For those who don’t know, The Ninth Gate is a 1999 film by Roman Polanski starring Johnny Depp, based on a novel called The Club Dumas by Arturo Pérez-Reverte. It’s about a rare book collector and appraiser called Dean Corso who is hired to authenticate a mysterious grimoire called The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows. The client, Boris Balkan, is convinced that only one of the three surviving copies of the book is authentic, because his attempts to summon the Devil have been unsuccessful. Corso travels throughout Europe, comparing the cryptic woodcuts in the grimoire with those in the two other existing copies. But there’s a series of deaths and other unsettling events around the book, and he has a mysterious girl helping him. As you might expect, this is a spooky-Satanic-cult thriller, but it’s not your average spooky-Satanic-cult thriller.
Occultists love this film, because so much of real occultism consists of pouring over old books and trying to make sense of them, and also because The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows is the most realistic fictional grimoire. Almost everything about it feels extremely authentic — in particular, the set of nine woodcuts that are the key to the film’s mystery. They were drawn by Francisco Sole for the novel, but at first glance, I’d be fooled into thinking they were real seventeenth-century woodcuts. They also utilize plenty of real occult imagery, which gives the film a legitimately spiritual dimension. The woodcuts were so compelling, I immediately tried to figure them out for myself, just as Corso and Balkan do in the film. It’s hard to look at these spooky, arcane images and not go, “But what does it meaaaaan?”
From this point on, I’m going to assume you’ve seen the film. I’m going to try and avoid spoilers for the book, though.
I would argue that the real solution to the engravings is spiritual growth or enlightenment, which is the goal of most occultists. Boris Balkan sort of understands this, which is why he has so much disdain for Telfer and her edgy coven of Hollywood-Satanist cosplayers. Telfer and her coven use The Nine Gates as a prop — they aren’t actually interested in deciphering Lucifer’s secrets. But Balkan also fails, because he’s after power, not enlightenment. In that sense, both Balkan and Telfer misunderstand Lucifer. They believe him to be the kind of Lucifer that you usually see in these kinds of movies, when he is actually a spirit who brings spiritual knowledge to humanity, like the serpent in the garden. If we assume that the Girl is Lucifer (which she explicitly is in the book), then she is more benevolent an influence than anything else. (Hell, Corso doesn’t even suffer any “temptation” consequences from having sex with her!) Corso wins in the end because he puts in the effort, and the Girl judges him worthy. Lucifer’s own versions of the engravings seem to emphasize that s/he is genuinely invested in helping his/her followers towards enlightenment.
Early in the film, Balkan says that the engravings form “a kind of satanic riddle” that will summon the Devil if the engravings are assembled correctly. They’re numbered one through nine. At the end of the film, when Balkan assembles the engravings in the “proper” order, this is his interpretation of the riddle:
To travel in silence, by a long and circuitous route, to brave the arrows of misfortune, and fear neither noose nor fire, to play the greatest of all games and win, foregoing no expense, is to mock the vicissitudes of fate and gain at last the key that will unlock the Ninth Gate.
Well. I can say definitively — as both an occultist, and as a scholar who’s looked at a lot of weird occult pictures in old books — that this is incorrect. And not just because the whole sequence is rearranged.
Last time, I interpreted the engravings in the order of Balkan’s sequence, but this time, I’m going to interpret them in their numbered order, because I personally think that that’s correct. That’s why the numbers are there.
The first engraving shows a knight traveling towards a castle, with his finger to his lips. In the AT version of the engraving, the castle has four towers, while in LCF’s version, it has three. Balkan’s interpretation is “To travel in silence,” and the caption is “Silence is golden.” That caption immediately reminded me of the common occult maxim, “To Know, to Will, to Dare, to Keep Silent,” which is directly referenced in the book. In the book, the caption is different: “Only one who has battled according to the rules will prevail.” But these two captions mean essentially the same thing. The narrator says, “The rule is to know and to keep silent. Even if there is foul play, without the rule, there is no game.” The significance of this maxim is that one should not “cast pearls before swine,” share occult secrets with people who won’t understand or respect them. “Silence is golden” doesn’t have the same occult ring to it as “to know and to keep silent,” but it is a simpler, if pithy, version for the sake of the film.
