The Dictionary of Demons, page 68
When King Solomon calls several of the demons up, they tend to puff themselves up and make all manner of threats before realizing that they have no hope of resisting the power conferred to Solomon in the form of the heavenly seal. When Solomon calls Asmodeus to bind him, the demon rebukes the ancient king, saying, “But how shall I answer thee, for thou art a son of man; whereas I was born an angel’s seed by a daughter of man.” 148
Later in the same text, Beelzeboul, identified as the prince of demons, declares himself the last of the angels of Heaven who came down. Then he talks about his son who haunts the Red Sea, just in case there was any question that he was referencing the Enochic tradition.149 These statements alone reveal the close connection between the Testament of Solomon and the tradition of the Watcher Angels.
The Testament of Solomon establishes a number of concepts upon which are built the very foundations of Solomonic magick. First, there is a significance given to the decans of the zodiac. These number thirty-six, and accordingly, Solomon is presented a demon for each one.150 There is the magickal seal given to Solomon in the form of a ring. The demons must obey whoever wields this. This “Seal of Solomon” later gives rise to a profusion of images passed along through the grimoires, many of which are designed to control individually named demons. Some of these seals are scribed on parchment or etched in metal and held or worn as a lamen. Others, like Solomon’s, are worn as a ring.
The Star of Solomon surrounded by astrological symbols. Detail of a page from the eighteenth-century grimoire Clavis Inferni. Image courtesy of the Wellcome Collection, London.
The names themselves were also talismanic. Knowledge of a demon’s name was one part of their control, and that control was completed with knowledge of the angel who presided over them. In a few rare cases, this “angel” actually turns out to be one of the many secret names of God, but for the most part, every demon has an angel in counterpart. Although the text is rarely clear on the precise relationship entwining these beings, given what we know of the Watchers, it is tempting to conjecture that at least some of the angels hold sway over their demons as parent to child.
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146. In the Book of Jubilees, a tenth of the spirits of the dead giants are allowed to harrow the children of earth. See R. H. Charles, The Book of Jubilees, or The Little Genesis, 2005, 10: 8–13.
147. In Islamic lore, Solomon controls not demons but Jinn. See Amira El-Zein, Islam, Arabs, and the Intelligent World of the Jinn.
148. F. C. Conybeare, Aleister Crowley, and S. L. MacGregor Mathers, The Three Magical Books of Solomon, p. 271.
149. F. C. Conybeare, Aleister Crowley, and S. L. MacGregor Mathers, The Three Magical Books of Solomon, p. 273.
150. In later iterations of the Solomonic tradition, the number of demons rises to seventy-two. This number, significant throughout the grimoires, also appears in connection with Solomon and the Jinn in Muslim traditions. Notably, thirty-six, if doubled, yields seventy-two.
Perhaps the most widely recognizable symbol of the black arts is the so-called Sabbatic Goat, a five-pointed inverted pentagram with the head of a goat depicted within the star. This image is frequently also associated with the demon Baphomet, and in some systems, it is called the Goat of Mendes. The use of this inverted star in connection with LaVeyan Satanism and other antinomian traditions has led to a certain amount of confusion concerning five-pointed stars in general, and their association with magick and the occult.
From Satanists to heavy metal bands, the Star of Baphomet is a popular antinomian icon. Art by Catherine Rogers.
The five-pointed star, when transcribed point-up within a circle, is a symbol used widely by modern Pagans to represent the four elements of earthly existence bound and overseen by spirit, magick, or Will. This use of the five-pointed star is in no way infernal or demonic. Similarly, the five-pointed star has a positive use in Pennsylvania Dutch hexes and can be found in use as a good luck charm on private residences across the state of Pennsylvania, where it is so ubiquitous that the vast majority of individuals who hang this symbol on the outside of their houses are likely ignorant of its origin as a hex.151 The five-pointed star is also used within the iconography of Freemasonry. In particular, it is used to represent the women’s branch of Freemasonry, known as the Order of the Eastern Star.
