Here’s a nice story that should bring heart to researchers struggling with uncracked homophonic ciphers (e.g. Zodiac Killer Ciphers, Beale Papers, etc). Kevin Knight, who Voynich Manuscript researchers may remember from various posts here, has now co-authored a 2011 paper with Beáta Megyesi and Christiane Schaefer from Uppsala University on how they cracked a hitherto unknown (to me, at least) 105-page ciphertext dated 1866 they call the Copiale Cipher.

Slightly unhelpfully, the authors refer only to the manuscript as having come “from the East Berlin Academy”: in fact, as far back as 1992/1993 the East Berlin Academy of Arts and the West Berlin Academy were merged into a single Academy of Arts, Berlin (i.e. the Akademie der Künste). I searched the Akademie’s archives to see if I could find the source but only managed to find one plausible-sounding hit:-

Record group: Döhl – Reinhard-Döhl-Archiv
Classification group: 6.1. Fremde Manuskripte
Lauf. Nummer: 3625
Dat. => Findbuch: o.O., o.D.
Titel: [ohne Verfasser]: die sentenzen verschlüsselter deutbarkeit […]

Perhaps someone with better German and more persistence than me will find the actual manuscript reference.

Anyway, Knight/Megyesi/Schaefer give a nice account of how they went about analysing the neatly-written ciphertext, the various hypotheses they came up with along the way, and how they finally managed to decrypt it (though admittedly they initially only transcribed 16 pages), apart from eight mysterious logograms (i.e. an eight-entry nomenclator “for (doubly secret) people and organizations”). Here’s their translation of the first few lines, which make it quite clear what kind of a book it is:-

First lawbook
of the [1] e [2]
Secret part.
First section
Secret teachings for apprentices.
First title.
Initiation rite.
If the safety of the [3] is guaranteed, and the [3] is
opened by the chief [4], by putting on his hat, the
candidate is fetched from another room by the
younger doorman and by the hand is led in and to the
table of the chief [4], who asks him:
First, if he desires to become [1].
Secondly, if he submits to the rules of the [2] and
without rebelliousness suffer through the time of
apprenticeship.
Thirdly, be silent about the [5] of the [2] and
furthermore be willing to offer himself to volunteer
in the most committed way.
The candidate answers yes.

The interesting thing about the date is that it predates the 1887 founding of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn by 20 years or so: and many (if not most?) regular Cipher Mysteries readers will recall that that was founded with a (quite different) mysterious cipher document allegedly referring to a certain “Fraulein Anna Sprengler” mentioned in the enciphered text. By way of comparison, Aleister Crowley’s favourite Ordo Templi Orientis was founded only in 1895 or thereabouts.

Hence the really big question about this enciphered document is whether there is any connection (perhaps even Anna Sprengler) between it and the Golden Dawn Ciphers. The answer may well lie in the 89 pages as yet untranscribed by K/M/S… hopefully we shall see!

Update: since writing this, I found that K/M/S have put up a detailed web-page including scans, transcriptions, and English translations of the whole 105 pages. Codicologically, they say it is “beautifully bound in green and gold brocade paper, written on high quality paper with two different watermarks [and] can be dated back to 1760-1780.”

They also note that they think it is a document of an “18th century secret society, namely the “oculist order”. A parallel manuscript is located at the Niedersächsisches Landesarchiv, Staatsarchiv Wolfenbüttel.” Which of course rules Fraulein Sprengler out. 🙂

To be honest, the part in the ceremony described where they pluck a hair from the eyebrow of the initiate reminds me not a little of the Simpsons’ Stonecutters episode (“Who holds back the electric car? Who makes Steve Gutenberg a star? We do! We do!”), but perhaps let’s not dwell on that too much… 🙂

Fate dealt Stanley Picker a strange card that day: he just happened to be ambling past the burning library on his way home from work as the rampaging mob surged out into the street pushing trolleys of rare books and manuscripts.

Amidst all this mayhem, Stanley only had eyes for the odd little cipher manuscript balanced precariously on top of one of the piles of books being noisily wheeled past him. He could not possibly have known that it was better known as “MS 666”, nor that the library had marked it down as a “shorthand diary” (nor how strangely correct this was); nor indeed could he have known that its provenance led back through Aleister Crowley (yes, the Great Beast himself) and onwards to dark places heaven (or perhaps hell) only knows.

Though at that precise moment Stanley believed he was picking up the book, who can say for certain that in some hard-to-fathom fashion it was not in fact picking him up? In the way that Marxist historians insist that factory machinery consumes the workers that operate it, do not cipher mysteries similarly consume the historians, researchers and other passing fools who apply themselves to their unfathomable challenges? It could be said that poor Mr Picker was not really the picker: rather, the small book was pursuing its own dangerous agenda, one to which he was quite oblivious.

And so it was that, with the swiftest of surreptitious shuffles, the tiny volume silently disappeared under Stanley’s work coat. Now it would be free, far from the tyranny of the library’s dull lighting and (surely its #1 pet hate) that bow-tied moron Edward Jackinder with his narrow eyes and scratchy facial hair who kept trying to decipher it.

Back at his house, Stanley opened out his new-found meta-linguistic trophy on the kitchen table and started to examine it. School had left him not only with a profound distrust of gym teachers but also with reasonably functional Maths and language skills: so it didn’t take him long to realize that his prize appeared to be written in an unknown European language (though admittedly one all of its own).

But the strangest thing about it was that every time he returned to its final page, there appeared to be slightly more text. At first, he of course thought he might have been mistaken, but as the days crawled by, the writing gradually reached the bottom and started at the top of the next one. He found himself talking to the diary, trying to verbalize both his curiosity and his growing unease with its ongoing metamorphosis: his mornings now brought crippling headaches, stopping him from going into work.

At the same time, Jackinder was grimly pursuing the book’s smokey trail: though he could make out the thief’s jacket on the CCTV footage, and had worked out where the man must work, nobody at that supermarket seemed able to identify him from the images. It was almost, he mused, as if the man was being silently erased, painted out of the picture one obscuring daub at a time.

But a few weeks later, Jackinder caught sight of him buying milk in a corner shop not far from the library. In a strange way his face had become thinner, much greyer since the theft – but the resemblance was unmistakeable, beyond any shadow of a doubt. Deliberately putting down his basket, Jackinder narrowed his eyes even more than usual and resolved to follow and confront this wretched criminal.

Yet the two didn’t have far to go to reach the flat marked “S. Picker”: and as the man stumbled up his steps, almost fell over the threshold to the house, and left the front door wide open behind him, Jackinder knew something was badly wrong. Hesitantly, he followed him inside the open plan apartment, finding Stanley laying on the sofa near-dead and – mirabile dictu, his heart wanted to shout – MS 666 open on the kitchen table, its pages turning lightly in a late Summer breeze. Yet… what was this madness? The ill-looking thief had apparently vandalized the manuscript, even adding his own fake cipher text to the final page. That was wrong on so many levels, he mused: really, what kind of an idiot would do such a thing?

This wasn’t really going to plan, Jackinder thought to himself as he slowly straightened up. In his mind’s eye, he had simply intended to wield the mighty sword of academic righteousness, by finding this stolen book and returning it triumphantly to the library. As he stood there holding MS 666 in his very own hands, the problem was that he now realized that he had quite another option – to take it for himself. Picker was lying there in pain, utterly unaware that Jackinder had even entered the flat behind him: Jackinder could do precisely what he liked, and nobody need ever know.

Slowly, almost unwillingly, Jackinder felt his hands sliding the book inside his jacket, and his feet walking slowly out through the door and down the street. He didn’t know where he was going or even why, but a strange new sense of purpose – an almost deadly elation, in fact – was consuming him, driving him ever forward.

He could not possibly have known, but the further Jackinder walked, the more writing was now appearing inside MS 666: but this time it was not just a single page, but a whole new chapter.

Here’s yet another cipher-tinged literary genre I wasn’t previously aware of – the ex-Mormon novel. As a just-released exemplar,  “Latter-Day Cipher” by ex-Mormon Latayne Scott (author of “The Mormon Mirage”, so her overall position should be no great surprise) appears to do a pretty good job of tackling contentious Mormon issues – along the lines of ‘if certainty is God-given, why do His interpreters on earth keep changing their minds?’

Her novel has a socialite killed with “strange markings carved into her flesh and a note written in a 19th Century code“: and so, of course, it is to the alphabet of the Anthon Transcript that her title appears to refer [Update: it actually refers to the phonetic Deseret Alphabet, developed in the 1850s to teach English to immigrants. Thanks for the correction, Latayne!] Sounds like quite a fun read to me (though perhaps 12 million Mormons may beg to differ).

Actually, this all reminds me of an unexpected parallel I forgot to mention in that previous post… between the golden plates and the Anthon Transcript (that signalled the founding of the Mormon Church) and the Golden Dawn Cipher Manuscripts (that signalled the founding of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn). How similar yet dissimilar!

Incidentally, everyone knows about famous Mormons (such as the Osmond family, Matthew Modine, and Ted Bundy) but what about famous Golden Dawn members? Well… Aleister Crowley aside, the GD had as members [according to Wikipedia, so be ready with your pinch of salt] the poet Yeats, Bram Stoker, Gustav Meyrink, Arnold Bennett, and Edith Nesbit (yes, she of “The Railway Children” fame). Just so you’re prepared for the next pub quiz! 🙂

Once upon a time (in 1518), a Venetian called Giovanni Agostino Pantheo put himself into hot water by writing a work on alchemy (the Ars Transmutationis Metallicae). Yet essentially unrepentant, he went on to publish (in 1530) a further book on alchemy called the Voarchadumia Contra Alchimiam: this was largely a reprise of his 1518 book but dressed in additional historical garb for an air of antiquity and authority. Yet given that his word “Voarchadumia” was a mash-up of Hebrew and Chaldean (meaning something vaguely about making gold), it has to be said that Pantheo’s take on history was probably no less spurious than his artificially-constructed title.

Still, the Voarchadumia covers languages, alchemy, metallurgy, and various other topics: intriguingly, the well-regarded alchemy expert Adam McLean is currently working on a translation of it, and plans to be finished by the end of this year. Probably because it is currently only in Latin, the Voarchadumia seems to be one of those books which people often claim to have read, but which in fact they have only read about. Which makes it fertile soil for the weed-like seeds of misremembered half-stories to flourish in…

For example, the two most-repeated tales about the Voarchadumia concern its influence on John Dee: in one, Dee’s (1564) Monas Hieroglyphica symbol allegedly appeared first in the Voarchadumia, while in the other, Dee’s Enochian alphabet allegedly appeared first in the Voarchadumia. Are these true?

Well… it’s certainly true that Dee had his own copy of the Voarchadumia (which is now in the British Library, complete with Dee’s annotations!) However, having just gone through a scan of a 1550 edition of Voarchadumia, I can say that the first story seems just flat wrong (though please tell me if the symbol appears in a different edition!), while Dee’s angelic alphabet (though note that Dee didn’t actually call this “Enochian”) similarly fails to make any obvious appearance there.

Even so, what does appear on leaves 15v and 16r in Pantheo’s Voarchadumia, however, is an alphabet attributed to Enoch (“Antiquiores autem hi:& concessi Enoch“, to be precise) which has many visual similarities to Dee’s Enochian in its stroke structure and stylistics… even if none of the actual glyphs does actually match. Saying that the two are the same would be an easy mistake to make if you weren’t being careful.

A further angelic alphabet (marked “Angelicum“) appears in James Bonaventure Hepburn’s (1573-1620) early 17th century Virga Aurea, which contains 70 secret or ancient alphabets: Adam McLean discussed this alphabet in The Hermetic Journal in 1980, and even translated the (tiny) amount of text on the engraving depicted beside it. Even Athanasius Kircher subsequently wrote on angelic languages!

But angelic languages first appeared prior to the Voarchadumia, both in Trithemius’ Steganographia Polygraphia (where the prototypical stylistic blend of Arabic and Ethiopic lettering common to these Angelic Alphabets seems to have emerged first) and in Agrippa’s three Coelestis, Malachim, & Transitus Fluvii alphabets – according to Wikipedia, the Transitus Fluvii alphabet first appeared a decade before Agrippa (you may also have seen this in the Blair Witch Project!) It has been claimed that Pantheo formed the Voarchadumia’s second alphabet by munging together these three Agrippan alphabets, with fairly sensible historical reasoning, I’d say.

All in all, it should be clear that Dee did not invent the idea of an angelic or Enochian language – but then again, neither did Pantheo. And furthermore, I don’t believe that angelic languages were common in Dee’s time – though this runs contrary to the Wikipedia Enochian page, which cites Tobias Churton’s [very enjoyable] book “The Golden Builders” as support (but I can’t find any substantial reference there at all). My own reading of the evidence is that the notion of talking to angels in their own angelic language (for that was their purpose) was no more than a marginal, post-rationalized (if affectedly pious) Renaissance reworking of the kind of nigromancy still widespread in the Trecento and Quattrocento.

And so for me, the central issue about Dee is whether he was using the notion of angelic language in a fully necromantic sense (as modern occultists believe, following Aleister Crowley et al), or in a fully steganographic sense (pace Trithemius and possibly Agrippa), or perhaps some kind of epistemologically-confused mix of the two. This is hugely tricky and contentious, because it goes right to the heart of Dee’s entire Renaissance project – i.e. was he scientific or occult? Did Casaubon really have any right to label Dee a Faustian conjuror?

What do you think?

I try to pick up on everything VMs-related out there, and I liked comics as a kid (Marvel not DC, if you’re askin’): so it came as a nice surprise to find the Voynich Manuscript popping up on the edges of the comics world.

According to this page on his own website, satirical graphics novel author Steve Aylett placed the VMs “in the Juice Museum” (a location in “The Velocity Gospel”, #2 in his Accomplice series), as well as “in Eddie Gamete’s library in Slaughtermatic“. Sadly, thanks to H.G.Wells, David Bowie, Peter Frampton, Topper Headon, and Aleister Crowley, Steve’s unlikely to ever make it into the list of Five Most Famous People From Bromley: but I’m sure he’ll do OK for himself all the same. 😮

Another comics blogger has the VMs on the brain, mentioning it in a nice little article on the rediscovery of a full-length print of Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (it mentions the funky Superman’s Metropolis story, too), as well as in an article on its own.

But then again, I suppose the Codex Seraphinianus is very much like a graphic novel in its own odd way, and that’s arguably not so very far from the VMs: if you can’t read the text, all you have left is the pictures, right? John C commented that the Codex Seraphinianus “most closely resembles European fantasy works like those one sees from Roland Topor and various bande desinée artists“: but to be honest, I’m pretty sure that Serafini was simply trying to appropriate (and undermine) the visual tropes of instruction manuals, rather than align himself with any art movement or style.

Finally (and apropos of nothing, I just thought you might like it), here – courtesy of yesbutnobutyes.com – is a classic Captain America frame, that got terribly, terribly lost in the translation to, erm, English. Enjoy!

I’ve just started reading Colin Wilson’s “The Philosopher’s Stone“, so I thought it might be a good idea to blog about an article from the Metromagick blog where he also plays a role.

The piece is called “Dr. John Dee, the Necronomicon & the Cleansing of the World“, and was written by Colin Low in 1996-2000. It’s basically an extended riff on H.P.Lovecraft, John Dee, the Voynich Manuscript, Aleister Crowley and the Necronomicon, and how much they do (or don’t) relate to each other.

The problem with Lovecraft fans is that they often enjoy emulating what their gloomy hero liked to do: mix fantasy with history until they both blur together into one great big glob of either historicised fiction or fictionalised history (whichever you prefer, it doesn’t matter much).

And so it was that in 1978, a book called “Necronomicon” appeared edited by George Hay (reprinted in 1995), containing a claim by David Langford and Robert Turner that Lovecraft’s fabled Necronomicon was not only real but “had been preserved by Alkindi in his treatise The Book of the Essence of the Soul“, parts of which had in turn been enciphered by John Dee in his Liber Loagaeth. With an introduction by Colin Wilson, it looked convincingly like real historical research… but (as you’ve probably guessed by now) it was merely faux Lovecraftian nonsense.

Colin Low’s article then goes on to collect together various strands apparently connecting Dee (via Enochian and Choronzon) to Crowley and his well-documented adventures with demon summoning. It’s all entertaining stuff, but the possible presence at the ball of a Lovecraftian mischief-making poltergeist tends to rather reduce its reliability for the reader. So in the end, does Low’s account amount to something special or to something of nothing? Basically, I think you’ll have to make your own call.

However, I do find Low’s summing-up of the Necronomicon fiercely attuned to much that has been said about the Voynich Manuscript: “The Necronomicon is a hollow vessel – it booms resoundingly, but has nothing in it but the projections of our own fantasies.” Which is a shame.