Zeitschriftenartikel zum Thema „Theosophy in art“

An interesting subject that delves into the junction of spirituality, philosophy, and creative expression is the effect of Theosophy on contemporary painting. In the late 19th century, Helena Petrovna Blavatsky established the spiritual movement known as Theosophy. Theosophy is a belief system that seeks to discover the truth about the oneness of all faiths and delve further into the secrets of life, positing the existence of concealed realities beyond the material world. During the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Theosophy wielded a transformative influence on the field of contemporary art. Its principles were not just influential, but potent enough to reshape the work of even the most prominent painters. Russian artist Wassily Kandinsky is a testament to this; his journey was not just instrumental, but transformative in the ascent of abstract expressionism.Theosophical teachings resonated deeply with Kandinsky, echoing not just his profound spirituality, but his personal quest to uncover art's hidden significance. Theosophy posited the existence of concealed realities beyond the material world, placing not just a premium, but a profound importance on the spiritual facets of life. For Kandinsky, art was not just a portal, but a profound conduit for these higher realms, a conduit for the cosmic spirit to manifest. This profoundly impacted Kandinsky as he veered away from realistic imagery and delved into the realm of abstract painting. He aimed to articulate spiritual experiences and emotions through the medium of color and shape. For instance, in his painting 'Composition VII, 'Kandinsky used vibrant colors and dynamic shapes to convey a sense of spiritual energy and movement. Driven by the belief that art could convey profound, transcendent truths, his work progressively shed its symbolic nature. Famous for his geometric abstract paintings, Piet Mondrian was another artist impacted by Theosophy. Theosophy's principles of spiritual progress and cosmic oneness resonated with Mondrian's search for inner peace and a sense of cosmic order, which were crucial to his creative process. For instance, in his painting 'Composition with Red, Yellow, and Blue, 'Mondrian used primary colors and straight lines to represent the harmony and balance he believed existed in the universe, a concept aligned with philosophical ideas. Beyond specific artists, the influence of Theosophy on contemporary art might be seen in more systemic currents like Abstract Expressionism and Symbolism. Some artists, like the symbolists, drew inspiration from the theosophical tradition's emphasis on introspection and mystical themes. Theosophy had not just a significant but a lasting impact on contemporary painting. It inspired painters to seek not just new ways but innovative ways of expressing themselves that went beyond traditional depictions. Modern painting's enduring legacy is not just profoundly rooted but intricately intertwined with theosophical ideas of spirituality, oneness, and inner change, which fostered not just the emergence but the flourishing of abstract and emotionally charged art forms, such as Wassily Kandinsky's abstract expressionism and Piet Mondrian's geometric abstraction, which aimed not just to convey, but to evoke spiritual and emotional experiences through non-representational forms.

AbstractThe art of Paul Sérusier and that of his artist friends has been interpreted in this essay as having its roots in the Theosophical themes prevalent in an interdependent circle of authors and spiritualists in 18th and 19th century France. These mystical thinkers were less concerned with the writings and indomitable presence of the acknowledged leading light of Theosophy Helena Petrovna Blavatsky than with a more specifically French national yearning for its imagined Celtic and traditionally Roman Catholic roots, smothered, in their view, by secular and materialistic modern sensibilities. Theosophy, “the essence of all doctrines, the inmost truth of all religions” as defined by the doyenne of French Theosophy Maria, Countess of Caithness and Duchess of Medina-Pomar, led Sérusier to seek elemental truth for his art in a remote inland village in Brittany where he painted for many years, to a Benedictine monastery on the Danube where formerly Nazarene artist/monks had created a system of drawing and painting believed to be based on the original design of the universe, and to the widely read text Les Grands Initiés (1899) by the mystic writer, Edouard Schuré. Sérusier's broad-reaching search for the Theosophical roots of art was one aspect of the fin de siècle malaise that led the arts out of the world into dreams.

The aim of the following paper is to show that it is not possible to penetrate into the depths of Nikolay Raynov's universe and to comprehend its wholeness, without posing and investigating the question about the origin or the foundation of his various creative occupations, i.e his novels, philosophic and theosophic writings, art history and critique, paintings, decorative design etc. This question is far too complex to be answered briefly without being simplified, and therefore two main directions will be articulated: the recption of Orphism developed in Plotinus' and Porphyry's Neoplatonism – which is the basis of modern Theosophy –, and the synthetic understanding of art, which puts Raynov's views in close proximity to Wassily Kandinsky and Nicholas Roerich.

Around the year 1900, European discourse on art was becoming increasingly ‘esotericized’. The 1890s saw esoteric art salons create a sensation in Paris, and art critics and theorists painted a picture of the true artist and the esotericist as overlapping figures. There was also at the time a conflict regarding mediumistic art, a phenomenon initially made popular through Spiritualist mediums. This debate, as we shall see, had interesting gendered dimensions. In what follows, I will discuss how the Swedish female esotericist and artist Tyra Kleen (1874–1951) attempted to situate herself in connection to the concept of the artist as a magus, and the tensions between the positive view of mediumism in Spiritualism and the more negative or cautious approach to it in Theosophy, as well as in relation to the attendant gender issues.

Starting with the 2013 conference Enchanted Modernities in Amsterdam, a number of academic events, exhibitions, and publications (including a 2016 special issue of Nova Religio) documented the growing interest of both art historians and scholars of new religious movements in the influence of the Theosophical Society and other esoteric groups on the birth and development of modern art. At the center of this renewed interest is the controversial work of Finnish art historian Sixten Ringbom (1935–1992), who in the late 1960s “discovered” the Theosophical connections of Russian pioneer of abstract art Wassily Kandinsky (1866–1944), discussed in his book The Sounding Cosmos. In this paper, I discuss Ringbom’s background, his almost coincidental discovery of Theosophy, the ostracism his work received from those who did not want modern art to be associated with irrationalist and disreputable “cults,” and his posthumous influence on the birth of a new subfield within the study of new religious movements, devoted to their relationships with the visual arts.

