[Continuing on Page lx of vol. 1]

More of this sort of thing can be found in the Enchiridion of Pope Leo X, the grimoire of Pope Honorius, father Don Calmet’s work on sorcerers, and many others. This preamble is already on the large side, and these books are easy to get, so we’ll stop there, with a collection of lesser-known facts, and skip over the nuns of Loudun, the priest Gauffredi of Aix, and other big names.[1]

This compilation of mine may seem chaotic, I tried to keep this plain and straightforward, avoiding art, rather than trying to influence the opinion of my readers. The truth is more than enough to bring people to enlightenment, and the best defense against disdain and mockery. Not that my readers would treat me so badly, of the most of them, I would not expect sarchasm. As to the rest, I forgive you, you have a spirit that does not understand and eyes which do not see. I’ll add your disdain to my catalog of woes, and I’ll keep my laughter to myself. Honestly, if that was the worst thing that happens today, it’s been a good day. And frankly, isn’t it ironic that you came here looking for the sensational horrors of Semiramis, Macbeth, and Hamlet, then make fun of my more rational terror? Heaven has given me the victory, and my task will be fulfilled! 

I’m not here to court the sort of person who is confident in his knowledge and refuses to learn ay more. I’m not writing this for those folks who will only listen to someone with a lofty academic title, in a polished lecture to an audience, no matter how convincing the proofs he ignores. I’m not trying to reach men who chase after fashion, or believe in what they perceive to be a strong, forceful mind, and tosses aside anything from what they see as a “weak imagination.” 

No, I write to my brothers of simple minds blessed by heaven, their faith and belief guided by their hearts. Education has corrupted morality, valuing the peace of the soul too much, ignoring the dangers that besiege it. But those who have not yet served the powers of darkness have nothing to fear from it. These are the brothers I seek, that I love, who will sympathize with my suffering, and through it, grow in faith. And I pray to heaven for their safety, the incense of my prayers driving away the agents of evil from our peaceful rest. I would be happy, a thousand times happy, if through my persecution, I could triumph over the enemies of humanity, fighting them sword for sword, and avenge the universe! For such a magnificent goal, what is the loss of life and fortune?  And what obstacles, what river or ocean, could stop a soul who was guided by a love of peace and tranquility, and still pursues the path of the exorcist? 

And so I feel myself touched with a delicious zeal, my courage growing with my success, as if a celestial dew intoxicates my soul, each time I can flatter myself with having contributed to the defeat of a single one of the enemies I attack, who I find and surprise wherever I go, and sometimes, carry in triumph, chained to my clothes, to the clothing that defends me. 

When will my fellow man, hearing my simple message, finally arm themselves like me, and fight under the standard of the cross? When will their eyes open, and they then see the infernal spirits crowding around us, the luminous squadrons of angels, ministers of the strength of Jehovah, who soar through the air to protect the faithful from the poisonous claws of the spirit of darkness? Lords! Help bring about this day of triumph! Let me witness your victory before I depart this world, my task then fulfilled! [LXV]

But until then, my brothers, let me sweep any doubts from your mind. With all this irrefutable proof, we can surely agree: yes, there is a spirit of darkness. Yes, it binds people to its will by pacts, to achieve its goals, and particularly through elderly women, who don’t have to worry about passion or love, or the struggle of the novice, still innocent to the systemic evil of the world, who may yet become only possessed or driven mad, rather than becoming sorcerers and witches, their bodies shaking and spasming as their innocent and pure conscience struggles against that spirit of evil.

The power of these witches is not infinite:  the spirit of evil is restrained by Divine will, which limits their power of their magic. Otherwise, all nature would be out of balance. Chaos and disorder would overwhelm its simple, perfect rules in an instant, and the universe would fall to pieces over the heads of the innocent, leaving only the victims of a diabolical fury, and the slaves of the Genius of Evil. 

The servants of that power can lead us toward evil, tempt us with images of power, but they cannot force us to take their offers. Divine mercy is a sanctuary always open to us, we can always escape their enchantment through it. As the psalmist says, the angel of peace walks with us and guides our steps away from the edge of the abyss. The men empowered by the devil can call storms and shake the earth, create rain, hail, even ignite volcanoes. They can twist the laws of the universe, but only for a moment, because of the limits placed on them by Divine authority. Through the spirits that they serve, they can act over a great distance, the way the smell of a corpse travels across a field. But they play by rules. A righteous man can break their spells and thwart their plans through prayer and good works, and the faithful, selfless soul can face and defeat these supernatural evils, will to will, power to power, and nature seems to run to that good soul’s defense, all the natural world in his hands becomes weapons of hope and salvation.  

And this is my final argument, the foundation of my work: a benevolent Deity would never expose us to unavoidable dangers and send us into the midst of our enemies without weapons to bring about our victory. For all the dangers and pitfalls in our lives, there is still more beauty and reward. Even at the edge of the blackest abyss, He gives us the tools of salvation and hope. Everything that the spirit of darkness commands and controls, every element that he uses as a weapon against his creator, can also become armor and a path to victory. The elements he uses against us, we can turn against him, and restore our wounds…if you deny this, you deny the generosity and power of the Most High.

So…where has nature hidden this arsenal of salvation? In what far-away land, in what sacred cave, at what great cost? Who can teach us to wield this sword? 

Look within your heart, and learn to listen to it. When you were in pain, you could still find comfort within you, just by speaking the name of the Almighty? Rage, pain, tragedy, the threats of the wicked, the obstacles in your path, all these fade away when you set your eyes on heaven and the light of the Supreme Being. If a voice spoke to you, saying “The heavens are open above you, your distress is known, an angel of peace comes to your aid, misfortune will flee before you,” would you question it? Or would you hear the voice echoing what you already feel in your heart? That, my friend, is prayer, and the sighs of suffering are the purest form of prayer, that ascends to the throne of the Most High. Heaven saw you, and heard your need. Your prayers went to the feet of him who protects the meek and unfortunate. Remember your prayer! When your enemy comes upon you, lit up your hands, and cry in rapturous voice, “Great god!  You created nature for our use, and it rises up against me now. If it is your will that it strikes at me, I will face it with silence and respect, for you only strike me down to life me up and purify me. But if it is my enemy now, and your enemy as well, shield me in my weakness, fight him by my side, show me the weapon I am strong enough to wield, and I will take it, and in your name, I will be invincible.”

And do not doubt: heaven will smile at your prayer, and heaven’s aid will fall upon you like a gentle rain. You have an instinct given to you by heaven to make use of the objects, the people, the other creatures around you, to serve the Most High, and if He is with you, who can stand against you? We do not find comfort in the wastelands and desolate landscapes, yellow sands crossed by ravines won’t bring peace to your soul. The joyful, flowery countryside is more the place for peace and compassion. Our imagination puts the house of the Father of Evil in the parched desert. The battlefield of the rebellious angels is in the a vast plane of broken rocks and faded colors. 

We sense grace in the first rose of spring, and a beautiful landscape can shake us out of the worst of moods.It’s impossible to hate even your worst enemy when you’re surrounded by natural beauty. There are places that inspire virtue, and places that the spirit of evil cannot enter: places where it cannot find desolation and the stench of its poison. Jesus said that when the devil enters a soul, it walks it through the dry and rough places. I would say you must learn this, but in truth, you already know it, but perhaps needed a reminder. When the enemy comes, let us fly to these places. Let us take up the fragrant flowers, symbols of God’s mighty kindness the laurel, emblem of victory, and thyme, beloved of the French, which feeds our sheep and lets the milk of our cows flow like rivers; the palm of Idumea, the olive tree of Occitania, branches trodden by the feet of the Savior of the universe, The sage, the rosemary which perfumes or plains, the incense on our altars.  [2]

The devil cannot tolerate these plants, he fears their touch and fleece from them. Believe me: I have seen him raising his hand to strike me dead, his legions and minions advancing toward me as I lay sleepless in bed, his storms and lightning, the ministers of his hate. And I saw them grow pale and flee from the bouquet in my hands, the holy scent of sweet flowers and sage and rosemary, and like a wretch throwing himself into the turns, he fled into rocky wilderness. His heart turned to vengeance, but I was able to punish him for the harm he would cause me, and had a few days of peace and freedom from his terrible presence. 