The five-pointed star, point-up or otherwise, was not always a symbol associated with demons or the Devil. So when did its association with the black arts begin? The following quote is taken from a journal published by a London-based Masonic lodge, the Quatuor Coronati, in 1902:
“From old Greek times the Pentagram has been the symbol of Hygeia and Health, and is mentioned by Pythagoras. We may here observe that when it is erect, i.e., with one point vertical it is the Christian symbol, or the talisman, or the Masonic Star; but the Kabalists also use it in an inverted position and then it refers to the Devil and Black Magic, and has the names of the ‘Witch’s Foot’ or the ‘Head of the Evil Goat.’ ” 152
This quote demonstrates that, at least by the early 1900s, the association of the inverted five-pointed star with the Sabbatic Goat had been established. This statement from Eliphas Levi is slightly older:
“The star of the microcosm or the magic Pentagram, that star wherein the human figure was sketched by Agrippa with the head in the ascending point ... The Burning Star which, when inverted, is the hieroglyphic sign of the goat of black magic.153
Notably, Levi, whose work Waite is compiling in this book, lived between 1810 and 1875. His books were published around the 1850s. So the association of the pentagram with the black arts in general and the Sabbatic Goat (Baphomet) goes back at least to Levi and the mid-1800s.
The five-pointed star and talismans specifically called pentacles and pentagrams appear in works on ceremonial magick such as the Clavicula Salomonis (Key of Solomon). Most surviving copies of these works date to the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but Johannes Trithemius, who lived in the 1400s, includes several manuscripts by this name in a list of books on magick. This list, along with several of the relevant works, are available for public perusal on Joseph H. Peterson’s informative site, EsotericArchives.com.
Although these pentacles are certainly associated with ceremonial magick, it’s important to note that they are not expressly associated with black magick or Satanic imagery. That association seems to be largely a nineteenth-century construct—though it may have its roots in the dilettante Satanism that grew popular in France near the end of the 1700s.
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151. Pennsylvania has a colorful history of magick and hexenkraft, thanks to its Pennsylvania Dutch population. See William W. Neifert, “Witchcraft,” in The Pennsylvania-German: A Popular Magazine of Biography, History, Genealogy, Folklore, Literature, Etc., pp. 114–121.
152. J. W. Horsley, “Solomon’s Seal and the Shield of David Traced to Their Origin,” Ars Quatuor Corontorum, 1902, p. 52.
153. A. E. Waite, The Mysteries of Magic: A Digest of the Writings of Eliphas Levi, p. 323.
Throughout the biblical tradition, the angels—messengers of God—occupy a curious space beneath God but above humanity. Not expressly depicted as divine themselves, they are nevertheless otherworldly beings who, though capable of assuming the form of men, are clearly not mortal men themselves. The ambiguous nature of angels as they appear in the biblical tradition proved so problematic during the age of the Reformation that the Protestant branches of Christianity chose to abandon the veneration of these heavenly beings entirely. Most Protestant arguments against the inclusion of angels in Christian iconography suggested that the veneration of these beings tread dangerously into the territory of idolatry. There may be more truth to this than anyone suspected at the time.
The angels that appear in the biblical tradition were almost certainly gods and goddesses belonging to a polytheistic religion that predated and ultimately evolved into Jewish monotheism. 154 If the Book of Job is any indication, this angelic pantheon was overseen by a chief deity155 in much the same way that Zeus presided over the gods of Olympus. According to scholarly interpretations, Psalm 82 records the radical split of this chief deity from his pantheon of gods (for ease of reference, the original word being translated variously as God and the gods in the Psalm appears in brackets):
“God [Elohim] takes his place in the court of the mighty, to pronounce judgment among the gods [also Elohim]: How much longer will you judge unjustly? ... This is my sentence: Though you are gods, all sons of the Most High [Elyon], yet you shall die as mortals die, and fall as any prince does. Arise, O God [Elohim], and judge the Earth, for all the nations are yours.” 156
In this passage, which remains in the Bible to this day, the chief deity, who is equated with the biblical God, sentences all the other gods beneath him to death as he asserts his supremacy. But, when it comes to folk beliefs, it is not that easy to topple a preexisting pantheon. Even when the empowered priesthood declares that the old gods are dead, their worship continues—whether overtly or in secret. Many religious systems will seek to demonize the gods and goddesses that have fallen out of favor, but, in the case of particularly entrenched pantheons, assimilation is often a more effective route.
