Christopher Coome | May 01, 2026

This March, Pope Leo hosted a
private meeting for several priests from the International Association of
Exorcists. Their goal was to lobby the Roman Pontiff into increasing the number
of trained exorcists available to every Catholic diocese. The world, they said,
was witnessing an unprecedented rise in “occultism, esotericism, and Satanism.”
The current exorcists on hand were insufficient to respond to the increasing
number of “people seriously disturbed by the extraordinary action of the devil
as a result of frequenting occult sects.” Two years prior, Pope Francis had
publicly warned that “our secularized world is teeming with magicians,
occultism, spiritism, astrologers and satanic sects.”
The supernatural, it would
appear, is on the move, and popes and priests aren’t the only ones who have
noticed. By some
estimates, practitioners of Wicca now outnumber mainline Presbyterians in
America. In 2021, Pew reported that roughly 33 percent of American Christians
believe in reincarnation. By 2025, it was estimated that 30 percent of all
Americans, Christians or otherwise, were practicing astrology, tarot, or other
forms of divination, and that 62 percent believed in one or more New Age ideas,
be it psychics, crystals, spiritual energies, “positive thinking,” or the “law
of attraction.” Popular religiosity appears to be shifting, and it’s not hard
to see where it is headed.
How did this happen? The answer
might surprise you. How the Western world thinks about religion, particularly
the occult, has been changing for centuries, and what we are seeing today is
only the most recent manifestation of a tectonic shift in the Western
imagination. The rise of contemporary occultism was set into motion almost one
hundred and fifty years ago by a network of revolutionary mystics who set out
to reshape the world. They were more successful than almost anyone could have
imagined.
In 1875, a Russian adventurer
named Helena Blavatsky and her freemason associate, Henry Steel Olcott, hosted
a coterie of ghost-hunters, kabbalists, and amateur Egyptologists for an
evening of friendly conversation. After discussions that ranged from the
long-lost wisdom of the pre-Christian world to the scientific foundations of
psychic powers, the associates formed what would become the most influential
occult organization in human history: the Theosophical Society.
The Theosophical Society served
as the nexus of a cultural eruption aimed squarely at the religious and
scientific foundations of Western civilization. Theosophists and their fellow
travellers capitalized on the disorienting world of the late-nineteenth century—a
world of trains and telegraphs, rapid industrialization, and the heights of
European imperialism—and set about reconciling every conceivable antithesis of fin
de siècle life: religion and science, East and West, the modern and the
pre-modern. Blavatsky’s occult revival blended scientific rhetoric with
Hermeticism and the Kabbalah, and added liberal doses of Hinduism and Buddhism.
It invited its adherents to step into a realm of alchemy, magic, and astrology;
a world of enchantment that chafes against limitations of any kind. In the
world of the occult, borders prove porous, heaven is immanent, and power is
only a bargain away.
Scholars often describe occultism
as drawing from the “waste basket” of ideas discarded by theological,
philosophical, and scientific orthodoxies as these disciplines advanced from
the early modern to modern eras. Yet, this wastebasket is never emptied. Instead,
what falls in begins to ferment, and in 1875, what had been growing there burst
into the mainstream. The occult phenomenon that followed was dominated by four
organizations: the Theosophical Society, the Anthroposophical Society, the
Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, and the Ordo Templi Orientis. But Blavatsky
and her Theosophy stand apart.
Theosophy played a pivotal role
in making the religions of Hinduism and Buddhism popular topics of Western
interest. The astral world, the akashic records, reincarnation, chakras, and
deference to Indian gurus were all served up by theosophists and readily
digested by audiences eager for novelty and exoticism. Blavatsky, of course,
denied that she had any ideas of her own, and claimed to be in communication
with unseen Indian masters or mahatmas who had chosen her to be their herald in
the modern world. Significantly, Blavatsky and her followers were not just
street-corner mystics and mediums—they claimed to have a spiritual mandate to
overthrow the intellectual and religious foundations of the modern world. They
were revolutionaries, and they fused their spiritual aspirations with
anti-colonial activism and socialist rhetoric, promising a universal
brotherhood of mankind and a transcendent, post-Christian future. The results
were far-reaching.