В статье обосновывается положение о том, что антропологические модели русского авангарда были тесно связаны с метафизикой Всеединства русской религиозной философии рубежа ХIX-XX вв., теософией, философией жизни и древнеиндийскими учениями. Жизнестроительные тенденции эпохи отражали эсхатологические мотивы культуры и искусства Серебряного века. Органическое направление русского авангарда продолжило линию Всеединства, утверждая равенство между микро- и макрокосмом. Предложенный М. Матюшиным метод «ЗОР-ВЕД» отражал антропологические идеи воспитания совершенного человека средствами искусства. The article substantiates the position that the anthropological models of the Russian avant-garde were closely related to the metaphysics of the unity of Russian religious philosophy at the turn of the 19th-20th centuries, theosophy, the philosophy of life, and ancient Indian teachings. Vital tendencies of the era reflected eschatological motifs of culture and art of the Silver Age. The organic direction of the Russian avant-garde continued the line of Unity, asserting the equality between micro and macrocosm. The «ZOR-VED» method proposed by M. Matyushin reflected the anthropological ideas of educating a perfect person by means of art.

In the early 20th century there were emerging many intellectual currents at the same time as an organic continuation of the Enlightenment, the materialist-based scientific thinking, such as Darwinism, Haeckelism, Marxism, and Einstein’s theory of relativity. At the same time, Goethe’s spiritual science, Kant’s moral philosophy, and pure Hegelian idealism were still influential, but there appeared already Nietzsche’s amoral philosophy, which was a contemporary philosophical response to the secularization of the world. A little bit later, were emerging Freudian psychoanalysis and its psychological branches (Jung, Ferenczy, Adler, etc.). As a counter-effect of materialism, there developed also esoteric trend as Neognostic Spiritualism, Theosophy and Anthroposophy, as well as the Freemasonry movement. These intellectual currents acted and fertilized simultaneously the bourgeois culture, science and art of that era. This ebullient intellectual environment favoured naturally the development of brilliant creators like Frigyes Karinthy. It is not by chance that there are detectable Gnostic elements in Karinty’s several writings, existential and eschatological ideas which are presented by exploring contemporary Neognostic trends in this study.

Meri Genetz (1885–1943) was a Finnish painter, esotericist, and a spiritual seeker. Around 1925, she began truly dedicating herself to spiritual seeking and started to make notes of her studies in black notebooks. This article will go through four of those notebooks which today offer a vivid picture of Genetz’s seeking between the years 1925 and 1943. In the beginning, Genetz acquainted herself with Gnosticism, Theosophy, and Kabbalah, as well as the works of Christian mystics, such as Emanuel Swedenborg and Jakob Böhme, the writings of, for example, Paracelsus, and texts attributed to the mythic figure Hermes Trismegistus. Gradually Genetz started to outline her own views, ideas, and theories regarding higher truth and spiritual wisdom. In the beginning of the 1930s her main quest came to be to find her ‘other half’ and become whole. She started attending Spiritualist séances, where she would ask about her other half and discuss the state of her soul, the souls of others, her art and marriage, and the books she had read. In time, Genetz’s quest for true wisdom and self-fulfilment became more and more restless and impatient. When she died in 1943, she was still seeking.

Much recent critical interest in the relationship between modernism and religion has concerned itself with the occult, spiritualism, and theosophy as opposed to institutional religion, relying on an implicit analogy between the experimental in religion and the experimental in art. I argue that considering Christianity to be antithetical to modernism not only obscures an important facet of modernist religious culture, but also misrepresents the at-once tentative and imaginative thinking that marks the modernist response to religion. I explore the ways in which the poet-painter David Jones combined sources familiar from cultural modernism – namely Frazer's The Golden Bough – with Catholic thinking on the Eucharist to constitute a modernism that is both hopeful about the possibilities for aesthetic form and cautious about the unavoidable limitations of human creativity. I present Jones's openness to the creative potential of the Mass as his equivalent to the more recognisably modernist explorations of non-Western and ancient ritual: Eliot's Sanskrit poetry, Picasso's African masks, and Stravinsky's shamanic rites and suggest that his understanding of the church as overflowing with creative possibilities serves as a counterweight to the empty churches of Pericles Lewis’ seminal work, Religious Experience and the Modernist Novel.

The sacred art of Jerzy Nowosielski, an outstanding Polish painter of the second half of the 20th century, is an example of the creative continuation of the Byzantine tradition in Poland, but also an embodiment of the debate with the painting tradition of the East and with the experience of the Church. Both in theory and in painting practice, the artist redefined the concept of the icon, attempting to expand its formula so that it not only spoke of the Kingdom, but also included the image of the earthly, imperfect reality of the pilgrim Church. In his designs of sacred interiors for churches of various Christian denominations, Nowosielski wanted to combine three theological disciplines and their respective ways of representation: Christology, sophiology and angelology. Beside a classical icon, called by the painter a “Christological- Chalcedonian” icon, Nowosielski demanded a “sophiological” icon, bringing into the space of a church an earthly, painful reality, traces of inner struggle and doubt – hence the presence of doloristic motifs in his icons. The “inspired geometry” also became a complement to the holy images; the artist noticed a huge spiritual potential in abstract painting, to which he eventually assigned the role of icon painting. The poetic concept of “subtle bodies” – abstract angels testifying to the reality of the spiritual world – drew from the early Christian theological thought, which argued about the corporeality of spiritual entities, from Byzantine angelology, the tradition of theosophy and occultism, but also from the art of the first avant-garde, especially that from Eastern Europe, which inherited the Orthodox cult of the image. Nowosielski’s bilingualism as a painter – practicing abstraction and figuration in tandem, including within the church – paralleled the liturgical practice of many religious communities using different languages to express different levels of reality: human affairs and divine affairs. The tradition of apophatic theology, proclaiming the truth about the “unrepresentability” of God, was also important in shaping Nowosielski’s ideas. For Nowosielski’s monumental art, the problem of the mutual relationship between painting and architecture proved crucial. The artist based his concept on the decisive domination of painting over architecture and the independence of monumental painting. His goal was the principle of creating a sacred interior as a holistic, comprehensive vision of space which leads the participants of liturgy “out of everyday life” and into a different, transcendent dimension, in which the painter saw the main purpose of sacred art. From his first projects from the 1950s till the end of his artistic practice Nowosielski tried to realize his own dream version of the “ideal church”. In many of his projects he introduced abstraction into the temple, covering the walls, vaults, presbyteries, sometimes even the floors with a network of triangular “subtle bodies”. Forced to compromise, he introduced sacred abstraction into murals, as accompanying geometries, or into stained glass windows. The interiors, comprehensively and meticulously planned, were supposed to create the effect of “passing through”, “rending the veil” – from behind which a new, heavenly reality dawned. In practice, it was not always possible to achieve this intention, but the artist’s aim was to create an impression of visual unity, a sense of “entering the painting”, of being immersed in the element of painting. Painting in space was supposed to unite a broken world, to combine physical and spiritual reality into an integral whole. When designing sacred interiors, Nowosielski used the sanctity of the icon, but also the pure qualities of painting which were to cause a “mystical feeling of God’s reality”. The aim of sacred art understood in such a way turned out to be initiation rather than teaching. In this shift of emphasis Nowosielski saw the only chance for the revival of sacred art, postulating even a shift of the burden of evangelization from verbal teaching to the work of charismatic art.