Some have pointed out that demons can use the scent of flowers and bouquets of roses to tempt and bewitch and corrupt. Why would the flowers he uses against us be effective against him? Yes, he can take on the appearance of virtue, and grant his tools the illusion of the same, bu they still are a nuisance to him, he can’t harvest them or make them, but only imitate them. His bouquet is made of defiled and wilted flowers. Yours will be fresh, unblemished, a symbol of nature and a talisman of salvation.

Besides, if the devil can imitate our tools, and disguises himself in our uniforms, we can fight him trick for trick. The brimstone burning in the abyss, the sulfur of Sodom and Gomorrah, the fuel the demons feed their torches? If a child of god lights that fire, it drives them away. The Book of Tobit shows us that the some from the burning  liver of a monster of the deep becomes  a protector of chastity. Virtue sanctifies it, and its strength becomes our strength.

Children of men become children of God, and the great book of nature becomes the book of exorcism. Sacred plants will reveal themselves by their heavenly scent. The world rises in your defense, and your trail will be marked with discoveries and success. 

Who can deny the truth and perfection of this great system? And who would not adopt it as their own? It brings clarity where there was obscurity. Harmony is born like a light bursting from chaos. 

And think on this: the brilliant minds throughout history who struggled to pull the secrets from nature herself. If only they had this golden thread to guide them through the labyrinth! How much labor saved, how much more powerful and perfect their truths, how much greater their genius…and how much folly and wasted ink could have been avoided. They fought against truth, and built a house of lies. But the scythe of time is the sword of truth, and those fragile constructions will collapse…in time. In the bible, we see the constituency of nature, and how science and history work hand in hand. The first of women ,the first lover, intoxicated with the chaste pleasures of the garden, created by divine hand to be adorned with the charms of nature…and the pride growing within her, producing darkness, and the serpent showing her the golden fruit which poisons the heart. Evil enters the world, the thundering God curses the earth. The rose arms itself with thorns, each grain of wheat is watered by a thousand drops of sweat. Now the lion roars, now mountains become volcanoes, now the gentle sun turns to burning rays, now love becomes mere lust and shameful physical motion, and now this humiliating drive forces me to seek relief in the dens of desire by night, when Adam and Eve once partook of the outpouring of love which graced all of creation. And from that lust, Cain soon brings murder and fratricide into the world…he raises his arm and an innocent falls. The demon of jealousy enters his heart and it shrivels within him. Everything that he was is sacrificed to vengeance, and the childhood he shared, the games they played, their valley, their father watching over them, all these chains that tie him to the past, now tarnished. He is restless, a demon drives him to distraction, until he finally follows the spirit away from his family and wanders. He builds the first city with his bloody hands, the first murderer becomes the first king. The children of god lay with the children of man…a race touched by Satan. The wrath of the almighty grows like a spark igniting a sudden flame. Dark clouds enshroud the world, the waters beneath the world rise up, the skies open, floodwaters cover the world, the purifying waves wash away the work of Hell and purify the earth. The children of Noah, that most just of men, mock their father, laughing at him in his drunkenness. The spirit of rebellion still curses the race of man, still moves man to wickedness. 

Do you need more proof? Let’s look to Africa: a land cursed by the heavens, where the monotony of oceans of sand is barely broken by the occasional island, and those, a few dry, bristly shrubs. The traveler in this unlivable land, alone, desperate, prays to the sky for either death or rain. The inhabitants of these lands are inhuman. Man and beast merge, the same tree shades both the human and the ape, who man regards as his brother, of a common origin. Armored crocodiles drift under the waters, rushing the short to hunt both sheep and shepherd, even on the land. Great beasts tread the ground like the ancient serpents, heads higher than the palm tree, and do not fear man’s iron. There, the ignorant inhabitants bowed his knee before the crocodile which pursues him, the snake which devours him. There, the mind is without conception, the hands without skill. There, nature has shown herself to be a stepmother, who only gives birth to torment. No country hosts more spirits and sorcerers than this land, where the one accursed by god went to dwell. The Psylli, [3] snake-charmers immune to the serpent’s bite. Entire families with ancestral power over the harvest  and death. Fire-charmed men wandering the fields by night, great furrows of flame heralding them, driving villagers from their family homes, and still more. There is nothing more common or terrible there than these monsters. Everywhere the curse of god is on the descendents of that treacherous son, heavy on the land, marking it with the seal of His vengeance.

