Witchcraft and Mind Control in the Calendar?
- Michelle Hayman
- 1 day ago
- 17 min read
Yesterday we delved into the worship of Dagan, Ninurta, Baal Hammon, and Saturn; four names for what is, in essence, one ancient archetype, a god of time, cycles, fertility, and cosmic authority. We traced this figure from Mesopotamia to the Punic world, from the grain fields of the Levant to the horned throne of Carthage, where he was honored as the ram-horned Baal Hammon and later identified by the Romans with Saturn. Today, we turn to the heavens themselves, linking the equinoxes to this same enduring figure, and examining how Éliphas Lévi and other esoteric thinkers saw his image woven into the fabric of Christian tradition. In their view, the Roman Catholic Church, far from erasing the old solar and Saturnian mysteries, preserved them under new forms; reinterpreting ancient rites, recasting gods as saints or devils, and timing its holiest feasts to the same celestial markers once sacred to Baal Hammon and his consort Tanit.
The Julian calendar, introduced in 45 BC, was a solar system that later aligned neatly with the imperial cult of Sol Invictus, the worship of the unconquered sun, honored at the equinoxes and solstices. Over the centuries, a small miscalculation caused the spring equinox to drift earlier in the month, and by the 1500s it was ten days out of place. In 1582, pope Gregory XIII acted with urgency, erasing those ten days to restore Easter; a feast which, in esoteric readings, echoes the spring fertility rites of goddesses like Tanit; to its Nicene position near the equinox. That moment is also when the sun enters Aries, the sign of the ram, a symbol tied in ancient solar cults to the sun disk and the horned Baal Hammon, whom the Romans identified with Saturn. This is no coincidence, but part of a pattern Scripture warns against: “for by thy sorceries were all nations deceived” (Revelation 18:23).
The spring equinox, when the sun enters Aries, has for millennia been the high point of pagan solar religion; the “victory” of light over darkness, celebrated as the astrological dawn, the renewal of the agricultural year, and the triumph of life over winter’s death. The ram of Aries, ruled by fiery Mars, carried themes of vitality, courage, and new beginnings. In the Punic world, Baal Hammon, chief god of Carthage, bore the horns of a ram and was worshipped for agricultural fertility and seasonal renewal. To the Romans, this horned god became Saturn, the planetary ruler of time, cycles, and harvest; the same Saturn Scripture identifies with false gods and demonic powers.
Éliphas Lévi, in The History of Magic, saw the equinox not as God’s appointed time but as a cosmic “reset” expressing universal laws; laws which paganism and occultism elevated into systems of worship. He claimed the Catholic Church absorbed and repurposed these festivals, keeping the same celestial framework; what he called the “Great Tradition”; but dressing it in Christian language. Thus, Easter was fixed to the same solar gate once sacred to Baal Hammon, Tanit, Ishtar, and other fertility deities. The outward form changed, but the underlying pattern remained: the equinox as the anchor of worship.
For Lévi, magic was no fable or stage trick, but “a potent and real force”; the operational knowledge of hidden laws in nature, capable of producing effects so extraordinary they appear miraculous to the uninitiated. He traced it back to the “science of the Magi,” the priest-astrologers of Babylon, Persia, and Chaldea, whose arts Scripture calls an abomination. At its core, he said, lies “the fatal science of good and evil,” mastery over the polarities of existence and the power to bend them to one’s will. According to Lévi himself, initiation into this science grants “empire over souls to the sage and full capacity for ruling human wills.” This is not harmless wisdom; it is the very engine of Mystery Babylon’s commerce, by which she traffics “in slaves, and souls of men” (Revelation 18:13). In biblical terms, it is sorcery; the spiritual enslavement of entire populations through manipulation of the mind and will.
Lévi extended this thinking to Pan, the goat-god of the Greeks, a personification of nature’s wild powers whose horns and hooves became the Church’s image of the Devil. Yet in his occult worldview, this was not destruction but preservation. In his own Baphomet, Lévi fused the goat of Pan with the ram-horned Baal Hammon and the planetary force of Saturn, portraying it as a reconciler of opposites — light and dark, male and female, human and animal. This is nothing less than the “doctrines of devils” (1 Timothy 4:1), a counterfeit unity, an inversion of the Creator’s order, cloaked in the language of “cosmic wisdom.”