This the only engraving in which there is no obvious tarot imagery. There are four Knights in tarot, one for each suit — wands, swords, cups, and pentacles. But this knight doesn’t have a symbol of any of the suits, or anything else that would connect him to the tarot knights. The important difference is in the castle towers — three in LCF’s, four in AT’s. In traditional numerology, three is a number symbolizing perfection and creation, as in the Holy Trinity, while four is the number of the solid and material, which is sometimes unlucky. (Source: Richard Cavendish, The Black Arts). Sets of three are especially common in fairy tales and mythology — three siblings, three tasks, three encounters, three magical objects, three questions, three trials or tests, repeating an action three times with the third time being different or conclusive, etc. Lucifer’s castle at the end of the film also has three sets of towers.
In the tarot, the threes also represent the completion of the first stage of a venture — the Three of Wands represents a successful enterprise, the Three of Cups represents celebration and fulfillment, and the Three of Pentacles represents recognition for your achievements. All of them have something to do with attainment except for the Three of Swords, which represents loss, heartbreak, betrayal, etc. The fours aren’t bad, representing stability and structure — the Four of Wands is joyful and peaceful, the Four of Swords takes time to rest and recoup, the Four of Cups is bored and listless, and the Four of Pentacles receives material abundance. All of them are a bit more grounded and material. Four has a spiritual dimension through the four letters of the Tetragrammaton, and has a lot of occult significance through the four elements, four directions, four alchemic properties, etc. Agrippa says that it “makes up all knowledge.” But I think in this instance, the most obvious interpretation of this engraving is that your destination will be either material gain (AT) or spiritual advancement (LCF).
The second engraving, eighth in Balkan’s sequence, shows an old man with a dog, holding two keys in his hand. In AT’s version, the keys are in his right hand, and in LCF’s, they are in his left hand. Balkan’s interpretation is “gain at last the key,” and the caption is “Open that which is closed.”
This is an obvious tarot image. This is clearly The Hermit with his lantern. IX The Hermit represents withdrawing into solitude for contemplation and meditation, to gain spiritual wisdom and awareness. He’s the archetypical guru on a mountain, and he holds the keys to enlightenment. Keys represent access to information, and the ability to pass between worlds. “Open that which is closed” is pretty straightforward — unlock the gates, receive spiritual insight.
LCF’s version has the keys in the left hand instead of the right. The Latin word for “left” is sinistram, and the word “sinister” has its current meaning because left was considered unlucky or Satanic. Left-handed people were discriminated against for this reason, until as late as the mid-20th century. In Western occultism, Satanism is especially associated with the “Left-Hand Path,” which is an iconoclastic approach to magic that emphasizes self-deification. LHPers tend to reject tradition and dogma in favor of individualism. I think that the Right-Hand- and Left-Hand Paths are a bit of a false dichotomy (you use both your hands, don’t you?), but anything Satanic is usually considered part of the Left-Hand Path by default.
Also, that Hebrew symbol next to the Hermit is the one for the number nine. In numerology, nine is a magical number, being three times three. It represents completeness, spiritual achievement, and initiation. So, that’s self-explanatory. In tarot, tens are the ultimate state of completion, so the nines are the penultimate step — the Nine of Wands gives you the strength and willpower to overcome obstacles, the Nine of Cups represents success and contentment, and the Nine of Pentacles represents celebrating an accomplishment. (Once again, the Swords are the outlier, representing fear and despair.) Nines in general are good, the perfection of three multiplied by itself. (The Hermit is also the ninth card of the Major Arcana, if you noticed.)
(All of the engravings actually have Hebrew letters on them, at the top left, but I haven’t actually studied gematria or the significance of the Hebrew alphabet in modern tarot that much. Hebrew isn’t super relevant to my own practice. So I’m going to skip over that.)
All nine engravings have a door somewhere in them, because they’re the nine gates that one must pass through in order to be initiated. The door is the most obvious in this engraving. In the first engraving, you (the Initiate) decided to walk the path. Now, you have to make the choice of whether you’re going to continue on it — take the keys, unlock the door. Shit gets real past this point.
The third engraving depicts a traveler walking towards a bridge. In the clouds above him, there’s a Cupid-like figure with an arrow pointing down at him. Balkan’s interpretation is “to brave the arrows of misfortune,” and the caption is “The lost word keeps the secret.” AT’s version is pictured here; in LCF’s version, there are two arrows, the other one pointing upwards in the quiver.
