On Sacred Magic

Part 2, Theurgy, Neoplatonism, and Iamblichus

The theological term for "sacred magic" is theurgy.

Theurgy has its origins in Neoplatonism. Consequently, before we examine Christian descriptions of theurgy let's back up a bit to survey the thought of the Neoplatonic philosopher Iamblichus (c. 245-325).

Late in the third century paganism was in decline, dealing with stiff competition from a new religious movement: Christianity. Facing this crisis, Iamblichus, the greatest Platonic philosopher of his time, was called upon to articulate a holistic and compelling vision of Neoplatonic faith and practice. Critical to this task was integrating the philosophically-inflected faith of the Neoplatonic philosophers with the cultic practices of the common folk. In setting about this task, some scholars have suggested that Iamblichus was trying to make paganism more "competitive" with Christianity among the masses. But a deeper analysis of Iamblichus' project is that he was trying to overcome Neoplatonism's dualistic and pessimistic rejection of the material world, a dismissal of material reality that Iamblichus felt was antithetical to Plato's vision. And it's here, with Iamblichus' interest in uniting the spiritual with the material, where our exploration of theurgy begins.

The book to read about all this is Gregory Shaw's Theurgy and the Soul: The Neoplatonism of Iamblichus (make sure you get the second edition which has a forward by John Milbank and Aaron Riches).

Again, and as Shaw describes in Theurgy and the Soul, Iamblichus feared that Neoplatonism was losing contact with the material world. In seeking to reconnect the spiritual realm with the material, Iamblichus sought to elevate the role theurgy (literally, "god work") over theologia (literally, "god talk") in Roman cultic life. For Iamblichus, the cultic practices of pagan worship were more important in bringing human life into contact with the gods than was philosophical speculation. For Iamblichus, ritual was central in bringing about divine union. As Shaw observes:

Iamblichus believed the world described by Plato in the Timaeus was being torn apart by a new kind of Platonism that denied the sanctity of the world and elevated the human mind beyond its natural limits. According to Iamblichus such rationalistic hubris threatened to separate man from the activity of the gods, and he presented theurgy as the antidote to restore contact with the divine order...

In theurgy these divine principles were embodied and enacted, not merely contemplated, and in whatever context this occurred it was a "work of the gods," a theourgia in which the human soul participated both as recipient and beneficiary...

With theurgy Iamblichus hoped to recover Plato's positive orientation to the cosmos. At issue was the divinity of the world, and for Iamblichus the most effective means to acknowledge this was the performance of rites that conformed the soul to its sacred order.

According to Iamblichus, cultic rites and rituals allowed the material to participate in the spiritual order. In denigrating the cultic practices of pagan observance, argued Iamblichus, the Neoplatonic philosophers were evacuating the world of its sacred connection and character. Simply put, in despising the material world Neoplatonic philosophy was effecting its disenchantment. As Iamblichus writes in On the Mysteries:

This doctrine spells the ruin of all holy ritual and theurgic communion between gods and men, since it places the presence of superior beings outside the earth. It amounts to saying that the divine is at a distance from the earth and cannot mingle with men, and that this lower region is a desert, without gods.

Due to their spiritualizing and gnostic inclinations, along with denigrating cultic rituals, Neoplatonic philosophers we turning this world into a spiritual "desert," a world devoid of divine presence, a disenchanted place "without gods." Thus, by restoring divine presence and participation in pagan cultic observance Iamblichus sought a re-enchantment of the material world. Here's how Iamblichus describes what is happening in the theurgic rituals:

The whole of theurgy presents a double aspect. One is that it is conducted by men, which preserves our natural rank in the universe; the other is that, being empowered by divine symbols, it is raised up through them to be united with the gods and is led harmoniously into their order. This can rightly be called taking the shape of the gods.

Milbank and Riches summarize Iamblichus' vision of theurgy:

Through rites and prayers, the divine power of matter to be receptive to the divine energy is unlocked, making it thereby a vehicle of the soul's receptivity to the divine energy.

Here is where the notion of "sacred magic" enters in, with this notion that "through rites and prayers" we can unlock the "divine power of matter to be receptive to the divine energy."

Let's step back to see how theurgy compares to how we typically think about magic. Generally speaking, magic attempts to control, direct, or compel some supernatural power or potency. Call this sorcery. Sorcery is roundly and consistently condemned in the Bible and Christian tradition. But is Iamblichian theurgy an example of sorcery? To many Christian observers, like Augustine, it appeared so. Pagan rites and rituals looked to be attempts to appease, petition, summon, control, or compel the gods. And it's also important to note that the early Christians described the pagan gods as demons. Which casts theurgy in a very diabolical light.