This article focuses on the images of the Eternal Feminine, which are pivotal in Vyacheslav Ivanov’s system of aesthetic and religious views and in the symbolic motifs of theophany connected with it. Theophany in this case means the manifestation of deity in a sensible form in Ivanov’s poetry, philosophical and critical essays, and diaries at different periods of his life. The concept is largely based on the medieval Christian theosophy: “the soul sees God in a dream, sees in a mirror and divination, and not face to face” (Bernard of Clairvaux). Therefore, according to Russian and American historian and art theorist Mikhail Iampolski, the more accurate the mirror, “the less it reflects to us in terms of form and meaning.” The authors hypothesize that the two Ivanov’s collections of poems Kormchiye zvyozdy [Pilot Stars] (19021903) and Prozrachnost’ [Translucency] (1904) connected by one lyrical meta-plot of mystical revelation and theophany show how the Eternal Feminine images gradually become intangible and impalpable. The anthropomorphic image of the Eternal Feminine, having its own attributes and acting as the subject of speech, loses its outlines and, as it were, dissolves into the world. In this sense, two images, the Beauty and the Translucency, can be contrasted. The first image is the central for Kormchiye zvyozdy, the second - for Prozrachnost’. The Beauty can be through ekphrasis (works by Leonardo, Botticelli, Raphael, etc.) and appear in contemplation. Translucency is active and transforms the world, but it is not personified, devoid of a voice. It is an elusive movement, a quality of the transformed world and at the same time an acting subject, signifying the appearance of Sophia in the world. The analysis of the collections has demonstrated that the general metaplot of theophany has an introduction and development. It is integral and implies a certain author’s strategy as well as its conceptual aesthetic and philosophical foundations. Drawing on Ivanov’s own views on the suggestive functions of the poetry of symbolism (“we, symbolists, do not exist - if there are no symbolist listeners” (“Thoughts on Symbolism”)), the authors assume that not Ivanov’s lyrical hero, but his attentive reader approaches the transcendent world over the course of two books, including through the transformation of Eternally Feminine images. That is, Ivanov puts into practice his own concept of the “realistic” (that is, truly symbolist) type of artistic creativity. The authors declare no conflicts of interests.

Interference of esotericism and politics became apparent especially in the 19th century when the early socialists expected the coming of the Age of Spirit, and narratives about secret wisdom being kept in mysterious sacred places became all the more popular. Thus, the idea of the Age of Enlightenment underwent transformation: the world will be saved not by ordinary knowledge but by some special secret wisdom. In this context, Helena Blavatsky (1831–1891) developed the doctrine of Theosophy the ideas of which were overtaken by the next-generation theosophists including also the Russian painter Nicholas Roerich (1874–1947) and his spouse Helena Roerich (1879–1955) who developed a new form of Theosophy. The aim of this article is to analyse the interference between Theosophy and politics paying special attention to its historical roots, which, in the context of Roerich groups, are to be sought in the political activities of Nicholas Roerich, the founder of the movement. The following materials have been used in the analysis: first, writings of the founders of Agni Yoga or Teaching of Living Ethics; second, the latest studies in the history of Theosophy made in the available archives after the collapse of the soviet regime; third, materials obtained from the interviews of a field research (2006–2008). The author has made use of an interdisciplinary approach combining anthropological methods with the method of systematic analysis. The historical roots of the political activity of contemporary theosophists stretch into the political aspirations of Nicholas Roerich, the founder of Agni Yoga or Teaching of Living Ethics. Opening of the USSR secret archives and publication of several formerly inaccessible diaries and letters of theosophists offer an opportunity to study the “spiritual geopolitics” of the Roerichs. Setting off to his Central Asian expeditions (1925–1928; 1934–1935), Nicholas Roerich strived to implement the Great Plan, i.e. to found a New State that would stretch from Tibet to South Siberia comprising the territories governed by China, Mongolia, Tibet and the USSR. The new state was conceived as the kingdom of Shambhala on the earth, and in order to form this state, Nicholas Roerich aspired to acquire the support of various political systems. During the Tzarist Empire, the political world outlook of Nicholas Roerich was markedly monarchic. After the Bolshevik coup in Russia, the artist accepted the offer to work under the wing of the new power, but after his emigration to the West Roerich published extremely sharp articles against the Bolsheviks. In 1922, the Roerichs started to support Lenin considering him the messenger of Shambhala. Roerich’s efforts to acquire Bolshevik support culminated in 1926 when the Roerichs arrived in Moscow bringing a message by Mahatmas to the soviet government, a small case with earth for the Lenin Mausoleum from Burhan-Bulat and paintings in which Buddha Maitreya bore strong resemblance to Lenin. The plan of founding the Union of Eastern Republics, with Bolshevik support, failed, since about the year 1930 the soviet authorities changed their position concerning the politics of the Far East. Having ascertained that the Bolsheviks would not provide the anticipated support for the Great Plan, the Roerichs started to seek for contacts in the USA which provided funding for his second expedition (1934–1935). The Roerichs succeeded even in making correspondence (1934–1936) with President Roosevelt who paid much larger attention to Eastern states especially China than other presidents did. Their correspondence ceased when the Security Service of the USA grew suspicious about Roerich’s pro-Japanese disposition. Nicholas Roerich has sought for support to his political ambitions by all political regimes. In 1934, the Russian artist tried to ascertain whether German national socialists would support his efforts in Asia. It may seem that the plans of founding the Union of Oriental Republics have passed away along with Roerich; yet in 1991 his son Svyatoslav Roerich (1904–1993) pointed out once again that the Altai is a very important centre of the great future and Zvenigorod is still a great reality and a magnificent dream. Interference between esotericism and politics is observed also among Latvian theosophists: the soviet regime successfully made use of Roerich’s adherents propagating the communist ideology in the independent Republic of Latvia. In the 1920s and 1930s, the embassy of the USSR in Riga maintained close contacts with Roerich’s adherents in Latvia and made a strong pressure on the Latvian government not to ban the Roerich’s Museum Friend Society who actively propagated the success of soviet culture and economy. On 17 June 1940, the soviet army occupied the Republic of Latvia, and Haralds Lūkins, the son of the founder of the Roerich’s Museum Friend Society, was elected to the first government of the soviet Latvia. Nevertheless, involvement of theosophists in politics was unsuccessful, since after the official annexation of Latvia into the USSR, on 5 August 1940, all societies including the Roerich’s Museum Friend Society were closed. Since the members of the movement continued to meet regularly, in 1949, Haralds Lūkins was arrested as leader of an illegal organization. After the Second World War, theosophists were subjected to political repressions. Arrests of Roerich’s followers (1948–1951) badly impaired the movement. After rehabilitation in 1954, the repressed persons gradually returned from exile and kept on their illegal meetings in small groups. To regain their rights to act openly, Roerich’s followers started to praise Nicholas Roerich as a supporter of the soviet power. With the collapse of the soviet regime, Roerich’s followers in Latvia became legal in 1988 when the Latvian Roerich Society was restored which soon split up according to geopolitical orientation; therefore, presently in Latvia, there are the following organisations: Latvian Roerich Society, Latvian Department of the International Centre of the Roerichs, and Aivars Garda group or the Latvian National Front. A. Garda fused nationalistic ideas with Theosophy offering a special social reorganization – repatriation of the soviet-time immigrants and a social structure of Latvia that would be formed by at least 75% ethnic Latvians. Activity of A. Garda group, which is being criticized by other groups of theosophists, is a continuation of the interference between theosophical and political ideas practised by the Roerichs. Generally it is to be admitted that after the crush of the soviet regime, in theosophist groups, unclear political orientation between the rightists and leftists is observed, characterised by fairly radical ideas.

