The Priest and the Necromancer Part 3

The Invisible Kingdom: Demonic Princes, Planetary Angels and the Forbidden Rites of Medieval Christianity

“For by thy sorceries were all nations deceived.” — Revelation 18:23 (KJV)

“All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth.” — Matthew 28:18 (KJV)

Who gave medieval necromancers the authority to command spirits in the name of Jesus Christ? Who authorised the construction of magical circles invoking the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, the conjuration of planetary rulers, or the use of Christian prayers and sacred names to compel invisible beings into the service of men? And why do surviving magical manuscripts employ so much of the language of Christian worship while pursuing practices explicitly forbidden in Scripture?

These questions form the conclusion to our investigation of Richard Kieckhefer's Forbidden Rites: A Necromancer's Manual of the Fifteenth Century (1997), a remarkable examination of Munich Clm 849, a medieval manuscript containing conjurations, magical experiments, spiritual hierarchies, astrological operations and instructions for commanding demons.

The first six chapters exposed a disturbing world of learned necromancy in which Christian prayers, the Mass, baptismal formulas, priestly garments, holy water and the names of saints could be incorporated into forbidden operations. We encountered religious figures accused of necromancy, a monk claiming visions of Mary, a magical book intended to be consecrated through the Mass, and the baptism of a wax image as part of an operation designed to compel a woman's affections.

But the final three chapters take us beyond individual experiments. They expose an entire imagined government of invisible powers, populated by kings, princes, dukes, presidents and legions of spirits, some openly described as demons and others presented as benign angels or intermediate beings.

The Munich handbook names 189 spirits, of which 88 are expressly identified as demons. It describes elaborate spiritual hierarchies, circles inscribed with the names of God, planetary rulers assigned to particular days and hours, and ceremonies claiming that sacred words can compel supernatural beings to obey human commands.

Even more revealingly, Kieckhefer traces connections between these practices and the wider intellectual traditions of Apuleius, Iamblichus, Proclus, Michael Psellus, Thomas Aquinas and Johannes Trithemius, while comparing the necromancers' ceremonial language with the established liturgical culture of the medieval Church.

This is not evidence that every medieval priest practised witchcraft, nor that the Church officially authorised the conjuration of demons. Many ecclesiastical authorities explicitly condemned such practices. Yet the surviving manuscripts establish something that demands serious examination: the language of Christianity could be deliberately transformed into an instrument for seeking forbidden spiritual power.

And that returns us to Christ's own declaration that all authority in heaven and earth belongs to Him.

Where, then, did He appoint men to construct an alternative system of spiritual command through names, circles, planetary rulers and ceremonies He never taught His apostles?

If Jesus Christ was deliberately crucified “without the gate” (Hebrews 13:12), and Scripture commands us to “go forth therefore unto him without the camp” (Hebrews 13:13), why have men constructed altars upon which they claim to offer Him to God day after day? Through His own blood, Christ has already opened the way into the holiest (Hebrews 10:19–20). He entered heaven itself, where He now appears in the presence of God for us (Hebrews 9:24). His sacrifice was not temporary, incomplete or in need of continual presentation by earthly priests. “For by one offering he hath perfected for ever them that are sanctified” (Hebrews 10:14). And Scripture is equally emphatic: “Christ being raised from the dead dieth no more; death hath no more dominion over him” (Romans 6:9).

Consider the absurdity of claiming that the immortal, risen Christ, whose sacrifice was accomplished once for all, must nevertheless be sacramentally offered upon earthly altars every day! Even if this is defended as an unbloody re-presentation rather than another crucifixion, where did Christ command His apostles to institute such an offering? Those who believe the Gospel are baptised into His death, crucified with Him, raised to walk in newness of life (Romans 6:3–6), and sealed with the Holy Spirit of promise (Ephesians 1:13). Scripture declares that our bodies are already the temple of the Holy Ghost (1 Corinthians 6:19). Christ has opened the way to the Father, and believers have access through Him. Why, then, should an earthly priest presume to offer to God the very Son whom God has already raised, glorified and seated at His right hand? Are we to believe that the eternal High Priest, who lives for ever to make intercession for us, requires men to present His finished sacrifice upon their altars?

The 189 Spirits of the Munich Necromancer

Chapter 7, Demons and Daimons: The Spirits Conjured (pp. 175–194), contains one of the most important discoveries in Kieckhefer's investigation.

The Munich handbook addresses 189 named spirits, with 88 expressly called demones. Others receive descriptions indicating hostility, deceit, temptation, sexual corruption or involvement in human suffering.

Among the names are Astaroth, Belial, Beelzebub, Berith, Lucifer, Satan, Paymon, Castiel, Mirael and Apolin, accompanied by numerous less familiar beings whose names vary between manuscripts.

The text does not conceal the nature of many of these entities. Some are described as infernal, malicious or hostile to humanity. Others are identified as spirits whose purpose is to deceive human senses.

