the contemplation of God. Eve was created from Adam’s rib just as ratio proceeds from

mens, which is for that reason designated as the foundation of ratio. Ratio is described as libera

(“free”) since this is its main prerogative: as already discussed, it is the seat of willpower and can freely

move upwards or downwards. Finally, the sensualitas of the serpent corresponds to the earthly and

sensual nature of idolum, which is tightly linked to the physical body.517

The bottom-line of Agrippa’s exegesis, then, is the Neoplatonic doctrine of emanation and the

Hermetic account of the fall. What falls is the inner man, i.e. the soul, and the German humanist states
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this explicitly: “It seemed appropriate that we first explained these things about the tree of life, the tree

of the knowledge of good and bad, and the fall of the inner man into the mortal senses” (Haec de ligno

vitae, vel de ligno scientiae boni et mali, ac interioris hominis lapsu ita ad mortalem sensum prius

516
Ibid. Translation mine. Note that the adjective sensibilis has two distinct meanings: “sensible” as perceptible by the
senses and “sensual” as relating to the gratification of the senses (see LS, 1670, s.vv. sensibilis and sensualitas). Agrippa
has both meanings in mind, with the latter figuring more prominently in his interpretation of the original sin.
517
It might look like an inconsistency in Agrippa’s exegesis that he interprets Adam both as the inner man and faith. If the
above-given interpretation is accepted, then there is no inconsistency. Another way around would be to assume that Agrippa
develops his exegesis on two levels: anagogical (Adam as the inner man) and allegorical (Adam as faith).

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 exponere visum est).518 The body is more of a symptom of the fall than an equal participant in the

event. It does not have a separate role in Agrippa’s casting and, if there is anything to associate it with,

it can only be the serpent, the metaphor for the sensual nature.

This is further supported by Agrippa’s vindication of Eve’s role, which has been seen by some

scholars as another sign of his opposition to “the misogynistic strain in Christian theology.” 519 Namely,

the original sin and the fall are solely Adam’s fault: Eve was not even created at the time when God

commanded Adam not to eat from the lignum scientiae boni et mali (Gen. 2:16–22); in other words, the

order, at least formally, did not apply to her. “Therefore,” says Agrippa, “it was not Eve who sinned by

eating of the tree of the knowledge of good and bad … nor was she reproached by God … but Adam,

who was forbidden to taste it” (Ideo non peccavit Eva comedendo de ligno scientiae boni et mali … nec

corripuit illam Deus, … sed Adae, quem vetitum erat de illo gustare).520 Adam was not supposed to put

his trust in woman (credidit mulieri) and that is why the fall was solely his responsibility.

Although this part of Agrippa’s exegesis can be read in the context of the relationship between

the sexes (and he indeed uses it as an argument in his De nobilitate et praecellentia foeminei sexus), its

allegorical significance is evident: only the immortal mens, the agent of divina cognitio and

contemplatio, can be the transgressor of God’s will and commandment. Ratio, the mind’s emanation,

suffers the consequences of the transgression but cannot be its cause. It is naturally inferior and

posterior to faith (which, as I argue, stands for the immortal mind): ratio enim posterior est fide et fides
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natura prior ratione.521 This also determines the epistemological capacities of these two components of

soul: mens, that is fides, should be occupied with cognitio and contemplatio (i.e. γνῶσις), whereas ratio

in itself and by itself cannot go beyond the level of scientia (ἐπιστήμη) and should therefore limit itself

518
Ibid., 554.
519
Van der Poel, Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian, 235.
520
De originali peccato, 553.
521
Ibid.

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 to the study of the created things through investigation, argumentation, demonstration etc. It should be

oriented towards and subjected to faith, for faith alone is in direct touch with the divine and can restore

man to his prelapsarian position. This is the idea that Agrippa fully developed in the De vanitate.

Moreover, it is in congruence with my thesis that, for Agrippa, spiritual ascension and salvation imply

the unity of the immortal mind with its lower emanations.

Commixtio carnis displicet Deo: the problem of sex

The second crucial aspect of Agrippa’s exegesis, in addition to his allegorical interpretation of the

persons involved in the fall, is his understanding of the exact nature of the original sin. Quite simply

put, it consisted in the act of sexual intercourse between Adam and Eve, to use the succinct formulation

of Van der Poel, who considers this view “indeed unusual” and, based on its implications, alludes to its

possible heretic (even Cathar) origin.522 And indeed, the openness and fierceness of Agrippa’s attack on

human sexuality are stunning.

“My own opinion,” says Agrippa, “is that the original sin was nothing else but the carnal

copulation between man and woman” (ipsa autem opinion nostra talis est non aliud fuisse originale

peccatum quam carnalem copulam viri et mulieris).523 The serpent does not only stand for sensuality in

general, it represents the very carnal desire (concupiscentia) and it is no wonder that its shape

resembles that of male organ:

…this serpent I consider to be no other than our disposition toward the senses and the
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flesh, or rather, the male genital organ of carnal desire, the creeping member, the
serpentine member, the lustful member, devious in various ways, which tempted and
deceived Eve.

…hunc serpentem non alium arbitramur, quam sensibilem carnalemque affectum, immo

522
Van der Poel, Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian, 227–28. Although I share this general impression with Van der Poel, I
have not been able to find any direct links to Cathar thought in Agrippa’s works. His dualist attitude and rejection of
materiality are amply demonstrated in my thesis, but I believe the influence of the Corpus Hermeticum alone can
sufficiently account for such views, as I argue below.
523
De originali peccato, 554. Translation mine.

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 ipsum carnalis concupiscentiae genitale viri membrum, membrum reptile, membrum
serpens, membrum lubricum, variisque anfractibus tortuosum, quod Evam tentavit atque
decepit.524

Prior to the sin of fornication, Adam end Eve, with their immortal bodies, lived in a virginal marriage

that was to be consummated by the word and spirit of God (in Paradiso, nuptiae virginitatis,

consummandae in verbo ac spiritu Dei); after the fall, their marriage was turned into carnal and

consummated by “the corruptible coitus” (extra vero Paradisum, nuptiae carnis, consummatae in coitu

corruptibili).525 A direct consequence of indulging in the carnal coitus was the loss of immortality. Sex

brings along death: “[the original] corruption is coitus and refers to coitus, and the prize for it is death”

(corruptio autem coitus est et ad coitum pertinet, cuius praemium mors).526

Thus, for Agrippa, concupiscientia or carnal desire forms the very core of the original sin, and

is not merely its consequence, a punishment inflicted on man for Adam’s disobedience. Furthermore,

Agrippa adheres to the idea that the hereditary nature of the original sin is primarily manifested through

the act of sexual intercourse: “all those who are born out of the corruptible coitus are corrupted” (de

quo [sc. coitu corruptibili] omnes qui nati sunt corrumpuntur).527 Corruption does not only imply the

loss of immortality, but also the loss of all the other divine qualities that the primordial man enjoyed:

the fallen man has become like an irrational animal, always looking for food and sex, having lost the

spiritual seed of intelligence (quasi irrationabilia iumenta in ventrem et libidinem proni sunt …
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524
Ibid., 554–55. Quoted in Van der Poel, Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian, 236, with his translation.
525
De originali peccato, 556. On the linguistic level Agrippa makes a careful distinction between the gerundive form
consummandae (“meant to be consummated”) and the perfect participle consummatae (simply “consummated”). The former
was God’s intention and command, the latter the result of man’s disobedience.
526
Ibid.
527
Ibid. For a discussion on Agrippa’s position within the theological debates about the nature of the original sin see Van
der Poel, Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian, 226–29. Concerning the two possible interpretations of Romans 5:12
(“Therefore, as sin came into this world through one man, and death through sin, so death was passed on to all man
inasmuch as all sinned”), namely that “the flash contained an evil force directed against God before Original Sin” and that
“the flesh received this force as a result of sin” (Van der Poel, ibid., 226–27), Agrippa was clearly closer to the first
interpretation.

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 inteligentiae semen spirituale amisit).528 The exact cause of man’s mortality is that the divine light,

which once kept his body integral and immortal, has been withdrawn from him due to God’s wrath. Or,

in Agrippa’s words, “God was displeased with the sexual act” (commixtionem carnis displicuisse

Deo).529 This is why Agrippa’s proposed program of spiritual rebirth and restoration puts so much

emphasis on chastity and corporal mortification, as discussed in previous chapters.530

The nature’s embrace: a Hermetic interpretation of the carnal copulation

Agrippa’s interpretation of the original sin and the fall poses several problems. First of all, it differs

notably from the account given in the De triplici ratione cognoscendi Deum in that there is no mention

of Satan and the fall of angels that preceded that of Adam. However, this is understandable if one bears

in mind that the German humanist sticks to the specific loci appearing in the Biblical accounts of man’s

fall, where the fallen angels are simply not mentioned.

More importantly, Agrippa’s allegorical exegesis, in the way he delineates it, suggests that he

actually departs from the personalized Biblical account of one Adam and one Eve, the predecessors of

humankind. If Adam represents fides (or mens, if faith is taken to represent the immaterial mind as I

suggest), Eve stands for ratio, and the serpent for sensualitas, in that case Agrippa’s allegory can be

read as a generalized account of the soul’s embodiment: every fallen soul passes through the same

process of faith shifting away from God towards the sensual realm. If so, it would be in tune with

Agrippa’s doctrine of ascension delineated in the De occulta philosophia, in which he pleads for a
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return to the primordial state of divine knowledge, power, and coexistence with the Summus Opifex

mentioned in the programmatic first sentence of that work. Followed to its furthest implications, this

528
De originali peccato, 557.
529
Ibid.
530
It is evident that Agrippa’s interpretation carries certain Augustinian traits, such as the overall emphasis on carnal desire
in relation to the original sin, or the treatment of concupiscentia in a metaphysical, not in a psychological sense; see, for
instance, Jesse Couenhoven, “St. Augustine’s Doctrine of Original Sin,” Augustinian Studies 36:2 (2005): 359–96, with an
overview of pertinent scholarship. However, as I show below, Agrippa parts from Augustine in many ways.

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 would mean that in the beginning every man was Adam; otherwise, what would be the point of a

“return” so often mentioned by the Nettesheimer?

Another problem is how to reconcile Agrippa’s allegorical interpretation of Adam, Eve, and the

serpent with his literal insistence on the sexual intercourse as the original sin. In my opinion, Agrippa’s

literal interpretation of the nature of the original sin conceals an allegorical one, based on Agrippa’s

Neoplatonic/Hermetic understanding of man.

As Marc van der Poel points out, Agrippa’s exegesis is strongly influenced by the Corpus

Hermeticum, especially its first discourse, the Pimander.531 I believe this influence is most pronounced

in Agrippa’s interpretation of sex. The Pimander speaks both of man’s creation and of his fall. From the

highly obscure and enigmatic account of man’s creation one comes to a conclusion that the primordial

man was a divine entity that fell from its position due to becoming lovers with nature.

As I already discussed in Chapter Three, in the Hermetic narrative of creation man is of the

same nature as his creator: God “gave birth to a man like himself” and man “had the father’s image.”532

The author of the discourse does not openly say that man was consubstantial with God, but this is

strongly implied by the context.533 In any case, he was immaterial and immortal. In addition, he was

gifted with almost the same privileges as his elder brother, the demiurge, but it appears that he was

somewhat envious of him: he “wished to break through the circumference of the circles to observe the

rule of the one given power over the fire” [i.e. the demiurge].534 This action resulted in the fall:
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[T]he man broke through the vault and stooped to look through the cosmic framework,

531
Van der Poel, Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian, 230–31, where he notes that “Agrippa involved the Pimander in his
reflections on the problem of Original Sin.”
532
Pimander 12 in Copenhaver, Hermetica, 3.
533
This attribute appears in CH I,10 in connection to another son of God, the demiurge (Copenhaver translates the word as
“craftsman”), who is actually man’s elder brother. The demiurge is consubstantial (ὁμοούσιος) with the Word of God,
which is not different from God himself. The demiurge, who is described as a second mind, creates seven governors, who
encompass the sensible world in circles and preside over them. He sets into circular motion the entire cosmic machinery, as
a result of which the lower levels of the world are created and populated with living things. (CH I, 9–11 in Copenhaver,
Hermetica, 3; see also note ad I.13 in ibid., 108.)
534
Ibid.

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 thus displaying to lower nature the fair form of god. Nature smiled for love when she
saw him … who holds in himself all the energy of the governors and the form of god,
for in the water she saw the shape of the man’s fairest form and upon the earth its
shadow. When the man saw in the water the form like himself as it was in nature, he
loved it and wished to inhabit it; wish and action came in the same moment, and he
inhabited the unreasoning form. Nature took hold of her beloved, hugged him all about
and embraced him, for they were lovers.535

Marsilio Ficino’s translation, which was available to Agrippa, differs from Copenhaver’s in one detail

only: according to Ficino, after he broke through the vault, man “displayed [his] nature, which fell from

above, as a fair form of god” (ostenditque naturam, que deorsum labitur, velut pulchram dei

formam).536 Apart from this, Ficino’s rendering of the passage corresponds to Copenhaver’s, which

means that Agrippa could read how the primeval man “came to love it [i.e. his reflection] and desired

to associate with it” (amavit eam secumque congredi concupivit). Ficino here uses a verb loaded with

theological significance (concupivit—the perfect tense of concupiscere, from which the noun

concupiscentia is derived), and the rest of the passage carries an even more pronounced sexual

imagery: “Nature also embraced that to which she was driven with all her love, she deeply permeated it

and united with it” (Natura quoque illud, in quod tota ferebatur amore, complexa, illi penitus sese

implicuit atque commiscuit).537 Ficino’s verb commiscere renders the Greek original μείγνυμι.538 Both

were commonly used to denote sexual intercourse in Classical Greek and Latin. Several lines below,

Agrippa could also read how “nature made love with man” (natura homini sese immiscens).539

Based on this, it is safe to conclude that the German humanist interprets the original sin largely
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through the lenses of the Corpus Hermeticum. Man’s fall was a consequence of his loving embrace

with nature, born out of his curiosity and a tinge of envy towards the superior being (in CH, the

535
CH I, 14 in ibid., 3. Italics mine.
536
Campanelli, Pimander, 11. Ficino’s reading of this locus is also noted in the apparatus criticus of Gustav Parthey’s
Greek edition, Poemaner 7, n. 3.4.
537
Campanelli, Pimander, 11–12.
538
Poemander, 7.
539
CH I,16 in Copenhaver, Hermetica, 4; Campanelli, Pimander, 12. The Greek original uses a compound of the same verb,
with the identical sexual connotation: ἡ γὰρ φύσις ἐπιμιγεῖσα τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ (Poemander, 8).

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 demiurge). Furthermore, his explanation of the repercussions of the fall equally relies on the Hermetic

account, as already shown in his Dialogus de homine: at that moment, the divine light which held all

the elements together and secured man’s immortality withdrew from him. “[T]he restraints were

loosened and the humors became disharmonious, and at that moment innumerable diseases and sins,

the causes of diseases, came into being and man became subject to death as a result of his sin.” 540 In

the Dialogus de homine Agippa also stresses that “man embraced the body” (corpus amplectens), but

in that work he goes a step further by adding that precisely through the act of embracing the body man

disobeyed God’s command.541 As Van der Poel suggests, most probably CH I,18–19 provided the key

reference for this notion: “[D]esire is the cause of death,” says Poemandres. “[T]he one who loved the

body that came from the error of desire goes on in darkness, errant, suffering sensibly the effects of

death.”542

It should be mentioned, however, that CH I,18 also portrays the primeval man as androgynous

and that the fall resulted in the separation between the sexes. Van der Poel seems to think that this was

also Agrippa’s position.543 In his famous “feminist” treatise De nobilitate et praecellentia foeminei

sexus Agrippa does allude to God’s androgyny echoing the Asclepius, 20–21, but neither in the

Dialogus de homine nor in the De originali peccato does he mention the primeval man’s androgyny.544

After all, if the primeval man had been androgynous, the very idea of sexual intercourse would have
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540
Agrippa, Dialogus de homine, 55v. The translation is given in Van der Poel, Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian, 231.
See also Hanegraaff, “Better Than Magic,” 19–20, who also adduces Lodovico Lazzarelli’s Crater Hermetis as one of the
sources of Agrippa’s interpretation of man’s fall.
541
Agrippa, Dialogus de homine, 55v. One could thus conclude that this work betrays Agrippa’s anti-corporal attitude more
openly than the De originali peccato, which is, after all, a piece of Biblical exegesis and therefore expected to be more in
tune with—or at least less at odds than—the mainstream Christian doctrines.
542
Copenhaver, Hermetica, 4; see also Van der Poel, Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian, 231.
543
See, for instance, Van der Poel, Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian, 50, 200, 230.
544
God’s “fecundity of both sexes” is also mentioned by Lazzarelli in the Crater Hermetis 25.1, which was most probably
Agrippa’s main source for this idea in addition to the Asclepius: see Hanegraaff, Bouthoorn, Lodovico Lazzarelli, 70.
Hanegraaff, loc. cit., also seems to think that Lazzarelli believed in the primeval man’s androgyny. However, from the
premise that “[b]eing created in God’s image, Man … is likewise ‘furnished with the fecundity of both sexes’” does not
follow that the primeval man was androgyne. It can simply refer to the coexistence of two separate sexes.

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 been absurd. On the contrary, it is obvious that Agrippa conveniently omits this detail in his reading of

the Hermetic narrative of the fall.

One other aspect in which the German humanist significantly modifies his Hermetic role model

is putting the main emphasis on the carnal aspects of sexual intercourse. Although the Pimander points

to carnality with all its miseries as the main consequence of the fall, it does not treat man’s “loving

embrace with nature” as an act of carnal copulation. The Hermetic “man” and “nature” can only be

construed as different hypostases of the Divine and in that sense their engaging in sexual intercourse is

better interpreted as a kind of cosmological ἱερὸς γάμος than as mere carnal sex.545 As Van der Poel

hints, the reasons for Agrippa’s over-interpretation of the Hermetic idea of copulation might be hidden

in possible Gnostic—and particularly Cathar—influences, but this question surpasses the scope of my

thesis. Perhaps it is not even necessary to go too far in searching for such influences: the Corpus

Hermeticum itself is replete with clear instances of anti-corporeal (or, more precisely, anti-carnal)

attitudes.546

SPIRITUAL REGENERATION

In his comparative analysis of Agrippa’s Dialogus de homine and De originali peccato on the one side

and Lodovico Lazzarelli’s Crater Hermetis on the other, Wouter Hanegraaff convincingly argues that

the German’s understanding of man’s fall, of gnosis and spiritual regeneration, and of the Corpus
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Hermeticum in general depend to a considerable extent on his Italian predecessor.547 To support his

thesis, Hanegraaff cites loci from Agrippa’s writings that are direct borrowings from Lazzarelli. For

545
Based on the Crater Hermetis 6.2 and 14.3, Wouter Hanegraaff suggests (but does not further develop that thought) that
Lazzarelli too could have understood the original sin as sexual intercourse, in which case he was the direct source for
Agrippa’s interpretation: see Hanegraaff, Bouthoorn, Lodovico Lazzarelli, 211, n. 100, and 185, n.38.
546
Especially Discourses I, IV, and VII. See also Copenhaver, Hermetica, 93–124 for his discussion on possible
Manichaean, Mandaean, and other Gnostic influences on the Corpus Hermeticum.
547
Hanegraaff, “Better Than Magic,” 5–25.

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 instance, Agrippa’s explanation of man’s loss of immortality as a consequence of the withdrawal of the

divine light is explicated in the Crater Hermetis, 15.2–16.3.548 The same goes for Lazzarelli’s

interpretation of the tree of life, which he interprets as “the contemplation and knowledge of things

divine,”549 although the two Christian Hermetists diverge in their understanding of the tree of good and

evil: whereas for Lazzarelli it means focusing on created things in the most general way, it is a far more

specific metaphor for Agrippa, as I discussed above.

Lazzarelli and Agrippa are different kinds of thinkers and writers in several respects. Unlike the

Italian, Agrippa does not display clear elements of messianism in his ideas. On the contrary,

temporality plays a minor role in his thought. Furthermore, the elements of Neoplatonic teachings, such

as emanation and the dichotomy of body and soul, are much more pronounced in Agrippa. Finally, the

German’s works are conceived as theoretical treatises, whereas Lazzarelli presents himself in the

Crater Hermetis as divinely inspired and fashions his work after the literary role model of the Corpus

Hermetis: through the very act of dialogue he initiates his interlocutors into the mysteries of his own

personal revelation.550 However, it is beyond doubt that Agrippa’s reading of the Hermetica was

considerably influenced by Lazzarelli, and this is best seen in their notions of spiritual rebirth or

regeneration.551

Two kinds of generation. Spiritual rebirth

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In his examination of the Dialogus de homine and De originali peccato Wouter Hanegraaff makes the

following observation: “The implication [of Agrippa’s conviction that original sin consisted of the

548
Hanegraaff, Bouthoorn, Lodovico Lazzarelli, 213–17. See also Hanegraaff’s discussion, ibid., 67.
549
Ibid., 64.
550
Ibid., 61–62: “[T]he ‘enormous being’ Poemandres, who had once appeared to Hermes in a vision, had in fact been no
one less than Christ himself, later known in his incarnate form as Jesus. In a similar manner Poimandres-Christ has now
taken up residence in Lazzarelli, and has illuminated his mind. (…) Having been illuminated in the same manner as Hermes
himself, Lazzarelli now claims equal spiritual authority, as a master who can initiate others in turn.” This high posture is
entirely absent in Agrippa.
551
In all likelihood, Agrippa came across Lazzarelli’s work during his stay in Paris, where he could read the 1505 edition of
the Crater Hermetis published by Jacques Lefèvre d’Etaples.

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 sexual act] is that Agrippa systematically juxtaposed two kinds of ‘generation’: a carnal one leading to

death, and a spiritual one leading to immortality.”552 Indeed, in opposition to generatio imperfecta or

generatio mortis the German humanist emphasizes the notion of mysterium regenerationis.553 He

expresses it in the most Christian terms:

Therefore, God the Lord and Father … sent to us his only-begotten Son, our Lord Jesus
Christ, who suffered and died for our sins. … For surely, he has recovered us from the
fall and gave us back the perpetual life through the mystery of regeneration, which has
been lying hidden in mankind all along.

Hinc dominus deus pater … misit nobis unigenitum filium suum, dominum nostrum
hiesum christum, qui passus est, mortuus est pro peccatis nostris. … Ipse namque
reparavit lapsum, retulitque vitam perpetuam per regenerationis misterium, quod in
illum usque humanum genus latuit.554

However, as I already pointed out in my analysis of the Dialogus de homine,555 Agrippa’s

understanding of Christ’s redemptive role is hardly in line with the mainstream theological doctrines.

To remind the reader, he interprets Christ’s cross as “this material body, which we wear as a sort of

cross. We should get rid of it and leave it, so that we could return to the pristine immortality together

with Christ.”556 When read in relation to the De originali peccato (especially as these two works are

separated by only two or three years and make a distinct group in the German’s opus), it leaves no

room for doubt that Agrippa’s notion of spiritual ascension and salvation implies the abandonment of

the material body. This is clearly his position in the Dialogus de homine, whereas in the De originali
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peccato he does not openly advocate this idea but exhibits strong animosity towards carnality.

Yet, whether it implies the abandonment of body or not—a question I discuss below—it is

552
Hanegraaff, “Better Than Magic,” 20. This notion, of course, goes back to Plato’s Symposium, 180, where he
differentiates between the heavenly (urania) and earthly (pandemos) Aphrodite.
553
Agrippa, Dialogus de homine, 56r–56v. This idea also first appears in the Crater Hermetis (14.3), where Lazzarelli
distinguishes between material and spiritual procreation: see Hanegraaff, Bouthoorn, Lodovico Lazzarelli, 209–11.
554
Ibid., 56r. Translation mine.
555
Chapter Three, 118–21.
556
Agrippa, Dialogus de homine, 57v: quo crux nil aliud est quam corpus hoc materiale, quod in similitudine crucis geritur.
Hoc nos abnegare et relinquere oportet, ut cum christo ad pristina mortalitatem revertamur. Translation mine.

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 evident that the terms ascension and spiritual regeneration in Agrippa and Lazzarelli reflect their idea

of salvation and that they are based on the notion of γνῶσις as a direct, revelatory knowledge of the self

and God. In the broadest sense of that phrase, spiritual regeneration implies a reversal of the primordial

fall. Lazzarelli views it as a process of mystical contemplation that ushers in personal revelation and the

state of ecstasy and love in which the individual comes to know God and oneself. 557 According to

Hanegraaff, this process has very little to do with magic taken in whichever of its definitions, just as

the Corpus Hermeticum itself hardly deals with magic at all.558 Likewise, in the opening chapters of the

third book of De occulta philosophia the contemplation of God plays a key role in the magician’s

preparations for the ascent.559 Following his Italian predecessor, Agrippa too views spiritual ascension

as a process based on individual revelation taking place during one’s lifetime, not upon death, as it

happened to Hermes, who was enlightened by merely listening to Poimandres. This amounts to what

Ioan Petru Culianu terms cathartic ascension as opposed to eschatological ascension; 560 the latter

concept is represented in the Christian doctrine of the Last Judgment, when Christ comes in his glory

and the truth of each man’s relationship with God is manifested.