Since the 1970s, tulpas have been a feature of Western paranormal lore. In contemporary paranormal discourse, a tulpa is a being that begins in the imagination but acquires a tangible reality and sentience. Tulpas are created either through a deliberate act of individual will or unintentionally from the thoughts of numerous people. The tulpa was first described by Alexandra David-Néel (1868–1969) in Magic and Mystery in Tibet (1929) and is still regarded as a Tibetan concept. However, the idea of the tulpa is more indebted to Theosophy than to Tibetan Buddhism. This article explores the murky origins of the tulpa to show how the concept emerged from a dialogue between East and West in which Theosophical metaphysics were combined with terms adapted from Tibetan Buddhism.

AbstractArabic biographical writing is much used as a historical source, and scholars agree that its textuality must be taken into account in evaluating its content. There is less agreement, though, on the importance of thoroughly understanding the range of processes of literary composition used by biographers. This article approaches three sets of biographies from a purely literary viewpoint: two medieval sketches of women, a Sufi and a songstress respectively; three seventeenth-century hagiographies of the physician and theosopher Dāwud al-Anṭākī; and a thirteenth-century portrait of one man of letters, al-Qifṭī, by another, Yāqūt. It concludes that the art and care devoted to shaping such commemorations of individuals is evidence of the aesthetic and cultural importance of biography as an Arabic literary genre.

The work and the life of the English architect Sir Edwin Landseer Lutyens (1869–1944) have been extensively documented over the past hundred years and clearly show a career with at least two phases. The first is characterised by the design of private country houses in the Arts and Crafts style and, in collaboration with the horticulturalist Gertrude Jekyll, the development of their gardens. The second begins around 1900 and reflects a shift towards Neo-Classicism, initially in country houses and later in a wider range of larger public buildings and monuments both in England and abroad. Lutyens developed his use of the Neo-Classical idiom throughout the latter part of his career into a unique style of design which Arthur Stanley George Butler has termed his ‘elemental mode’. This was characterised by a highly controlled use of form and mass, apparent adherence to rules of Classical proportioning and the sparing use of symbolic Classical motifs. However, very little is known with any certainty about how Lutyens actually achieved this style, in particular what role was attributable to intuition and good taste, as is often assumed, and how much may have been attributable to quantitative and formalised methods of design. Circumstantial evidence exists that strongly suggests that quantitative analytical methods may have been used in a method which drew upon his interest in puzzles and mathematics, his interests in architectural history (particularly English Neo-Classicism), his leanings towards mysticism and his exposure to Theosophy.

The article is devoted to the problem of the attitude of the Italian traditionalist philosopher Julius Evola to Christianity and neo-spiritualism. This task is solved on the basis of the comparative historical method of studying the works of Evola of different years and their assessment by researchers. Priority attention is paid to the analysis of the work "The Mask and Face of Contemporary Spiritualism" that was first published in Russian in 2020. The present work is considered in the context of all Evola's work, especially the works published in Russia recently. The question is raised about personalism in Evola's metaphysics. The essence of his criticism of psychoanalysis, spiritualism, theosophy, anthroposophy, primitivism, Satanism, some magical organizations and other forms of "new religiosity" is revealed. In the paper the traditional scheme of opposing the early, middle and late periods of Evola's work according to the criterion of his attitude to Christianity is contested. It is shown that from the early 1930s to the early 1970s his assessment of Christianity was invariably ambivalent and contradictory, although the emphasis on the positive aspects had been gradually increased. The problem of dualism in Christianity and the differences between the early Church, medieval Catholicism and the Aggiornamento of the twentieth century are examined in detail. The main conclusion of our investigation is that Evola, in spite of his personal antipathies to the Christian doctrine, was constantly forced to admit the possibility of a full-fledged spiritual realization of a person within the Catholic and Orthodox Churches and to act as an ally of Catholicism against all forms of neo-spiritualism and neo-paganism.

The article examines the role and place of faith in the concept of Vladimir Solovyov who is considered to be the creator of the first Russian philosophical system. The purpose of the article is to determine the epistemological and methodological significance of faith in Solovyov’s understanding as a special factor of cognition. In order to study this problem, a synthetic method of reconstruction of the thought of Solovyov as well as a method of philosophical analysis was used. First, Solovyov’s project of integral knowledge or free theosophy is presented, i. e. synthesis of philosophy, theology, and science. The suppositions of this concept are revealed and its polemical context is indicated, namely, Solovyov’s attempt to overcome the abstract or one-sided principles: reason, empirical experience, and faith in order to create an integral system that should unite all types of knowledge. In addition, philosophy as such corresponds to reason, science to experience, and theology to faith. The second part of the article is devoted to the epistemological aspects of faith in the concept of integral knowledge. It lies in the fact that each act of cognition begins with the assertion of the objective existence of its object, which Solovyov describes as faith in a broad sense of the word. Thus, faith has a universal significance as a necessary condition for the cognitive process. The third part of the article discusses the methodological aspect of faith as a key link in the system of integral knowledge. As a result, faith has a dominant role not only in theology, but in all spheres of knowledge, including philosophy and science. Thus, it is possible to conclude that there is no conflict between faith and reason; on the contrary, they complement each other. Solovyov’s position is still relevant nowadays.