This seems to have been the case with the angels.
Once the idea of this chief deity’s supremacy began taking root, over time, the other gods and goddesses took progressively more subordinate roles to him. Eventually, the chief of the gods became the God—specifically the one Western civilization is acquainted with through the Bible. Once this occurred, rather than abandoning the other gods entirely, the people from whom we have inherited this belief system essentially demoted the lesser gods. The other members of the pantheon retained their place in the heavenly council, only they were no longer officially viewed as gods. Rather, they became something akin to immortal assistants. Higher in the cosmological pecking order than simple humans but necessarily ranked beneath the now Supreme Deity, these beings developed into the angels as we know them today.
An angel appears to a man as he dreams. Woodcut, sixteenth–seventeenth century. Image courtesy of the Wellcome Collection, London.
This evolution—or devolution, rather—is suggested by the retention of the term Elohim throughout early portions of the Bible (and, notably, the passage from Psalms quoted above). This term is translated in almost every instance as God—meaning Lord God—but it is a plural word. As we can see clearly from Psalm 82, it could be used interchangeably to indicate the gods and goddesses of the pantheon, and this is almost certainly where the term originates. When the chief deity ultimately equated with Yahweh in the Bible came to be viewed as the one and only God, the term for the entire pantheon was simply integrated into his name.
In an attempt to reconcile the absolute monotheism of the Bible, many theologians assert that the word Elohim is intended as a “singular plural.” (It is frequently used with singular verbs.) In this sense, it is supposedly intended as a kind of biblical “royal we.” Van Wolde distinguishes it as the common, as opposed to familiar, name for God within the Bible.157 The dubious nature of these defenses is undermined by the consistent use of Yahweh as a singular term, as well as the different strata in which these two distinct names for God see use.158 A critical reading of the biblical record reveals an evolution of Jewish monotheism that involved the reframing, rejection, and occasional integration of multiple gods into the One.
The early deific status of the angels echoes most feelingly in the Book of Job. In Job 1:6–12, Satan, the adversary, walks into the heavenly council on the day “the angels came to present themselves before the Lord.” 159 In this scene, God presides over what amounts to a heavenly board meeting, and while he occupies the biggest seat at the table, it is by far not the only seat. The other beings that appear on this council of gods are generally taken to be angels, but it’s important to note that this is an interpretive reading of the text. The original text itself is not precisely clear on the godly status—or lack thereof—of the other beings present on the council. The word used in the passage is bene ha Elohim, typically translated as “sons of God” and, notably, identical to the term used to designate the Watchers in Genesis 6:1–4.
If the idea that angels actually started out as gods in their own right seems difficult to accept, consider that angel names are typically translated to mean “of God” or “like God.” Their subordination to the supreme deity is taken to be inherent in their very names. And yet, if we look at the name of a standard angel, such as Raphael, we see that there could be a very different reading of that name.
The root raph means “healing.” The root el means “lord” or “god.” (God and lord—deity and kingship—were virtually synonymous in the ancient biblical world.) The combination of these two words is generally rendered “healing of God.” This, of course, suggests that the angel is in some fashion either an extension of God or some subordinate representative of God’s healing power. And yet, consider the possibility that the name Raphael could actually be read “God of healing.” For modern Pagans who feel drawn to the concept of angels—often guiltily, since the angels are seen as such a solidly Judeo-Christian concept—it may be useful to approach this older identity of angels not as servants of a supreme God but as rightful members of their own pantheon.
