The Anatomy of Melancholy

But Bodin’s belief, in book 4 of his Theatre of Nature—following Maximus of Tyre and the Platonists, presumably—that they can discover the secrets of a person’s heart or people’s thoughts is utterly false. His arguments are weak and adequately refuted by Zanchi, book 4, chapter 9; Jerome, book 2 of his commentary on Matthew, at chapter 15; the Questions to Prince Antiochus attributed to Athanasius, question 27; and others.

As for the orders of good and evil demons maintained by the Platonists, the idea is entirely mistaken, and the pagans’ good and evil genii must be rejected. These pagan writers do not agree among themselves on this point, as Dandini observes: “They do not agree on whether any are evil.”

Some hold that we mistakenly call spirits good or evil in relation to ourselves. If an ox or horse could reason, it would say that the butcher was its enemy because he killed it, and the grazier its friend because he fed it. A hunter preserves his game yet also kills it, and his game hates him nonetheless; “nor can a fish love the fisherman,” and so on.

But Iamblichus, Psellus, Plutarch and most Platonists acknowledge evil spirits, “and that we must guard against their harmful acts,” since they are enemies of humankind. Plato learned in Egypt, they say, that these spirits quarrelled with Jupiter and were driven down by him into hell.

What Apuleius, Xenophon and Plato maintain about Socrates’ divine spirit is utterly absurd; so is the claim about Plotinus’ spirit, that he likewise had “a god in place of a daemon”; and so is Porphyry’s conclusion about them all in general, that they grow angry if their sacrifices are neglected. Cardano goes further in his Hipperchen, maintaining that they feed on human souls.

“The elements sustain plants, plants sustain animals, and animals sustain humans; humans, too, will sustain other beings—not gods, since their nature is too far removed from ours, but therefore demons.” So, presumably, the reason for all the battles fought in every age and country is to provide them with a feast, their sole delight.

But to return to my earlier point: the claim that, when displeased, they fume and rage—for they presumably feed on the souls of beasts as we do on their bodies—and send many plagues among us, but do much good when pleased, is as empty as the rest. It is refuted by Augustine, City of God, book 9, chapter 8; Eusebius, Preparation for the Gospel, book 4, chapter 6; and others.

Yet I find that our scholastics and other theologians distinguish nine kinds of evil spirits, as Dionysius did of angels. In the first rank are the pagans’ false gods, formerly worshipped in various idols, which gave oracles at Delphi and elsewhere. Their prince is Beelzebub.

The second rank consists of liars and equivocators, such as Pythian Apollo and the like. The third comprises those vessels of wrath, the inventors of every evil, such as Theuth in Plato; Isaiah calls them vessels of fury. Their prince is Belial. The fourth consists of malicious, vengeful devils, and their prince is Asmodeus.

The fifth kind are deceivers, those associated with magicians and witches; their prince is Satan. The sixth are the spirits of the air that corrupt it and cause plagues, thunder, fires and so on. They are mentioned in Revelation, and Paul, writing to the Ephesians, calls them the princes of the air. Meresin is their prince.