AbstractBien que la Société Théosophique ait subi, de par le monde, un déclin progressif en matière d'adhérents, au Danemark elle a vu quadrupler leur nombre au cours des vingt dernières années. L'article présente certains des facteurs essentiels qui ont transformé cette religion par ailleurs périclitante en une foi vibrante sur un plan national, faisant ainsi, de nouveau, de la théosophie une source d'inspiration agissant au coeur du nouveau paysage religieux danois. En m'appuyant sur des théories portant sur les rapports sociaux dans la société contemporaine, sur une analyse de revues théosophiques, ainsi que sur une série d'interviews plus ou moins structurés conduits auprès de personnalités officielles importantes à l'intérieur de la Société, je tente de montrer que le fait de tenir compte seulement des tendances théologiques et organisationnelles de la société contemporaine ne rend pas suffisamment compte du récent succès de la Société Théosophique au Danemark. Tout aussi déterminante, en effet, a été l'influence exercée par des facteurs situationnels et par certaines initiatives prises en vue de surmonter des défis variés.

The article considers the prerequisites for the creation of the concept of «space education» in the pedagogical system of M. Montessori. The necessity of its introduction into the work practice of preschool institutions of Ukraine is argued. The 21st century education paradigm is aimed at finding such an education system that would teach a person to live and act in accordance with the universal laws of Nature and the Cosmos. The versions of the researchers of the life and scientific work of the Italian teacher are presented regarding the time frame of the appearance of the term «space education», the formation and generalization of the material, which took shape in a separate educational course. The meaning of the concept of «space education» is revealed. It was found out that the work on the formation of the theory took place in stages and lasted for a long time. The influence of the Indian period of M. Montessori's life on the formation of her philosophical and pedagogical views in the last years of her life was studied. The closeness of the ideas and worldview of M. Montessori with the representatives of the Indian intelligentsia of those times – J. Arundale, A. Besant, M. Gandhi, J. Nehru, R. Tagore is traced. They admired her method, were like-minded and belonged to the Theosophical Society, which, as it turned out, actively helped M. Montessori during his stay in India. Attention is focused on a detailed analysis of the philosophical and pedagogical views of A. Besant, M. Gandhi, and R. Tagore. Three conditions are named that contributed to the creation of the concept of «space education» during his stay in India. The indisputable role of Mario Montessori's son and Lena Wickramaratne's student in creating a class of children of various ages (6-12 years old), selection and production of didactic materials, implementation of Maria Montessori's theory of «space education» in practice is emphasized. The publication outlines a topic that needs further research. Key words: M. Montessori's method, humanistic pedagogy, theosophy, cosmic education, preschool age, Indian period.

Yoga studies have inaugurated a vast amount of possible research areas that transcend the regional and the disciplinary. This paper probes into the history and reception of yoga in Latin America. In particular, it discusses the ways in which a post-revolutionary Mexican intellectual, José Vasconcelos, understood yoga in the 1920s. This early understanding of yoga was a combination of both socio-political discourses worldwide and the nationalist enterprise of building a modern nation, where notions of race, identity, and cleanliness were paramount. Through different writings, Vasconcelos interpreted both South Asian religions and the Americas as beneficial influences for the betterment of humanity. By noting the influence of different ideologies popular in Latin America (such as nationalisms, Social Darwinism, or Theosophy), this paper analyses the cultural context against which Vasconcelos outlined his understanding of yoga, India, national culture and progress.

Despite the pivotal role of German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860) in the sophistication of Modern aesthetics and art theories in the 20th century and his special attention to aesthetic experience, considerably little is known about the impacts of his aesthetic theory, particularly pertaining his account on conception disinterested aesthetic experience formed based on his metaphysics of will, on some of the most enriched Modern art theories like Piet Mondrian’s Neo-Plasticism. On the other side of the spectrum, Mondrian’s Neo-Plastic paintings, his universal pure abstract style, have been well examined through historical approaches and Modernist theories, especially about the Greenbergian account and Modern styles like De Stijl art movement in the last few decades. Moreover, his quasi-philosophical writings have been vastly scrutinized in the light of their impacts on Theosophic, Platonic, and Hegelian doctrines. Interestingly, Mondrian, in his theoretical writings, explicitly refers to the Schopenhauerian conception of disinterested contemplation and the requirements for having a universal aesthetic experience. Yet, Mondrian’s account of Schopenhauer’s notion of disinterested contemplation, namely for notions like individual will, Will, intellect, cessation of subserviency of intellect to the will, and so on, has not been scrutinized through an aesthetic lens. Hence, this article first aims to investigate Mondrian’s rendition of Schopenhauer’s metaphysics of will and his account of disinterested aesthetic experience. Indeed, this article proposes this hypothesis that Mondrian, who always sought to unveil the Platonic Idea of an objective manifestation of a universal equilibrium (harmony) or pure beauty as truth through his universal Neo-Plastic art, was heavily influenced by Schopenhauer’s metaphysics of will and his attitude toward aesthetic contemplation which is disinterested and objective. At the end of this article, it becomes clear that Mondrian’s conception of pure intuition and his contemplative approach to aesthetic experience intimately conform to Schopenhauer’s view on the notion of disinterested aesthetic attention or contemplation narrated within his metaphysics of will.

The multi-talented Johanna Eleanor Ferguson (1900-1982), born in Shanghai but trained at the Delft Institute of Technology, was one of the first female architects in the Netherlands. From her self-designed flat-roofed house near Breda she obtained her engineer’s degree in 1926 as an already married woman. Subsequently she designed the reed-covered house De Huif in Wageningen for her mother (1927) and two almost identical flat-roofed houses near Utrecht for her father (1928 and 1935). Meanwhile she had given birth to two children and divorced her first husband, and in late 1932 she relocated to the Gooi region to join a theosophist community. It was while here that she married her second husband. Looking for better perspectives, the young family emigrated to Johannesburg at the end of 1935. One year later, Eleanor Ferguson was formally registered as an architect in South Africa. In 1938, after another divorce, she started a joint practice together with a local architect, Stakesby-Lewis who became her third husband and shared her interest in theosophy. She worked under her maiden name as the principal designer and he as the builder. The firm was responsible not only for various ‘Wrightian’ cottages and houses in the suburbs (for example, for A.J. Du Plessis at Cottesloe), but also for typically modern commercial buildings in the business districts, such as August House with its conical mushroom columns. In 1948 Conrad Sayce became a partner in the practice, which was based in Washington House. The expansion of the firm was presumably prompted by Eleanor’s increasing social activities alongside the design work. Following in the footsteps of Clara Codd and Jan Kruisheer, she was appointed National President of the Theosophical Society in southern Africa (1946–53) in which capacity she lectured widely. She also made an elaborate pro bono design for a new Lodge in Johannesburg, but this was never executed. Instead, the Stakesby-Lewises converted an existing villa into a ‘theosophical temple’, inaugurated in 1951. Two years later, they migrated to Salisbury (now Harare) in former Rhodesia to start a new joint practice, mainly focused on building private bungalows, and to extend the theosophical network. In mid-1961, in response to the growing political and economic uncertainty, the couple finally settled in England where they lived amongst a theosophist community on the Tekels Park Estate in Camberley. The estate was accordingly expanded by two neighbouring houses designed by Ferguson, one for herself and her husband, the other for her eldest daughter’s family (Loveday). In 1972 the Stakesby-Lewises moved to another self-designed bungalow on the estate (further away from the motorway) where Eleanor passed away in 1982 after a long and eventful life. Until the very end she remained proud on her Delft engineer’s title.

In the late 2010s, I owned and operated a bespoke drum-building company, and during that time, I was commissioned to build a frame drum by the partner of a musician who was also a magic practitioner. The commission was fitting despite my business not being related to magic or Paganism directly. I have been working with drum construction in all of my research projects during my academic career, a touring percussionist for decades, and the company focussed on making drums inspired by Lovecraftian narratives and Lovecraftian Futurist music. Due to the nature of Lovecraftian horror and science fiction being potentially supernatural-related, and given my performance experience and ethnomusicological background, I understood the details of the request and planned my construction in accordance with their interests. The decisions made regarding materials, style, and decorations with respect to the expected functionality, performance techniques, and desired aesthetics outlined a distinct relationship between the magical and musical qualities desired in the final product. These decisions were informed by the values upheld by the commissioner of the drum – values that parallel those of the performers, makers, and audience that make up the joint musical and magical community. The ways in which these decisions were informed, then, regulate the interactions not only with the music involved but also with the musical instruments and their construction. Perhaps this is less evident in a situation where an instrument is mass-manufactured, but taking as an example the set of decisions associated with this bespoke commission, informed by values based on a belief system and the practices associated with that belief system, a network of maker, player, and expectations of the instrument’s function can be highlighted. In turn, this raises interesting considerations about the relationship between building instruments and magic-related practices. Fig. 1: Commissioned drum that houses magical associations along with performative expectations. (Photo: Lisa Courtney) Most of the discussion herein pertains to building frame drums and my client’s interest in Wicca and Paganism, but neither magic, nor this discussion in general, need to be restricted to Wiccan, Occult, or Pagan practices exclusively. Magic in the broad context of how it can influence and inspire creative, ritual, or sonically functional practices can fall under the umbrella of Shamanism, Satanism, Spiritualism, Theosophy, Voodoo/Vodun, Taoism, Shintoism, Druidism, or any area of perceived magic (even fictional or self-constructed belief systems). Magic in the context of being a highly valued concept and concern makes magic (using any definition) relevant and a vehicle for better understanding the complex relationships between creative production and cultural, religious, and/or social values and belief systems. Drums and magic (using this broad definition) simply form an excellent, clear example of this dialectic network. Music and magic are inexorably linked together (Godwin; Connor, Sound and Musical). There are numerous accounts, both folkloric and academic, of how sonic qualities such as tempo, timbre, and pitch work in conjunction with hermetic powers, spiritual happenings, and theosophical practices through harmonic, melodic, and rhythmic means (Sharpe). Broad considerations of music and cosmology arise in Blavatsky’s esoteric instructions, functional use of music appears in the heterophonic improvisation supporting shamanic practices of Korean musok (Koudela and Yoo 94), and even the scientific explanations of Kepler link music to astronomy attempting to show the intertwined nature of music, spirituality, and the human soul. Lewis, in Witchcraft Today, cites multiple instances of music in relation to magic practice, from accompanying incantations to ritual dancing, to a long list of contemporary popular and folk music artists performing magic-related and -inspired material. The human body is sometimes used to produce this sonic enhancement or connections (Eason), but musical instruments are also used for a variety of reasons. Drums are often one of those instruments, incorporating the textures, pulses, or simply the sheer volume they can provide. Drumming is an essential part of engaging with Zangbeto, the vodun guardians of Benin (Okunola and Ojo 204); playing damaru (sometimes made from human skulls: Cupchik 34) is a highly valued musical element of Tibetan Chöd magic practices (Cupchik 34); Druidic land healing ceremonies rely on frame drums to open magic channels between the practitioner and the Earth (O’Driscoll); the original function of Czech vozembouchy was to ward off dark energies and provide protection during rituals (Connor, Constructing the Sounds 25); Korean Mudang use drums (and music/noise) to allow deities and spirits to speak through them at Gut ceremonies (Wróblewski); similarly, Tlingit Ixt (shamans) employ frame drums to both represent and conjure the ancestors about whom they are singing (Olsen 212). It probably cannot be said which came first – the intention to use percussion instruments for magical practices, then constructing them accordingly; or making percussion, then deciding these instruments are useful for magical purposes. However, recognising the influence that magic has on drum-making contemporaneously can be informative, unravelling how performance in magic-related contexts and the construction of percussive instruments designed to be used for such purposes, or those selected for their musical or magical properties, highlight a dialectic between drum-making and magic. Musical instruments are made, generally speaking, with a few common intentions in mind (Connor, Constructing Musical), then designed and built with specific performance expectations and functionalities informing the final construction (Connor, Constructing Musical). Frame drums follow this model; therefore, the commissioned drum mentioned above, where the magical element was considered a primary concern for the patron, can assist with outlining the design/maker-player-inspiration/beliefs/practice network that links them together. When starting the dialogue between maker and patron to realise the drum being commissioned, which wood should be used was the initial consideration. They wanted something “powerful” and “meaningful” but did not know what was available or would exactly match their practice interests, so I suggested some wood I had recently been given that thought might suit: a neighbour had a black walnut tree on their property which had been struck by lightning and was no longer considered safe and it was chopped down due to compromised structural integrity. Pieces of it were given to me. After describing this wood, even though all they knew about the properties of the tree was that it had been struck by lightning, the choice to use it was made instantly, citing simply the fact that it was special, had potentially absorbed the element of electricity into the element of wood, and hinting at the notion that “it was meant to be” as the reasons for incorporating the black walnut into the drum. Fig. 2: Black walnut wood from the tree struck by lightning. (Photo: author) Next was the number of sides for the drum. Most frame drums are circles or something similar, so that would count as either one-sided (not a moebius strip, but rather a simple circle) or infinite-sided (if taken as a number of infinitesimally small mini sides). As a maker, I also offered various other ‘barrel-style’ frames including 5-, 7-, 8-, 11-, and 13-sided models, each with their own Lovecraftian or related association (many of these are prime numbers, but in this case, that is irrelevant). The patron chose the 13-sided version of the barrel frame construction. The skin for the drum was not discussed, simply for the reason that options other than goat skin were more difficult to obtain and there was a time frame placed on the order, as the drum was a gift for the patron’s partner. Once the basic elements were set, we chatted about how the drum would be played, given that the performance style and playing technique would heavily inform some of the construction decisions. We also briefly mulled over the desired tone/timbral qualities, and finally the decorative aspects that would wrap up the construction decisions being made, allowing me to move forward and realise the project in accordance with the commission parameters. Each of these aspects held multiple considerations, akin to architectural design (Vitruvius; Pelletier), based on a triad of materials to be used, functionality expected, and aesthetics valued by the maker, player, and (in this case) the commissioner. The decisions made are consequential to the final design holistically and are therefore important, but of greater concern for this discussion is what informed these decisions and why. Effectively, only six decisions were made; each one was or would have been influenced by magic, affecting almost all aspects of the construction in some manner. With regards to the first decision on wood type, the black walnut was chosen, but not for its density which would have slightly increased the drum’s sustain, its availability (abundant), or discouraged for the fact that black walnut is heavy, and therefore, depending on the primary performance technique expected, the wood may have repercussions due to its sheer weight. Instead, the decision was made based on the one fact that it was struck by lightning. This gave the now-owners a sense of magical injection into the wood, and therefore drum itself. The feeling expressed was that there existed a (great) possibility that the wood, being a primary magical element that represents a connection to the Earth, stability, and the specific properties of the black walnut (Teague), was enhanced by the lightning. Various wand makers suggest that a wood type may have powers it possesses or resonates (Maclir) or links to the magical lore associated with the wood (Beggetta, Gross, and Miller; Theodore). Here, the wood was merged with or infused with another magical element, lightning, sometimes considered representative of power, energy, or brightness/purity (Teague). Whether or not these qualities were something that the patron was seeking or simply a bonus is irrelevant; the fact that the tree had been struck with lightning translated to a specific decision based on magic-related traits valued by the commissioner. The number of sides was actually suggested by me; however, to be clear, the final decision was confirmed by the patron. I offered the 13-sided barrel frame construction as a consideration based on the fact that I already offered these as part of my regular frame drum options, inspired by Lovecraftian horror narratives that include references to the number thirteen, the most recurring being “the thirteen gates of the Necronomicon” found in cosmic horror stories (Levenda; Tyson 13-21, 385-402). To be clear, although Lovecraft, Paganism, and magic are more than simply aligned (Price), Lovecraftian horror often implies magical practice diegetically, but the reader typically discovers the perceived magical elements to be something supranatural rather than supernatural, thus magic becomes explainable science, at least exegetically (Littmann). The number 13 still has relevance in the stories, where it shows up, which is why I often used the number 13 in my drum