One remarkable aspect of spiritual regeneration as understood by Lazzarelli is the regenerated

man’s power to create living souls. Above all other powers that he comes to share with God is fertility,

God’s life-giving power.561 The inborn fertility of man’s divine mind enables him to give birth to a

“divine offspring” (divinam sobolem), that is, to procreate spiritually and generate new divine
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557
Hanegraaff, Bouthoorn, Lodovico Lazzarelli, 67–71. For a detailed analysis of the Hermetic concept of personal
revelation and regeneration, which shaped Lazzarelli’s and, to a somewhat lesser extent, Agrippa’s understanding of it, see
Hanegraaff, “Altered States of Knowledge,” 133–58.
558
Hanegraaff, “Better Than Magic,” 1–5. Speaking of Lazzarelli’s and Agrippa’s use of the Corpus Hermeticum, he
remarks: “We are not dealing here with the straightforward case of a magical text…, but rather with an innovative
interpretation of a nonmagical text, resulting in a new perspective on how the attainment of a superior gnosis implies the
acquisition of superhuman powers” (ibid., 2). Concerning Agrippa’s application of the ancient text, I beg to disagree: as I
discussed at legth in Chapter Four, Agrippa’s approach is decisively magical.
559
See III, 1–7, DOP 402–18, Tyson 441–58. See also my discussion at the end of Chapter Four.
560
See Culianu, Psychanodia I, 10–15.
561
Hanegraaff, Bouthoorn, Lodovico Lazzarelli, 68–75.

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 beings.562 This is Lazzarelli’s interpretation and further development of the well-known “god-making”

passage in the Asclepius, 23–24 and 37–38, in which Hermes describes to Asclepius the ancient

Egyptian practice by which the priests drew down the cosmic powers into their temple statues and thus

enlivened them.563 Agrippa accepts this interpretation, as evident from the fact that in DOP III 36 he

quotes from the Crater Hermetis 27.1 (and openly refers to Lazzarelli, which he rarely does with his

contemporaries).564 Speaking of man’s ability to “bring forth gods,” Agrippa regards it as the supreme

mystery revealed by Jesus Christ himself.

It is worth noting that Vittoria Perrone Compagni and Wouter Hanegraaff interpret the magical

power of the regenerated man in Agrippa’s perspective as a result of man’s assimilation into God, not

as the instrument for attaining it.565 On this basis Perrone Compagni criticizes Christopher Lehrich for

apparently claiming the opposite: “in essence,” says Lehrich, “the claim is that divine frenzy and

ecstasy are produced by the very techniques—elevated to their highest forms, to be sure—of demonic

magic!”566 Since this question pertains to the very nature of magical power, it merits some

consideration.

According to Perrone Compagni, magical power comes as a ripe fruit in the process of

deification, that is, as an indicator or “proof” that the magus has achieved the state of union with God.

Hanegraaff’s agreement with her view is based on his analysis of the “soul-making” passages in

Lazzarelli and Agrippa. On the other hand, Lehrich’s conclusion is based on his analysis of the way
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Agrippa treats the “four divine frenzies”—the altered states of consciousness achieved through the rites

of ceremonial magic. These frenzies are hierarchically organized and thus gradually provide the

562
Crater Hermetis, 21.4, in Hanegraaff, Bouthoorn, Lodovico Lazzarelli, 130–31.
563
Ibid., 72–75.
564
DOP 513, Tyson 582. See also Hanegraaff, “Better Than Magic,” 9–14, for a detailed comparative analysis of Agrippa’s
and Lazzarelli’s texts.
565
Perrone Compagni, Ermetismo e Cristianesimo, 20 n. 38: “il potere magico, insomma, è la conseguenza dell’
assimilazione a Dio, non il suo strumento.” Hanegraaff concurs with her in “Better Than Magic,” 13–14.
566
Lehrich, The Language of Demons and Angels, 195. Italics mine.

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 magician with the power of prophesying and, ultimately, divine knowledge.567

My own position is that there is room for both interpretations and that they are not mutually

exclusive. The problem lies in the precise qualification of “magical power.” Hanegraaff is aware of this

and adds that “it should be specified that the power of the regenerated man is actually the divine power

of creation, not magical power as commonly understood.”568 In that case, however, one operates with a

concept of magical power that is significantly narrowed down. Based on my own reading of Agrippa, I

suggest that there is a whole range of phenomena that can be labeled as “magical powers” and that

one’s assessment of these phenomena depends on precisely what level or form of magical power one

takes into consideration.

It is a fact that Agrippa views the highest forms of miracle-working (such as soul-making) as

indicators of one’s deified position. This is how in DOP III 6 he explains the miracles of the Biblical

prophets and apostles: “So the prophets, apostles, and the rest, were famous by the wonderful power of

God” (sic prophetae, sic Apostoli, sic caeteri viri Dei maximis claruere potentiis).569 Moreover, this is

the benchmark against which he measures the degree of corruption of the Church leaders in his time: if

they are unable to perform miraculous works like the prophets and the apostles, it means they no longer

possess the pure and spiritual knowledge of the Revelation.570

There is a remarkable parallel in this regard, which is all the more worth mentioning since it

resembles the soul-making miracle discussed by Lazzarelli and Agrippa. It is the notion of soul-making
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in the Jewish idea of the golem as interpreted by Gershom Scholem. In brief, Scholem suggests that

golem-making was used as a test for proving one’s already achieved closeness to God: “To the

567
Ibid., 193–96. Agrippa actually adopts this concept from Marsilio Ficino, who, of course, takes it over from Plato and
delineates it in his argumentum to the Latin translation of Ion. Lehrich notes that “it is not explicit that the lower degrees or
kinds of frenzy are prerequisites for the higher,” but Ficino himself makes this hierarchical structure explicit: see Putnik,
Plato Ficinianus, 176–80.
568
“Better Than Magic,” 14.
569
DOP 455, Tyson 414.
570
De triplici ratione VI, 16. See also Nauert, Agrippa, 207, and Putnik, The Pious Impiety, 35–36.

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 Hasidim the creation of a golem confirmed man in his likeness to God.”571 In other words, to be able to

draw life down into a clay form, a rabbi was already supposed to be deified. The successful creation of

a golem simply confirmed the rabbi’s exalted status. This parallel bears evident similarities with

Perrone Compagni’s and Hanegraaff’s thesis that the “true” magical power comes after deification.

However, Scholem views the practice of golem-making as eminently magical: “The Hasidim seem to

have regarded the magic…as a natural faculty with which man within certain limits is endowed. (…)

Thus magical knowledge is not a perversion, but a pure and sacred knowledge which belongs to man as

God’s image.”572 In this sense, Scholem’s understanding of the soul-making practice as magical

approaches Lehrich’s position, contra Perrone Compagni and Hanegraaff, who appear to downplay to

role of magical rituals in the process of deification.

It is clear from Agrippa’s overall discussion of magic in the De occulta philosophia that he

speaks of a variety of practices, techniques, and powers. I examined some of them in Chapter Four.573

And although many of these practices and powers do not qualify as theurgy in the Reuchlinian sense of

that word, at least some of them are meant as exercises—a sort of praeparatio theurgica—for the

magician in his gradual ascent. I already argued that gradualness or successiveness was an important

principle in the De occulta philosophia: the magician is supposed to rise through all the three levels of

magic.574 And, no doubt, he moves towards his ultimate goal by means of magic, at least in Agrippa’s,

if not Lazzarelli’s, perspective. On his ascending path, he employs various magical operations that
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571
Gershom Scholem, On the Kabbalah and Its Symbolism, tr. Ralph Manheim (New York: Schocken Books, 1965), 181.
Italics mine. The whole discussion is on pp. 158–204.
572
Ibid., 174.
573
See p. 161–69. An example could be the evil eye used by witches. Agrippa undoubtedly views it as a magical power too,
although vastly different from the powers conferred upon the magician through theurgical rites. There are many other types
of powers mentioned in the De occulta philosophia: curing or inflicting diseases, foretelling the future, subjugating the
incorporeal entities to the magician’s will, and so on.
574
E.g. DOP I, 2: magic embraces, unites, and actuates physics (i. e. natural philosophy), mathematics, and theology. DOP
II, 1: the magician must rely on mathematics, otherwise he operates in vain. DOP III, 1: religion is a necessary ingreditent
of magic. If Agrippa had not been guided by the principles of unity and gradualness, he would have probably never written
Books One and Two.

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 result in various powers. In this sense Lehrich is right in claiming that the Agrippan magus achieves the

altered states of consciousness through various techniques. It is not in contradiction to my opinion that,

for Agrippa, religious magic or theurgy is the core of all magic; it simply means that, despite his

hierarchical scheme and personal preferences, he does not downgrade or discard the lower types of

magic.

A crucial argument for this claim is Agrippa’s important warning against operating only through

religion before one has reached the level of pure intellect:

[N]o man can work by pure religion alone, unless he is made entirely intellectual; but
whoever, without the mixture of other powers, works by religion alone, if he perseveres
long in the work, is swallowed up by the divine power and cannot live long.

[N]emo potest operari per puram et solam religionem, nisi qui totus factus est
intellectualis. Quicunque autem sine admixtione aliarum virtutum per solam religionem
operatur, si diu perseveraverit in opera, absorbetur a numine nec diu poterit vivere.575

This is indeed a strong statement, put forth in a straightforward way not so usual for Agrippa. In my

opinion, it acquires its full meaning in the conceptual framework of Agrippa’s anthropology as

delineated in my work. Hence, to be made “entirely intellectual” means to reach the unification of

mens, ratio, and idolum, that is, to achieve deification. Agrippa is clearly skeptical about the average

magician’s ability to reach that level in a foreseeable future and thus he recommends using “the

mixture of other powers,” which means nothing else but combining theurgy with the lower forms of

magic. In other words, according to Agrippa, only the “entirely intellectual,” deified magician can
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perform miracles such as creating souls. All the others must be content with practicing various mixed

types of magic until they have reached spiritual rebirth.

The Christian ingredient

In addition to relying on the Hermetica and Lodovico Lazzarelli, Agrippa bases his view on spiritual

575
III, 6, DOP 414–15, Tyson 455.

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 regeneration on the Christian doctrine of spiritual rebirth as delineated in the Gospels. As Michael

Keefer points out, the Hermetic-Christian doctrine of spiritual rebirth is a nodal point in Agrippa’s

thought.576 It is evidently important to him to connect the two doctrines in order to lend an air of

scriptural authority to his heterodox convictions. Thus in the De triplici ratione cognoscendi Deum, in

a passage strongly marked by his anti-carnal attitude,577 Agrippa refers to the expression “to be born

again from God” found in John 3:3: “Jesus answered and said unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto thee,

Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.”

The same phrase appears in John 3:7: “Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again.”

This is in reply to Nicodemus the Pharisee, who wonders how can a man enter his mother’s womb and

be born again. Jesus explains that being born again means being born of the Spirit. One finds a similar

expression in 1 Peter 1:23: “Being born again, not of corruptible seed, but of incorruptible, by the word

of God, which liveth and abideth for ever.”

However, Agrippa’s comment on the Johannine reference reveals a profoundly Hermetic and

Neoplatonic understanding of this concept:

Therefore, John says that such a soul is “born again from God,” inasmuch as the light of
the supreme God―just like the ray of the Sun, which diminishes its body and turns into
a fiery nature―flows down through angelic minds all the way to our soul and daily
stimulates the soul immersed in the body to strip off all her carnality, leave all her
animal and rational potencies and functions and, living solely by the mind, adorned with
hope, directed by faith, burning with love, wholly turned towards God … become a son
of God.
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Ideo huiusmodi animam Ioannes ait “nasci iterum ex Deo”, siquidem Dei summi
lumen—quemadmodum radius solis, corpus attenuans et in igneam convertens
naturam—per mentes angelicas usque ad animam nostram defluens, instigat quotidie
animam carni immersam, ut denudata ab omni carnalitate deponat omnes potentias
operationesque animales et rationales, ac sola mente vivens, spe decora, fide directa,
amore flagrans, tota ad Deum conversa…fiat Dei filius.578

576
Keefer, “Agrippa’s Dilemma,” 620.
577
De triplici ratione cognoscendi Deum V,16 in Perrone Compagni, Ermetismo e Cristianesimo, 144.
578
Ibid., 144. Translation and italics in the translation mine.

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 Here, like in numerous other instances discussed so far, one finds an explicit reference to the Hermetic

“stripping off the tunic of one’s body.” Moreover, the idea of the soul leaving the animal and rational

potencies and continuing to live solely by the mind clearly reveals the basic Neoplatonic tenet of

Agrippa’s anthropology examined in my work: the lower levels of the soul are supposed to move

upwards and unite with mens, the “true soul.” It is thus crucial to note that Agrippa defines the

Christian concept of spiritual rebirth by referring to the Hermetic notion of disembodiment and the

Neoplatonic notion of obtaining the divine mind.

