Why Symbolism Is Humanity's Oldest Confession—and Why It's Resurfacing Right Now.

There are moments when history opens its books unbidden. The recent releases from American government archives—millions of pages, thousands of images, hundreds of names now seeing the light of day—raise a question that extends far beyond the individual legal case. It's a question as old as civilization itself: What lies behind the symbols used by those who operate in secret? And why have the powerful of this world trusted for millennia a language not composed of words, but of symbols?

Occultus—The Hidden

The term "occultism" comes from the Latin "occultus"—the hidden, the concealed. Essentially, it's nothing more than the name for knowledge not intended for everyone. In this sense, occultism has existed since humans began sharing knowledge. The priests of ancient Egypt guarded their mysteries in the temples of Karnak and Luxor with a secrecy that even impressed Herodotus. In Babylon, the Chaldeans studied the stars not as early astronomers in the modern sense, but as readers of divine signs—each constellation a message, each constellation a key to an order that lay beyond the visible world. Those who could read these signs possessed a power that remained inaccessible to the uninitiated.

From these sources springs a tradition that extends through the Hermeticism of Hellenistic Egypt, the Gnosticism of late antiquity, the Kabbalah of medieval Judaism, and the alchemy of the Renaissance to the present day. Hermes Trismegistus—the "thrice-greatest Hermes," that mythical fusion of the Greek messenger god with the Egyptian god of wisdom, Thoth—is considered the progenitor of hidden knowledge. His principle, "As above, so below," has permeated all occult literature for over two thousand years. The Kybalion, that enigmatic treatise by three anonymous "initiates," urges secrecy: "The lips of wisdom are closed, except to the ears of understanding."

But why do people succumb to the occult? The answer is as simple as it is unsettling: it promises power. Not the worldly power of the politician or the general, but a deeper, a supposedly cosmic power over the laws of nature, over life and death, over fate itself. This allure is the common thread running through human history—from the temple mysteries on the Nile to the incantations of the Babylonian magicians and on to the secret societies of early modern Europe.

The Currency of the Initiates

In this context, symbols play a key role that can hardly be overestimated. Symbols are the language of the initiated. They communicate without speaking. They signify belonging without explaining. The pentagram, the ankh, the all-seeing eye – they all carry meanings that transcend the visible and can only be deciphered by those who know the code. In a world where the hidden is the true arena of power, the symbol becomes currency. And the question that arises with urgent relevance right now is: What happens when these symbols become visible? When the language of the initiated can suddenly be read from the outside?

The Pact of Doctor Faustus

I recently saw a puppet show about Doctor Johannes Faustus—the scholar from Wittenberg who, dissatisfied with the limitations of science, made a pact with the devil. The puppets on their strings, Mephistopheles in his wooden costume, the four devils giving an account of their temptations in the world—all of this seemed at first glance like a relic of centuries past. But the story, which Christopher Marlowe brought to the stage as early as 1604 and which came to Germany as a puppet play via English traveling troupes, possesses a timeless relevance.

Faustus, according to historical sources, was addicted to necromancy—the art of bringing the dead back to life, as documented in a Bamberg episcopal chamber account from 1520. The humanist Trithemius called him a "vagabond and chatterer" who wandered through the principalities, demonstrating the arts of necromancy and crystal visions. This was called black magic, and even Luther's Table Talk mentions a "black magician Faustus." History leaves no doubt as to where this path leads: In the end, the three archdevils Lucifer, Beelzebub, and Mephistopheles claim their victim. Faust descends to hell. The scholars find his body "horribly mutilated." It is the primal story of the occult pact: Whoever sells themselves to the dark powers pays with their soul. What gave me pause that evening at the theater, however, was not the descent into hell itself, but the scene before it—when the good angel concedes defeat in the battle for Faust's soul and the evil angel shows him the abyss. For in that moment, what occultism is at its core becomes clear: not merely hidden knowledge, but a conscious decision against the light.

Faust descends to hell. The Light of Open Teaching

Here, the deep chasm that separates the occult from the major world religions is revealed. For while occultism seeks to remain hidden, Christianity and Buddhism strive for transparency. Jesus spoke in the marketplace, not in a locked temple. Buddha taught beneath the Bodhi tree, not in a sealed chamber. The Sermon on the Mount is the very antithesis of an occult ritual: public, accessible, for all. And yet, both great teachers do speak of the dark powers.

In the New Testament, Jesus warns against the "prince of this world," of demons he casts out, of temptations in the desert. In the Christian understanding, Satan is not merely a metaphorical figure, but a real adversary—the epitome of that dark force to which even the followers of occult practices open themselves. The Epistle to the Ephesians states unequivocally: "Our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world." Buddhism, too, features the figure of Mara, the tempter, who confronts Buddha under the Bodhi tree with all the temptations of the material world. Mara's attack is an attempt to keep the awakening one in darkness. Buddha's victory is awakening into the light.