One particularly disturbing description concerns Berith, identified in experiment 38 as a demonic prince associated with fornication, temptation, seduction and the possession of human beings.

The original Latin includes:

“fornicator, temptator, et seductor, possessor hominum”

That is, a fornicator, tempter, seducer and possessor of human beings.

(Clm 849, experiment 38, fols. 96v–99v; Kieckhefer, Chapter 7, p. 175 and Table C.)

What an extraordinary description to encounter in a manuscript which elsewhere invokes the names of Jesus Christ, the Trinity, the Virgin Mary and the saints.

Here the operator is not addressing an unidentified natural force. The being is explicitly associated with temptation and the corruption of human beings.

It is also important to recognise that the names are not all securely identifiable. Kieckhefer estimates that no more than approximately 17% of the 189 names correspond to well-established names found in other traditions. Many are obscure, corrupted or represented by variant spellings.

Consequently, it would be a mistake to assign every name to an ancient pagan god or a particular fallen angel without tracing its documentary history.

But the character of the collection is unmistakable.

This is a manual whose operations seek the assistance or compelled obedience of beings the compiler frequently identifies as demons.

The use of Christian prayers does not alter the stated nature of the spirits invoked.

Kings, Dukes and Princes of an Invisible Kingdom

The manuscript does not present its spirits as an unordered multitude.

It describes an elaborate hierarchy resembling the governments of earthly kingdoms.

Bartha is identified as a king, while Baltim, Galtim and Saltim are described as dukes. Belial is called a foremost prince, while other beings are represented as subordinate to more powerful rulers.

A particularly revealing catalogue appears in experiment 34, folios 65v–65r bis, where eleven spirits are assigned titles, appearances, supposed functions and numbers of subordinate legions.

Their ranks include kings, princes, dukes, counts, marquises and presidents.

Among these beings are Curson, said to reveal hidden knowledge; Barbarus, associated with buried treasures; Alugor, said to obtain the favour of rulers; Volach, appearing as a winged boy riding a two-headed dragon; Gaeneron, represented as a crowned woman riding a camel; and Hanni, associated with astronomy and the liberal arts.

The text describes some spirits as appearing in the form of splendid knights, others as crowned rulers, terrifying creatures or apparently beautiful human figures.

The supposed services include obtaining wealth, revealing treasures, influencing women, providing knowledge of languages, gaining political favour and producing extraordinary transportation.

Each spirit is assigned subordinate legions, numbering between approximately twenty-two and fifty.

Kieckhefer observes that such arrangements resemble an infernal imitation of the heavenly hierarchy.

That resemblance deserves consideration.

In Scripture, the heavenly host serves God. The spirits described in this magical catalogue, however, are organised as a system through which the magician hopes to acquire wealth, knowledge and power over other people.

The medieval operator apparently regarded this invisible hierarchy as something he could summon and exploit.

But where did Christ instruct His apostles to identify demonic princes, learn their offices, or compel them into service?

The Gospels record Christ commanding unclean spirits to depart. They do not describe Him teaching His disciples how to obtain wealth from demonic kings or employ infernal dukes to influence earthly rulers.

The difference is not merely ceremonial.

It concerns the purpose and source of spiritual authority.

Trithemius, Aquinas and the Hierarchy of Spirits

Kieckhefer traces the idea of ranked spiritual beings through several intellectual traditions.

The Roman philosopher Apuleius, in De deo Socratis, described daimones as rational beings occupying an intermediate place between gods and human beings. They were associated particularly with the region of the air and were not necessarily regarded as evil.

Iamblichus developed elaborate distinctions between spiritual beings, while Proclus described daimons associated with fire, air, water, earth and subterranean regions.

The Byzantine writer Michael Psellus developed classifications that included spirits said to flee from light.

Kieckhefer then makes an especially significant observation: Johannes Trithemius lent his authority to the transmission of this hierarchical tradition.

This is directly relevant to our earlier investigation of Trithemius's De septem secundeis, his interest in spiritual intelligences and his place within the history of Renaissance occult thought.

The discussion becomes still more interesting when Kieckhefer refers to Thomas Aquinas, particularly Summa Theologiae, Part I, question 109, article 1.

Aquinas discussed the existence of ranks among fallen angels, while the later Malleus Maleficarum also adopted the idea of demonic hierarchy.

We must distinguish the theological classification of demons from the practice of summoning them. Aquinas did not authorise necromancy merely because he discussed the organisation of fallen spirits.

Nevertheless, the historical connection is important.

The same wider medieval intellectual world contained theological discussions of angelic and demonic hierarchies and magical manuals assigning practical offices to named spirits.

The question for our investigation is how these bodies of knowledge influenced one another, and at what point the classification of spiritual beings became a practical system through which men sought supernatural assistance.

The names themselves were sometimes inherited from older traditions, but the magical manuals converted spiritual hierarchy into a catalogue of supposed services.

What began as an explanation of the invisible world could become an attempt to exercise power over it.

