From Antiquity to the Art

I have now, reader, fulfilled my promise and, to the best of my ability, proved the antiquity of magic. I am not foolish enough to expect everyone to endorse my efforts: not everyone shares my judgment. But the die is cast. I have done this much, and whoever would overthrow it must first understand that his task is to do more. On one point I may rightly bind an opponent: he must not set man against God, or pagan romances against divine Scripture. Whoever would defeat me must use the same weapons as I do. I have not fed my readers straw, and I will not be refuted with stubble. Next I intend to speak about the art itself. I shall do so in rational terms, departing from the manner of the ancients: I will not fill my discourse like a wilderness with lions and dragons. Ordinary philosophers are particularly guilty of the fault Quintilian observed in some orators: “The summits of their works are visible; their foundations lie hidden.” The spires of their Babel are in the clouds, its foundations nowhere. They speak of fine things, but never tell us on what grounds. To avoid such flights, I shall

arrange this miscellany of mine—for I care little what I call it—as follows. First I shall speak of the one and only thing that is the subject of this art and the mother of all things. Second, I shall discuss the most wonderful and more than natural medicine generated from this one thing. Last, though with some disorder, I shall disclose the means by which the art works upon its subject. But these are the keys that lead into Nature's very chamber of state, where she sits in full ceremony and receives the philosophers' visits; I must therefore scatter them throughout the discourse. This is all. Consider here how complete the disclosure is, rather than how long or short my account may be. It will truly be such, and so much, that you cannot reasonably expect more. Now, you who would become what the ancient physicians were—the healing hands of the gods—instead of quacks and peddlers of pot remedies; you who would accomplish what you publicly profess, and make your callings honest and conscientious: attend to the truth without resentment. Remember that prejudice is no religion and consequently earns no reward. Even if this art were damnable, you could still safely study it, for you have a command to test all things and hold fast

to what is good. It is your duty not to fail yourselves. For my part, so that I may fail no one, I begin as follows.