This traveller looks much more like the traditional Tarot depiction of 0 The Fool than the jester in the fourth engraving. He has his little bindle over his shoulder, and is setting off on an adventure. The Fool is happy-go-lucky and doesn’t notice the danger he might be walking into. According to TV Tropes, “The Fool” trope in media describes a person who, despite their naivete, manages to avoid harm through their luck and innocence. So, the traveler will probably not be hit by the arrow, the same way Corso avoids the collapsing scaffolding. However, in alchemy, Cupid’s arrow represents the universal solvent that reduces all matter to primordial prima materia, the necessary first step of the alchemical process. The essence of love in the arrows represents their higher spiritual nature, so maybe the traveller will have to be hit to continue onward. Corso is hardly an innocent person, but he does walk blindly into solving the Nine Gates mystery, and he wins because he’s not expecting to get anything out of it beyond understanding of it.
The two arrows in the LCF version seem to reinforce the idea of there being two possible outcomes. The arrow pointing up and the other one pointing down could also reference the famous occult maxim, “As above, so below,” adding another spiritual dimension to it. Balkan’s interpretation of the engraving reminded me a lot of a certain famous soliloquy: “To be or not to be, that is the question: / Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer / The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, / Or to take arms against a sea of troubles / And by opposing end them.” In this scene, Hamlet is considering whether or not to take his own life. But when applied to this engraving, these lines seem to once again suggest the two possible outcomes — you can suffer and die, or move on towards your goal.
And then there’s the caption. “The lost word keeps the secret.” Well, it’s pretty obvious what that refers to — the ninth engraving, replaced with a forgery that changes the meaning of the entire thing. The missing engraving contains the secret. But that caption seems completely irrelevant to this engraving, except that the face of the archer doesn’t look remotely like a baby’s, as putti usually do —it looks like an old man’s, specifically, the Ceniza brothers’, who removed and replaced the missing engraving. That was a change made for the sake of the film; in the book version, the archer has a more traditionally angelic face. The book also provides a poem that is supposed to indicate the correct sequence of engravings, which ends with “And when the reflection in the mirror shows the way, / you will find the lost word / which brings light from darkness.” According to Baroness Ungern (Kessler in the film), “the lost word” is the Devil’s true name — the Satanic equivalent of the Tetragrammaton, which turns darkness into light. Finding such a secret necessitates taking some risks.
The fourth engraving, which is second in Balkan’s sequence, is of a jester standing at the entrance to a labyrinth. In LCF’s version the labyrinth’s exit is open, while in AT’s it is bricked up. Balkan interprets this as meaning “by long and circuitous route,” while the caption reads “Fate is not the same for all.” that seems fairly straightforward — Balkan and Corso have different fates. Corso is able to find his way out of the Labyrinth, but Balkan’s exit is bricked up. This is because he never properly experienced the journey the way Corso did, he just wanted the payoff and tried to take shortcuts.
The Labyrinth is a very old symbol, and it carries the dual symbolism of a death trap in which there is a Minotaur, and a path to spiritual enlightenment. It can represent the Underworld or the darkness of the subconscious mind, with the Minotaur being your Shadow. Either you are trapped in the Labyrinth and eaten by the monster, or you find your way back out into the light having gained some self-awareness. The jester is probably meant to represent The Fool again, the naive adventurer who travels over the threshold and into the realm of the subconscious and symbolic, i.e. the Labyrinth. You can be the Fool in the tarot sense, and set off on your spiritual journey, or you can be the fool in the traditional sense, and enter a death trap with no exit.
As for the dice in the foreground, this seems to reinforce the caption’s point about fate. But dice, like tarot cards, can be used as both a game and a divination tool — it is the assumption of the diviner that random chance is always meaningful. And indeed, the visible faces on each die add up to 6 — 666.
The fifth engraving, which is sixth in Balkan’s sequence, depicts a man counting coins while Death stands behind him with a pitchfork and hourglass. Balkan’s interpretation is “and win, foregoing no expense,” while the caption reads “In vain.”