I’ve had a fascination with names ever since I was little. I think it happens to most kids. You start asking why your parents gave you the name that they did, and eventually you find out that your name means something. Then you learn that all names mean something. I was captivated by this notion, and as a writer, it never lost its allure. I would buy baby name books just to read through all the different names and their meanings, dreaming up characters to go with certain names. I kept lists of names on hand for creating characters on the fly with different creative projects, and around 2002 or so, I started keeping a spreadsheet of some of the more obscure, rare, and unusual names, along with their meanings and origins. Demons and angels were a part of this list, mainly because you just don’t find names like that in baby name books. And what if you want a perfectly sinister name for that villain in a short story?
I got my angel names from Gustav Davidson’s classic Dictionary of Angels. He’s got some fallen angels in that work as well, but most of them were the old familiar ones: Satan, Lucifer, Beelzebub, Belial. For really unusual names, I collected grimoires. The first book of this type that I ever owned was Francis Barrett’s The Magus, though I find it hard to class it strictly as a grimoire. It’s mostly a compilation of other people’s work, and Barrett isn’t always clear about when he’s borrowing something from a much older source. Still, I was excited to own it. I think it may have been the first occult book I ever bought with my own money. I remember feeling very naughty about buying it and sneaking it into the house so my grandmother wouldn’t catch sight of it and ask me what on earth it was. It probably says something about me that, at an age when other kids were buying copies of Playboy and hiding them under their beds, I was sneaking around with nineteenth-century grimoires. But if you’ve kept up with any of my other books, you already know that I’m at least a little strange.
The Magus was only the start of the collection. I bought a number of other books over the years, amassing a pretty sizable library. I have to admit, the magickal system outlined in the grimoires never really appealed to me. When I bought The Magus, I picked it up with all the intentions of a teenager seeking a scary book of black magick for a thrill. (Don’t judge me too harshly; I was fourteen.) I was expecting eye of newt and toe of frog, but instead I got astrological charts and angels assigned to every hour of the day, not to mention complicated magickal circles that had more to do with Hebrew names of God than the nefarious antics of the witches in Macbeth. But it did add a wealth of weird and curious names to my collection—which served in part to inspire me to seek out other grimoires and magickal tomes, if only to add to my growing compilation of weird, unusual, and off-the-wall names.
I started the spreadsheet that would eventually become the Dictionary of Demons back in 2002. The date sticks out to me because I was in Chicago, working with URN, the new incarnation of a band I’d helped found back in college. I remember sitting in the practice space in the finished basement of our drummer, jotting down notes from various sources in between songs. I took the notes and spreadsheet with me when we went on tour that year, and I worked on my little personal resource during that interminably long period that always seems to exist between the time at which a band shows up at a venue and the time when the band actually takes the stage to play. I know some folks who perform in metal bands usually use that period of time to enjoy the venue, drink, and otherwise blow off some of the steam built up from spending however many hours crammed in the touring van with instruments, swag, and fellow musicians, but I’ve never been much of a party animal. Give me a nice, quiet corner where I can sit with my nose stuck in a book, occasionally looking up and observing the crowd, and I will be happier than I could ever possibly be in a loud and smoke-filled bar, rubbing elbows with people I’ve never met before.
I’m not an extrovert, really. I just play one on TV.
Of course, let me state clearly that I was not working on a collection of demon names while touring with a metal band because heavy metal music is in any way demonic. Heavy metal music may often play with dark and even infernal imagery, but it does so largely from an artistic perspective. The demons, at the time, were only part of a larger reference work I was compiling for my own personal use. What did I want an alphabetized collection of demon names for, might you ask? Don’t laugh, but in its first incarnation, the spreadsheet was a gaming reference.