 

Saul, anointed of the Lord, his throne consecrated by the prophet, lets himself be ruled by jealousy and fury. His hands trembling, again and again he throws his javelin and misses, his desire for revenge unsatisfied. We do not need to turn to science to explain shock or the tension of his nerves. Scripture explains the phenomenon, the guiding hand of the spirit of evil.

And the Gospel! How perfect its explanation of nature! Jesus shows us everywhere the spirit of wickedness, eager to do wrong, corrupting man, raising up the elements, rushing into the bodies of unclean animals forbidden by law at the Jew’s tables? Does he not say, “False prophets will come, and deceive you with false miracles?” What can bring about these false signs, but a hidden spirit, working invisibly, confounding us because it knows nature so much better than we do?

If you wish to understand the history of empires, look to the machinations of the malcontent, the tyranny of princes, the weakening of the throne, the weariness of its subjects, the forces that bring the king down and the forces that cause the crowd to rise against him. The system is built on a crumbling foundation, the apocalypse seems about to break open, and the voice of god speaks: “There are times when the abyss opens and its fetid smoke spreads across the face of the earth, blinding the spirit and corrupting the heart.” These are times of confusion, marked by the boldness and malice of the plans of the henchmen of the abyss, who push the people toward their destruction and congratulate themselves in secret in the rubble and wreckage of overturned thrones. Everything is clear with this understanding, without it, it seems chaos. Philosophers without this knowledge write and rewrite their thesis, seeking a world in which every part is of god. Even things that are corrupt they attribute to the divine, throwing filth together with gold and light, as if good and evil both are only reactive and arbitrary. Everything is seen as of God, except for the things that truly are. Without this true knowing, Descartes descends into loops, lost in his words. He creates a new nature, not perceiving our own, and his legacy to the earth is only his lies, where he once pointed the road to truth. Oh happy genius! Having ignored a single link in nature, you shuffled all the links. 

Science! You are only a more obstinate ignorance: your calculations fail at every step, your scaffolds crumble while you build them. The more you sink into darkness, the more you sing of the clarity you reveal. When will you finally, reasonably, listen to the simplicity of the ones you call ignorant? How do you hope to explain the laws of physics by mocking your predecessors? They laugh at the scholars who once said in the tone of an oracle, “Nature abhors a vacuum.” Then they lecture us endlessly of the forces that draw bodies together. Have they seen these affinities, these chains, these ropes that attract matter toward matter? A storm, they say, is restless air, but air is always in motion. Why don’t we always have storms? What energy creates them? If it is the force radiating from a body, without agency, a body which is constant and uniform, then its actions will be uniform, there will always be frost or heat, storm or cold. Why would that same body act more powerfully tomorrow? Every day, they reveal their insufficiency to their self-appointed tasks. The barometer shows good weather, we have storms. It shows ten degrees above freezing? I’m sweating. Nothing is certain, nothing is fixed in their calculations, their system. If I ever wanted to fall asleep by their rules, I might never wake up. The doctor ordered a treatment for me for an ailment, and the illness only got worse. I won’t repeat all the mockeries the community of science has earned, but don’t they admit their own insufficiency by meeting in troops and assemblies in their research? Every day, they agree that this or that disease is unknown to them, their cures are harmful, their science is still in chaos and it may yet remain there for a hundred years? Why should they demand pay for their knowledge, and question my sanity when I try to explain nature to them, when success crowns my efforts? If we’re to reach any sort of understanding, they cannot refuse the argument. They will assent to what I speak true. Instead of denigrating me, I shall be repaid for my risks and weariness by recognizing my arguments as true.

Then we will agree: when disease afflicts our bodies, it is this genius of evil, or its children, which sickens us. When misfortune overwhelms us after a brilliant success, our humiliation is the work of Satan, tossing us into the cesspit out of spite, not having made us accept his infernal rule. The storm that ruins the harvest, knocks down our buildings, floods our houses, the lightning that strikes and burns, devours man and plant, reminds us: the spirit of darkness can do all these evils, a much more satisfactory explanation than the flawed theories of electrical floods and currents of the air. There is no fact, no circumstance, my theory does not address. You yourself, changing in your moods, fickle in your thoughts, inconsistent in your pleasures: ever changing, never constant from moment to moment. 