Balkan is an idiot. Exactly like the man in the engraving, he is focused entirely on the money and power, and completely misses the literal shadow of Death standing behind him. How does one overlook the significance of that? There’s a big difference between “I won the game so now I get money” and “in vain”! Of course, this means that Balkan is too focused on material pursuits and misses that he is about to die. In AT’s version, the sand is at the top of the hourglass, while in LCF’s version, it is at the bottom — the man has run out of time. The expression “you can’t take it with you” comes to mind. Money and material goods don’t ultimately matter compared to spiritual growth. Fixation on them is ultimately pointless.
In tarot, XIII Death almost never represents physical death. Instead, it represents change, usually a change for the better. Death is about letting go of old things so that new things can come, stepping through a threshold into another life or state of being. This can be difficult or emotionally painful, but it is necessary and ultimately beneficial. If The Hanged Man is the chrysalis, then Death is the emerging butterfly (the Greek word psyche means both “soul” and “butterfly,” because butterflies represent the souls of the dead). Death is a required step towards enlightenment, and if you refuse to acknowledge this, it isn’t going to go well for you.
The checkerboard floor probably continues to reinforce the theme of duality. As for the pitchfork, maybe the reason Death has a peasant’s pitchfork instead of a scythe is because pitchforks are associated with Satan, or it could be a representation of peasants taking revenge on rich people. Or it could be a reference to American Gothic. I think it’s the first one.
The sixth engraving, fourth in Balkan’s sequence, depicts a man hanging upside-down by his ankle, and an arm with a flaming sword reaching out of a castle tower. Balkan’s interpretation of this is “and fear neither noose nor fire,” which proves he knows fuck all about tarot. No wonder he got the riddle wrong. This one is so blindingly obvious. The man isn’t hanging by his neck, he’s hanging by his foot. He’s the Hanged Man.
XII The Hanged Man is a strange and disturbing card at first glance, but it has become one of my favorites. The Hanged Man is almost never depicted hanging by his neck; he hangs by his foot, and has a serene expression, indicating that he wants to be there. He represents endurance of a period of tribulation, suffering, surrender, or introspection in order to obtain wisdom, enlightenment, self-awareness, and insight. Like the Hermit, he indicates a need to be passive in the service of introspection, but in a different sense: while the Hermit contemplates in solitude, the Hanged Man undergoes some kind of ordeal. He goes through a metamorphosis, just like the caterpillar that hangs upside-down in its chrysalis to become a butterfly. He’s a Christlike figure, evidenced by the halo around his head in the Rider-Waite-Smith deck, and the fact that he willingly suffers for a higher purpose. He even wears the same colors as Jesus in Da Vinci’s The Last Supper in the RWS deck, although I’m not sure if that’s on purpose or not. The Hanged Man in the RWS deck hangs by the right foot, but in LCF’s version of the engraving, he hangs by the left foot, maybe reiterating the Left-Hand-Path association.
The caption to the engraving is “I am enriched by death,” which is a million times more meaningful than Balkan’s interpretation. If you’re an occultist, that line is probably self-explanatory. Pretty much everything mystical involves that theme of (symbolically) dying and being resurrected. The alchemical process has three stages — nigredo, which is death, albedo, which is the ascension of the soul, and rubedo, which is returning to life in a “purified” body as a more spiritual being. The Hero’s Journey follows this same pattern — the hero entering the Underworld or the Labyrinth and facing trials that allow them to spiritually ascend and achieve apotheosis (or something close to it). It’s everywhere in books, movies, and video games. It is the initiation ritual. Most occultists figuratively go through it in one way or another. And in tarot, XII The Hanged Man is at the rough midpoint of the Fool’s journey through the Major Arcana, and immediately followed by XIII Death. It is a difficult step, but a prerequisite for spiritual advancement. “I am enriched by death.” You cannot be reborn as a new and better version of yourself without first having died.
(It is sort of odd that this engraving comes after the one representing Death, though. In a tarot deck, it directly precedes Death.)
I don’t have much to say about the flaming sword. It could be foreshadowing Balkan’s death (more on that later), or it could represent the flaming sword of the angel of Eden (i.e. guarding spiritual knowledge, which Satan famously offered to humans). It could also be a symbol of burning away the old self, which relates to the Hanged Man image. It’s also held in the left hand.
The seventh engraving, fifth in Balkan’s sequence, is of a king and a peasant playing a chess game. Two dogs are fighting in the background, and the moon can be seen through the window. In AT’s version, the board is black, and in LCF’s, the board is white. Balkan interprets it as “to play the greatest of all games,” and the caption is “The disciple surpasses the master.”
