For the Love of the Gods by Brandy Williams

Author:Brandy Williams
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: for the love of the gods, theurgy, magic, magick, occult, brandi williams, brandi william, brandy william, what is theurgy
Publisher: Llewellyn Worldwide, LTD.
Published: 2016-07-25T00:00:00+00:00

[contents]

Eight

Psellos

In the time of the Ikhwan al-Safa, Constantinople was one of the largest cities in the world. The terminus of the Silk Road leading from China through Baghdad and Harran, it carried both material wealth and the knowledge of the world into the city. The Byzantine intellectual tradition added these new sources to its deep store of Greek philosophy, with its debt to Egyptian/Kemetic knowledge in addition to newly developed Christian thought.

Michael Psellos was born in 1018. The son of an elite family, he was named Constantine at birth. He was groomed to serve the masters of the empire, studying with teacher John Mauropos alongside men who would eventually become emperors and patriarchs.

In 1047 the emperor Constantine IX appointed Constantine Psellos head of philosophy at his new University of Constantinople. Stephen Skinner notes Psellos was given the title Hypatos, or Consul of Philosophers. Psellos succeeded in centering the curriculum of the new university on the paideia, the Hellenic cultural classics. In 1050 he came into possession of an important manuscript.

A Precious Text

“Constantine, he is here.”

Psellos turned away from his desk and strode across the floor to greet his visitor. “Welcome, well met,” he said, placing the man’s outstretched hand between his palms, a visible sign of his pleasure and an offer of protection. He waved his hand at his youthful slave. “Wine, Milosh.” The young man backed away and left quickly.

“Milosh?” his visitor said.

“He’s a Scyth, a Slav,” Psellos said shortly. “Please, come sit by the fire.” His visitor eyed the elaborately carved chairs inlaid with gold and ivory. When Psellos carelessly dropped onto the cane seat, his visitor gingerly followed suit.

“Now then,” Psellos said, “what shall we call you?”

The man fiddled with his Arabic robe. “Idris Khaldun, as I have signed my letters, of course.” When Psellos didn’t speak, he went on, “Khaldun is of my family. Idris—”

“Is a form of Hermes, of course,” Psellos said. “I thought you might call yourself Ibrahim al-Andalus, a scholar from one of the Spanish courts.”

“Ah,” Idris said, light dawning. “You think I should pass as Jewish. You think this will hide the fact that I am a refugee from Harran, that I will be taken for Muslim. Of course you know that I am not Muslim either. You would think of me as Pagan, like Milosh.”

As if he had heard his name, the young man reappeared, balancing a tray of goblets and wine. Idris smiled at him, but Milosh avoided his eyes, carefully sat the tray on a low table, and left the room. Idris raised his eyebrow at the golden cups. “You drink well here,” he commented.

Psellos filled a goblet and passed it to him. “You’re in Byzantium now, my friend. All the comforts of empire are at your fingertips.” He grimaced. “For as long as we can retain them.”

Idris took a gulp of wine as if to give himself courage to speak. “Your people are no kinder to Jews than to Muslims. I don’t speak Hebrew, and I have no idea what to do in a synagogue.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.