In this system, the spring equinox is more than a date; it is a spiritual convergence point for astral worship. The ram of Aries, the sun’s ascent, the Saturnian Baal Hammon, and the Church’s Paschal calendar all meet in a symbolic language Lévi presents as unbroken from antiquity to the present. But the Bible unmasks it as the same ancient deception; the worship of the “host of heaven”; that God’s people were commanded to reject. What Lévi calls the “Great Tradition” is, in truth, the great sorcery by which the nations are led into bondage, their bodies and their souls bought and sold under the banner of spiritual Babylon.
Lévi’s so-called “Great Tradition” was not a harmless philosophy but a working grimoire; a system of ceremonial evocations calling on elemental spirits, planetary intelligences, and even the dead through pantacles (magical disks or diagrams inscribed with occult symbols), talismans, and ritual instruments. He dared to call such works “lawful” and their results “veridic,” yet God’s Word names them abomination, the very sorceries by which Babylon traffics in “slaves, and souls of men” and deceives the nations (Revelation 18:23).
How can the manipulation of minds through ritual ever be called “lawful,” when the God of Scripture Himself grants mankind free will?
According to Lévi, the Astral Light is a universal, living energy that permeates all of creation, and in his magical framework it is both the medium for visions and the raw fuel for magical operations. He describes it as “ethereal” in the heavens, “astral” in planets, “vital” in animals, and “magnetic or personal” in humans; meaning that in people it is concentrated as a unique, individualized force.
In Lévi’s view, this force can be taken or extracted:
From animals, it can be drawn “by absorption”; which means taking their life-force at the moment of death, or through sustained contact, in the belief that their vital energy can be transferred into the magician, I prefer the term witch.
From humans, it can be taken “by generation”; a term that in occult usage often refers to sexual energy, specifically the idea that sexual union, arousal, or even exploitation can release an intense form of life-force that can be captured and redirected for magical purposes.
In his system, this isn’t just symbolic; it’s practical. He believed this “harvested” energy could be used to empower rituals, fuel spirit evocations, and even create talismans or “philosophical stones” imbued with generative power. This is why his language overlaps with alchemy; he saw the Astral Light as the hidden ingredient that could be condensed, stored, and used to produce supernatural results.
From a biblical perspective, this is the spiritual theft of what belongs to God alone. Life is in the blood (Leviticus 17:11), and sexual union is a covenant act designed by God, not a resource to be drained for occult gain. Lévi’s teaching amounts to robbing the image-bearers of God; siphoning vitality, whether through blood, death, or sexual exploitation; in order to fuel a counterfeit “light” that the Bible would recognize as demonic.
So when Lévi speaks of “empire over souls” and the trafficking in this Astral Light, he’s describing a system where the occultist seeks dominion over the inner life-force of others; the very essence of who they are. In biblical prophecy, this is exactly what Mystery Babylon does when she “merchandises in slaves, and souls of men” (Revelation 18:13): the manipulation, consumption, and destruction of the God-given light and life within people for the advancement of her power.
If, as Lévi claims, this force can be drawn from humans through arousal and exploitation, it raises the deeply troubling question of whether the widespread sexual abuse of children by clergy carries an occult motive beyond the abuse itself.
Renaissance Astrological Magic and the “Seven Planets”
In pre-modern astronomy and astrology, seven “planets” were recognized as the principal celestial bodies moving through the sky: the Sun, the Moon, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. (The term planet here comes from the Greek planētēs, “wanderer,” and included the Sun and Moon as luminaries.) Each of these seven was believed to have its own heavenly sphere and its own guiding spirit or intelligence – often called a genius – which governed its influence on nature and human affairs. In other words, the cosmos was imagined as a kind of spiritual hierarchy: the seven visible planets ruled the days of the week and vital aspects of life, under the guidance of seven planetary spirits.