The tarot symbolism that I see here is that of XVIII The Moon, which has dogs baying at it in the Rider-Waite-Smith deck. The Moon represents the subconscious, imagination, and dreams, but also nightmares, madness, and illusion. The illusion here is probably the missing engraving being replaced by the forgery. The themes of the subconscious are again reinforced. Underneath the Moon, a black dog and a white dog fight each other, almost seeming to create a yin/yang shape — this brings the dark and the light into balance, the same way the Moon spends equal times dark and bright as it goes through its phases. The game is chess, which is played with black and white pieces, and the board is either black or white. The game seems to be a draw, making the peasant and the king equals, just as the dogs are unable to defeat each other. So, this engraving is all about reconciling dualities.
There’s another layer to this. God is the “King of Kings,” so this could demonstrate a human becoming God’s equal. This is basically the goal of occultism — to become like God, in some form. Left-Hand Path’ers in particular seem to like the idea of becoming gods themselves, or even “surpassing” God. Since the book was created by Lucifer, this could tie in to Lucifer’s desire to become God’s equal that got him cast out of Heaven (but I’m not the biggest fan of that story, so I won’t go any further with that). To the occultist, man can participate in divinit, just as God can become a man — as above, so below. That’s also a form of reconciling the duality of human and divine.
The caption, “The disciple surpasses the master,” probably refers to this, but it could also refer to Corso surpassing Balkan and succeeding where Balkan failed. Any good teacher wants their students to have learned so well that they surpass them. God (or Lucifer) intends for his disciples to surpass him, but Balkan tries (and fails) to prevent Corso from surpassing him.
The eighth engraving, which is seventh in Balkan’s sequence, depicts a praying man about to be bludgeoned by a knight with a mace, with the Wheel of Fortune in the background. In LCF’s version, the knight with the mace has a halo. Balkan’s interpretation is “to mock the vicissitudes of fate” and the caption says “Virtue is defeated.”
This engraving is the most changed between its book and film version, so much so that it changes the meaning significantly. The figures in the engravings were altered for the film to make them look like the actors: this one depicts Balkan hitting Corso in the back of the head with a mace, which happens in the film. The halo around Balkan’s head in the LCF engraving makes very little sense, since Balkan obviously isn’t the hero here. Is this about villains defeating virtuous people? Corso isn’t exactly a virtuous person.
The book clarified this engraving for me. In the book, the engraving depicts a knight about to behead a lady:
Long story short, the book has a whole second plot revolving around a manuscript of The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas. The woman in this engraving is identified with Milady, one of the villains of The Three Musketeers. The knight has a halo in LCF’s version because his execution of her is righteous. He’s the protagonist whom we’re supposed to be rooting for, and she’s the villain whom we’re supposed to despise. As for the caption, virtue is defeated when the protagonists sacrifice their moral high ground in order to defeat the villains, which will inevitably require force, violence, or deception. All of that gets lost in the film’s version.
This is also an alchemical image of beheading, which represents dissolution, the “nigredo” or spiritual death. The praying person represents the matter of the Philosopher’s Stone, and the weapon represents “mercurial water,” the universal solvent that dissolves the matter into prima materia so it can be remade. This is the first major step in the alchemical process, which separates the soul from the body and paves the way for initiation and spiritual understanding. So, that reiterates the death/rebirth theme of the sixth engraving. In this context, the halo indicates that this stage is necessary for spiritual development.
The Wheel of Fortune in the background is a medieval motif that shows how the whims of fate are apparently random. Some get to be kings, others are serfs, and your fortunes can turn at any moment. Just when you think everything is great, someone hits you on the back of the head. In tarot, X The Wheel of Fortune means exactly what you would expect it to — a twist of fate, a change of fortune. Whether it’s for better or for worse depends on the context and the cards around it. Life is full of ups and downs, so enjoy what you’ve got while you have it, etc. Sometimes when it shows up, it can mean that you should trust in fate. Nothing about this card suggests mocking it.