And nowhere in Christ's recorded teaching do we find Him instructing His disciples to establish such a system.

The King of the East Given the Attributes of a Creator

One of the most revealing spirits in the Munich handbook is Orient, or rex Orientis, meaning King of the East.

We encountered this figure earlier in experiment 14, where the operator pledges service and obedience to a ruler addressed as benevolent.

But Chapter 7 draws attention to an even more extraordinary description.

In experiment 41, Orient is addressed with language approaching that reserved for the Creator.

The Latin reads:

“O Oriens benigne, maior pars mundi, celi, terreque sator”

The passage addresses Orient as a benevolent being associated with the making of the world, heaven and earth.

Kieckhefer's English rendering describes him as the maker of much of the world, at whose command heavenly and earthly things were wisely formed.

(Clm 849, experiment 41, fols. 106r–106v; Kieckhefer, p. 176.)

This should immediately raise a biblical question.

Why is a named spiritual ruler being addressed in language attributing creative power to him?

Scripture declares that God created heaven and earth.

John 1:3 states:

“All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.”

If all things were made through Christ, what place remains for a supposed king of the East to receive divine honours as an independent maker of the world?

Kieckhefer considers whether Orient might be connected with Madonna Oriente, a mysterious figure associated with fourteenth-century Milanese witchcraft testimony. He rightly cautions that the similarity does not establish a direct historical connection.

The point should not be exaggerated into proof that both traditions worshipped one identifiable supernatural being.

Yet the manuscript itself demonstrates the problem: a spiritual figure other than God is addressed with language suggesting powers of creation.

For a Christian, that is not a trivial detail.

Spirits Neither Good Nor Evil: A Medieval Controversy

Another disturbing feature of the necromantic literature is its suggestion that some spirits occupy a middle condition between good and evil.

Experiment 8 claims that certain spirits dwell neither in heaven nor in hell, and may be invoked without the same restrictions supposedly applicable to wholly wicked beings.

This was not an accepted doctrine of medieval orthodox theology.

In 1398, theologians at the University of Paris condemned propositions asserting that some demons were good, that some were omniscient and that others were neither saved nor damned.

The relevant source is preserved among the condemned articles associated with Jean Gerson, Œuvres complètes, volume X, p. 89, article 23.

The importance of this controversy is that it reveals an attempt to make the spiritual world more accessible to human manipulation.

If certain beings were neither good angels nor fallen demons, operators might imagine that they could summon them without committing the same offence as explicitly invoking Satan.

But what authority did they possess for making this distinction?

And how could they know that a being presenting itself as benign was genuinely benevolent?

The New Testament provides a direct warning.

“Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God.” — 1 John 4:1 (KJV)

The outward appearance or claimed status of a spiritual being cannot establish its identity.

That principle is particularly important for our wider examination of apparitions attributed to Mary, angels or heavenly messengers.

A spirit's claim to be benevolent is not sufficient evidence that it comes from God.

A Frankish Priest Condemned for Invoking Unknown Angels

Chapter 7 contains an important historical example from the eighth century.

A Frankish priest named Adalbert was condemned for invoking a collection of angelic names, including Uriel, Raguel, Tubuel, Adin, Tubuas, Sabaok and Samiel.

A Roman synod rejected these invocations and judged the supposed angels to be demons.

Later, in 789, Charlemagne's Admonitio generalis prohibited the invocation of unknown angels.

(Kieckhefer, p. 179, note 25.)

This is significant because it demonstrates that controversy surrounding the names and invocation of spiritual beings existed within the Latin Church centuries before Trithemius and Agrippa.

Some angelic names were recognised within established Christian traditions, while others were rejected as unauthorized.

The historical record proves the condemnation of Adalbert's practices; it does not prove that the rejected names belonged to actual demonic beings.

But it raises a serious question about the development of angelic devotion and spiritual invocation.

If even medieval ecclesiastical authorities disputed which angels could be invoked, how were believers supposed to distinguish genuine heavenly authority from names transmitted through apocryphal or magical writings?

And, more fundamentally, where did Christ command His disciples to establish a system of prayers directed towards named angelic powers?

Johann von Frankfurt: The Necromancers Could Be Deceived

One of the most important critics examined by Kieckhefer is Johann von Frankfurt, who wrote a treatise in 1412 questioning whether demons could be compelled through magical signs, figures and words.

His Latin question was:

“utrum potestas cohercendi demonis fieri possit per caracteres, figuras atque verborum prolationes”

In English, it asks whether power to constrain a demon can arise through characters, figures and the recitation of words.

Johann rejected the necromancers' claim.

He argued that demons could not be compelled by human ceremonies and that apparent obedience might itself be an act of deception.

His conclusion was that when spirits appeared to respond to conjurations, they might do so voluntarily in order to mislead those summoning them.

The original text is reproduced by Joseph Hansen, Quellen und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des Hexenwahns und der Hexenverfolgung im Mittelalter, pp. 71–82.