The New Age movement, the
popularity of reincarnation and “spiritual evolution,” the belief in “mind over
matter”—all of this is downstream from the Theosophical Society and associated
movements. Theosophy also informed how millions of Americans think about
religion. The transformations of popular piety and church attendance in the
late twentieth century didn’t just reflect the spread of secular materialist
views. How Americans looked at religion was also transformed by a host of
popular figures who championed religious universalism and personal
transformation over traditional religious structures, many of
them influenced by Theosophy.
he literature scholar Joseph
Campbell did more than anyone to popularize comparative religion and mythology
in the twentieth century. Campbell’s most iconic work, The Hero with a
Thousand Faces, promoted his notion of the “monomyth” or “hero’s journey,”
which he argued was the underlying pattern of major religious narratives. The
clear implication was that Christianity was just one more iteration of the
monomyth—something Theosophy had taught since its inception.
One of Campbell’s formative
influences was the leading theosophist Jiddu Krishnamurti, whom he met in the
1920s on a steamship crossing the Atlantic. Krishnamurti taught Campbell that
“truth is a pathless land” and that all religious particularities and dogmatic
structures were ephemeral; he encouraged him to study Indian religions.
Campbell responded by dedicating his life to studying religion, with a
particular attraction to Hinduism. Campbell’s writings would serve as primary
source material for George Lucas while writing Star Wars.
The popular writer Aldous Huxley
was similarly influenced by Theosophy. While most famous today for his
dystopian novel Brave New World, in the mid-twentieth century, Huxley
was equally known for his experiments with LSD and the pursuit of a
religion-less spirituality. His 1945 work, The Perennial Philosophy,
argued that all world religions pointed to a singular, universal divine
reality, and that humans could contact this reality through mystical
experiences. This is Theosophy in a nutshell. Huxley had learned about it
nearly thirty years earlier, while teaching at Eton College in England. In
1917, Huxley wrote to his father about his long discussions on Theosophy.
Huxley wasn’t impressed with the more esoteric aspects of the movement, but as
to its primary principle that all religions were expressions of the same divine
truth, he thought that Theosophy “seems a good enough religion,” and claimed
that “a little judicious Theosophy seems on the whole an excellent
thing.”
Christmas Humphreys, the leading
British Buddhist of the twentieth century, similarly began his spiritual quest
in Theosophy. Humphreys was a successful barrister and noted judge at the Old
Bailey in London, but it was not life as a jurist that would make him famous.
While a teenager, Humphreys’s older brother died, leading him to explore
spirituality as an answer to life’s great mysteries. As a university student,
Humphreys joined the Cambridge Theosophical Lodge. With its blend of Eastern
mysticism and scientific rhetoric, Theosophy seemed to him more rational than
faith-oriented and dogmatic Christianity. In 1924, Humphrey chartered the
London Buddhist Lodge of the Theosophical Society, but in 1926 he broke away
from Theosophy and renamed the lodge the Buddhist Society. Humphreys and his
society would become the most influential sources for the popularization of
Buddhism in Britain. Today, he is remembered as a founder of Western Buddhism.
In America, one of Humphrey’s
students played a similar role. Alan Watts served as the secretary for the
Buddhist Society when he was only sixteen. Initially drawn to Eastern mysticism
through a love of Chinese art, Watts was set on a spiritual path by Humphreys,
later claiming that the godfather of British Buddhism “gave me an education
which no money could possibly buy.” In 1951, Watts moved to California and
worked as a lecturer and popular radio host, pontificating to rapt audiences on
the wonders of Buddhism, Taoism, and Vedanta. In 1957, he published The Way
of Zen which introduced generations of Americans to Zen Buddhism and the
ability to achieve personal transformation without the anchors of faith and
church. Watts’ books have sold hundreds of thousands of copies and have never
been out of print.
Together, Campbell, Huxley,
Humphreys, and Watts contributed to a paradigm shift that moved spirituality
out from the pews and into the world of the free-flowing and the feel-good.
They were a formative influence on the counterculture movements of the
1960s and 1970s. The hippies were more than just long hair, flower power, and
groovy music: They were consciously engaged in a cultural revolution aimed at
surpassing traditional religion, coercive government structures, and the
limitations of everyday consciousness; they believed in communitarianism,
natural living, and blended Eastern spirituality with a penchant for
astrology.