And finally, we come to the ninth and final engraving. This depicts a woman who looks suspiciously like the Girl reading a book, ostensibly The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows, and riding a dragon with seven goatlike heads. There is a castle in the background, and the castle is a real place. There are three versions of the engraving — this one, which is signed by AT and has the castle as-is, a forged LCF engraving that shows the castle in flames, and the real one. Balkan’s interpretation is “that will unlock the Ninth Gate,” and the caption is “Now I know that from Darkness comes Light.”
The woman is apparently an image of the “Whore of Babylon” from Revelations, who rides a seven-headed dragon. I’m not really sure what she’s supposed to represent, beyond being generally Satanic. Of course, Crowley recast her as a sex goddess; in Thelema, Babylon is the feminine version of the divine creative principle. The seven heads of her dragon are significant — seven is the number of secrets, mysteries, magic, introspection, and searching for inner truth, which have been running themes this whole time. Seven also signifies creation, completeness, and rest, since God created the world in seven days. In tarot, the sevens present a new challenge after the perfection of the sixes — the Seven of Wands brings new obstacles that require determination to overcome; the Seven of Cups represents imagination, dreams, and illusions, so back to The Moon again (and the illusion of the forgery); the Seven of Swords represents deception or a con artist (like the Ceniza twins, or maybe Balkan); and the Seven of Pentacles represents a threshold or a new opportunity, and reflecting on one’s achievements. That all aligns scarily well with the situation here.
The critical illusion is that the “LCF” engraving with the burning castle is a forgery. So, Balkan sets himself on fire for no reason other than egomania. This image is similar to XVI The Tower in Tarot:
The Tower is one of the scariest cards to get. If Death is a difficult but beneficial change, The Tower is a dramatic turn for the worse, complete destruction and devastation. It is struck by lightning and destroyed, going up in flames. I drew this card shortly before the pandemic hit. That was The Tower — destruction, upheaval, devastation, but with the promise of rebuilding. I also had to deal with a lot of emotional turmoil because of an unrelated thing that happened around the same time, and it shook me to my core. So, obviously the forged engraving leads to Balkan’s destruction.
The true ninth LCF engraving shows the sun shining from behind one of the castle’s towers:
Replacing The Tower with The Sun is a drastic difference. If The Tower is one of the worst cards to get, XIX The Sun is one of the best. The Sun is a good omen in every capacity. It represents everything that these engravings have been working towards — spiritual growth, fulfillment, success, enlightenment, revelation of secrets, good fortune, etc. It fits right in with Lucifer’s status as the Light Bringer, and it is the solution. (The true engraving is also very reminiscent of The Star, which directly follows The Tower, and represents hope and the light at the end of the tunnel.) The jagged rocks at the bottom of the castle in the other two versions are missing here, and the castle is more accessible, with a visible path. The woman gestures directly to it.
The rest of the scene is much more shadowed in the true version, which fits right in with the caption: “Now I know that from Darkness comes Light.” I, in my obsession with Shadow work, interpret this as confronting the dark parts of oneself and bringing them out into the light to become a whole person, and to grow spiritually. This goes back to the Labyrinth, needing to enter the dark Underworld or the realm of the subconscious in order to gain spiritual wisdom and finally achieve enlightenment. Everything in the engravings seems to point back to that — needing a period of introspection, reconciling of duality, obtaining safe passage through the various trials until you see The Sun, which is followed by Judgement (resurrection) and The World (fulfillment). The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows are like the seven gates of the Underworld that Inanna must pass through (and that eight-pointed star is a symbol of Inanna). Corso passes through the Ninth Gate, out of the Kingdom of Shadows and into the light.
Throughout all of this, the Devil acts as the facilitator of Corso’s initiation. As the Supreme Magus and the bearer of spiritual knowledge, she (he? it?) set this book out in to the world in the hopes that someone will complete the nine stages of their initiation and reach enlightenment. The power that Balkan seeks is like a side-effect of that enlightenment. When you achieve mastery, you do get power, but power was never the point. If you seek power first, you’re more likely to be led astray. Not that The Devil cares either way — I’m sure it’s all very amusing to her.
So now we’re left with one more piece of the riddle: the correct order of the engravings. This requires a bit more context from the book, which provides this poem as a clue to the correct sequence:
It is the animal with the tail in its mouth that encircles the labyrinth.
where you will go through eight doors before the dragon
which comes to the enigma of the word.
Each door has two keys:
one is air and the other matter,
but both are the same thing.