The way Agrippa interprets John’s words is remarkable. He flatly ignores the common Christian

understanding of spiritual rebirth as the beginning of a new life, formally marked by Holy Communion,

but essentially achieved through μετάνοια, an inner spiritual conversion or transformation.579 To be

born again is to begin anew in Christ; it implies developing an entirely new nature.580 A classical

reference is Colossians 3:9–10: “Lie not one to another, seeing that ye have put off the old man with his

deeds; And have put on the new man, which is renewed in knowledge after the image of him that

created him.”581 The same idea is conveyed in Romans 12:2: “And be not conformed to this world: but

be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable,

and perfect, will of God.”582 In other words, the common doctrinal understanding of spiritual rebirth

implies an immersion in imitatio Christi so strong that it ultimately changes one’s inner nature.
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579
On the concept of μετάνοια see Edward J Anton, Repentance: A Cosmic Shift of Mind and Heart (Waltham, MA:
Discipleship Publications, 2005); Mark J. Boda and Gordon T. Smith, eds., Repentance in Christian Theology (Collegeville,
Minnesota: Michael Glazier, 2006). The Latin Fathers translated it as paenitentia, thus narrowing down the meaning of the
Greek term.
580
It is interesting to note that the adverb denuo (again) in John 3:3 and 3:7 corresponds to ἄνοθεν in the Greek original,
which has a double meaning in Latin: denuo (“again”) and desuper (“from above”). Therefore, a Christian is both born
again and born from above. The Vulgate translation—and, consequently, Agrippa himself—put entire emphasis on the
denuo-aspect of the Greek word.
581
The Greek and Latin words rendered here as “knowledge” are ἐπίγνωσις and agnitio.
582
It is interesting to note that the words “the renewing of your mind,” appearing in various English versions, render the
Vulgate phrase novitate sensus vestri, thus conveying an understanding of the basic anthropological terms which is
evidently different from Agrippa’s.

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 Гνῶσις and power

Agrippa takes up the Christian concept of rebirth and modifies it by adding the above-discussed

Hermetic notion of the sudden and individual attainment of γνῶσις as further developed by Lodovico

Lazzarelli. However, regarding Agrippa’s and Lazzarelli’s understanding of what exactly this kind of

rebirth implies, one realizes that the border is rather thin: it is evident that various forms of Christian

mysticism based on the idea of μετάνοια—which can be regarded as a Christian variant of cathartic

ascension—imply similar elements. A Christian mystic has revelatory visions, states of rapture, and

various other extraordinary experiences. Among numerous cases, it will suffice to mention the

examples of Hildegard of Bingen or Mechthild of Magdeburg with their visions of the divine.

However, what clearly differentiates Agrippa’s understanding of spiritual rebirth from the

Christian one is insistence on a conscious effort on the magician’s part, as well as an emphasis on

attaining divine powers. Commonly, mystical revelations in Christianity take place as spontaneous

occurrences, they are not sought for, and they certainly do not center on the premeditated idea of

gaining supernatural powers. On the other hand, Agrippa openly weds γνῶσις with power by claiming

that both are obtained simultaneously (and suddenly) in the process of ascension.583 One will remember

his bold and extraordinary attribution of the epithet “supercelestial Bacchus” to Christ,584 an epithet

that he chose on account of Dionysus being twice born. It is important to note that in that same

passage, where he designates God as “the author of regeneration,” Agrippa gives an indicative
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description of those who have undergone spiritual rebirth: such persons far excel all the others

(homines caeteros praecellit), and it is clear from the context that their excellence consists of divine

knowledge and power.

583
III 3, DOP 408, Tyson 449: “[T]he divine knowledge and power take place immediately” (subito adest divina cognitio
atque potestas). On the significance of the adverb subito (“immediately,” “suddenly”) as a possible indicator for a sudden
change of consciousness linked to the attainment of γνῶσις see Chapter Four, 171–73.
584
III 1, DOP 403, Tyson 441; see Chapter Four, 176–78.

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 In the De occulta philosophia III, 36 Agrippa presents self-knowledge, divine powers, and

personal transformation as tightly connected and interdependent:

And Geber in his Sum of Alchemy teaches that no man can come to the perfection of this
art if he does not come to know its principles in himself. The more one knows himself,
the greater power of attracting he obtains and performs greater and more wonderful
things, and ascends to such a great perfection that he is made the son of God and
transformed into that image which is God, and is united with him.

Et Geber in Summa Alchymiae docet neminem ad eius artis perfectionem pervenire

posse, qui illius principia in seipso non cognoverit: quanto autem magis quisque
seipsum cognoscet, tanto maiorem vim attrahendi consequitur tantoque maiora et
mirabiliora operatur ad tantamque ascendat perfectionem quod efficitur filius Dei
transformaturque in eandem imaginem quae est Deus et cum ipso unitur.585

As I discussed above, the idea that ascension to God is naturally accompanied by the rise of powers

leads Agrippa to establish a stunning criterion for assessing the level of one’s spiritual development:

since for an illuminated man it is natural to perform “wonderful things,” this is how the miracles of the

prophets and the apostles should be explained. I discuss such a highly unorthodox understanding of

piety in the second part of this chapter, below.

Again: what about the body?

It remains to be examined how Agrippa’s concept of spiritual rebirth or regeneration relates to the

physical body. I already discussed this problem at some length, but the final conclusion still remains

elusive. On the one hand, it appears that Agrippa, as demonstrated in a number of passages quoted
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above, flatly rejects the significance and role of body in the process of ascension or regeneration. On

the other, his attitude in some instances does not seem to be unequivocally anti-corporeal. The reader

will remember that in the Dialogus de homine Agrippa claims that man as a whole, and not his soul, is

the image of God.586 In that dialogue he also defines man as a unity of rational soul and body, in the

585
DOP 509, Tyson 580. Geber: the Latinized name of Abu Mūsā Jābir ibn Hayyān (fl. c. 721 – c. 815), an Arabic
polymath and writer.
586
Agrippa, Dialogus de homine, 49v. See Chapter Three, 118–21.

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 same way as Christ is God and man in one. The physical body participates in similitude with God,

which is attested by the incarnation of Christ. Furthermore, in his discussion in the De occulta

philosophia on the post mortem fate of ratio Agrippa makes a puzzling remark about it being doomed

to disappear “unless it be restored in the circuit of its new body” (nisi in novi corporis circuitu

restauretur).587

Finally, both in the Dialogus de homine and the De originali peccato Agrippa mentions the first

man’s immaterial body, which was corrupted by sin and hence lost its immortality previously

maintained by the divine light.588 In other words, there are indications that Agrippa comprehends the

complexity of the problem of corporeality by attempting to discern, albeit vaguely and inconsistently,

between corpus and caro (that is, σῶμα and σάρξ). What he undoubtedly rejects is caro, the flesh,

which he—quite traditionally—sees as the source of material bondage. But what about corpus?

In DOP III 36, which discusses the creation of man in the image of God, one comes across an

enigmatic statement. Having explained that the purpose of ascension is achieving a mystical union with

God, Agrippa adds:

When man is united with God, all things which are in man are united, especially his
mind, then his spirits and animal powers, and vegetative faculty, and the elements
including even the matter, drawing with itself even the body in which form it existed,
leading it forth into a better condition and a heavenly nature, even until it be glorified
into immortality. And this, as we have already said, is a gift peculiar to man.

Homine autem Deo unito, uniuntur omnia quae in homine sunt, mens inprimis, deinde
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spiritus et animales vires vegetandique vis et elementa usque ad materiam, trahens

secum etiam corpus, cuius forma extitit, deducens illud in meliorem sortem et coelestem
naturam, quousque glorificetur in immortalitatem: et hoc (quod iam diximus) est
peculiare hominis donum.589

In other words, the process of obtaining the divine mind—by which the lower parts of soul are united

with mens—is an integral part of a broader process: that of man’s uniting with God. The German

587
III 44, DOP 542, Tyson 613. See Chapter Three, 140.
588
Agrippa, De originali peccato, in Opera II, 556; Dialogus de homine, 50v–51r.
589
III 36, DOP 509, Tyson 580. Italics in the translation mine.

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 humanist here views it as gradual spiritualization whereby that which is closest in essence to God

(mens) is united first, being followed by ratio (termed spiritus in this passage) and idolum (animales

vires vegetandique vis). What strikes the eye is that the process includes the body itself: it can be

uplifted, spiritualized and immortalized. It reads almost as a kind of reverse emanation.

Could this statement be an indication that Agrippa does not fully reject the Christian doctrine of

the bodily resurrection? Could he have in mind a spiritualization of the physical body that would result

in something equivalent to St. Paul’s σῶμα πνευματικόν, a spiritual body received at the

resurrection?590 In the biographical section of this work I mention that the young Agrippa studied the

Epistles of St. Paul with John Colet in London. Moreover, during his stay in Italy, along with lecturing

on the Pimander and writing the De triplici ratione cognoscendi Deum and Dialogus de homine,

Agrippa authored a commentary on Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, which was eventually lost.591 One

could only speculate as to why he decided to comment on that particular epistle. Having become

absorbed in topics such as sin and carnality—as evident by his surviving writings from that time—he

could have found some statements of particular interest in Romans 8:1–13.592 Moreover, this epistle

conveys a more negative attitude toward the body: while in Paul’s previous epistles it was mainly

viewed as ethically neutral, in the Romans he sees it as determined by sin, calls it “the body of sin”

(corpus peccati, 6:6) and “the body of death” (corpus mortis, 7:24).593

Refraining from further speculation on Agrippa’s possible motives for choosing that particular
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590
1 Cor 15:44.
591
It was lost once, then found, and finally lost again: see Chapter One, 39, and n. 72. Agrippa quotes Paul quite frequently
in the De occulta philosophia too: Perrone Compagni, DOP 640, s.v. Paulus apostolus, has identified more than twenty such
instances. On Agrippa’s use of quotes from Paul see my paper “To Be Born (Again) from God,” 150–53.
592
“There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the
Spirit. (…) For they that are after the flesh do mind the things of the flesh; but they that are after the Spirit the things of the
Spirit. (…) For to be carnally minded is death; but to be spiritually minded is life and peace. Because the carnal mind is
enmity against God: for it is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be. So then they that are in the flesh cannot
please God. But ye are not in the flesh, but in the Spirit, if so be that the Spirit of God dwell in you” etc.
593
See also Joachim Gnilka, Theologie des Neuen Testaments (Freiburg im Breisgau: Verlag Herder Freiburg im Breisgau,
1994), 36. Gnilka notes that in the Romans the use of the word “body” tends to overlap with that of “flesh.”

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 epistle, I can add that the above-quoted statements on the spiritualization of body and a “new body”

stand conspicuously alone in the De occulta philosophia, with hardly any other statement to compare

to. He does occasionally mention the Last Judgment and the resurrection of the dead (especially in

DOP III 41), but he does so in the context of examining other writers’ affirmative opinions (mainly the

early Church Fathers) and it is almost impossible to extract his own opinion on the subject simply by

relying on his overview.594

St. Paul’s teachings about the new man and the spiritual body in all likelihood influenced

Agrippa’s own understanding of these issues. Yet, this influence did not come in the form of Agrippa’s

full acceptance of the apostle’s teachings, but rather as a precious scriptural confirmation for his own

eclectic ideas. This becomes evident if one closely examines Paul’s notions on corporeality, death, and

redemption.

Paul’s notions of the “old man” and the “new man” play a key role in the context of spiritual

rebirth. In Colossians 3:9–11 he says: “Lie not one to another, seeing that ye have put off the old man

with his deeds; And have put on the new man, which is renewed in knowledge after the image of him

that created him: Where there is neither Greek nor Jew, circumcision nor uncircumcision, Barbarian,

Scythian, bond nor free: but Christ is all, and in all.”595 Another well-known passage is Ephesians

4:22–24: “That ye put off concerning the former conversation the old man, which is corrupt according

to the deceitful lusts; And be renewed in the spirit of your mind; And that ye put on the new man,
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594
Having mentioned the opinions of Irenaeus of Lyon, Lactantius Firmianus, Ambrose and others, he opts to remain
inconclusive: “Seeing that all these things are of an incomprehensible obscurity … I affirm that it is better to doubt
concerning occult things than to contend about uncertain things. (…) How [these things] are to be understood, it is hardly
found out by the modest searcher, but never by the contentious one” (Tyson, 600).
595
Nolite mentiri invicem expoliantes vos veterem hominem cum actibus eius et induentes novum eum qui renovatur in
agnitionem secundum imaginem eius qui creavit eum ubi non est gentilis et Iudaeus circumcisio et praeputium barbarus et
Scytha servus et liber sed omnia in omnibus Christus.