However, Shaw argues that this was a misunderstanding of Iamblichian theurgy. According to Iamblichus, the goal of theurgy was not manipulation but participation. As "sacred magic" the goal wasn't control but union. Theurgy lifted human existence toward the divine in a process of divinization. Shaw summarizes Iamblichus's own contrasting of theurgy with sorcery:

Iamblichus argued that theurgy had nothing to do with sorcery or wonder-working. Theurgy employed ritual to subordinate man to the divine will--precisely the opposite of sorcery. For Iamblichus, theurgic rites revealed the vestiges of a divine presence. That presence was ineffable, but what lay beyond man's intellectual grasp could nevertheless be entered and achieved through ritual action...

Sacred magic, therefore, as a theurgic practice, seeks alignment, attunement, and conformity with the sacred realm. Subordination to the divine will, not its manipulation. That these practices are "magical," and not just "moral" or "symbolic," points to how the rites and rituals create "receptivity" to "divine energy."

Perhaps this simplification will help make the similarities and dissimilarities between sorcerous magic and sacred/theurgic magic more clear:

Sorcerous Magic = Ritual + Intent: Manipulation of Divine Will + Goal: Control of Divine Energy

Sacred/Theurgic Magic = Ritual + Intent: Subordination to Divine Will + Goal: Receptive to Divine Energy

As we'll come to see, the Neoplatonic vision of theurgy will be pulled into the Christian tradition. Theurgy becomes a properly Christian concept. We'll be turning to that part of the story next. But before we leave Neoplatonic theurgy behind, let's pause to reflect on Question 2 from Part 1. Specifically, is this concept of theurgy doing anything new, different, or valuable for us?

For example, consider describing the Catholic practice of making the Sign of the Cross as theurgy, as a practice of sacred magic. From the Catechism of the Catholic Church:

The Christian begins his day, his prayers, and his activities with the Sign of the Cross: "in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." The baptized person dedicates the day to the glory of God and calls on the Savior's grace which lets him act in the Spirit as a child of the Father. The sign of the cross strengthens us in temptations and difficulties.

Following from what we've described above, the Sign of the Cross can be described as theurgic, as a practice of sacred magic. First, there is a ritual (you physically make the sign). Second, the motivation behind making the sign is not manipulative but participatory, seeking attunement and conformity with the divine will. Third, the ritual makes the individual receptive to and a receptacle of divine energy and power. The sign "calls on the Savior's grace" which empowers the person to "act in the Spirit as a child of the Father" and "strengthens us in temptations and difficulties." The sign isn't a moralistic gesture. Nor is it merely symbolic. The sign is theurgic.

Now, the rejoinder here is that we don't need the words "theurgic" or "magical" to describe something like the Sign of the Cross. We already have a word for this, and that word is "sacramental." The Catholic church describes sacramentals, like the Sign of the Cross, as prayers, gestures and signs that "prepare us to receive grace and dispose us to cooperate with it." Now, this is a theurgic description, but in being so appears to make the words "theurgy" and "sacred magic" superfluous and unnecessarily complicating. Just call the Sign of the Cross sacramental.

True enough, this convergence between the theurgic and the sacramental is where this series is going. Which is why I raised Question 2 in the first post: Even if we can come up with an orthodox description of sacred magic (e.g., sacred magic = theurgic = sacramental) is there anything new here? Why come up with new words when the old ones will do?

In reply, let me suggest that my (perhaps too early in the series) connection between the theurgic and the sacramental is allowing the concept of theurgy to weird our notions of "sacrament" and "sacramental." My strong suspicion is that, especially among Protestants, our understanding of "sacrament" is more symbolic than theurgic. Consequently, some sacred magic might be helpful in weirding our views of "the sacramental." A stranger, spookier, and more magical view of the sacraments is closer to their ontological reality.

Even Catholics need an intervention. Last year, the US Church called for a "Eucharistic Revival" as surveys were showing that the majority of American Catholics no longer believed in the real presence. The Catholic vision of the sacrament had moved away from the theurgic toward the symbolic.

All that to say, I hope you can see in these last few paragraphs how the concept of theurgy is already doing some useful work for us, if only to highlight how once robustly sacramental imaginations have become increasingly arid and disenchanted.