The Philosopher's Stone and the Basilisk

In an earlier post I discussed reading the first chapter of Lawrence Principe’s The Secrets of Alchemy. I’m now about two thirds through this superb book, and picking up all sorts of useful information about the world of alchemy, some of which will be incorporated into my classes next semester. I’ve been formulating a class activity involving alchemical thinking as an example of illustrating the process of inquiring about nature – delving into its secrets, so to speak.

Back to the book. In terms of making the philosopher’s stone, it was really interesting to learn that while there was much confusion and disagreement over the ingredients needed to make the stone, there was general consensus about the preparative process. Principe writes: “The prepared substance or mixture is placed in a glass vessel with an oval body and a long neck, often called the philosophical egg (ovum philosophicum) on account of both the size and the shape of its belly, and its function in giving birth.” Apparently before applying heat to this initial setup, the flask was sealed shut by melting, and that this was called the “seal of Hermes” (after Hermes Trismegestus) that gave rise to the phrase “hermetically sealed”. Warning bells go off in my head. Danger! Principe writes that indeed there are “many accounts of exploding apparatus” and that the problem was exacerbated because “the glass vessels of the time were made with very thick walls and therefore more prone to cracking and thermal shock”.

The mixture undergoes a lengthy process of heating, potentially over the course of months. Observance of certain colors at particular times indicates if the reaction is proceeding accordingly. Principe points out that while this seems easy to us with our modern equipment, “the early modern chymist had only carefully sized pieces of charcoal added at regular and frequent intervals day and night, and the manipulation of air vents on brick or iron furnaces, to maintain and control the heat.” On the other hand, “we do this effortlessly today with the flick of a switch thanks to electricity and thermostats.” I, for one, am very thankful that I can cook over a modern stove. The refridgerator is a boon. And the microwave is really useful for a variety of things. Ah, modern science and technology!

What I found even more interesting is that this process can be used to make other interesting “beasts”. I’ve now put On the Nature of Things (attributed to Paracelsus) on my list of things to read. The writer claims that this process can be used to produce a homunculus, a small human-like creature that is “endowed with knowledge and powers”. The starting ingredient is human semen, heated gently in a sealed flask, along with some other special ingredients (a “chymical preparation” that included human blood), over the course of forty days. Given the sexism of the time, it is perhaps not surprising that “the same text claims that if one takes menstrual blood instead of semen, and treats it in the same manner, the result is not a homunculus but a basilisk – a hideous creature so noxious it kills by its glance alone.” I wonder if there was a connection between the first Harry Potter book being about the Philosopher’s Stone, and the second book featuring the basilisk prominently.

Principe writes: “The possibility of producing life in the laboratory did not appear problematic for medieval and early modern thinkers. The spontaneous origin of life from nonliving matter was considered a matter of course… What did provoke a host of moral and theological issues was the notion of artificially producing a rational life-form akin to a human being. A combination of wonder and outrage accompanied tales of the homunculus to the seventeenth century.”

Interestingly, scientists today are making similar attempts as they study the origins of life. What is it that separates life from non-life? Given a demarcation (if we can agree on one), what will it mean if scientists are able to start with a non-life chemical mixture and produce what could be recognized as a living creature? Is this the revival of the theory of spontaneous generation? We live in interesting times. Then again, so did the alchemists. I’m just glad we have harnessed electricity. I can’t imagine living without it. (Well, okay I can imagine it, but I don’t like it.)

Below: A picture of Brother Basil Valentine, a Benedictian monk and also a hermetic philosopher. The philosopher's stone is symbolized as a basilisk resting in a philosophical egg (on the table). This picture is found in Principe's book. I found the web version at the Alchemy Web Site.