This is a particularly important historical challenge to necromancy.

For even if an apparition appeared, even if it answered questions and even if it seemed to obey commands, the operator still could not establish that he possessed authority over it.

The entire magical system might therefore rest upon deception.

Johann's argument directly challenges the presumption that correct formulas produce spiritual obedience.

And Scripture presents a similar warning in Acts 19, where men attempting to invoke the name of Jesus without possessing the authority they claimed were exposed.

Christ's name is not a magical instrument, and the apparent obedience of a spirit does not establish that a man has received divine power.

The Medieval Inquisitor Nicholas Eymericus and the Worship of Demons

Kieckhefer also discusses Nicholas Eymericus, the fourteenth-century Dominican inquisitor whose Directorium inquisitorum classified forbidden magical practices.

Eymericus described conjurers honouring demons through prayers, sacrifices, prostrations, kneeling, offerings, fasting, ritual clothing, mysterious names and other ceremonial observances.

He argued that such actions could constitute latria, worship owed to God alone.

His source is Directorium inquisitorum, Part II, chapters 42–43.

What is particularly revealing is that the necromancer might not consider himself a worshipper of demons.

He might imagine that he was commanding them, paying them for services or compelling their obedience through the names of God.

But the actual ceremonies could involve offerings and gestures which Christian theologians regarded as expressions of worship.

This creates a serious theological contradiction.

A man could claim to be exercising divine authority while engaging in actions that amounted, in the eyes of his critics, to honouring the very spirits he sought to command.

And the use of Christian sacred names did not resolve the contradiction.

The Book of Spirits and the Development of Demon Catalogues

Kieckhefer next introduces Le Livre des esperitz, preserved in Trinity College Cambridge, MS O.8.29.

This fifteenth-century French work lists 47 spirits, including Lucifer, Beelzebub and Satan, together with subordinate kings, dukes and other spiritual rulers.

The catalogue includes Orient, Poymon, Asmoday, Furfur, Amon, Forcas, Bune, Caap, Malpharas and numerous other figures.

Their supposed powers include disclosing hidden treasures, revealing secret knowledge, securing royal favour, influencing women's affections, producing wealth, teaching languages and assisting transportation.

Other spirits are explicitly associated with illness, destruction, conflict or death.

This provides an important historical bridge to later demonological and magical catalogues.

Johannes Weyer, in Pseudomonarchia daemonum, listed 69 demons and their supposed offices.

The later Lemegeton, or Lesser Key of Solomon, catalogued 72 spirits.

And Kieckhefer reports that Johannes Trithemius referred to a Liber officiorum containing spiritual rulers arranged as emperors, kings, dukes, marquises and counts.

Such works cannot all be assumed to descend from one identical manuscript, but their structural similarities are significant.

The invisible world was being represented as an administrative hierarchy whose members possessed specialised powers available to the operator.

For our continuing research into Trithemius and Agrippa, the most important task is to establish which names, titles and functions can be traced through identifiable manuscript traditions.

We should not simply accept later claims that the spirits were originally known to Solomon or other biblical figures.

The Testament of Solomon is an important predecessor to this tradition, but the historical Solomon cannot be treated as the proven author of later magical catalogues.

Sacred Circles and the Authority of Christ

Chapter 8, The Magic of Circles and Spheres (pp. 195–212), brings us directly back to the Romano-Germanic Pontifical.

Medieval necromancy was widely associated with the drawing of magical circles.

These circles were often represented as boundaries protecting the operator from hostile spirits, but Kieckhefer shows that they could also be understood as centres of power through which the magician sought to summon and constrain spiritual beings.

Their construction might involve sacred names, crosses, pentagrams, biblical quotations, angelic names and prescribed positions for the operator and his assistants.

The significance is not that every circle or symbolic religious movement is inherently magical.

It is that surviving necromantic manuscripts employ recognisably Christian language to invest ceremonial spaces with supposedly coercive spiritual power.

The Four Gospels and Reliquaries Used in a Magical Circle

Kieckhefer recounts a medieval ghost story preserved in a Yorkshire manuscript and published by M. R. James in “Twelve Medieval Ghost-Stories,” English Historical Review, volume 37 (1922).

The story describes a man preparing to summon an apparition by drawing a circle containing a cross, words from the four Gospels and other sacred inscriptions.

He places four small reliquaries around the circle, arranged in the form of a cross.

The reliquaries bear words associated with Jesus of Nazareth.

According to the story, a spirit appears first as a goat and then as a terrifying human figure.

The apparition is part of a medieval narrative, not independently verified supernatural evidence.

But the ceremonial arrangement is important.

Gospel texts, religious relic containers, the cross and Christ's name are all employed as components of a ritual intended to constrain an apparition.

This is particularly relevant to our earlier study of ecclesiastical relics, altars and ritual consecration.

The account does not establish that the Christian practice of preserving relics beneath altars originated in necromancy.

Nevertheless, it shows that sacred objects associated with the Church could also be represented as instruments of spiritual power in medieval stories of conjuration.

The Sworn Book of Honorius and the Consecration of Magical Circles

A more elaborate example appears in The Sworn Book of Honorius, attributed within the magical tradition to Honorius, son of Euclid.

Kieckhefer cites Daniel J. Driscoll's edition, particularly chapters 26 and 38.

The text describes an elaborate ritual space containing concentric circles, squares, names of God and angels, and the seal of Solomon.

The site is subjected to purification and consecration through prescribed blessings and incense.

This is an important example of the belief that a physical space could be made spiritually effective through precise ritual actions.

The operator does not merely stand and pray.

He prepares a ceremonial environment, marks its boundaries, invokes sacred names and expects the resulting arrangement to assist his efforts to command spirits.

The comparison with medieval ecclesiastical consecrations is unavoidable.

The Romano-Germanic Pontifical contains ceremonies for blessing and consecrating people, objects and sacred places.

Yet we must establish specific textual connections before claiming that a particular magical rite was copied from a particular church ceremony.

The existence of ritual resemblance raises the historical question. It does not, by itself, settle the question of origin.

A Mass Prescribed for the Consecration of a Magical Circle

One of the most incriminating documents discussed in Chapter 8 is De nigromancia, a work attributed to Roger Bacon, although the attribution should not be treated as proof of his authorship.

Kieckhefer cites Michael-Albion Macdonald's edition and translation, especially chapters II.4–6 and III.1.

The work describes the preparation of a secret location in which magical circles are to be constructed and consecrated.

But the most disturbing instruction concerns the participation of a priest.

The text prescribes a Mass in honour of Saint Cyprian as part of the consecration of the magical circle.

The figure intended is the legendary Cyprian of Antioch, traditionally remembered as a former magician who converted to Christianity.

Consider the implications.

In our first article, the Liber consecrationum prescribed placing a necromantic book upon the altar during Mass (and perhaps skeletal remain beneath altars).

Now we encounter another magical text prescribing a Mass in connection with the consecration of a circle intended for commanding spirits.

The surviving instructions do not identify a particular priest who knowingly performed this operation, but they clearly demonstrate that the author expected Christian liturgical worship to contribute to the supposed efficacy of the magical ceremony.

This is not an accusation fabricated by opponents of medieval Christianity.

It is an instruction preserved in a magical text.

How did a ceremony associated with the remembrance of Christ's sacrifice become, in the mind of a necromancer, an instrument for empowering a ritual circle?

Where did Jesus Christ teach that the Mass could be used for such a purpose?

And if the Mass was believed to confer spiritual power upon the circle, what understanding of sacramental efficacy was the operator attempting to exploit?

The connection with our earlier examination of Aquinas and priestly sacramental authority is particularly important.

The necromantic text does not demonstrate that Aquinas approved witchcraft. It demonstrates that magical writers could appropriate Christian ideas of consecration for forbidden purposes.

The most compelling evidence in Chapter 8 comes from the Munich handbook itself.

Experiment 36, folios 67v–68v, contains a circle divided into three concentric bands.

Each band bears an invocation of one person of the Trinity.

The outer inscription begins:

“Hunc circulum facio in nomine dei Patris omnipotentis”

“I make this circle in the name of God the Almighty Father.”

The middle band invokes the Son:

“Hunc circulum facio in nomine dei viui qui humanum genus humano sangwine redemit”

“I make this circle in the name of the living God, who redeemed the human race with human blood.”

The innermost band invokes:

“Hunc circulum facio in nomine Spiritus Sancti paracliti”

“I make this circle in the name of the Holy Spirit, the Comforter.”

A further inscription appeals to protection through the sign of the holy cross.

(Kieckhefer, Chapter 8, pp. 199–200; Clm 849, experiment 36.)

This is an extraordinary example of Christian sacred language being incorporated into forbidden ceremonial magic.

The operator explicitly associates the formation of a magical circle with the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

Christ's redeeming blood is invoked as part of the inscription.

Yet the purpose is not ordinary Christian prayer or worship.

It is the preparation of a ritual space intended to enable the operator to exercise supposed power over spirits.

Where did Christ command His disciples to construct circles invoking His blood in order to constrain demons?

The presence of Trinitarian language does not establish apostolic authority.

It demonstrates that the necromancer was appropriating Christian sacred words for an operation Christ never commanded.

The Seven Planets and the Names of Their Spirits

The most important discovery in Chapter 8 for our continuing investigation of Agrippa and Trithemius is experiment 37, folios 68v–96v.

This substantial section of the Munich handbook contains a collection of astral and planetary material.

It assigns spiritual beings, angelic names, activities and magical images to days of the week and hours of the day and night.

Kieckhefer reproduces the evidence in Tables E, F and G.

The associations are particularly revealing.

Sunday is linked with Raphael and a spirit ruler called King Saytam.

Monday names Gabriel and King Almodab.

Tuesday names Samael, while the separate column for the day's spirit ruler contains the designation rex filius dyabuli—“king, son of the devil.”

Wednesday names Michael and King Saba.

Thursday names Satquiel and Madrath, son of Arath.

Friday names Anael and King Saabotes.

Saturday names Captiel and Caffriel, together with rulers named Hayton and Assayby.

(Forbidden Rites, Table E, printed pp. 207–208.)

These associations deserve very careful investigation.

Traditionally, Tuesday corresponds to Mars, while Saturday corresponds to Saturn.

Our earlier research has examined traditions associating Samael with Saturn, death and destructive spiritual forces.

But this manuscript associates Samael with Tuesday.

That is an important historical reminder that angelic and planetary correspondences were not always uniform.

The name Samael cannot simply be assigned to one celestial body across all medieval traditions.

The table also makes clear that the phrase rex filius dyabuli belongs to a column listing a supposed spirit ruler, not directly to the angel Samael himself.

Nevertheless, Tuesday is associated with destructive purposes, including illness and depopulation.

Wednesday is linked with hatred and enmity.

Friday concerns friendship and romantic affection.

Saturday includes discord and the binding of persons or places.

The significance is substantial.

The names of angels and spiritual rulers were being organised into a system intended to produce effects upon human lives according to planetary days and hours.

This is exactly the kind of system we must compare with the later occult philosophy of Agrippa.

But Kieckhefer also makes an important distinction: the Munich handbook's astrological material is not an especially sophisticated astronomical treatise. Much of it consists of catalogues and lists drawn from older astral traditions.

The manuscript is principally a work of demonic ceremonial magic into which astrological material has been incorporated.

That distinction prevents us from confusing every medieval astrological text with the same kind of necromancy.

Albertus Magnus and the Preservation of Forbidden Books

Another important figure appears near the end of Chapter 8.

Kieckhefer discusses the Speculum astronomiae, a medieval treatise traditionally attributed to Albertus Magnus, the Dominican scholar who taught Thomas Aquinas.

The text distinguishes forms of legitimate astronomical and astrological knowledge from forbidden magical practices.

Yet its author makes a surprising recommendation concerning necromantic books.

Rather than insisting that every such book be destroyed, he suggests that some should be preserved for future inspection.

Kieckhefer reproduces the statement that such books should be retained because circumstances might arise in which their examination would prove useful.

The author simultaneously warns against using them to perform forbidden operations.

This qualification is important.

The passage does not establish that Albertus Magnus practised necromancy or encouraged others to summon demons.

Nor is the authorship of the Speculum astronomiae beyond scholarly dispute.

Nevertheless, the text is significant because it reveals how learned medieval scholars approached the boundary between astrology, natural philosophy and forbidden magic.

For our wider investigation, the principal source is Paola Zambelli, The Speculum astronomiae and Its Enigma (1992).

The question raised by the treatise is not whether scholarly examination of a forbidden book is itself witchcraft.

It is how the boundaries between astral influence, spiritual intermediaries and demonic invocation were defined—and whether those boundaries remained clear in practice.

Priestly Necromancy at the Colosseum in Rome

Chapter 9, Kieckhefer's conclusion (pp. 213–217), opens with an extraordinary account from the autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini.

Around the 1530s, Cellini claimed to have participated in necromantic ceremonies at the Colosseum in Rome.

According to his narrative, he met a Sicilian priest who knew Latin and Greek and agreed to introduce him to the art of necromancy.

The priest reportedly assembled companions, prepared a magical circle and began reciting conjurations.

Cellini's objective was to reunite with a woman named Angelica.

The priest's ceremony allegedly produced an overwhelming number of spirits.

A second operation was subsequently arranged, this time involving a twelve-year-old boy.

According to Cellini, the boy described terrifying apparitions surrounding the ritual circle, while the priest claimed that the number of spirits had become far greater than expected.

The narrative reports that enormous figures attempted to enter the circle and that the participants became frightened.

Yet the experience did not cause the priest to abandon necromancy.

He encouraged Cellini to participate in another operation involving the consecration of a magical book intended to reveal hidden treasure.

Cellini eventually abandoned the project because of other commitments.

The principal source is Cellini's Autobiography, Chapters 64–65, cited by Kieckhefer on pp. 213–214.

The supernatural details cannot be independently verified.

Indeed, Kieckhefer notes that the boy appears to have been the principal witness to the supposed apparitions.

But the account remains historically important as testimony to the practices Cellini claimed to have witnessed.

A priest, a magical circle, classical languages, conjurations, a child medium and the promise of treasure all appear within one narrative.

The pattern is unmistakably similar to the operations preserved in the Munich handbook.

And the biblical question is just as serious.

Where did Jesus Christ command His followers to summon spirits at night in pursuit of women and wealth?

Where did He authorise a priest to recruit a child as a medium for forbidden revelation?

The Gospel offers no support for such practices.

Kieckhefer also examines the case of Gilles de Rais, the fifteenth-century French nobleman associated with Joan of Arc and later convicted of grave crimes.

According to the surviving trial material, Gilles employed men claiming expertise in necromancy in the hope of recovering his depleted wealth.

Some of these men had clerical connections.

The expected supernatural benefits did not materialise.

When the conjurations failed, the operators reportedly offered extraordinary explanations, including claims that spirits had appeared while Gilles was absent.

Kieckhefer interprets the case as an example of how necromancers could deceive wealthy patrons.

His source is Reginald Hyatte, Laughter for the Devil: The Trials of Gilles de Rais (1984).

The importance of this case lies in the relationship between forbidden spiritual practices and the pursuit of wealth.

Necromancy promised treasure, power, protection and privileged knowledge.

But the supposed experts could manipulate the expectations of patrons willing to pay for such services.

Again, the lesson is not that supernatural beings have been proven to obey such rituals.

It is that the promise of spiritual power could become an instrument of deception and exploitation.

Cardinal Francesco Caetani and the Former Templar

Another revealing case concerns Cardinal Francesco Caetani and an episode investigated in connection with April 1316.

Kieckhefer describes men claiming expertise in necromancy, including a former Templar, who reportedly persuaded the cardinal to provide time and resources for magical experiments.

The operators promised extraordinary results but repeatedly failed to deliver them.

Their explanations included difficulty obtaining a hoopoe, a bird associated with certain magical traditions.

The principal source is Charles Victor Langlois, “L'affaire du cardinal Francesco Caetani (Avril 1316),” Revue historique, volume 63 (1897), pp. 56–71.

The case does not establish that the cardinal successfully practised necromancy.

But it does demonstrate how men promising forbidden supernatural assistance could operate in proximity to wealthy ecclesiastical patrons.

And the irony is difficult to overlook.

An institution that publicly condemned necromancy existed within a society where some powerful churchmen could themselves become involved with people promising occult knowledge or assistance.

The historical evidence should not be stretched into a universal accusation against the papacy.

But neither should the involvement of ecclesiastical figures be ignored.

All (not some) All Power Was Given to Christ

Jesus Christ declared:

“All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth.” — Matthew 28:18 (KJV)

Those words should be remembered whenever men claim spiritual authority.

Jesus Christ personally chose His apostles, instructed them and commissioned them to preach His Gospel. He gave them authority to act in His name, but nowhere in His recorded teachings did He ordain them as sacrificial priests or command them to offer HIM upon an altar. Despite the elaborate claims of Michael Müller in The Holy Mass, who presents the Last Supper as the institution of the sacrifice of the Mass and the apostolic priesthood, Christ's recorded command was “this do in remembrance of me” (Luke 22:19). He did not instruct His apostles to perpetually offer His body and blood to the Father as a priestly sacrifice. Scripture instead declares that Christ “offered one sacrifice for sins for ever” (Hebrews 10:12) and that “by one offering he hath perfected for ever them that are sanctified” (Hebrews 10:14). Nor did Christ authorise His apostles to establish occult hierarchies of planetary rulers, invoke mysterious spiritual names or manufacture supernatural power through elaborate ceremonial formulas. They never taught Christians to seek hidden treasure through spirits, command demons into personal service, invoke angelic powers to manipulate human affections or construct ritual systems in which the names of God became instruments of coercion. The apostles were commissioned to proclaim Christ, not to offer Him again, act as masters over the invisible world or create religious powers He never bestowed upon them.

The distinction is fundamental.

Christ's authority is not a possession which human beings acquire through secret knowledge, priestly clothing, consecrated objects or the repetition of sacred words.

He remains the one mediator between God and men.

“For there is one God, and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus.” — 1 Timothy 2:5 (KJV)

That is why the historical evidence uncovered by Kieckhefer deserves such careful examination.

The surviving manuscripts show men attempting to make the invisible world obey them through sacred names, priestly ceremonies and the supposed powers of spiritual intermediaries.

They reveal an understanding of religion in which ceremonial knowledge could be treated as a means of acquiring extraordinary authority.

But the Gospel calls believers to faith in Jesus Christ, not mastery over hidden hierarchies.

The Apostles Burned Their Magical Books

Perhaps the clearest contrast in the entire investigation comes from Acts 19.

When those who practised curious arts turned to Christ, Scripture records:

“Many of them also which used curious arts brought their books together, and burned them before all men.” — Acts 19:19 (KJV)

They did not preserve the books as sacred instruments.

They did not consecrate them through ceremonies.

They did not add the name of Jesus to their forbidden operations in an attempt to make them acceptable.

They abandoned the practices.

Yet centuries later, a surviving magical handbook prescribed the consecration of necromantic books, while related texts instructed operators to employ the Mass, baptismal formulas, sacred circles and the names of God in pursuit of forbidden power.

That contrast should be impossible to ignore.

The biblical response to forbidden magical arts was repentance and abandonment.

The necromancer's response was often to seek more elaborate ceremonies and stronger invocations.

Come Out of Her, My People

The Book of Revelation warns:

“For by thy sorceries were all nations deceived.” — Revelation 18:23 (KJV)

And earlier:

“Come out of her, my people, that ye be not partakers of her sins, and that ye receive not of her plagues.” — Revelation 18:4 (KJV)

These are solemn warnings against participation in the sins of Babylon.

The historical evidence contained in Forbidden Rites does not, by itself, establish the identity of Babylon or prove that every later religious ceremony belongs to her system.

But the warning remains relevant wherever forbidden spiritual practices, exploitation and deception are concealed beneath an appearance of religious authority.

The danger is not removed because a ceremony is performed in Latin.

It is not removed because a priest wears sacred vestments.

It is not removed because the name of Jesus Christ is invoked.

And it is not removed because a spiritual apparition claims to be an angel, a saint or a messenger from heaven.

The truth of a religious claim must be tested against the teaching of Christ, not against the splendour of its ceremonies or the authority of the men performing them.

Christ warned that many would claim to have prophesied, cast out devils and performed wonderful works in His name, yet He would reject those who practised iniquity.

“And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity.” — Matthew 7:23 (KJV)

The warning should silence any assumption that supernatural displays or religious titles automatically demonstrate divine approval.

The nine chapters of Kieckhefer's Forbidden Rites have shown how deeply Christian sacred language could become entangled with attempts to exercise forbidden spiritual power.

We have encountered priests accused of necromancy, monks claiming extraordinary visions, the attempted consecration of magical books, baptismal words pronounced over images, children employed as mediums, spiritual hierarchies populated by demonic rulers, circles inscribed with the Trinity and planetary systems assigning supposed powers to celestial beings.

Some accounts describe unverified supernatural apparitions. Others record accusations which cannot now be established beyond doubt. But many of the magical instructions survive in the manuscripts themselves.

And that evidence is sufficient to expose the central contradiction.

Men were attempting to obtain spiritual authority through ceremonies, names and powers which Jesus Christ never commanded His followers to seek.

That is why the final question must be the same one with which we began our investigation of the Romano-Germanic Pontifical.

Not whether a medieval bishop approved a ceremony.

Not whether a pope declared it sacred.

Not whether a theologian devised an explanation for it.

Not whether a priest performed it beneath an altar.

WHERE DID JESUS CHRIST COMMAND IT?

For all power was given to Him.

He remains the one mediator.

And no man can transform a forbidden act into Christian obedience merely by performing it in His name.

Principal Historical Sources

The foundation of this investigation is Richard Kieckhefer, Forbidden Rites: A Necromancer's Manual of the Fifteenth Century (1997; 1998 American edition), Chapters 7–9, pp. 175–217, together with the Latin edition of Munich Clm 849, fols. 3r–108v.

For the hierarchy of spirits, the principal evidence is Clm 849, experiment 34, fols. 65v–65r bis, and Kieckhefer's Tables C and D. Related texts include Le Livre des esperitz, Trinity College Cambridge MS O.8.29; The Testament of Solomon; Johannes Weyer's Pseudomonarchia daemonum; and the later Lemegeton.

For the philosophical and theological traditions, see Apuleius, De deo Socratis; Iamblichus; Proclus; Michael Psellus; Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, I.109.1; the Malleus Maleficarum, I.4; and Richard P. H. Greenfield, Traditions of Belief in Late Byzantine Demonology (1988).

For the condemnation of unknown angels, consult the eighth-century proceedings concerning Adalbert, Charlemagne's Admonitio generalis of 789, and Kieckhefer's references in Chapter 7, note 25.

For Johann von Frankfurt, see Joseph Hansen, Quellen und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des Hexenwahns und der Hexenverfolgung im Mittelalter, pp. 71–82. For Nicholas Eymericus, see Directorium inquisitorum, Part II, chapters 42–43.

For magical circles, the principal comparisons are The Sworn Book of Honorius, the De nigromancia attributed to Roger Bacon, Bodleian Rawlinson MS D 252, and Clm 849, experiments 33, 36, 39 and 40.

For planetary magic, see Clm 849, experiment 37, fols. 68v–96v, Kieckhefer's Tables E–G, and David Pingree's edition of Picatrix (1986).

For Albertus Magnus and the Speculum astronomiae, see Paola Zambelli, The Speculum astronomiae and Its Enigma (1992).

For the final historical examples, consult Benvenuto Cellini's Autobiography, Chapters 64–65; Reginald Hyatte, Laughter for the Devil: The Trials of Gilles de Rais (1984); and Charles Victor Langlois, “L'affaire du cardinal Francesco Caetani (Avril 1316)” (1897).

For comparison with the official ecclesiastical rites, see Cyrille Vogel and Reinhard Elze, editors, Le Pontifical romano-germanique du dixième siècle (1963–1972).

All biblical quotations are from the King James Version.