If the hippies sound a bit
theosophical, that is no accident. The values and lifestyles of the hippies can
be traced to the German Lebensreform—or life reform—movement, a
wide-ranging cultural upheaval of the nineteenth century focused on naturalism,
alternative medicine, and often, running naked through the woods. In Germany,
Theosophy became deeply intertwined with Lebensreform, and this
entanglement served as the incentive for a theosophical commune in the idyllic
mountain town of Ascona, Switzerland. In Ascona, we can see the entire hippie
movement in microcosm: a theosophical retreat where members practiced
vegetarianism, smoked hashish, embraced naturalism, and often went without
footwear. Many of these German life-reformers and theosophists moved to
California and brought their ideas with them.
Back in Europe, German occultism
had an even broader influence. Whether it was the dizzying high of being a
newly unified empire or the disorientation of rapid industrialization,
occultism in Germany was widespread, provocative, and dangerously serious. One
of the most significant occultists to emerge was the Austrian-born Rudolf
Steiner. A leading scholar of Goethe and a passionate neo-Romantic, Steiner was
deeply suspicious of the rising materialism and skepticism of the European
intelligentsia. In 1902, he was appointed the General Secretary of the German
Theosophical Society and began advertising himself as a clairvoyant. However,
Steiner attempted to translate Blavatsky’s occult precedents into more
discernably Western currents. Unlike other theosophists, Steiner was convinced
that it was the West, not the East, that was destined to lead the world to a
new spiritual future. And within the West, it was Germany that was to play the
leading role.
Steiner broke from the
Theosophical Society in 1912 and created his own movement, Anthroposophy, and
positioned himself as the prophet of a distinctly Teutonic-European spiritual
renaissance. As tensions built before the outbreak of war in 1914, Steiner emerged
as a patriotic supporter of the German cause. He framed the war as a major step
in the spiritual evolution of the world and the ascension of Germany to its
rightful place as the leader of the West. He was also the spiritual advisor to
General Helmuth von Moltke, Chief of the German General Staff. Like Steiner,
von Moltke believed that the war was an act of providence destined to lead
Germany to its rightful place on the world stage. Accordingly, von Moltke was a
key figure in the escalation of the conflict, eschewing political options in
favor of military action. Unfortunately, it was also von Moltke who was in
charge of the German army in the opening months of the war, and who chose to
invade France through Belgium, triggering Britain’s entry into the war. Instead
of landing a knockout blow, France and Germany settled into trench
warfare. This ended any hopes of a quick German victory and set Europe on
course for four years of civilization-ending carnage.
Beyond his potential
entanglements in geopolitics, one aspect that would separate Steiner’s
Anthroposophy from its theosophical parent was its emphasis on practical
pursuits. Whereas Theosophy focused primarily on contemplative mysticism, under
Steiner’s leadership, German anthroposophists began a program of applying his
clairvoyant insights to medicine, agriculture, and education. The unifying
theme in all these applications was the conviction that contemporary,
industrial, and regimented ways of producing everything from foodstuffs to
children had severed reality from its natural cosmic rhythms.
In medicine, Steiner’s ideas
became fellow travellers alongside homeopathy, emphasizing holistic medicine
and natural remedies. The popular medical and cosmetics company, Weleda, is
inspired by anthroposophical practices. In agriculture, Steiner pioneered
biodynamics, a mystical-organic method that uses alchemical fertilizers and
tries to harness the energies of the solstices. The method is particularly
popular with vintners, and you can probably find biodynamic products in your
local wine store. Steiner’s fears about modern industrial and chemical
practices prefigured the contemporary organic agricultural movement, whose
founders were inspired by his ideas. In education, Steiner pioneered Waldorf
schools, a global network of private schools that practice a unique pedagogy
based on his vision of human and adolescent development. Another pioneer of
alternative education, Maria Montessori, lived for almost ten years at the
Theosophical Headquarters at Adyar, India.
India, the holy land of the
theosophical movement, was also affected by Blavatsky’s followers. In the late
nineteenth century, after centuries of colonial interference, India was a far
cry from the confident nation of today. In 1889, a young Indian law student
named Mohandas Gandhi was devouring English literature, full of doubts about
Indian civilization, and enthralled by all that the West had to offer. It was
also there that he fell in with theosophists who encouraged him to read the
Bhagavad Gita and Blavatsky’s works. The young Gandhi had internalized the
polemics of the Christian missionaries who roamed India, but these readings led
him back to his ancestral faith. Gandhi would of course play the pivotal role
in liberating India from British rule. Yet even before the formal awakening of
Hindu nationalism, theosophists were active in India, building schools and
battling missionaries to keep Hindus from converting to Christianity. A
theosophist named Annie Besant was the first female president of the Indian
National Congress in 1917.
