Ever Popular book that pretty much started a genre. Louis Pauwels and Jacques Bergier, The Morning of the Magicians (Stein and Day, ) Pauwels and Bergier don’t actually believe in everything. Review of The Morning of the Magicians by Louis Pauwels and Jacques Bergier. October 19, Kit Leave a comment. I had mostly just thought to give The.

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Search the history of over billion web pages on the Internet. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. English] The morning of the magicians: ISBN pbk. Bergier, Jacques, – II.

Salute to the reader in a hurry — A resignation in — Birds of ill omen — How the nineteenth century closed the doors — The end of science and the repression of fantasy — Poincares despair — We are our own grandfathers — Youth, Youth!

Bourgeois delights — A crisis for the intelligence, or the hurricane of unrealism — Glimpses of another reality — Beyond logic and literary philosophies — The idea of an Eternal Present — Science without conscience or conscience without science?

Brief reflections on the backwardness of sociology — Talking cross-purposes — Planetary versus provincial — Crusader in the modern world — The poetry of science 17 An Open Conspiracy I.

Fantastic realism again — Past techniques — Further consideration on the necessity for secrecy — We take a voyage through time — The spirit’s continuity — The engineer and the magician once again — Past and future — The present is lagging in both directions — Gold from ancient books — A new vision of the ancient motning 41 IV. The concealment ofknowledge and power — The meaning of revolutionary war — Technology brings back the moening — A return to the age of the Adepts — A mayicians writer’s prediction, “The Power- House” — From monarchy to cryptocracy — The secret society as the government of the future — Intelligence itself bergidr secret society — A knocking at the door 60 The Example of Alchemy I.

An alchemist in the Cafe Procope in — A conversation about Gurdjieff — A believer in the reality of the philosopher’s stone — I change my ideas about the value of progress — What we really think about alchemy: A hundred thousand books that no one reads — Wanted: In which a little Jew is seen to prefer honey to sugar — In which an alchemist who might be the mysterious Fulcanelli speaks of the atomic danger indescribes the atomic pile and evokes civilization now extinct — In which Bergier breaks a safe with a blow-lamp and carries off a bottle of uranium under his arm — In which a nameless American major seeks a Fulcanelli now definitely vanished — In which Oppenheimer echoes a Chinese sage of a thousand years ago 90 IV.

The modern alchemist and the spirit of research — Description of what an alchemist does in his laboratory — Experiments repeated indefinitely — What is he waiting for? There is time for everything — There is even a time for the times to come together The Vanished Civilizations I. In which the authors introduce a fantastic personage — Mr. Fort — The fire at the “sanatorium of overworked coincidences” — Mr. Fort and universal knowledge — 40, notes on a gush of periwinkles, a downpour of frogs and showers of blood — The Book of the Damned — A certain Professor Kreyssler — In praise of “intermediarism” with some examples — The Hermit ofBronx, or the cosmic Rabelais — Visit of the author to the Cathedral of Saint Elsewhere — Au revoir, Mr.

An hypothesis condemned to the stake — Where a clergyman and a biologist become comic figures — Wanted: Fortune’s lack of curiosity — The mystery of the melted platinum — Cords used as books — The tree and the telephone — Cultural relativity III.

All the marbles in the same bag — The historian’s despair — Two amateurs of the unusual — At the bottom of the Devil’s Lake — An empty antifascism — The authors in the presence of the Mogning Strange — Troy, too, was only a legend — History lags behind — From visible banality to invisible fantasy — The mwgicians of the golden beetle — Undercurrents of the future — There are other things besides soulless machinery II. In the Tribune des Nations the Devil and madness are refused recognition — Yet there are rivalries between deities — The Germans and Atlantis — Magic magiciians — A secret religion and a secret Order — An expedition to hidden regions — The first guide will be a poet III.


An ultimatum for the scientists — The prophet Horbiger, a twentieth-century Copernicus The jacqurs of the frozen world — History of the solar system — The end of the world — The Earth and its four Moons — Apparition of the giants — Moons, giants, and men — The civilization of Atlantis — The five citiesyears old — From Tiahuanaco to Tibet — The second Atlantis — The Deluge — Degeneration and Christianity — We are approaching another era — The law of ice and fire VI. Grist for our horrible mill — The last prayer of Dietrich Eckardt — The legend ofThule — A nursery for mediums — Haushofer the magician — Hess’s silence — The swastika — The seven men who wanted to change life — A Tibetan colony — Exterminations and ritual — It is mornint than you thought IX.

A New Kind of Intuition: Toward a Psychological Magiicians The mind’s “second wind” — Nacques The Magic Mind Rediscovered: The green eye of the Vatican — The “other” intelligence — The story of the “relavote” — Is Nature playing a double game? The Notion of an “Awakened State”: After the fashion of theologians, scientists, magicians, and children — Salute to an expert at putting spokes in wheels — The conflict between spiritualism and materialism: Three True Stories as Illustration: The story of a great mathematician “in the raw” — The story of the most wonderful clairvoyant — The story of a scientist of the future who lived in VII.

Some Paradoxes and Hypotheses: Why our three stories may have disappointed some readers — We know very little about levitation, immortality, jaacques.

Some Documents on the magicisns State”: The Point Beyond Infinity: Some Reflections on the Mutants: I think I would be a happier man if I had worker’s hands — hands capable of making useful things, of plunging into the depths of omrning to tap sources of goodness and peace.