The genius of a planet (Latin genius meaning a tutelary spirit or guiding intelligence) was not regarded by Renaissance magi as a demonic pagan god, but as an intermediary spirit or angelic being associated with that planet’s sphere. Astrologers and occult philosophers believed these intelligences could be invoked or enticed – through rituals, talismans, herbs, and timing – to gain knowledge, healing, or influence in the areas the planet governed. For example, a solar genius might be invoked for healing or illumination, whereas a martial (Mars) spirit could be called upon for strength or victory in conflict. From a biblical standpoint, however, any such invocation of planetary spirits is unequivocally condemned. Scripture warns explicitly against being “enticed into bowing down” to the sun, moon, or stars – “all the host of heaven” – and it condemns burning incense or offering worship to these heavenly armies as idolatry (e.g. houses with altars for “burned incense to all the starry hosts” were seen as defiled). In short, the Bible labels the veneration of planetary powers as idolatry and sorcery, regardless of whether one calls the beings gods, angels, or genii. This tension between astrological magic and orthodox religion is a running theme in Western history.
Paracelsus’s Seven Planetary Genii and Their Correspondences
One of the Renaissance figures who delved deeply into astral magic was Paracelsus (1493–1541), the Swiss physician-alchemist whose Christian mysticism blended with Hermetic and astrological ideas. In his astronomia magna (great astronomy) – essentially a spiritual science of the stars – Paracelsus taught that the seven classical planets each emanate specific vital influences and correspond to particular metals, organs, and ailments. He associated each planet with a particular metal and part of the body, using the principle of “signatures” in healing.
Paracelsus spoke of the “seven rulers” or genii of these planets in his writings on magic. In fact, he identifies them by name. The seven planetary spirits are often cited (later in the Arbatel and other occult works) under the names Aratron, Bethor, Phaleg, Och, Hagith, Ophiel, and Phul. Éliphas Lévi, in The History of Magic, refers to “The Seven Planets and their Genii, according to the Magic of Paracelsus.” Each of these seven intelligences had specific functions and powers in Paracelsian magic.
Saturn – Aratron: Governs time, limitation, and endurance. Said to turn living things to stone, work with subterranean spirits, teach alchemy, confer invisibility, and prolong life. Linked to bones, chronic illness, and melancholy.
Jupiter – Bethor: Rules wealth, honors, and expansion. Grants high positions, treasures, true answers from airy spirits, and miraculous medicines. Connected to growth, prosperity, and the liver.
Mars – Phaleg: Oversees war, strength, and conflict. Elevates to military honor, grants courage, victory, and aggressive vitality. Related to muscles and combative force.
Sun – Och: Governs vitality, wisdom, and enlightenment. Bestows perfect health, longevity, gold-making power, and fame “as a god.” Linked to the heart and healing light.
Venus – Hagith: Rules love, beauty, and art. Grants beauty, charisma, servant spirits, and copper-gold transmutation. Connected to fertility and harmony.
Mercury – Ophiel: Oversees intellect, communication, and magic. Teaches all sciences, gives familiar spirits, and quickly creates the Philosopher’s Stone. Related to nervous system and swift thought.
Moon – Phul: Governs change, emotion, and waters. Turns metals to silver, heals fluid disorders, summons water spirits, and prolongs life. Linked to cycles of growth and decay.
Paracelsus did not view these planetary genii as gods to worship. Rather, he saw them as natural spiritual principles (and powers) – part of God’s creation – that a wise practitioner could work with. His goal was to “serve Nature” by understanding these occult virtues for healing purposes. Nevertheless, from an orthodox Christian perspective, even if Paracelsus framed the seven spirits as quasi-angelic “intelligences,” to call upon them in ritual blurs into invoking spirits other than God – essentially trafficking with demons under another name. The Bible’s indictment of those who “burn incense to the host of heaven” would apply here. Paracelsus’s contemporary critics indeed accused him of sorcery for such ideas, even as he maintained that true magical healing was part of God’s natural revelation.
Éliphas Lévi’s Occult Perspective and Catholic Parallels
Éliphas Lévi (the 19th-century French occultist, born Alphonse Louis Constant) was fascinated by systems like Paracelsus’s and sought to place them in a larger “Traditional” framework. Lévi believed there was a Great Tradition of esoteric knowledge – a priestly science of magic and astrology – passed down through the ages in various guises. In The History of Magic he asserts that the lore of the ancient magi was preserved through Biblical times and into "Christianity": from Zoroaster’s star-wisdom to the Kabbalists, from Egypt to Moses and Solomon, and eventually into certain secret doctrines of the early Church. According to Lévi, the Catholic Church inherited this transcendental science in its symbolism and liturgy, even though the open practice of magic was suppressed. He famously lamented that Rome “has lost the Kabalistic keys” – implying that the exoteric Church no longer understands the occult truths hidden in its own rites. Nonetheless, Lévi suggested that a clever initié (initiate) could still decipher and use those keys.
One of Lévi’s intriguing claims is that Catholic saints, feasts, and devotions often parallel the old planetary forces, allowing the same magical “operations” to be conducted under a Christian veneer. In other words, the Church, perhaps unwittingly, mapped many pagan or cosmic truths onto its calendar of "holy" days and its pantheon of saints and angels. This made it possible – in Lévi’s view – for an adept to work with planetary energies “under Christianized forms.”
Renaissance occultists and certain folk traditions linked the Seven Archangels to the seven classical planets, replacing the old planetary gods with angelic patrons. In this scheme Michael ruled the Sun, Gabriel the Moon, Raphael Mercury, Anael or Haniel Venus, Samael or Camael Mars, Zadkiel Jupiter, and Cassiel Saturn. Official Catholic teaching only names Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael from Scripture, but esoteric Christianity and magical texts expanded the roster. Lévi pointed out that a magician could substitute St. Michael for a Sun or Mars spirit, or St. Gabriel for the Moon’s intelligence, thus cloaking an astral invocation in the form of an orthodox prayer. In such a framework, instead of calling on Venus’s spirit for love, one might pray to St. Raphael, sometimes linked with Mercury and Venus as an angel of love and healing, or focus on the Sacred Heart of Jesus on a Friday — the day traditionally tied to Christ’s love and passion — thereby engaging Venusian themes under Christian symbolism. Mars’s force, tied to war and protection, could be approached through devotion to St. George or St. Michael, both seen as heavenly warriors. In the same way, Saturn’s themes of time and endings could be personified in St. Jerome or St. Joseph, patron of a holy death, while Jupiter’s regal and benevolent aspects could be reflected in Christ the King or St. Peter, holder of the “keys” of heaven. To Lévi, these analogies revealed that Catholicism was, in essence, esoteric magic hidden under new names.
The liturgical calendar itself overlays Christian feasts on the solar year in ways that mirror earlier pagan and solstitial observances. One clear example is the pairing of St. John the Baptist’s feast with Christmas, which Lévi and others viewed as deliberate solar symbolism. St. John’s Nativity on June 24 follows the summer solstice, when the sun’s light begins to wane, while Christ’s Nativity on December 25 follows the winter solstice, when light begins to grow. The Baptist’s words, “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30), are mirrored in the cosmos — after John’s day the daylight decreases, after Christ’s birth it increases. Augustine himself noted this alignment, suggesting it was no accident but a theological use of nature’s rhythms: the summer solstice festival, once dedicated to the sun’s peak and decline, was folded into St. John’s Day, and the winter solstice, celebrating the sun’s rebirth, was recast as Christmas, proclaiming Jesus the true “Sun of Righteousness.” For Lévi, these were the Church’s way of transferring the keys of the Sun to Christian feasts, so that a magus marking these dates could still honor the solar turning points, now under church bells rather than pagan rites.
The same layering appears with the equinoxes. The feast of the Annunciation on March 25 falls near the spring equinox, which early Christians considered both the date of creation and the date of Christ’s conception; the moment Light entered the world. This day’s equal balance of light and darkness tips toward the light half of the year, and nine months later comes Christmas. Early texts like On the Solstice and Equinox explicitly tied John’s and Jesus’s conception and birth to these cosmic markers. The autumn equinox, around September 24, was linked to the conception of John the Baptist and often followed closely by Michaelmas on September 29, bringing the warrior Archangel into play at the year’s other balance point. In Lévi’s eyes, such timing allowed ancient astro-religious observances to survive under new theological names — salvation history for the faithful, but the old sun-cycle for the initiate.
Even the days of the week carried this dual symbolism. In much of Europe their names still honored the planetary gods — Tuesday for Mars, Friday for Venus, Saturday for Saturn — yet the Church overlaid them with Christian devotions. Sunday, the Sun’s day, became the Lord’s Day, celebrating Christ as the “Sun of Righteousness.” Saturday, Saturn’s day, was dedicated to the Virgin Mary, often called Stella Maris and portrayed with lunar and stellar imagery in Revelation 12. Friday, sacred to Venus, became a day for remembering Christ’s Passion and, later, the Sacred Heart, transforming a day of sensual love into one of divine sacrifice. Wednesday, Mercury’s day, was assigned to St. Joseph or the Holy Spirit, offering a pious alternative to the trickster-planet’s influence, though folk traditions still favored it for magic. In every case, the Church provided a sanctified figure or feast to replace the old planetary association. Lévi saw this as intentional priestly science; the baptism of cosmic forces so that the same planetary keys could still turn, only now unlocking the doors of cathedrals instead of pagan temples.
It’s worth noting that from the Church’s own standpoint, this process was intended to eliminate pagan astrology, not secretly perpetuate it. By co-opting the timing of feasts and the language of cosmic symbolism, Christian leaders aimed to orient people’s hearts to the Creator beyond the stars. They would say that any power the planets have comes from God’s ordinance, and Christians are to honor God, not the creation. However, occultists like Lévi love to point out that the form of the old nature-worship remained embedded in Christian tradition – thus an unbroken thread for those “in the know.” A medieval peasant might light a bonfire on St. John’s Eve without any clue about solstices or ancient fire festivals, but a hidden magus in the 19th century (like Lévi) smiles knowingly, seeing the Great Tradition alive under the surface.
Biblical Perspective: Rejecting the “Host of Heaven”
From a biblical Christian perspective, all of this planetary magic – whether in pagan, Paracelsian, or quasi-Christian form – is viewed with grave concern. The Bible consistently teaches that the sun, moon, and stars are creations, not deities or animating spirits, and that seeking or serving them is a form of idolatry. In Deuteronomy, the Israelites are warned “lest you lift up your eyes to heaven, and when you see the sun, the moon, and the stars... you be drawn away and bow down to them and serve them”. The text stresses that God allotted these heavenly bodies to all nations for light and seasons, not for worship. Similarly, the prophet Jeremiah condemns the practices of people who burned incense on their rooftops to “all the host of heaven” (the array of stars/planets), calling Jerusalem’s houses defiled by these offerings to other gods (fallen angels/demons). Such worship of the heavenly host is often linked in Scripture with demonic influence; the acknowledgment that behind pagan star-worship lurked real spiritual entities in rebellion against God (cf. Deut 32:17, 1 Cor 10:20).
Even if Renaissance magicians like Paracelsus or Lévi avoided explicitly calling the planetary genii “gods,” from a biblical view it makes little difference. Whether one names them angels, intelligences, spirits, or demons, to invoke them or accord them spiritual trust is to “consult other powers” apart from the one true God. The Bible labels this as sorcery (pharmakeia or magic arts) and it is strongly forbidden (Galatians 5:20, Revelation 21:8). The First Commandment – “You shall have no other gods before Me” – encapsulates the prohibition: no celestial or chthonic being is to receive our prayers or faith. Christian theology would interpret Paracelsus’s planetary spirits as either natural forces that should be left to God’s governance or, worse, as fallen angels (demons) masquerading as beneficent guides. Thus, what the occultist sees as higher knowledge or intermediary work with spirits, the orthodox Christian sees as a dangerous deception.