You will place matter on the serpent’s skin
in the direction of the rising sun,
and on its belly the seal of Saturn.
You will break the seal nine times,
And when the reflection in the mirror shows the way,
you will find the lost word
which brings light from darkness.
(This sounds so authentic, I went and checked to see if it was referencing a real alchemical text.)
Based on this, I’m guessing that the fourth engraving is supposed to be first: the Fool setting out on their journey through the Labyrinth, which is identified with the ouroboros, the serpent eating its own tail. The ouroboros represents prima materia, the innate interconnectedness of everything, and the cyclical nature of life and death. Next, “the enigma of the word” references the caption of the third engraving, braving whatever danger to discover forbidden knowledge. The mention of two keys refers to the second engraving: the two keys themselves, of air and matter, refer to the alchemical states of “fixed” (material) and “volatile” (spiritual). They are “the same thing” because, in alchemy, matter must be converted between fixed and volatile states over and over and over again, until it reaches a perfect balance of the two, which is the Philosopher’s Stone. Beyond that, I’m kind of at a loss. There aren’t any other obvious references to the engravings in the rest of the poem, and the remaining lines are much harder to interpret. Here’s my best guess: The “serpent’s skin” reflects the scale pattern above the door in the seventh engraving, where the chess players are carefully placing pieces. The “seal of Saturn” probably refers to the seventh engraving, since Saturn is associated with death and frugality. Breaking the seal nine times might refer to the eighth engraving, of the beheading, and the reflection in the mirror might refer to the sixth engraving, since the Hanged Man is all about introspection. The final line about bringing light from darkness of course refers to the ninth engraving.
But I’m guessing at this point. It seems these engravings still have secrets to reveal to me! Hey, at least I know more about it than the book’s equivalent of Balkan, who takes the poem extremely literally. It goes about as well for him as it does for film!Balkan. Maybe I'm reading too deep into it, but it sure is fun!
Happy Birthday Johnny Depp
John Christopher Depp II (born June 9, 1963) is an American actor, musician, and filmmaker. He is the recipient of multiple accolades, including a Golden Globe Award and a Screen Actors Guild Award as well as nominations for three Academy Awards and two British Academy Film Awards. His films, in which he has often played eccentric characters, have grossed over $10.8 billion worldwide.
Depp began his career as a musician performing in several amateur rock bands before making his feature film debut in the horror film A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984). He then acted in Platoon (1986) before rising to prominence as a teen idol on the television series 21 Jump Street (1987–1990). Depp portrayed lead roles in Arizona Dream (1993), What's Eating Gilbert Grape (1993), Benny & Joon (1993), Dead Man (1995), Donnie Brasco (1997), Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1998), The Ninth Gate (1999), Chocolat (2000), and Blow (2001). During this time, Depp became known for his work with director Tim Burton, collaborating on eight films together, starting with Edward Scissorhands (1990), followed by Ed Wood (1994), Sleepy Hollow (1999), Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005), Corpse Bride (2005), Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (2007), Alice in Wonderland (2010) and Dark Shadows (2012).
Depp gained worldwide stardom for his role as Jack Sparrow in the Pirates of the Caribbean film series (2003–2017). He earned three nominations for the Academy Award for Best Actor for his roles as Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003), J. M. Barrie in Finding Neverland (2004), and the title role in Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (2007). His other well-received films include Public Enemies (2009), Rango (2011), Into the Woods (2014), Black Mass (2015), Murder on the Orient Express (2017) and Minamata (2020). He portrayed Gellert Grindelwald in two films within the Wizarding World's Fantastic Beasts films in 2016 and 2018.
For his work in the film industry, he received an Honorary César and star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in 1999. He was named People's Sexiest Man Alive twice, in 2003 and in 2009.[5] Outside acting, Depp has produced films through his company Infinitum Nihil, which he founded in 2004. He also formed the rock supergroup Hollywood Vampires with Alice Cooper and Joe Perry.
Why are they called wisdom teeth anyway? And why do they not seem very wise when they come in?
My final essay in undergrad was an analysis the occult elements of The Ninth Gate, and I concluded that the theme of the film (and much literature about the occult) was that knowledge is not wisdom.
So I say wisdom teeth are called that because they are, like the occult, hidden. And when they are not, the pain is beyond belief.