Without my theory, you would never see the reason behind these changes. Is it the temperature? No, the temperature is the same room to room, under the shade or indoors. A whirlwind of thoughts commands our souls. Is it the hand of divinity? But isn’t the mark of divinity constancy, not change? No change in our circumstance speaks to this restlessness, we cannot be happy even when the object of our pleasant thoughts drops into our hands. Nothing is fixed, nothing is constant or consequent in the moments of our lives. 

Have no doubt: there is no fact, no circumstance, my theory does not thoroughly conquer. You yourself are changing in your mood and impressions, fickle in your thoughts, inconsistent in your pleasures. You would be challenged to find yourself constant as moment follows moment

Without my theory, you could not find a reason for these variations: is it the temperature? Even by the same for, in the same room, under the same leaves. This whirlwind of thoughts and feelings commands our souls. Is it the hand of divinity? But isn’t immutability the essence of divinity? How could that constancy, which we understand in our souls, be the origin of our constant change?  Is it some change in our circumstances? But the same ray hope and light of happiness changes too, when the object we wished for falls into our hands and our pleasant thoughts flee our hearts. Nothing is certain, nothing is fixed, nothing is constant or consequent in the moments of our lives. Happy, then unhappy, then guilty. Don’t dig too deep deeply for the cause: the truth calls out to you. The true agitator of these inconstant motions is around you, invisible. It is the infernal spirits that torment you, the goblins that serve them secretly in the ongoing labor of your tribulations. We cannot deny this any longer.

Why fight against the truth we experience very day of our lives? No more pretences of delicacy for the sake of manners and appearances. Let us reveal every where the spirit of darkness and its ministers, and when their diabolical dees reveal their presence, call on prayer, on sacred methods, on powerful rituals and invocations to the most high.

My task here is fulfilled. I have demonstrated, I think, with my evidence and conviction, the existence of these spirits, their methods, and the weapons that can be brought against them. Let me begin now the story of my own travails. My style will be simple: I shall record the detail of my experience, though perhaps I shall escape my woes with a joke, or relay an innocent moment of joy, or choose to gloss over this torment or that torture. 

Oh spirit of peace! Give me pause for innocent amusements of glee and childish frolic, if it lets me celebrate a victory or experience a moment of tranquility, even if I perhaps forget some circumstance of my torture. Spirit of peace, who watches over us, minister of the goodness of heaven, who bring respite after a storm, who supported my tired arm and restored strength to my failing soul…you who draws forth the purifying flame of the sacred heart, warrior spirits whose battle cry is “Who is like God?” Come with the sweet scent of incense, guide my untrained pen, watch over this work that I dedicate to you, as I sing your blessings. Hell my create obstacles, bar my path, weigh down my hand, but I will not be discouraged, oh angels of salvation. You are near me, and my fears will be lifted from me. What is this gentle thrill that takes hold of my heart? What premonition of happiness intoxicates me? Where does this new energy come from, reviving my soul, provoking me to holy fervor? Angels of the lord, I recognize your presence and your voice. I follow you, and nothing shall stop my work. I now begin.

[1] “The Encideron of Pope Leo X:” This may refer to the French grimoire, Enchiridion of Pope Leo, likely published in 1633, attributed to Leo III (d. 816). At this point I feel pressed to mention that the translator I was using gave me the title Enchilada of Pope Leo. 

The Grimoire of Pope Honorius is a particularly influential text, also misattributed to a pope. Calmet we have encountered earlier. 

The Loudun Possessions took place in France in 1634, a convent of nuns claimed to be influenced by evil spirits. The Aix-en-Provence possessions have some similar notes, another Ursuline convent wrestling with demonic possession, 1611. According to Wiki this case set the precedence for the prosecution of the later Loudun Possessions.

[2] The Palm of Idumea: likely refers to the date palms of the Dead Sea region, “Judean dates,” symbols of life and abundance. The “Vine of Occitania” likely refers to grapevines, as Occitania is a huge French wine producer.

[3] The Psylli are a tribe who lived in ancient Libya, said to be invulnerable to snake bites, able to cure poison, and generally tied up in a mythology of snakes, poison, and sorcery.