My adopted father I always refer to him as my father because it was he who brought me up was a moening tailor. He was great- hearted and possessed a truly questing mind. He used to say, with a smile, that betrayal by the intellectuals began with the first artist who depicted a winged angel — it is by our hands that we attain Heaven!

In spite of my lack of manual dexterity I did once manage to bind a book. I was sixteen at the time, a student at jafques vocational class in a suburb of Juvisy. On Saturday afternoons we had the choice between wood and metal work, modeling, and book binding. Poetry was then my favorite reading, Rimbaud my favorite poet.

The Morning of the Magicians

My father possessed some thirty books arranged in a nar- row cupboard in his workroom along with bobbins, chalk, shoulder pads, and patterns. There were also, in this cupboard, thousands mlrning notes, which he had jotted down in his scholar’s hand at a corner of his bench during innumerable nights working at his trade.

Where is the World Going? I set out to bind Rathenau’s book, not without difficulty. Rathenau was among the first victims of the Nazis, and the year was So, each Saturday, I struggled over my task in the little workshop of the vocational school, and on the first of May xv xvi PREFACE I presented my father with the finished book, and a spray of lilies of the valley out of regard for him and the working class.

My father had underlined in red pencil in this book a passage I still remember: Even the most troubled epoch is worthy of respect, because it is the work not just of a few people but of humanity; and thus it is the work of creative nature — which is often cruel but never absurd. If this epoch in which we are living is a cruel one it is more than ever Our duty to love it, to penetrate it with our love till we have removed the heavy weight of matter screening the light that shines on the farther side.

He belonged to the generation of magiciams socialists who had as their idols Victor Hugo, Romain Rolland, Jean Jaures, wore wide-brimmed hats, and kept a little blue flower in the folds of the red flag. Just at the edge of pure mysticism magiciqns the one hand and the cult of social action on the other, my father he worked fourteen hours a day at his bench: He had introduced into the humble actions demanded by his work a bergjer of method of concentration and purification of the mind on which he left hundreds of pages of notes.


Stitching buttonholes or pressing cloth, his face yet bore a radiant expression. Every Thursday a school holiday in France and Sunday my friends would gather around his workbench to listen to him and to savor his strength, and nearly all of them felt their life changed in some way.

Full of confidence in progress and science, believing in the coming to power of the proletariat, he had constructed a powerful philosophy for himself. Guided only by feeling he went on to read books on paleontology, astronomy, and physics. Although with little formal educa- tion, he yet managed to penetrate to the heart of these subjects.

When he talked it was as if it might have been Teilhard de Chardin whom we hadn’t even heard of in those days: The experience of our century is going to be something consider- ably more than the birth of Buddhism! It is no longer a question of endowing such and such a god with human faculties.

The reli- gious power of the Earth will undergo in us a final crisis: We are beginning to understand, and for ever, that the only acceptable religion for man is the one that will teach him first of all to recognize, love and passionately serve this Universe of which he is the most important element.

For him the human species is not some- thing completed.

Full text of “Louis Pauwels, Jacques Bergier Morning Of The Magicians”

By virtue of the spread of communal living and the slow creation of a universal psyche, it is progressing toward a state of super- consciousness. He used to say that man is not yet perfect and saved, but that the laws of condensation of creative energy bergisr us to nourish, at the cosmic level, a tremendous hope.

And he never lost sight of this hope.

It was from that viewpoint that he judged, serenely and with a religious dynamism, the affairs of this world, seeking far and high an immediate and truly effective optimism and courage. In the war was over, and new battles — atomic ones, this time — were threatening. Nevertheless he considered the disquieting and painful times to be no jacuqes than the neg- ative of a magnificent image. Magloire, in Synthhe, November He died in my arms during the night of December 31, and before dying he said to me: I was twenty-eight years old.

The Morning of the Magicians by Louis Pauwels

I was jacquew in at the time of Magician collapse. I belonged to a critical generation which had seen a world fall apart, which was sun- dered from the past and mistrustful of the future. I was certainly far from believing that our shattered world was worthy of respect and that it was my duty to penetrate it with love.

Rather it seemed to me that a clear head led to refusal to jacqkes in a game where everyone was cheating. During the war I sought refuge in Hinduism — that was my way of resisting, and I lived in absolute Resistance.

Don’t look for help in a study of history, nor among people — they’ll let you down every time. Look for it in yourself. Live in this world with- out being of it. One of my favorite images was the Bhagavad Gita diving bird: I existed in a rarefied air, sitting — lotus fashion — on a cloud borne from the Orient. When I had gone to sleep my father would quietly thumb through my bedside reading, trying to understand the source of thw strange ideas, which yawned like a gulf between us.

Some time later, just after the Liberation, I found a new master to model magiciane on and to live for. I became a follower of Gurdjieff. I worked hard to separate myself from all emotion, sentiment, impulse, hoping to find, beyond them, a state bergler — bbergier shall I say it?

I thought of my father with pity. I possessed the secrets ofcontrolling the mind; all knowledge was mine. In fact, I possessed nothing except the illusion of possessing, and an overwhelming contempt for those who did not share my illusion. I despaired of myself. I steeped myself to the very bone in a position of refusal. I was reading Rene Guenon, and believed it was our disgrace to be living in a completely perverted world bent on the Apocalypse.

The words spoken by Cortes to the Spanish Chamber of Deputies in became mine: