Because of their obscure imagery, alchemical texts have come to mean a great many different things to a great many different people. Amidst all these interpretations, there are two specific (opposing) schools of thought that are worth talking about. They are worth talking about because both are incorrect.
The first view is that alchemy is entirely spiritual. That alchemical imagery is allegory for the mind, and its processes are those processes we go through in our own spiritual awakening. This camp assumes that when we say “lead” we don’t mean actual metallic lead, but instead that dark, malleable prima materia of our own unrefined mind. In many ways we have Jung to thank for the popularity of this interpretation, which views alchemy as an entirely mental pursuit. One that can be carried out from the comfort of an armchair.
The second view is the polar opposite. It approaches alchemy as crude proto-chemistry, wherein were recorded recipes for useful compounds such as ammonium chloride in the language available before the invention of the periodic table of elements. Per this camp, the creations of the alchemist were entirely physical. They might be interesting, from a historical standpoint, but are rather quaint and outmoded in an era of hotplates and off-the-shelf reagents.
I would argue that both views are in error. One of the core tenets of alchemy is that the universe has a mirrored fractal structure; different levels of reality echo each other. As above, so below. As within, so without. From this view, it comes as no surprise that the narrative of the philosopher’s stone would have analogs in both the physical and spiritual realms. How could it not?
In order to understand alchemy most deeply, then, we must engage with it on both fronts. Spiritual development is the gate that unlocks laboratory success. Laboratory procedure is the crucible that refines our spiritual understanding. It requires both the prayer and the work. Ora et labora.
Alchemical authors, such as Basil Valentine are quite clear on this point: practical experimentation must go hand in hand with spiritual invocation and contemplation.1 Modern-day alchemists with whom I have corresponded agree. One person may find success with a recipe, while another – following an identical physical procedure – does not. There is a non-physical component to the work, as well as a physical one.
In previous posts, I’ve written about the theoretical and physical side of alchemy (at least as it relates to the plant kingdom). But I haven’t explored the spiritual side. To remedy that, I present three different prayers.
The first is ascribed to Nicholas Flamel, a French alchemist living from the fourteenth to the early fifteenth century (and a character familiar to any readers of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone):
Almighty, eternal God, Father of Light, from Whom all good things and perfect gifts come to us, I beg You, for the sake of Your infinite mercy, let me recognize Your eternal wisdom, that which surrounds Your throne, which has created and made everything, which guides and maintains everything. Send it to me from Heaven, Your sanctuary, and from the throne, Your glory, that it may enter me, and work within me. [For] it is the mistress of all heavenly and secret arts, which opens up the knowledge of an insight into all things. Grant that it may accompany me in all my works, so that, strengthened by its spirit, I may receive the true insight and advance without error in the noble Art to which I have dedicated my life, in the exploration of the Philosopher’s Stone, which You have hidden from the world but whose discovery You grant to Your elect. That I may happily begin, continue, and perfect this great work which I am called to accomplish on this earth, and that I may ever rejoice in it. For this I entreat You through Jesus Christ, the celestial Stone, pillar of the marvelous, founded for eternity, who determines and rules with You.
Amen.2
Next, a much simpler prayer attributed to Paracelsus, a prolific Swiss alchemist living at the end of the fifteenth and into the sixteenth centuries:
O Holy Spirit, show me what I do not know, and teach me what I cannot do, and give me what I do not have. Grant that You, O Holy Spirit, may dwell within my five senses; with the seven gifts you are to gift me, and I shall have Your divine peace. O Holy Spirit! Teach me and show me, so that I may live rightly with God and my neighbor.3
Finally, a prayer from Aphorism 14 of the Arbatel, a sixteenth century Swiss grimoire, whose author was clearly familiar with the work of Paracelsus:
O Lord of heaven and earth, Maker and Creator of all things visible and invisible; I, though unworthy, by thy assistance call upon thee, through thy only begotten Son Jesus Christ our Lord, that thou wilt give unto me thy Holy Spirit, to direct me in thy truth unto the good of all. AMEN.
Because I earnestly desire to know fully the Arts of this life and such things as are necessary for us, who are so immersed in darkness, and fouled with unending human beliefs, that I of my own power can attain to no knowledge in them, unless thou teach it me: Grant me therefore one of thy spirits, who may teach me those things which thou would have me to know and learn, to thy praise and glory, and the benefit of our neighbours. Give me also an apt and teachable heart, that I may easily understand those things which thou shalt teach me, and may easily retain in my mind what thou hast taught, so that I may bring them forth as out of thy inexhaustible treasures, to all necessary uses.
And grant to me grace, that I may use such thy gifts humbly, with fear and trembling, through our Lord JESUS CHRIST, with thy Holy Spirit. Amen.4
Three different prayers, intended for similar purposes. Three different paths towards the same goal. Flamel is much more explicit in asking to make progress towards the magnum opus of the great work: the creation of the philosopher’s stone. The Paracelsus derived writings are more circumspect, but also connect more clearly to the ultimate outcomes of the work, namely right living with God and service to one’s neighbors. All three prayers, interestingly, are eloquent in their invocation of the Holy Spirit as integral to the work of alchemy. (Paracelsus, indeed, invoking only the Holy Spirit.)
Whether a budding alchemist chooses to use one of these prayers as written, or write a personal one following the same principles, the regular recitation of such a prayer should only improve their outcomes in laboratory work.
- See his Triumphal Chariot of Antimony. ↩︎
- Junius, M. (2007). Spagyrics. Healing Arts Press. ↩︎
- Ibid. ↩︎
- This is a synthesized translation. It draws primarily on Robert Turner’s translation from 1655, but clarifies some of Turner’s more florid turns of phrase with wording from Joseph H. Peterson’s 2009 printed edition (Peterson, J. (2009). Arbatel: Concerning the Magic of the Ancients. Ibis Press.) ↩︎
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