designs. However, it was another association of a 13-sided drum that aligned with the interests of the patron. In Pagan calendars, there are thirteen full moons per year—the final one serving as the mark of harvest and the new year celebrated during Samhain (Wittington). Acoustically speaking, 13 sides change the drum’s timbre (as compared to a circular frame), slightly reducing the midrange, and increasing some higher-end frequencies, but the acoustics of the instrument were of seemingly lower importance than the magical associations the 13 sides provided. For a Wiccan or Pagan, this choice of a number of sides was one of two that probably would not be ignored (the other being a 5-sided option). Playing techniques expected to be used are often a primary consideration for making instruments in my personal experience, both during my time as a frame drum maker and during my internship with a drum builder in Germany as part of my PhD research. The playing techniques expected during creative/expressive performance definitely informed the construction of the drum, but magical expectations, meaning how the drum was expected to be played during magic-related practices, were also a consideration for the expected playing technique. Factors like playing with hands only, using a beater or stick only, a combination of the two, use of finger rolls, beater position (i.e. upright like a bodhran tipper, sideways like a shaman drum, or above like a trap set or pow-wow drum), and position of the drum itself (i.e. upright holding it from underneath, resting it on the player’s knee, held between the player’s legs while seated, or being held by handle) were discussed. How the drum is going to be played for a performance partially depends on the expectation of the drum’s function musically—is the player going to stand on stage, sit in a recording studio, or participate in a ritual, for instance. In this case, there was an expectation of all three, but given the nature of the commission, that being a patron commissioning the drum as a gift for her partner as a romantic and magic-based token of affection with added functionality, the magic-related expectation became the principal influence on her decisions. In the end, the patron opted to incorporate all the possibilities for performance techniques, giving her partner the most flexibility. This decision provided her partner with the capability to participate in ritual activities easily as well as giving him ergonomically sound means to perform (creatively) with the drum in a recording or live setting. The tonal qualities of the drum were already partially decided, but one other important point was also discussed: one influenced by magic considerations. The leading edge of the drum (where the rim of the frame interacts with the skin stretched over the top of it) has several possible ways to be designed. For my drums, I offered two options that can be considered what equates to more or less the two timbral extremes: a flat leading edge similar to a typical shaman drum or bodhran, or a timpani-style leading edge that has a curved, quarter-circular rounded edge with a very small ledge underneath that. The flat edge makes the drum respond with an even set of frequencies when struck in the centre of the skin and often has a shorter sustain to the sound produced in comparison to a drum with a rounded or pointed edge (Crosby). The timpani-style edge gives an emphasis on lower frequencies, often complementing those with a highlight of high frequencies (giving the aural illusion of fewer midrange tones) and adds a fairly long sustain to the sound created (Crosby). For a creative performance-only commission, the decision would be almost entirely timbral, but for this patron, a consideration of ritual practices and magical context came into play: the lower tone expected to be provided by the timpani leading edge, combined with the longer sustain aligned with the patron’s sensibilities of how the human body may respond to those tonal qualities. Furthermore, the sheer volume was taken into account, as the loudness perceived when playing a lower-pitched drum with a greater sustain can assist with awakening spirits or deities as seen by a practitioner of Paganism (Gustafson), thereby making the timpani leading edge the appropriate choice for the commissioned drum. Visual aspects of drum construction are often almost purely aesthetic. This, however, does not exclude them from being an integral part of the drum’s construction, and in fact, they may be the initial factor to which a player or audience member reacts when first interacting with the drum. The commissioned drum already holds some aesthetic distinction, given its shape and the material choices made. Beyond that, some other visual aspects were notably influenced by the drum's expected magical association. The black walnut being used had a greyish tint to it in an unfinished state, but the suggestion I made was to finish the wood, oiling the frame instead of staining it, giving it a more or less natural finish, but much darker in hue. As far as I can tell, that was entirely a personal taste choice and not based on anything magic-related, but the other visual choices, both decorative, were definitively inspired by Pagan or Wiccan beliefs. The outside of the frame was requested to be wood burned with designs that included various sigils and markings meaningful to the patron and her partner. The sigils have a direct relationship to magic, and it was/is expected that when the drum is played, the decorations would “speak to the universe,” emanating their messages through any given ritual or performance (akin to Tibetan lungta or wind horse flags; Adalakanzhu 13). The specific meaning of the sigils is being redacted on purpose due to the private nature of their meaning; let it suffice to say that they are simultaneously magical and romantic in nature, binding the couple in various ways. Parallel to the wood burning on the side and bottom of the drum was a design made from henna on the front of the skin. The design also presented sigil and sigil-like elements alongside magic or fantastical artwork serving as a sort of cultural flag that the instrument was not only an instrument of sound creation but also one of magical practice (see figure 3). Figure 3: Decoration on the front of the commissioned drum's skin Fig. 4: Wood-burning decorations on the bottom edge of the commissioned drum This commissioned drum is not the only example of relationships between an instrument’s construction and the belief system upheld by the maker, player, and/or audience of the music made with it. Another drum I made recently was for a graduate student who obtained his master’s degree from my current university: as a congratulations gift, I built a drum for him. Upon his request, the drum was 11-sided, which aligned with some of the student’s Buddhist beliefs and practices, and also incorporated all expected playing techniques into the construction, with mainly shamanic and meditative performances in mind (see figure 5). Fig. 5: 11-sided drum built for a graduate student who is also a practicing Buddhist Another example is a 5-sided drum I created for a professional musician performing in a Neo-medievalist band with very strong Gothic and Pagan influences and aesthetics. The shape of the drum was selected for both its timbral qualities and the relation to Lovecraft and the occult, specifically a pentagram reference being made indirectly and directly (in the form of a Necronomicon symbol emblazoned on the goat-skin head; see figure 6). Fig. 6: 5-sided drum in progress (finished in 2017) Fig. 7: A commissioned 5-sided, Lovecraft and magic-inspired drum. (Note: this is not the drum mentioned above, but a different commission with similar traits) Another 13-sided drum that was also commissioned to be a prize for a contest that was Pagan and Lovecraft-related, was also decorated with a large Necronomicon symbol and other rune and rune-like sigil images (see figure 8). Fig. 8: Lovecraft-inspired drum for competition prize Even the 7-sided drum I offered had a belief system inspiration: my aunt who wanted to learn to play the bodhran, and wanted a style that showed off her religious faith, commissioned a 7-sided drum as a Christian-based frame that was just as representative of beliefs as the magical or Lovecraftian-inspired frames. In all cases of barrel-style drum frames, especially those with an odd number of sides, the timbre is affected by the overall shape and ways in which the membrane vibrates, creating a series of interference patterns that often highlight some of the upper frequencies and dampen some of the midrange frequencies simultaneously (an enhancement of the bass comes from the leading edge of the drum, as mentioned above). The point to note here is that the number of sides does slightly have acoustic considerations, but more than the sound, the number of sides has strong semiotic and visual aesthetics (plus some ergonomic factors) that inject social and (sub)cultural values into the drums via their design, which is what makes the number of sides important. Fig. 9: 7-sided drum for a Christian patron Something to which I have already alluded is the notion that values upheld by the performers, makers, and audience of a community are entangled with both the music involved and the musical instruments played and their construction. Concepts of circles can represent reincarnation, protection, cycles of celestial bodies, or notions of regeneration, and translate to frame shape or ensemble performance configurations. Drum shapes as well as skin types can influence sonic qualities that in turn evoke magical properties or specific deities/demons. Beliefs can fuel trance-inducing rhythmic patterns played until an ecstatic state is achieved by the practitioner, which practically requires consideration for performance techniques employed, and therefore instrument design. Widening the lens that focusses on the relation between drum-building and magic practices, an undertaking of any creative or design endeavour comes to light in which a level of agency decides expected functionality, materials, and aesthetics. Examining how the makers, operators, and community members involved develop the network between themselves and what they produce can highlight the perception, value, and ways in which they incorporate the world around them physically and philosophically. Acknowledgment Unless otherwise noted, all photographs by the author. References Adalakanzhu, Ella. “The Wind Horse Flag.” Skipping Stones 14.1, (2002): 13. Beggetta, Albert, Barry Gross, and James Miller. Compendium of Wooden Wand Making Techniques. Fox Chapel, 2021. 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Marshall Cavendish, 1995. Teague, Gypsey Elaine. The Witch’s Guide to Wands: A Complete Botanical, Magical, and Elemental Guide to Making, Choosing, and Using the Right Wand. Weiser Books, 2015. Theodore, K.P. Wandlore: A Guide for the Apprentice Wandmaker. Erebus Society, 2015. Tyson, Donald. 13 Gates of the Necronomicon: A Workbook of Magic. Llewellyn, 2010. Vitruvius. The Ten Books on Architecture. Harvard UP, 2006. Wittington, Patti. “Celtic Tree Months.” Learn Religions 2019. 2 Aug. 2023 <https://www.learnreligions.com/celtic-tree-months-2562403>. Wróblewski, Dominik. “Korean Shamanism – the Religion of Harmony in Contemporary Korea.” Acta Asiatica Varsoviensia 30 (2017).