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 which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness.”596

Clearly, being renewed in the spirit of one’s mind and putting on the new man that apparently

abolishes one’s terrestrial identity (Greek, Jew, barbarian, slave, etc.) resemble some of Agrippa’s main

ideas discussed throughout this work. This is even more so with Paul’s famous mention of the σῶμα

πνευματικόν (corpus spiritale) in 1 Corinthians 15:44: “It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual

body. There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body.” 597 A few lines below Paul explicitly states

that flesh cannot take part in the mystery of the resurrection: “Now this I say, brethren, that flesh and

blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; neither doth corruption inherit incorruption.”598

However, Paul’s anthropology—despite its complexity and chronological diversity—differs

radically from Agrippa’s predominantly dualist notion of man. The apostle does employ the Greek

anthropological terms, but he remains rooted in the Biblical-Semitic anthropology which views man as

an inseparable unity of body and soul and consequently regards the body in positive terms.599 The body

has its own eschatological future by being included in the process of the resurrection. Paul confronts

certain Gnostic elements within the Corinthian community (2 Cor. 5:1–10) precisely by reverting

Agrippa’s Hermetic notion of “undressing the garment of the body” 600 and implicitly calling the

incorporeal man “naked” (nudus, γυμνός, 2 Cor. 5:3).601

Paul does reject flesh: flesh and blood (caro et sanguis, σάρξ καὶ αἷμα) cannot inherit the

kingdom of God. Man in the fallen state cannot enter the eternal life before being transformed as a
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596
Deponere vos secundum pristinam conversationem veterem hominem qui corrumpitur secundum desideria erroris,
renovamini autem spiritu mentis vestrae, et induite novum hominem qui secundum Deum creatus est in iustitia et sanctitate
veritatis. Paul also contrasts homo vetus and homo novus in Romans 6:6 and Ephesians 2:15.
597
Seminatur corpus animale surgit corpus spiritale si est corpus animale est et spiritale sic.
598
1 Cor 15:50. Hoc autem dico fratres quoniam caro et sanguis regnum Dei possidere non possunt neque corruptio
incorruptelam possidebit.
599
Gnilka, Theologie des Neuen Testaments, 33–38.
600
See Chapter Three, 113–18, 125–26.
601
On skepticism in the Corinthian community regarding the resurrection of the dead see also Dale B. Martin, The
Corinthian Body (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1995), 108–117.

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 result of the Second Coming of Christ and the resurrection.602 However, this transformation is

collective, it occurs in the eschaton, and is entirely God’s doing, without man’s individual attempts to

achieve ascension. A transformed and resurrected body thus becomes spiritual in the sense that it is

cleansed not only of its carnality, but also of its earthly soul, which is evident from the way Paul

contrasts σῶμα πνευματικόν (corpus spiritale) and σῶμα ψυχικόν (corpus animale).603 In 1 Cor. 15:45–

46 he says: “And so it is written, the first man Adam was made a living soul; the last Adam was made a

quickening [= animating] spirit. Howbeit that was not first which is spiritual, but that which is natural;

and afterward that which is spiritual.”604 The Greek terms used are ψυχὴ ζῶσα (“the living soul,”

pertaining to the first Adam) and πνεῦμα ζωοποιοῦν (“the life-giving spirit,” pertaining to the last

Adam, i.e. Christ).

The antithesis between these two concepts is closely linked to the antithesis between the old

and the new man: the old man was created and vivified by God’s blowing the breath of life into his

nostrils (Gen. 2:7). In that sense, the old, “natural” man came first and he was simply alive by virtue of

carrying the living soul (ψυχὴ ζῶσα). The resurrected man, the new man, is to come later and share

with Christ his life-giving spirit (πνεῦμα ζωοποιοῦν): “that was not first which is spiritual, but that

which is natural; and afterward that which is spiritual.”

This leads to one of the crucial differences between Agrippa’s (i.e. Hermetic/Neoplatonic) and

St. Paul’s (i.e. orthodox Christian) understanding of spiritual rebirth: according to his own statements,
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Paul does not see it as a restoration of the primordial perfection, but as an eschatological development

from the old to the new man exemplified in two Adams.605 In 1 Cor 15:45, referring to Gen. 2:7, he

602
Lorenzo Scornaienchi, Sarx und Soma bei Paulus. Der Mensch zwischen Destruktivität und Konstruktivität (Göttingen:
Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2008), 231–79.
603
Ibid., 239–40.
604
The KJB inadequately translates the Greek ψυχικόν as “natural” instead of “psychic.” The Vulgate animale conveys
better the original meaning implied here (ψυχή = life in general; see LSJ, 2026).
605
Scornaienchi, Sarx und Soma bei Paulus, 239–40.

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 calls the created man “the first Adam” (ὁ πρῶτος Ἀδάμ) and the heavenly man “the last Adam” (ὁ

ἔσχατος Ἀδάμ), a term he explicates two lines below by using the phrase “the second man” (δεύτερος

ἄνθρωπος). This second man, the last Adam, whose archetype is Christ, is presented in stark opposition

to the first man, who is “of the earth.” In other words, the first man is not that perfect εἰκών whose

restoration is desired and sought for. There is no return to the prelapsarian perfection for, in Paul’s

eyes, it was not perfection at all compared to the εἰκών established by Christ, the last Adam. The

perfect man is to be expected at the end of history, in Parousia. Paul’s history of salvation can thus be

visualized as linear, in opposition to the cyclic—or ahistorical and atemporal—regeneration and

restoration of the Neoplatonic and Hermetic paradigms.606

To sum up, Agrippa’s attempts to differentiate between body and flesh are at best tangent to the

anthropology of the New Testament as delineated in the above-quoted statements of the apostle Paul.607

These two approaches differ in some crucial aspects such as the understanding of the direction of

salvation (return vs. progress), its temporal dimension (individual vs. collective/eschatological rebirth),

and the nature of the primordial man (spiritual vs. earthly). Within the scope of his writings examined

in my thesis, Agrippa’ statements containing elements of Paul’s anthropology are far less in number

than those supporting the Hermetic and Neoplatonic ideas, and they are too vague for suggesting a

substantial influence of the Apostle on Agrippa in this particular context.

Another early Christian theologian could have had a more significant influence on Agrippa in
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this regard. I have in mind Origen of Alexandria and his idea of the spiritual and luminous body that

one develops upon the resurrection: in contrast to the soul, which is unchangeable, the body is in

606
Ibid., 255.
607
A caveat is needed here. The Pauline anthropology is an immensely complex topic, which makes my remarks inevitably
simplistic. In terms of methodology, a comparative analysis of Agrippa’s interpretation of Paul and those coming from his
contemporaries, the catholic theologians, would be appropriate; however, it remains beyond the scope of this work.
Nevertheless, I am certain that the few basic tenets of Paul’s anthropology mentioned here—and explicated by Paul
himself—do not disagree with the normative knowledge of the Catholic Church that Agrippa contested. After all, my main
focus is on how Agrippa read St. Paul, not his commentators.

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 constant flux, but it is defined by its mould or form (εἶδος) which allows it to preserve its identity even

in the process of the spiritual transformation. This spiritual body, then, becomes more of a soul than of

a physical body.608 Moreover, it appears that Origen’s understanding of the mystical ascent—as

delineated, for instance, in his commentary and homilies on the Song of Songs—pertains to the soul

itself.609 He speaks of “man living in the flesh”610 and asserts that the aim of the mystic is to subdue the

body to the soul and then to free the soul from the body. In the words of Andrew Louth,

Behind this Platonic distinction between mind and soul, nous and psyche, lies Origen’s
whole understanding of the world of spiritual beings and their destiny. Originally, all
spiritual beings, logikoi, were minds, equal to one another, all contemplating the Father
through the Word. Most of these minds … grew tired of this state of bliss and fell. In
falling their ardour cooled and they became souls (psyche, supposedly derived from
psychesthai, to cool). As souls, they dwell in bodies which, as it were, arrest their fall
and provide them with the opportunity to ascend again to contemplation of God by
working themselves free from their bodies and becoming minds, noes, again. As nous,
the spiritual being can contemplate the Ideas and realize its kinship with this realm.611

To what extent this perspective corresponds to the anthropological model discussed in my work, I leave

to the reader to judge.612 There are obvious and tempting parallels between Agrippa’s and Origen’s

understanding of the fall. Unfortunatelly, at least to my knowledge, Agrippa makes no explicit

references to Origen in the anthropological context in the way he does with e. g. the Corpus

Hermeticum.613 This would render an analysis of Origen’s influence in the above-mentioned context

highly speculative.

In all likelihood, Agrippa’s differentiation between body and flesh has its roots in the
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Neoplatonic doctrines that were accessible to him through Ficino’s translations, most notably that of

608
See Caroline Walker Bynum, The Resurrection of the Body in Western Christianity, 200–1336 (New York: Columbia
University Press, 1995), 59–71.
609
See Andrew Louth, The Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition. From Plato to Denys (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1983), 52–74.
610
Comm. on the Song III. 12, quoted in Louth, The Origins, 59. Italics mine.
611
Ibid., 61. For his conclusions Louth particularly refers to Origen’s De Principiis I.v and II.viii.
612
See my examination of how the mind, on its way down, turns into the rational and sensitive soul, Chapter Three, 134–41.
613
On the character of Agrippa’s references to Origen see DOP 640, s.v. Origenes.

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 the vehicle of soul, which was also regarded as a kind of body, but not made of material elements. 614 If

this “ethereal body” was innate to soul before the fall, it would make sense for Agrippa to claim that

the body can be re-spiritualized. In my view, this is a more feasible explanation of the above-discussed

enigmatic passage from the De occulta philosophia than to assume that the German humanist fully

accepted the Christian doctrine of the collective bodily resurrection at the end of time.

CONTESTED NOTIONS OF PIETY

Among numerous references to the apostle Paul in the De occulta philosophia, one merits particular

attention:

Therefore those who are more religiously instructed do not undertake even the smallest
work without divine invocation, as the Doctor of Nations commands in Colossians
saying: Whatever you shall do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus
Christ giving thanks to God the Father through him.

Iccirco qui religiosius eruditi sunt nec modicum quodvis opus absque divina invocatione
adgrediuntur, sicut ad Colossenses praecipit Doctor gentium in-quiens: Quaecumque
feceritis in verbo aut opere, omnia in nomine Domini Iesu Christi facite, gratias agentes
Deo patri per ipsum.615

The problem with this seemingly orthodox citation is that it appears in a chapter instructing the reader

how to prepare for practicing ceremonial magic! (The chapter title is De duobus ceremonialis magiae

adminiculis, religione et superstitione, “Of the two helps of ceremonial magic, religion and

superstition.”) Agrippa takes Paul’s words literally (“whatever you shall do”) and supports his own call
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for practicing a forbidden art with the strongest possible scriptural authority.

How is this possible at all? Is it possible that Agrippa was simply not aware enough of the

614
See my discussion in Chapter Three, 127–41. This non-material body was variously called the luminous body (αὐγοειδὲς
σῶμα), the astral vehicle (ἀστροειδὲς ὄχημα), or the pneumatic vehicle/body (πνευματικὸν ὄχημα/σῶμα). See also H. S.
Schibli, “Hierocles of Alexandria and the Vehicle of the Soul,” Hermes, 121, Bd., H. 1 (1993): 109–117; E. R. Dodds, ed.,
Proclus, The Elements of Theology2 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1963), 313–21; Shaw, Theurgy and the Soul, 59–
106.
615
III 4, DOP 409, Tyson 450. Paul’s words are Italicized in English. The reference is to Colossians 3:17. I analyze this
passage in my paper “To Be Born (Again) from God,” 150.

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 position of mainstream theology towards ceremonial magic? Certainly not. In his time the German

humanist was almost universally acclaimed for his wide knowledge and thorough erudition.616

Furthermore, assuming that cases like this can be explained away by “accusing” Agrippa of a shallow

theological “cherry-picking” common to Renaissance eclectics would be a plain oversimplification. In

my view, his occasional practice of misinterpreting and re-contextualizing the scriptural sources should

not be understood as an act of conscious intellectual “cheating,” whereby the cautious reader would be

lured into accepting Agrippa’s unorthodox teachings just because they are replete with scriptural

references. Instead, I argue that behind many such discrepancies lies a peculiar understanding of piety,

which in some of its aspects matches the traditional Christian notion of piety, but in some other differs

from it significantly. Most importantly, I argue that Agrippa regarded his own understanding of piety as

profoundly Christian in the sense in which he must have understood that designation.

Power and piety

At least since Plato and his Euthyphro, there has been some recognition of the fact that piety is not a

monolithic, readily definable category. Socrates’ attempts to find a universally true definition lead to a

loose conclusion that piety is a form of justice, but he fails to explain how exactly it differs from other

forms of justice. On the other side, Socrates is not satisfied with Euthyphro’s definition of piety as that

which is pleasing to the gods, since the gods might disagree among themselves as to what is

pleasing.617 Translated into modern terms, piety is a complex and flexible notion based on a number of
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cultural, societal, theological, and other concerns that change over time. A good example of its

complexity might be the phenomenon of sacred prostitution in the temple of Aphrodite in ancient

Corinth. The worshippers of the goddess of love undoubtedly regarded such practice as pious, even

616
See Nauert, Agrippa, 1–8; 116–156.
617
Euth. 10a1–11b5, 11e2–1234, in Plato, Euthyphro & Clitophon, Commentary with Introduction by Jacques A. Bailly
(Newburyport, MA: Focus Publishing, 2003), 77–85, 89–97.

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 though any Christian would find it abominable or at least unacceptable.

Piety can be construed as the observance of religion communally, in public (such as attending

religious rites or going to pilgrimages), but this aspect of piety is to a large extent a cultural and

societal category, having to do with social relations and ways of public representation. As an inner

category, it can be understood as a strong personal conviction, devotedness, and adherence to a system

of religious belief. As such, it is always articulated within a conceptual framework defined by the

sacred scriptures of the given religion and their dominant interpretations. This inner aspect of piety has

much more to do with theology, i.e. a body of doctrines pertaining to man’s origin, position in this

world, and relation to God, his fall and final destiny, etc. These doctrines then translate into personal

convictions and modes of thought and behavior that one deems appropriate and pleasing to God.

In this sense, the dominant Christian understanding of piety (which is commonly associated

with humility) was decisively influenced by the Biblical account of man’s fall, in which tasting the

fruits from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil was directly equated to hubris and disobedience.

The serpent persuaded the woman into eating the fruits of that tree by making a subtle point: “For God

doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods,

knowing good and evil.”618 The eritis sicut dii argument proved fatal for the mankind, but it also set the

dominant tone of piety in Christianitas: trying to become like God is simply impious, it is a repetition

of the primeval sin.

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However, the Hermetic understanding of piety does not contain such limitations. On the

contrary, piety is defined in terms of restoring one’s divine nature and powers. In the Pimander, 24,

618
Genesis 3:5.

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 Hermes addresses his master in the following way: “You have taught me all things well, o mind, just as

I wanted. But tell me again about the way up; tell me how it happens.”619 And Poimandres replies:

The form you used to have [i.e. the material body] vanishes. (…) The body’s senses rise
up and flow back to their particular sources, becoming separate parts and mingling again
with the energies. (…) Thence the human being (sic) rushes up through the cosmic
framework … and then, stripped of the effects of the cosmic framework, the human
enters the region of the ogdoad; (…) Those present there rejoice together in his
presence, and, having become like his companions, he also hears certain powers that
exist beyond the ogdoadic reagion and hymn god with sweet voice. They rise up to the
father in order and surrender themselves to the powers, and, having become powers,
they enter into god. This is the final good for those who have received knowledge: to be
made god.620

This passage, in which “the human being” equals the inner or essential man (stripped of his material

body), reads almost as an inversion of the Biblical account of the fall. Man is supposed to gain the

divine knowledge and the power that accompanies it, he is supposed to become like god. This is the

core of the Hermetic idea of rebirth, which is explicitly identified with salvation: “[N]o one can be

saved before being born again.”621 Moreover, in stark contrast to Christian anthropological monism, the

Hermetic notion of piety is informed by radical dualism: “My child, it is impossible to be engaged in

both realms, the mortal and the divine. Since there are two kinds of entities, corporeal and incorporeal,

corresponding to mortal and divine, one is left to choose one or the other. (…) One cannot have both

together.”622

That Agrippa embraces this mode of piety (partly through Lazzarelli’s mediation) is
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demonstrated throughout my work, but I refer again to his crucial statements from the De occulta

619
Copenhaver, Hermetica, 5. Italics mine.
620
CH I, 24–26, in ibid., 5–6. Italics mine. See also CH X, 7–8, in ibid., 31–32, and CH X, 25, in ibid., 36. See also
Lazzarelli’s paraphrase of this passage in the Crater Hermetis, 21.4, in Hanegraaff, Bouthoorn, Lodovico Lazzarelli, 230–
31. In accordance with his interpretation of the Hermetica, Lazzarelli puts an emphasis on the divinely empowered man’s
ability to “beget a divine offspring” and “procreate for God.”
621
CH XIII, 1, in ibid., 49.
622
CH IV, 6, in ibid., 16. Italics mine.

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 philosophia III, 1 and III, 5:623 1) There is nothing more pleasant and acceptable to God than a man

perfectly pious and truly religious, who excels all other men; 2) Faith makes man the same with the

superior entities and makes him enjoy the same power with them; it is the root of all miracles and

enables us to approach God and obtain the divine power. These two statements epitomize Agrippa’s

understanding of piety and faith, which is evidently closer to the Hermetic conceptual framework than

to the Christian. When measured against such a criterion, it is not surprising that Agrippa evaluates the

spiritual advancement of the prophets and the apostles by their power to perform wonders.624

In this context, the sharp opposition between Simon Magus and the apostle Peter, which

Michael H. Keefer postulates as the main contradiction in Agrippa’s desired synthesis, somewhat loses

its edge and becomes the question of contested notions of piety. 625 It does not relieve Agrippa’s

thought of its basic tension, but it does diminish the “demonic” side of it, putting in into a more proper

perspective: that of the Hermetic understanding of piety, faith, and religion in general. The same goes

for D. P. Walker’s characterization of Agrippa’s magic as “demonic.”626 What is tacitly built into such

characterization is the standard Christian view on piety, which is taken as the sole criterion for

discerning between various types of spiritual activities.

As thoroughly documented by Marc van der Poel, Agrippa cherished the most fervent Christian

convictions; the fact that his “mode” of Christianity differed significantly from the mainstream raises

the question: how exactly did Agrippa—or, more precisely, the author of the works analyzed here—
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understand Christianity? And even more importantly: how did the author understand his own

participation in Christianity? In the following section I propose my own view on this problem.

623
DOP 402–403, Tyson 441, and DOP 412–13, Tyson 453. See Chapter Four, 177–78 and 181–82 for the exact quotations
and the accompanying discussion.
624
III 6, DOP 414, Tyson 455. Once again I refer to a similar notion in the Kabbalah, i.e. Gershom Scholem’s suggestion
that the creation of a golem could be seen as a sort of test for proving one’s level of spiritual development (see p. 218–19).
625
Keefer, “Agrippa’s Dilemma,” 645–50.
626
D. P. Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic, 96.

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 An exegetical way out: towards a tripartite interpretation of Christianity

Having discussed in detail the anthropological themes related to Cornelius Agrippa, I now come back

to the so-called Agrippan question, this time with the above-delineated considerations in mind. In my

opinion, this question, which is alternately formulated in scholarship as the “skepticism–credulity” or

the “piety–impiety” opposition, can be best approached by examining the exact nature of Agrippa’s

Christian self-identification, inasmuch as it can be inferred from his literary production.

When, following his successful series of public lectures on Reuchlin’ De verbo mirifico in Dȏle

in 1509, Agrippa was violently attacked by the Franciscan Jean Catilinet for being a “judaizing

heretic,” he replied with equal zeal in his Expostulatio: “But I am a Christian, and neither death nor life

shall separate me from my faith in Christ, and I prefer the Christian doctors to all other scholars, and

yet I do not despise the Jewish rabbis.”627

When in 1531 the Louvain theologians issued a formal condemnation of Agrippa’s De vanitate,

the German humanist responded with two fiercely intonated apologetic, polemical texts, the Apologia

adversus calumnias [An apology against calumnies] and the Quaerela super calumnia [A complaint

against calumnies].628 In a subchapter titled The basis of Agrippa’s defense: allegiance to the Church of

Rome,629 Van der Poel adduces a number of Agrippa’s statements from these two writings to

demonstrate that he saw himself as a deeply devoted Catholic. Among these statements one reads the

following: “I shall show that I have never written as a doctrinal statement, nor believe or hold for true,
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anything that is the opposite of what the Catholic church affirms as doctrine, or believes, or feels, or

627
Expostulatio cum Ioanne Catilineti super expositione libri Ioannis Capnionis de verbo mirifico, in Agrippa, Opera II,
494: Verum ego Christianus sum, nec mors, nec vita, separabit me a fide Christi, Christianosque doctores omnibus
praefero, tamen Iudaeorum rabinos non contemno. Quoted and translated by Van der Poel, Agrippa, The Humanist
Theologian, 20.
628
Ibid., 120–21. Van der Poel also cites an interesting letter from that period, in which Agrippa writes to a correspondent:
“I have answered the Louvain calumniators modestly, yet not without salt and vinegar, and also mustard, yet without any
touch of sweet oil. I shall publish it as soon as possible, perhaps not without some new calamity, since a new truth usually
brings forth new hate (ut solet nova veritas novum gignere odium).” (Epistolae VII 3, in ibid., 122. Italics in the translation
mine.)
629
Van der Poel, Agrippa, The Humanist Theologian, 133–40.

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 holds for true.”630 And further: “Yet my mind is always sincere and I profess to be a Catholic, and I

believe that I have not indulged in the liberty granted by the declamation to such an extent that I have

become an apostate of the orthodox faith.”631 To these declarations of orthodoxy one can add the entire

Chapter 100 of the De vanitate, titled De Verbo Dei, which conveys Agrippa’s faith in the Holy

Scriptures in the strongest possible terms, or the “apologetic” chapter nine of the third book of De

occulta philosophia, which reads almost as the Apostles’ Creed.632

Here, again, one is faced with Agrippa’s multilayered approach aimed at different parts of his

target audience. As evident from his correspondence and other biographical details, the two main

groups in Agrippa’s target audience were his fellow humanists and the category Richard Kieckhefer

conveniently terms “the clerical underworld,” encompassing clerics in the broadest sense of that word

(monks, friars, active and failed university students, etc).633 It would make sense to claim that

Agrippa’s more “orthodox” statements were intended for the sensitive ears of humanists such as

Erasmus, whereas those more “magical” were aimed at the occult theoreticians and practitioners of all

sorts (a literary thread in Agrippa’s opus that later led to the appearance of the spurious Fourth Book of

the De occulta philosophia). However, such a simplified conclusion would fail to account for the pains

that the author took to delineate and discuss his anthropological views and convictions (which are, by

the way, barely relevant for practical magic). In my view, the works of Cornelius Agrippa reveal an

author who was in a dire need to define his own position—not only to his readers, but to himself—in
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630
Ibid., 134: Ostendam me nihil unquam assertive scripsisse, credere, aut tenere, cuius contrarium asserit, credit, sentit et
tenet ecclesia catholica (Apologia, introduction, fols. B ir–v).
631
Ibid., 135: Semper tamen sincerus animus est, et me catholicum esse profiteer, nec usque adeo declamatoriae licentiate
me indulsisse puto, quod ab orthodoxa fide desciverim (Apologia, chapter 1, fol. C iijr).
632
III 9, DOP 422–23, Tyson 465–66. Tyson interprets that chapter as Agrippa’s veiled irony.
633
See Richard Kieckhefer, Magic in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 151–56. Erasmus is
the most famous example of the first group, Trithemius of the second. On Agrippa’s potential readership see e.g. Van der
Poel, Agrippa, The Humanist Theologian, 30–31, 225–26; Nauert, Agrippa, 74–79, 89–92, 106, 109. On Agrippa’s attitudes
toward his readership see also Miles, “Occult Retraction,” 439–45. In his analysis, however, Miles overinterprets Agrippa’s
use of different authorial voices and ends up in a sort of radical deconstruction of his De occulta philosophia.

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 the tense atmosphere of religious changes and controversies, and of conflicting modes of spirituality,

which marked the late fifteenth-century and early sixteenth-century Western Europe.

In Agrippa’s time, as Charles Nauert points out, “the whole movement for church reform was

amorphous and showed no clear distinction between fundamentally Catholic critics of church abuses

and individuals who displayed significant deviations on matters of doctrine.” According to him, this

uncertainty rested “on inability to establish valid criteria for judging the position of individuals on the

broad spectrum of early sixteenth-century religious belief.”634 Yet, there was one firm criterion for

judging the position of the reform-minded individuals: that of their attitude towards the basic tenet of

Christianity, the divine revelation of Jesus Christ. As I emphasize in the Introduction of this work,635

Agrippa, Ficino, Lazzarelli, and other Renaissance syncretists clearly differed from other reformers by

evidently experiencing what I term the “insufficiency of the Revelation.” In stark contrast to the

humanist ad fontes principle, they all found, in one way or another, that the fontes were not located

only—or even primarily—in Scripture, and that the wrongdoings of the schoolmen and clergy were not

the cause but rather the consequence of the main problem. And the problem was, in their view, that the

thread of the “original” Christianity was almost lost and that, consequently, it had to be

“reconstructed.” This led Marsilio Ficino to postulate “a myth of a continuous esoteric tradition,” to

quote Nauert again.636 According to Ficino’s pseudo-historical reconstruction, “the revelation given to

Moses supposedly included an esoteric interpretation which passed into cabala of the Jews and into the
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Hermetic literature of the Egyptians,”637 and from there into Christianity and the philosophical

mysticism of the Pythagoreans and the Platonists, respectively. In my dissertation I demonstrate that, at

least with respect to anthropological topics, Agrippa regarded the Corpus Hermeticum as no less sacred

634
Nauert, Agrippa, 162–63.
635
See Introduction, 19.
636
Nauert, “Magic and Skepticism in Agrippa’s Thought,” 167.
637
Ibid.

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 than the Bible in the sense that it also conveyed a divine revelation. Moreover, he accepted Ficino’s

notion of Hermes Trismegistos as a divine prophet and, even not too emphatically, Lazzarelli’s

identification of Poimandres with Christ himself.

These highly heterodox ideas provided Agrippa the reader with what Hans Robert Jauss called

the “horizon of expectations,” a preexisting system of expectations based on one’s already formed

assumptions, convictions, literary and intellectual experiences, and so on. 638 Agrippa’s literary

experience of the prisca theologia, acquired through Ficino and other authors, as well as his acceptance

of this alternative, esoteric history of the revelation, formed the basis on which he interpreted his

theological readings. In this process of creative reading, the strongest potential for heterodox exegesis

was to be found in those elements of the text which Marc van der Poel calls “the uncertainties of the

revelation,”639 or which Wolfgang Iser terms Leerstellen, “empty places” that need to be filled by the

reader.640 A good example in this regard is Paul’s notion of σῶμα πνευματικόν, a notion that offered

possibilities for vastly different interpretations. It is irrelevant for my analysis that, from the today’s

point of view, this process of constructing a new orthodoxy is usually seen as a sign of historical

naivety lacking precise philological and other tools. What I am concerned about here is the intellectual

mechanism that made this kind of doctrinal blending possible.

But why was there the need for the blending at all? The above-delineated observations

inevitably raise the following questions: what kind of a Christian and Catholic Agrippa believed
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himself to be and why did he feel the need to “extend” the scope of a revelation that lay in the very

638
For Jauss’ concept of the “horizon of expectation” (Erwartungshorizont) see Hans Robert Jauss, Toward an Asthetic of
Reception, tr. Timothy Bahti, (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1982), 3–45. Agrippa’s “horizon of expectation”
is most succinctly formulated by Wayne Shumaker in the following way: “like many other scholars of the period he tends to
accept everything ancient as true and right” (Shumaker, The Occult Sciences in the Renaissances, 155).
639
See Introduction, 20 n. 22.
640
Iser, The Act of Reading, 59–60, 172–75, 206. Related to “empty places” is Iser’s concept of “indeterminacy”
(“Appelstruktur” in German): the text “appeals” to the reader to realize the potential offered by it, to “determine” its
meaning. See also Schmitz, Modern Literary Theory and Ancient Texts, 88–91.

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 foundations of the Christian religion? Why was the core doctrine of the New Testament—Christ’s

divine incarnation and resurrection—not enough for him in terms of theology? It is indeed hard to

imagine that a man of Agrippa’s education and knowledge would not be the first to recognize himself

as a plain heretic or apostate. However, not a word in his writings or letters (with the seeming

exception of the famous retraction) suggests that he saw himself as such.

The answer to this puzzle could lie in his distinct understanding of Christianity. The only way

for Agrippa to come to terms with his own heterodoxy and preserve the conviction of orthodoxy was to

develop a polyvalent and nuanced view on Christianity, whereby he would embrace some of its aspects

as genuine, and reject some other as corrupt or at least bring them under suspicion as requiring to be

reformed. Based on the examinations of Agrippa’s anthropological ideas presented so far (especially of

the role of gnosis in his thought) and with a necessary degree of simplification, I propose the following

tripartite model that could help us understand Agrippa’s “orthodoxy.”

My model suggests that the author of the De occulta philosophia distinguished between three

different levels or aspects of Christianity that might be provisionally termed revelatory Christianity,

doctrinal Christianity, and historical Christianity. These three are, of course, theoretical constructs and

are not intended to “reconstruct” Agrippa’s “actual state of mind,” but to offer an approximation of his

religious self-identification based on his publicly expressed attitudes. The advantage of this model is

that it analytically fragments what is otherwise commonly taken as a self-explanatory term: these three
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categories allow sorting out different aspects of Agrippa’s religious self-fashioning in his works,

breaking away from the often evoked, unnuanced view of Christianity as a monolithic notion. It is also

important to emphasize that there are no sharp boundaries between the three mentioned aspects and that

they overlap in many respects.

In the broadest sense, revelatory Christianity implied in Agrippa’s works encompasses all

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 instances of direct, divine revelation to man which is unquestionable and not subject to ratiocination.

Among these, Christ’s revelation in the New Testament is admittedly the highest and the most recent

occurrence of this kind, but not the only one. According to Marsilio Ficino’s concept of prisca

theologia, which Agrippa inherits, the chain of divine revelations goes back to pre-Christian sages or

mythical figures such as Plato, Pythagoras, Hermes, Zoroaster, and Moses. As the incarnated Logos,

Christ is the consummation of all previous revelations, but he does not cancel them. On the contrary, in

Agrippa’s syncretistic vision, his divine revelation only confirms and reaffirms them. How else could

one understand Agrippa’s call for the rehabilitation of magic, which “was once accounted by all ancient

philosophers the chiefest science, and by ancient wise men and priests was always held in great

veneration”?641 What would be the purpose of magic after Christ’s revelatory and redemptory coming

to this world? One could thus say that, for Agrippa, revelatory Christianity is a “meta-religious”

phenomenon whose various forms of manifestation emerge, develop, disappear, and then re-emerge

over time. It can be compared to a number of doors left open for the mankind and leading to the divine,

but not with each door open always and at the same time.

In other words, for Agrippa, revelatory Christianity amounts to what is usually referred to in the

academic study of Western esotericism as “Tradition”: “the idea that there exists an enduring tradition

of superior traditional wisdom, available to humanity since the earliest periods of history and kept alive

through the ages, perhaps by a chain of divinely inspired sages or initiatory groups.”642 That Agrippa
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views the “true” Christianity in these terms is evident from his explicit differentiation between the

secret, “esoteric” Christianity and its “exoteric” counterpart:

641
[C]um olim primum sublimitatis fastigium uno omnium veterum philosophorum iudicio teneret et a priscis illis
sapientibus et sacerdotibus summa semper in veneratione habita fuerit (The letter to Trithemius dated April 8 1510, DOP
68, Tyson, liii).
642
Hanegraaff (ed.), Dictionary of Gnosis & Western Esotericism, 1125–35 (the entry “Tradition,” authored by Hanegraaff
himself). He also points to the basic paradox underlying the notion of Tradition, which pertains to Agrippa’s view on
Christianity too: “If the fundamental verities of Christianity had already been known before the birth of Christ, did this not
undermine the uniqueness of the Christian revelation and perhaps even make it superfluous?

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 Christ also himself, while he lived on Earth, spoke after that manner and fashion that
only the more intimate disciples should understand the mystery of the Word of God, but
the other should perceive the parables only. (…) Therefore, it is not fit that those secrets
which are amongst a few wise men, and communicated by mouth only, should be
publicly written. Wherefore you will pardon me if I pass over in silence many and the
chiefest secret mysteries of ceremonial magic.

Ipse etiam Christus, dum adhuc in terris ageret, ea lege et ratione loquutus est, ut
tantummodo secretiores discipuli intelligerent mysterium verbi Dei, caeteri autem solas
parabolas sentirent. (…) Non decet itaque arcane, quae inter paucos sapientes solo ore
communicanda sunt, publicis committere literis: quare veniam mihi dabitis, si multa
eaque potiora ceremonialis magiae arcana sacramenta silentio fuerim pretergressus.643

In this highly important passage several crucial points emerge: 1) the idea that the “true” Christianity is

reserved for a chosen minority bound by initiatic silence; 2) the idea that the core of it is “the mystery

of the Word of God”; 3) the crucial role of oral transmission (solo ore), which somewhat devalues the

Christian literary production, especially the Holy Scriptures and the Patristic literature; 4) finally, an

explicit confession that the mystery of the Word embraces ceremonial magic too.644 Points two and four

have been discussed extensively in my dissertation. As for initiatic silence, it is openly mentioned as a

requirement in Agrippa’s above-quoted letter to Trithemius and his master’s response.645

Finally, revelatory Christianity, as implied in Agrippa’s works, is fundamentally based on the

notion of direct personal revelation, or γνῶσις, as opposed to the rational knowledge of the divine. This

is strongly implied in the well-known Chapter 100 of the De vanitate, which can be read as a sort of

Agrippa’s manifesto of his religious self-identification. Although it is commonly regarded as a token of

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his adherence to Biblical humanism guided by the principle of sola scriptura, this chapter contains a

passage that can be interpreted in the light of the Hermetic and Lazzarellian notions of revelation:

643
III 2, DOP 405–6, Tyson 444. This passage appears in a chapter titled “Of concealing of those things which are secret in
religion” (De silentio et occultatione earum quae secreta in religione sunt). It is important to remind the reader that the
opening chapters of Book Three are crucial for gaining a proper perspective on the rest of the book.
644
Note also Agrippa’s distinction between external and internal religion in DOP III, 4. He makes the same differentiation
in the De vanitate, Ch. 60, where he extols “inwardness in religion” as opposed to “external ceremonies.” See Introduction,
23–24. See also Nauert, Agrippa, 181–82.
645
See Introduction, 23 n. 31, and Chapter One, 37 n. 68.

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 Now the truth and understanding of the Canonical Scripture depends only upon the
authority of God revealing the same and it cannot be comprehended by any judgment of
the senses, by the over-reaching reason, by any syllogism of demonstration, by any
science, by any speculation, by any contemplation, or by any human force, but only by
faith in Jesus Christ poured out into the soul from God the Father, by the Holy Ghost.

Scripturarum (dico canonicarum) veritas et intelligentia a sola Dei relevantis

authoritate dependet, quae non ullo sensuum iudicio, nulla ratione discurrente, nulla
scientia, nulla speculatione, nulla contemplatione, nullis denique humanis viribus
comprehendi potest, nisi sola fide in Iesum Christum, a Deo patre per Spiritum sanctum,
in animam nostram transfusa.646

In my understanding, the transfusion of faith into one’s soul is an image that strongly corresponds to

Agrippa’s notion of a direct personal revelation and makes one of the main constituents of what I term

revelatory Christianity. Since it is not subject to any other agent than God himself, it cannot be

delusional, corrupted, or misinterpreted. It is beyond all questions and doubts; hence it is the genuine

Christianity whose aspiring devotee Agrippa believes himself to be. However, due to its nature it is also

the most evasive of the three aspects of Christianity since it is impossible to find a way to rubber stamp

an inner state of enlightenment and revelation. It lies entirely in the domain of mens.647

Doctrinal Christianity can be understood as a historical attempt to codify the direct experience

and knowledge of the revelation. Taken in its broadest sense, this aspect includes the entirety of

Christian literary production ranging from the Holy Scriptures to the theological writings of Agrippa’s

own time.648 However, in the process of codifying γνῶσις, parts of it are inevitably changed,

misinterpreted, or simply lost. Thus, doctrinal Christianity preserves only bits and pieces of revelatory
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646
De vanitate, Ch. 100, in Agrippa, Opera II, 299; The Vanity of Arts and Sciences (London: Printed by J. C. for Samuel
Speed, 1676), 350. Italics in the translation mine. It is also interesting to note that in a chapter on judicial astrology (De
vanitate, Ch. 31) Agrippa establishes “inward inspiration” as the only factor (apart from making a pact with the Devil)
which can make astrological prognostication actually work: “Those who have prescribed the rules or prognostication set
down their maxims so various and contradictory that it is impossible for a prognosticator, out of so many various and
disagreeing opinions, to be able to pronounce anything certain, unless he be inwardly inspired with some secret and hidden
instinct and sense of future things” (The Vanity of Arts and Sciences, 90). The idea of inward inspiration becomes more
understandable if considered in the context of Agrippa’s emphasis on a direct, revelatory knowledge of the divine.
647
Thus, for a modern scholar, revelatory Christianity remains a purely speculative construct; once it reaches any sort of
reification, either in the form of writings or historically recorded phenomena, it passes into the other two modes.
648
It also includes various non-literary forms of expressing dogmatic thought such as public debates, orations, university
lectures etc., but these were usually preserved in a written form.

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 Christianity and it is a duty of a divinely inspired exegete to retrieve the inner core of the revelation

from distortion. It is evident from Agrippa’s writings that, for him, parts of doctrinal Christianity are

not Christianity at all. Some are even directly opposed to the spirit of revelatory Christianity and of

diabolical origin. How else should one understand Agrippa’s fierce, poisonous attacks on scholastic

theologians, those hated theologistae and sophistae who had “hijacked” the true, sacred theology

(sanctum theologiae nomen furto et rapina sibi temere usurpant)?649 He goes so far as to proclaim the

Devil himself the father of scholastic theology.650

In other words, one could define Agrippa’s doctrinal Christianity as a historical phenomenon

based on human intellectual and literary production and, as such, it is for him a legitimate field for

debate and examination, a natural “playground” for the exercise of ratio. Hence the importance of

declamatio, Agrippa’s favorite literary genre, which treats various “uncertainties of the revelation” (to

quote Van der Poel once again), in the spirit of open dialogue.651 Agrippa seems to regard doctrinal

Christianity as a realm of Socratic maieutics, in which the bits and pieces of revelatory Christianity

should be unearthed in a dialectical process of free discussion and critical thinking. Thus, in somewhat

simplified terms, it might be said that revelatory Christianity mostly engages Agrippa the theurgist,

whereas doctrinal Christianity occupies Agrippa the humanist.