Therefore, without oversimplifying, one can say that the major religions are the antithesis of the occult. Where the occult closes, faith opens. Where the occult promises power, faith teaches humility. Where the occult seeks to elevate humanity to the status of masters over cosmic forces, faith reminds us that humanity is part of a greater order, which we are not meant to dominate, but to serve. The devil, the demons, Mara—all of them, in the language of religions, are personifications of the force that leads humanity astray. Occultism, viewed in this light, is the institutionalized form of this turning away.

The Black Sun

A dark chapter of German history illustrates with chilling clarity just how dangerous this departure can be. When Heinrich Himmler took over Wewelsburg Castle near Paderborn in 1934 with the intention of transforming it into the intellectual center of the SS, his aim was far more than a prestigious meeting place. In the castle's north tower, he had the so-called Obergruppenführer Hall built—a circular room with twelve columns, its marble floor inlaid with a twelve-spoked sun wheel: the "Black Sun." Designed by Himmler's occult advisor, Karl Maria Wiligut, the symbol combines three superimposed swastikas and twelve mirrored Sig runes. According to the architect, Hermann Bartels, it was the "center of the world"—a sacred space for a substitute religion that sought to replace Christianity with a racist cult.

Even in the years before the Nazi seizure of power, National Socialism operated in a murky environment where nationalist ideology and occult speculation intertwined. The Thule Society, founded in 1918 by the adventurer and occultist Rudolf von Sebottendorff at the luxurious Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten in Munich, combined antisemitic propaganda with esoteric elements. Its symbol was a swastika behind a drawn sword, its greeting "Sieg und Heil" (Victory and Hail). The German Workers' Party, which later became the NSDAP, emerged from its circle. Its newspaper, the "Münchener Beobachter" (Munich Observer), became the "Völkischer Beobachter" (People's Observer). Dietrich Eckart, Hitler's early mentor, frequented Thule circles; on his deathbed in 1923, he is said to have remarked: "Do not mourn for me—I will have influenced history more than any other German." While historians rightly caution against explaining National Socialism as an occult phenomenon—it was primarily a political movement of mass terror—the symbolic language it employed, the runes, the sun wheels, the pseudo-Germanic rituals, reveal a layer of evil that runs deeper than mere political calculation.

A concentration camp was built specifically for the construction of Wewelsburg Castle. Nearly two thousand prisoners perished there. The "center of the world," as is so often the case with occult projects, was built on suffering and death. The symbolism was not merely an add-on—it was a declaration. And that declaration was: We do not serve the light.

When the Signs Become Visible

But what does it mean when symbols can no longer remain hidden? When the signs that once circulated only among initiates suddenly become public? We are currently experiencing a time when archives are being opened, millions of documents are coming to light, names are being named, and networks that operated in the shadows for decades are being exposed. These revelations do not merely concern legal matters. They expose a structure older than any single case—a structure in which power, secrecy, and symbolic communication are inextricably linked.

History teaches us that systems built on secrecy become vulnerable precisely because of their own symbolic language. For symbols are double-edged: they create belonging, but they also leave traces. They bind the initiated together, but they also betray them as soon as an outsider breaks the code. It is as if those who operate in secret have embedded their own Achilles' heel in the marble floor of their assembly halls.

Goodness Needs No Secret

And yet, for all the darkness these reflections bring, there is also something profoundly comforting in the current developments. For the fact that the hidden becomes visible is itself a sign—one that carries a clear meaning in the language of every major religion. “Nothing is hidden that will not be disclosed,” says Jesus in the Gospel of Mark, “and nothing is secret that will not be brought to light.” Buddhism speaks of the power of Dharma, the cosmic order that ultimately always prevails.

What we are currently experiencing—this wave of revelation that is bringing names, structures, and connections to light across continents—may be unsettling. It may be frightening. But it is, in the deepest sense, an act of light. For where the symbols of the hidden are revealed, they lose their power. Where the language of the initiated can be read by all, the bond of secrecy is broken. Every published page, every revealed document is a tear in the veil of the occult. The great Jewish philosopher Martin Buber once wrote: “All real life is encounter.” The occult flees from encounter. It operates in the shadows, it abhors the light. But the light has a quality stronger than any hidden sign: it cannot be stopped. It finds every corner. It reaches every marble floor into which its dark symbols have been inlaid.

The puppet stage of Doctor Faustus shows us the darkest of all scenarios—the lost soul descending into hell. Yet it also shows us the benevolent angel who fights to the very end. And perhaps the most beautiful consolation that the religions of humanity offer is that this struggle is not in vain. That in the end, not darkness triumphs, but light. Not the hidden, but the revealed. Not the symbol of power, but the symbol of love. The cross. The Bodhi tree. The open hand. “Do not be afraid,” says the angel in the Bible. And perhaps this has always been the most powerful message of all: that goodness needs no secret.

Sapere aude!

S.

Further reading 1: https://www.ganjingworld.com/s/08geA0n8lv

Further reading 2: https://www.ganjingworld.com/s/xbQNDxqkZ6

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