The impact of theosophical
occultism may seem relatively benign so far. But some of the twentieth
century’s most dangerous minds were also inspired by Blavatsky and the movement
she founded. Nazis and hippies, it turns out, were not as far apart as one
might think. The Lebensreform movement and the theosophical community at
Ascona—with their new ideas about naturalism and holism—were as influential in
the development of fascism as they were in the California counterculture.
The Thule Society was the most
influential of several early twentieth-century fusions of Theosophy and racial
mysticism, functioning as part occult order, part Aryan supremacy think tank.
It was created in part by Rudolf von Sebettendorf, a freemason, occultist, and
student of Guido von List, another theosophy-influenced neopagan and racial
mystic. Its doctrines blended theosophical occultism and racial theories into a
mystical cult of Aryanism or “Ariosophy.” With its emphasis on the wisdom of
pre-Christian and Indian religions, Theosophy provided a handy kit of spiritual
idioms for romantic German nationalists eager to cobble together new religious
movements centered on the exceptionality of Aryans. Proto-fascists in Austria
and Germany welded together an entire cosmology based on antisemitism,
Aryanism, Wotanism, runes, and a twisted expression of Theosophy. While there
were other organizations in the racial-occult milieu, the Thule Society stands
apart. Beyond simple spiritual concerns, the Thule Society believed that the
restoration of Germany required public action. In 1918, the society purchased a
newspaper, the Münchener Beobachter, and used it as the primary organ of
their movement. But this wasn’t enough. The following year, in 1919, two
members of the society, Karl Harrer and Anton Drexler, who had been active in
extremist nationalist circles, came together to produce a new political party:
the Deutsche Arbeiterpartei (DAP). That same year, an unknown corporal
named Adolf Hitler joined the party. Encouraged by Hitler’s growing influence,
in 1920 the DAP rebranded itself as the Nationalsozialistische
Deutsche Arbeiterpartei (NSDAP).
The Nazi Party had just been
born, and its womb was a volatile mix of racism, antisemitism, and the
occult impulses of Theosophy. While Hitler himself never joined the Thule
Society, leading Nazis such as Alfred Rosenberg, Rudolf Hess, Dietrich Eckhart,
Hans Frank, and Julius Lehmann were active members. By August 1919, the Thule
Society’s newspaper, the Münchener Beobachter, had changed its name to
the Völkischer
Beobachter—the primary newspaper of the Nazi Party.
By the time the Nazis came to
power, Rudolf Steiner had already led most German theosophists into
Anthroposophy, but the Theosophical Society persisted in its own right. Dr. J.
M. Verweyen, a scholar from Bonn, led a revival of the Theosophical Society in
Germany in the 1920’s and publicly spoke on what he saw as the fundamental
compatibility of National Socialism and Theosophy. But Hitler, unlike many of
his leading henchmen, had no interest in occultism, and once in power, he
clamped down on Weimar occultism. Dr. Verweyen died in Bergen-Belsen in
1945.
Steiner, for his part, died in
1925, leaving his movement without its captain to navigate the rise of the
Nazis. Unsurprisingly, like much of German civil society, many anthroposophists
accorded themselves to the Nazi movement, and leading Nazis like Heinrich
Himmler were interested in the practical applications of anthroposophical
occultism. Throughout Nazi occupied eastern Europe, and surrounding
concentration camps like Dachau, inmates were cruelly forced to labor in
biodynamic plantations—the earthy organicism of anthroposophical agriculture
appealing to the Nazi fantasy of Blut und Boden and its vision of a
natural, wholesome Volk. Both Steiner and Blavatsky, it must be said,
would have been appalled.
A gentler expression of
reactionary occultism was found in the person of René Guénon, the founder of
Traditionalism. In the opening decade of the twentieth century, Guénon was
deeply involved in the occult movement in France, dabbling in gnosticism,
freemasonry, and Theosophy. But he failed to find what he was looking for.
Theosophy appeared to him to be an inauthentic mishmash of Eastern and Western
religions. Instead, Guénon came to believe that true gnosis and esoteric truths
could only be found through participation in traditional religions like
Catholicism, Hinduism, or Islam. Far from abandoning what he found appealing in
the occult milieu, he postulated a universal esoteric core to all major world
religions that could be pursued by a gnostic elect for mystical transformation.
This universal core and the pursuit of it, Guénon termed “Tradition.”
Guénon published many books, two
of which would stand out as particularly influential: The Crisis of the
Modern World (1927) and The Reign of Quantity and the Signs of the Times
(1945). In these books, Guénon outlined what he saw as the failure of the
modern, Western world and the importance of hierarchy, religion, and tradition.
For Guénon and later traditionalists, the modern world is the age of Kali Yuga,
the Hindu dark ages at the end of a cosmic cycle marked by chaos and collapse.
Ultimately, Guénon’s despair for the modern West led him to convert from
Catholicism to Sufi Islam.
From the early twentieth century
to today, Guénon’s writings on comparative religion, symbolism, and the
critique of modernity have inspired countless scholars and activists, and his
works remain a lightning rod for individuals opposed to what they see as the
barren materialism and vapid culture of the modern world. Political
activists such as MAGA architect Steve Bannon, Aleksander Dugin—the guru of
Russian Traditionalism and Eurasianism—and Ali Shariati—an Iranian intellectual
and the “ideologue of the Iranian Revolution”—found inspiration in his
anti-modernism and political formulations.
Another student of Guénon was
Julius Evola, a minor Sicilian aristocrat and artist, who dabbled in poetry,
Dadaism, and Futurism as a young man. After serving in the First World War,
Evola suffered a spiritual crisis that led him to Nietzscheanism, Buddhism, and
then to occultism and René Guénon. In Rome in the 1920’s, Evola became an
associate of Arturo Reghini, a neopagan, freemason, and occultist who advocated
for the return of Roman paganism and introduced Evola to Guénon. Evola and
Reghini—along with a leading Italian anthroposophist, Giovanni Colassa—founded
the Ur Group, a nexus of Italian Traditionalism where members practiced
ceremonial magic in pursuit of transcendence. Both Evola and Reghini
enthusiastically supported the rise of Italian Fascism.
Under Mussolini’s regime, Evola
became a leading fascist mystic and philosopher, his emphasis on power,
hierarchy, and authority meshing easily with the values then ascendant in
Italy. Evola had a personal relationship with Mussolini and leading members of
the Nazi SS and wrote repeatedly on the spiritual foundations of racism, or the
racial foundations of spirituality. His works were widely circulated among the
Fascist and Nazi elite. Like Guénon, Evola believed that modernity constituted
a dark age—the Kali Yuga—and that “spiritual aristocrats” were needed to lead
the world out of the quagmire of democracy, egalitarianism, and
decadence.
While he wrote abundantly on
alchemy, Tantra, and occultism, Evola’s most significant works—while
inseparable from his occult and traditionalist ideas—were political and
philosophical. These included Pagan Imperialism (1928), Revolt
Against the Modern World (1934), Men Among the Ruins (1953), and Ride
the Tiger (1961). As a leading fascist intellectual who survived the war,
Evola and his writings helped to midwife radical right-wing movements across
the Western world. Today, his works are staples on the far right and
proliferate across online message boards—fawned over by everyone from genuine
fascists to young men eager for something provocative. And just like his master
Guénon, Evola and his works exerted an influence on Steve Bannon and Aleksandr
Dugin.
The other great apostle of
occultism is Aleister Crowley—the “wickedest man in the world,” the “Great
Beast,” the modern world’s first professional troll. Aleister, born Edward
Alexander Crowley, was raised as a polite child in the closed and conservative
confines of the Plymouth Brethren, a fundamentalist and evangelical sect. From
his initial upbringing, where he was terrified of the Rapture leaving him
behind, Crowley would grow to embrace a unique form of occult hedonism and
single-handedly serve as one of the major wellsprings of contemporary Satanism
and neopaganism.
Crowley received his occult
education in an organization called the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. The
Golden Dawn was a society created by three freemasons who styled themselves
Rosicrucians and wanted to practice ceremonial magic. Inspired by Blavatsky’s
Theosophy, the founders of the Golden Dawn set about creating what would become
the most influential magical society in history. The Golden Dawn blended the
mythos of the Rosicrucians with medieval grimoires, Tarot cards, alchemical
motifs and Kabbalism into an enduring synthesis. Famous members included W. B.
Yeats, Constance Wilde—the wife of Oscar Wilde—Mina Bergson—sister to the
French philosopher, Henri Bergson—Annie Horniman, who pioneered the Irish
Theater movement, and of course, Aleister Crowley. Two other members, less
well-known today, were Arthur Machen and Algernon Blackwood, authors of Gothic
and supernatural fiction who would prove influential in the genesis of fantasy
literature.
When the egos that had crafted
the Golden Dawn began to collide and the order collapsed in on itself, Crowley
was sent into the occult wilderness. During a trip to Egypt, he claimed to have
encountered a discarnate spirit named Aiwass and became convinced that he had
been chosen by the “gods” to be the herald of a new religion called Thelema—the
Greek word for “will.” The maxim of this new religious movement was
accordingly: “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law.” Crowley would
join and eventually commandeer an occult order from Germany known as the Ordo
Templi Orientis—which had a penchant for sexual mysticism—and transform it into
the vehicle for his Thelema.
Unlike many of the middle- and
upper-class mystics who made up the occult movement, Crowley revelled in overt
displays of transgression, violating every Victorian piety he could get his
hands on. He referred to himself as the “Great Beast 666,” wrote garish poems
about sex and bestiality, and used bodily fluids in certain of his ceremonies.
To Crowley, Christendom and Western normativity were nothing but a bad joke and
an arbitrary set of rules, and he set about embodying the “transgressive
deviance” that he believed was the only true route to virtue. For Crowley, sex
and occultism offered the best path to individual autonomy.
Gerald Gardner, the founder of
Wicca was a student of Crowley, and Anton LaVey, the founder of contemporary
Satanism and the Church of Satan, devoured Crowley’s writings. The Beatles put
Crowley on the cover of their Sgt. Pepper’s album and Jimmy Page, the
founder of Led Zeppelin, was a devoted follower and collector of Crowley
memorabilia. David Bowie, Ozzy Osbourne, and Marilyn Manson were all likewise
familiar with Crowley and influenced by him to one degree or another. Such is
the legacy of the world’s most infamous magician.
From contemporary attitudes to
sex and religion to organic produce and Rock and Roll, it is an open question
whether the occult revival really ended. What we can say is that something
changed. Beginning in the late nineteenth century, just as Western science,
scholarship and imperialism were reaching previously unimaginable heights, just
as Darwinism, Marxism, and scientific materialism were emerging as defining
trends on the intellectual scene, something burst forth from the waste basket
of esotericism and occultism. Nourished on a Romantic yearning for the dreamy
harmony of a pre-Christian and pre-modern world, this creature from the deep
traveled on the same trains and telegraphs that transported modernity to the
far corners of the globe. Everything it touched was changed.
The occult movement—the movement
of Blavatsky and Crowley, of Evola and Guénon—reshaped our memories of the past
and the horizons upon which we paint our futures. If we may give Blavatsky her
due, we can say in Buddhist terms that Blavatsky turned the Wheel of Dharma;
she inaugurated a new age.
As influential as many other
occultists have been, Blavatsky was the most important. Her disdain for
Christianity and reverence for pagan antiquity; her preference for all things
Eastern over Western; her aspirations and superstitions—all of it proved influential
on everything from avant-garde artists and Hippies to Nazis and
Traditionalists. From the New Age section at Barnes & Noble to your
expensive glass of biodynamic wine; to the rise of fascism and contemporary
populism; from our religious marketplace to how we paint and play music—all of
it has been affected by a cultural turning set in motion by Helena Blavatsky.
As the Western world abandons its
historic faith traditions, it isn’t becoming atheist, but agnostic, and it is
within the vague milieu of agnosticism that these occult ideas travel. With the
intellectual and spiritual coherence offered by religion fading, we may find
that people turn to the wastebasket of occultism and its mysterious depths for
answers the churches used to provide. Of one thing we can be sure, as the world
braces for crises on every front, people will be looking for answers.
Christopher Coome is a postdoctoral fellow at Duke University
and the author of The Foundations of
Re-Enchantment: Freemasonry, Theosophy, and the Occult Revival.
Source: https://www.compactmag.com/article/how-occultists-remade-the-world/