Evidently, these nuances in Agrippa’s view of Christianity raise the question of the relation

between the two discussed modes. In other words, in which of the Christian literary works—and to
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what extent—Agrippa acknowledges the presence of γνῶσις? It is a complex question that requires a

thorough analysis of the German humanist’s attitude towards each of the authors he refers to, and as

649
De triplici ratione V,18 in Perrone Compagni, Ermetismo e Cristianesimo, 154. For the entire diatribe see ibid., 154–65.
See also Agrippa’s critique of scholastic theology in Chapter 97 of the De vanitate, where he regards it as impious and in
some of its aspects even heretical.
650
Ibid., 160: Inventor autem huius tam pestiferae facultatis diabolus, primus ille callidus et perniciosus sophista.
651
See Chapter One, 71–72. Van der Poel has analysed in a masterful way Agrippa’s complex position within the contested
fields of scholasticism, Biblical and humanist theology, and Renaissance syncretism: see my overview in Chapter One, 56–
59. Van der Poel’s analysis mostly pertains to what I term doctrinal Christianity.

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 such it surpasses the scope of my dissertation. Nevertheless, one thing is certain: as noted by Charles

Nauert and Marc van der Poel, Agrippa’s treatment of his Christian sources is governed by the principle

of the temporal closeness to the revelation for assessing the credibility of a given source. 652 In this

sense, it is probably one of his main criteria for assessing the degree of γνῶσις present in a particular

writing. However, regardless of this question, it is safe to conclude that, for Agrippa, doctrinal

Christianity is not the proper subject of faith and cannot be unequivocally regarded as part of the

eternal, genuine tradition of spiritual revelations.

Of the three proposed modes, historical Christianity is admittedly the hardest to pinpoint as it

obviously embraces the other two: both personal revelation and the codification of gnosis take place in

certain points of time and are thus inevitably marked by historicity. However, what I have in mind is a

plethora of historical phenomena and practices commonly labeled as Christian which Agrippa strongly

disregards, if not even openly abhors. This pertains to his profoundly negative attitudes towards the

widespread practice of witch-hunt, the wrongdoings of the clergy, from simple monks to popes, the

excessive veneration of the relics, etc.653 To a large extent, his violent anticlericalism is the result of

historical circumstances, with the blossoming of humanist theology on the one side and the emergence

of the Lutheran movement on the other. However, there is another dimension to it: Agrippa’s

conviction that the “true” Christianity is an inner, revelatory tradition not accessible to many. This is

clearly reflected in his disregard for the external acts of worship: “Those carnal and external
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ceremonies are unable to bring men close to God, to whom nothing is acceptable except faith in Jesus

652
Nauert, Agrippa, 128; Van der Poel, Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian, 85. This attitude is evident in Agrippa’s
references to the Bible and some of the early Church Fathers (above all, Augustine and Dionysius the Areopagite). For the
same reason, on matters of church history Agrippa preferred Eusebius and Hegesippus “because of their greater nearness in
time to the events of early ecclesiastical history” (Nauert, Agrippa, 128).
653
See Nauert, Agrippa, 174–82, for a detailed discussion on Agrippa’s criticism of contemporary Christian institutions,
customs, and practices. He attacks monks for hypocrisy, lack of morality, arrogance, and even the types of their robes. He
attacks popes for their excessive political power and self-proclaimed ability to release souls from purgatory. He criticizes
excessive devotion to images and relics (although he admits that Christ has performed many miracles through saints), etc.

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 Christ, with ardent imitation of Him in love, and firm hope of salvation and reward.” 654 As Nauert

points out, “[t]his doctrine, despite a superficial similarity, is not Lutheran justification by faith alone,

but rather the stress on inwardness in religion. (…) As Agrippa sees it, perfect Christians require little

or no externality in religion.”655 The opposition between “internal” and “external” Christianity emerges

once again, with the former being regarded as genuine, intrinsic, original, and the latter being termed

“carnal,” with all the connotations this term carries in Agrippa’s thought.656

To sum up, it is evident that much of what went under the label of Christianity in Agrippa’s time

fell far below the expectations he had for the pure revelatory tradition that he thought he found. In other

words, the kernel of γνῶσις he believed had been sparsely preserved in doctrinal Christianity was even

more at risk in the social and institutional manifestations of the Christian religion.

Thus I arrive at the main conclusion suggested by my analysis of Agrippa’s complex

understanding of Christianity: the author of the De occulta philosophia could regard himself as a

faithful, devout Christian insofar as he construed Christianity in the above-delineated manner. It

implied that he did not consider doctrinal and historical Christianity to be binding in any intrinsic way,

as opposed to revelatory Christianity, which carried the living tradition of gnosis and was thus the one

and only fides Christiana.

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654
Carnales illae et externae ceremoniae nequeunt hominess promovere ad deum, apud quem nihil est acceptum, praeter
fidem in Iesum Christum, cum ardenti imitatione illius in charitate, ac firma spe salutis et praemii (De vanitate, Ch. 60,
quoted and translated by Nauert, Agrippa, 181).
655
Ibid.
656
If one pursues further the analogy between the suggested modes of Christianity and the parts of soul, it could be said that
the forms of historical Christianity that Agrippa criticizes mostly belong to the realm of idolum. He emphasizes their
externality and carnality, as conveniently exemplified by the materiality of relics.

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 CONCLUSION

In my dissertation I approach Cornelius Agrippa’s work in the perspective of his anthropology and with

the idea that Agrippa’s views on man can clarify his ambiguous position on the intellectual map of the

early sixteenth-century Europe, including his religious self-identification. I take into account the

emphasis that several present-day Agrippan scholars put on the linguistic aspects of his writings

viewing them as multilayered and rhetoricized, marked by shifting authorial voices and intentional

ambiguities.

By analyzing a good number of passages from Agrippa’s writings, particularly from the De

occulta philosophia, and putting them into a comparative perspective, I suggest that Agrippa’s

understanding of man, his ontological status, and constitution correspond more closely to the dualist

Neoplatonic and Hermetic paradigms than to the mainstream Christian notion of man, which is

strongly marked by anthropological monism. Agrippa’s anthropological ideas are closely related to his

views on cosmology and cosmogony, which are based on the notion of divine emanations and a living

universe pervaded with cosmic correspondences. Being a microcosm, man shares with the universe its

emanational nature, i.e. he is gradually and only partly descended into the world, with his original
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spiritual nature remaining in the sphere of transcendence. In my view, Agrippa’s concept of a partly

descended soul closely corresponds to that of Plotinus.

I argue that Agrippa’s anthropology is articulated in two triads: 1) that of soul, body, and spirit,

and 2) that of the mind, rational soul, and sensitive soul. Regarding the first triad, I show that, despite

their ambiguities, Agrippa’s views are predominantly dualist, based on the Neoplatonic and Hermetic

notions of soul as the true self and body as its external garment. The third element, spirit, serves as an

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 intermediary between the two ontologically incongruous entities, soul and body. The second triad

pertains to soul by revealing its tripartite structure: the mind (mens), rational soul (anima) and sensitive

soul (idolum). However, I argue that, in Agrippa understanding, only the mind is the seat of the “true

soul,” whereas the rational and the sensitive soul more properly belong to the level of spirit. In other

words, man’s descent into the world follows the emanational pattern from the divine mind to the

physical body, unfolding in a sequence of closely interrelated entities with an increasing degree of

materiality. This is the conceptual basis for Agrippa’s doctrine of ascension, which he understands as

precisely the reverse movement, i.e. the unification of the lower parts of the soul with the divine mind.

Following the Hermetic paradigm, he views it as the process of obtaining the mind, whereby man

regains his prelapsarian state, divine nature and powers, and restores his damaged relationship with

God. In Agrippa’s writings the idea of spiritual ascension alternately appears as the notion of spiritual

rebirth or regeneration.

Next, I argue that Agrippa’s theory of magic can hardly be examined appropriately without

taking into account its anthropological and psychological components. I show that this theory is

intrinsically related to Agrippa’s view of the human soul as a tripartite entity. Thus, I examine how the

Agrippan magician utilizes various emotional and affective states in his operation and how the nature

of these states determines the purpose and scope of magical operation. By combining the Ficinian

doctrine of spiritus and Al-Kindi’s ray-theory Agrippa explains in detail the mechanisms of magical
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operation, while at the same time he stresses the importance of focused attention as a necessary element

in any form of magic. Finally, I demonstrate that, for Agrippa, intellectual or religious magic serves

ultimately one purpose: that of obtaining the divine mind, i.e. uniting the lower parts of the soul with

the highest one. In other words, magic in its highest form of appearance bears a predominantly

religious significance and as such it is closely akin to Iamblichus’s concept of theurgy.

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 In the last chapter I analyse Agrippa’s exegetical works, particularly his De originali peccato, in

the context of the above-mentioned considerations and show that his reading of the Biblical account of

man’s fall is profoundly Hermetic, with a crucial emphasis on carnality as the decisive factor in the fall.

I revisit the question of the body and conclude that Agrippa’s hints at the spiritualization of the body

have more in common with the Neoplatonic concept of ὄχημα or the astral vehicle of the soul than with

the Pauline notion of the spiritual body. Moreover, his entire concept of ascension, or spiritual rebirth,

differs significantly from the New Testamental doctrine of man’s salvation and shows clear traits of

Neoplatonic and Hermetic teachings of the soul’s return to the state of the prelapsarian perfection.

In the end, I revisit the long-debated question of Agrippa’s “true” religious allegiance by

applying the results of my analysis to his distinct understanding of Christianity and orthodoxy. I argue

that his publicly proclaimed religious self-identification as a devout Christian and Catholic cannot be

comprehended in a meaningful way unless his interpretations of piety and orthodoxy are scrutinized

and analytically fragmented. Thus, I introduce a tripartite model of Agrippa’s understanding of

Christinity, which consists of three distinct and to some extent contested modes: revelatory, doctrinal,

and historical Christianity. Based on a number of passages from Agrippa’s works, I suggest that only

revelatory Christianity matches his notion of the “genuine” Christianity, although it is evident that he

interprets it in a strongly heterodox way. In other words, Agrippa’s “dilemma” amounts to the problem

of different and mutually contested notions of piety that he inherited through the spiritual traditions
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accessible in his time. As a consequence, the suggested nuancing of terms casts a somewhat different

light on the “demonic” nature of Agrippa’s spiritual enterprise. That said, it is important to bear in mind

that my analysis and conclusions remain limited to the image of the author as projected through his

writings, without the ambition of reconstructing the German humanist’s “true” state of mind.

Despite the inherent paradox of his ideas, it is evident that Cornelius Agrippa, like other

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 Renaissance syncretists before and after him, attempted to build, promote, and ultimately defend the

notion of a “pious Christian magician.” What he obviously did not count on was the resilience and

strength of the millennial traditions standing behind, defining, and reaffirming the conflicting

characters of the Apostle Peter and Simon Magus.

Perhaps this is why, in Valery Bryusov’s novel mentioned in the Preface of this work, the pious

Christian magician, one of the most famous in his field, remains alone, downhearted, and defeated in

his dim study. His idea of piety will not be the turning point in the much needed reform of Chistianity.

Christ remains Christ, Poimandres remains Poimandres, and he, Agrippa von Nettesheim, remains a

tired, impoverished visionary, misunderstood in the main message he attempted to convey: that the sky

is surely open to us and that we should go that way.657 Eventually, it turns out that the ladder is not the

same for everyone, and the same could be said of the sky too.
CEU eTD Collection

657
Ovid, Metamorphoses VIII, 186.

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 ABBREVIATIONS

BLS Albert Blaise, Lexicon Latinitatis Medii Aevi: praesertim ad res ecclesiasticas investigandas
pertinens. Dictionnaire latin-français des auteurs du Moyen-Age (Turnhout: Brepols, 1975).

CH The abbreviation refers to particular discourses and chapters of the Corpus Hermeticum. See the
Bibliography section for the Greek, Latin, and English versions used in this work.

DCG Charles Dufresne, sieur Du Cange, ed. Glossarium ad scriptores mediae et infimae latinitatis, 1st
ed. (Paris: Billaine, 1678; reprint: Kolkata: Saraswati Press, 2012).

DOP Cornelius Agrippa, De occulta philosophia libri tres, ed. Vittoria Perrone Compagni (Leiden:
Brill, 1992). The abbreviation also refers to particular books and chapters of the work.

NRM Jan Frederik Niermeyer, C. van de Kieft, J. W. J. Burgers. Mediae Latinitatis lexicon minus, A-L
+ M-Z, Lexique latin médiéval, Medieval Latin Dictionary, Mittellateinisches Wörterbuch,. 2nd
rev. ed. (Leiden: Brill, 2002).

LS Charlton T. Lewis, Charles Short, A Latin Dictionary (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975).

LSJ Henry George Liddell, Robert Scott, Henry Stuart Jones, A Greek-English Lexicon (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1996)

OLD P. G. W. Glare, ed. Oxford Latin Dictionary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992).
CEU eTD Collection

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