In the New Testament, we find a demotion of the elemental spirits of the cosmos. For example, St. Paul cautions against being drawn back into serving “the elemental spirits of the world” (Galatians 4:8-9, often interpreted as astral/pagan principles) now that Christ has come. Early Christians like St. Augustine, who himself lived in a late Roman culture steeped in astrology, urged the faithful not to even casually say “Mercury did this” or “Venus smiled on me,” lest they give honor to a creature rather than the Creator. Augustine and other Church Fathers explicitly rejected the notion that one should seek out astrological intelligences, even if they exist – insisting instead on direct prayer to God. The subtle but crucial difference is that a Christian saint or angel is always a servant pointing to God, never an autonomous power to be used. In contrast, occult magic (even a “Christianized” version like Lévi describes) attempts to use spiritual powers through technique and secret knowledge – effectively bypassing a humble relationship with God to gain control.
To devout Christians, this is precisely the old sin of sorcery in a new disguise. No matter how much Paracelsus might have invoked Jesus alongside planetary operations (and he did invoke the name of the Trinity in some of his incantations), the method of trying to command or coax spiritual beings betrays an attitude of manipulation, not prayer. The Bible recounts the story of King Saul illicitly consulting a medium (1 Samuel 28) – even though he simply wanted prophetic guidance, his resort to an occult method led to tragedy. The clear message: one must not attempt to engage with spirits.
Invoking the seven planetary genii, in the biblical view, falls under this ban. However enlightened or healing-oriented the intent, it opens the door to dark spiritual deception.
The Renaissance idea of seven planetary spirits governing creation captivated minds like Paracelsus and Lévi, who sought to synthesize it with Christian imagery and practice. They saw the Catholic calendar itself as a rich tapestry where ancient cosmic truths were woven in – where one could venerate the Christ-Sun on Sunday or Our Lady as a Lunar Queen, where a saint could take the place of a planetary god. This syncretic vision, however, is exactly what biblical Christianity strives to correct: re-focusing worship and trust on the Creator rather than the creation. The Church may have timed feasts with solstices and named days after planets, but always with the intention of demythologizing the stars – proclaiming that the lights of heaven are signs pointing to the true Light, Jesus Christ. Any attempt to invert that (using Christian feasts as simply another way to tap into planetary forces) would be, to a pious Christian, a grave misunderstanding at best, or at worst a deliberate act of sorcery wearing a pious mask.
Thus, while the Seven Planetary Genii occupy a fascinating place in Renaissance magic and in Lévi’s occult philosophy, the Catholic feasts that correspond to their spheres are, from a faithful perspective, meant as antidotes to astrology, not endorsements of it. The drama of the Church calendar baptizes time and the cosmos, declaring the triumph of Christ over the “host of heaven.” In Christian doctrine, it is Christ who rules the cosmos (Colossians 1:16-17), and any genuine angel or planet-spirit would be merely His servant – and certainly not something to be invoked independently. As the Psalmist says, “Great is our Lord... He determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name” (Psalm 147:4-5). The stars have names – but God knows them, and we are not told to call on those names. The only name to call on is God’s. Everything else, no matter how gilded with gold or shrouded in incense, risks leading us into the very error that faithful Israelites and Christians have renounced: “worshipping and serving the creature rather than the Creator” (Romans 1:25).
The prophet Ezekiel condemned those “that hunt the souls… to slay the souls that should not die… for handfuls of barley and for pieces of bread” (Ezekiel 13:18-19) — a sober reminder that spiritual deception can be wrapped in familiar festivals, yet still trade in the souls of men.
Sources:
Éliphas Lévi, History of Magic, trans. A. E. Waite – discussion of Paracelsus’s planetary magic and the Church’s loss of esoteric “keys”.
Paracelsus (16th c.), as cited in occult compilations: the names and offices of the seven planetary spirits (Olympic spirits).
Arthur E. Waite, The Book of Ceremonial Magic – summary of the Olympic planetary spirits and their powers.
Medicine Traditions – on traditional planet-metal-organ correspondences (e.g. Gold with Sun/Heart).
St. Augustine, Sermons (279 & 287) – on John the Baptist’s day vs. Christmas and the symbolism of the solstices.
Bible Hub (NIV translation) – Deuteronomy 4:19 and Jeremiah 19:13, condemning worship of sun, moon, stars.
Wikipedia – “Olympian spirits” and seven archangels correspondence; “Classical planet” and weekdays.