Secrets of The Lost Symbol

by Daniel Burstein

  A Quick Guide to the Philosophers in The Lost Symbol

  by Glenn W. Erickson

  In The Lost Symbol Dan Brown employs the notion of “philosopher” in a very broad, even popular, sense of someone who has an “intellectual or spiritual outlook” in his writings and pronouncements. Brown’s emphasis is on ancient, early, mystical, Hermetic, Masonic, Rosicrucian, Eastern, and “unified human” philosophies. Several of his characters reflect different attitudes and roles in this discussion: hierophant Peter Solomon is credulous; sorceress Katherine Solomon is esoteric; theurgist Mal’akh is manic; exegete Dean Galloway is rationalist; psychopomp Warren Bellamy is cryptic; hermeneutist Robert Langdon is skeptical; and witch hunter Inoue Sato pragmatic. The lyrical voice of Dan Brown is syncretistic, nonliteralist, transformative, fuzzy, hyper—in short, twenty-first-century, all too twenty-first-century. Here are quick sketches of some of the philosophers mentioned in and relevant to The Lost Symbol.

  Pythagoras (sixth century b.c.), Greek philosopher famous for the Pythagorean theorem, one of the first concepts every schoolchild learns in geometry. He taught that reality is fundamentally mathematical and founded a movement that involved attributing sacred properties to various aspects of geometry. At once a philosophical school, religious brotherhood, and political faction, Pythagoreanism was an ancient precursor to the Rosicrucian and Masonic Orders. Though Pythagoras left no written record of his work, his “writings” are mentioned in TLS (chapter 129). He is credited with the saying “Know thyself” (chapter 102); his followers, the Pythagoreans, for an emphasis on the number 33 (chapter 89), which becomes important in Freemasonry, as well as for ascribing special significance to the geometric symbol, the circumpunct (chapter 84).

  Heraclitus the Obscure (ca 540–ca 480 b.c.), Greek philosopher who taught that everything is in a state of flux (“One cannot step into the same river twice”) and that the unity of things lies in the balance between opposites. These are presumably some of “the mystical secrets of alchemy . . . encoded into [his] writings” (chapter 129). Known as the “weeping philosopher,” his melancholy might be the prototype for Dürer’s engraving Melencolia I that figures so prominently in TLS.

  Socrates (469–399 b.c.), Greek philosopher who suffered martyrdom for his principles. He is known for Socratic optimism, the Socratic method, Socratic irony, and the universal definition. He is the principle character in his pupil Plato’s Dialogues. In TLS we learn that Robert Langdon chose not to join the Masons for the same reason that Socrates did not participate in the Eleusinian mysteries, because it would prevent him from discussing certain matters openly with his students (chapter 24).

  Plato (427–347 b.c.), Greek philosopher and central figure in Western literary and intellectual traditions who is remembered especially for Platonic love, Platonic forms, the myth of Atlantis, and the myth of the cave. His dialogues—in particular the “trilogy”: Republic, Timaeus, and Critias—gave Western mysticism much of its direction and tone. Plato is mentioned in TLS for his writings on the “mind of the world” and the “gathering God” (chapter 133), and his followers, the Platonists, for seeing the body as a prison from which the soul escapes (chapter 107). Plato’s concept of mind, or nous, is the ultimate origin of the “noetic science” practiced by Katherine Solomon.

  Hermes Trismegistus (“Thrice-great Hermes”), a Neoplatonic combination of the Greek god Hermes and the Egyptian god Thoth, is the traditional source of mystical and alchemical knowledge in the Greco-Egyptian or Hermetic tradition. He is the pseudonymous author of Hermetic literature, which is a collection of religious and philosophical writings, probably composed from the first to the third centuries a.d., but formerly thought to be of much greater antiquity. His writings are mentioned (chapters 102, 129), specifically the “Hermetic philosophy” of the Kybalion (chapter 15). Hermetic adages, such as “As above, so below” (chapters 9, 21, 26, 82, 85, 96) and “Know ye not that ye are gods?” (chapters 82, 102, 131) resound throughout TLS.

  Saint John (first century a.d.) was the supposed author of the Gospel according to John, his Epistles, and the Book of Revelation, and was also known as the “beloved disciple” of Jesus. Critical scholarship now sees various persons combined in one, the last of which—the pseudonymous author of Revelation—dating to the mid-second century. In TLS Dean Galloway states that “nobody knows how to read” the Revelation of Saint John (chapter 84), and the Gospel of John is twice cited (chapters 131, 133). Elements of Revelation, such as the Seven Seals, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and the Angel of the Bottomless Pit, also appear in TLS. Revelation and the Greek equivalent, apocalypse, both mean “disclosure.”

  Saint Augustine (354–430 a.d.), an Algerian Berber philosopher and theologian; wrote The Confessions, the most influential autobiography of all time, about his conversion to orthodox Christianity. One Tarot trump, “The Lovers,” commemorates this conversion, depicting Augustine’s mother, Saint Monica, as the matchmaker between her son and the Holy Church. Dean Galloway, speaking with respect to the arrival of “a transformative moment of enlightenment,” prefers Augustine’s clarity—along with Bacon’s, Newton’s, and Einstein’s—to the obscurity of the Revelation of Saint John (Chapter 84).

  Moses de Leon (ca 1250–1305), Spanish mystic, supposedly composed (or redacted) the Zohar. A collection of allegorical commentaries on the Pentateuch, this “Book of Splendors” (chapters 15, 131) is the primary document of Kabbalah (chapters 23, 84, 96, 131), Jewish mystical “tradition” entering importantly into Masonic lore.

  Albrecht Dürer (1471–1528), German engraver and painter, is, according to Robert Langdon, “the ultimate Renaissance mind—artist, philosopher, alchemist, and a lifelong student of the Ancient Mysteries” (chapter 68). Dürer’s gnomic magic square in his Melencolia I (1514) is one main element in decoding the Masonic Pyramid, and his name appears more than forty times in the novel (chapters 68, 70, 82, 85, 106, 129).

  Paracelsus (1490–1541), Swiss physician who fused alchemy, Neoplatonism, Kabbalah, and Gnosticism. TLS cites him as a Rosicrucian and an alchemist (chapters 85, 129), some having speculated that he was even Christian Rosenkreuz, supposed founder of the Rosicrucian Order.

  Sir Francis Bacon (1561–1626), English philosopher and statesman, traditionally shares the distinction of founding modern philosophy with Descartes. Some claim he is the actual writer of the plays of William Shakespeare. Robert Langdon remembers him as a member of the Royal Society of London (aka the Invisible College) (chapter 30), as a member of the Rosicrucian Order, and as possibly its founder, Christian Rosenkreuz (chapter 85). Dean Galloway admires the clarity of his vision of a coming age of enlightenment (chapter 84), which is expressed in his utopian novel, New Atlantis, housed in Washington’s Folger Shakespeare Library (chapter 73). Peter Solomon fancies that he was “hired by King James to literally create the authorized King James Bible” and “became so utterly convinced that the Bible contained cryptic meaning that he wrote in his own codes,” citing Bacon’s Wisdom of the Ancients (chapter 131); but few scholars believe Bacon had much of a role in crafting the King James Bible.

  René Descartes (1596–1650), French philosopher and mathematician, founded modern philosophy and invented analytic geometry. His famous saying is “I think, therefore I am.” In TLS, he appears in Robert Langdon’s list of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century luminaries belonging to the Mystical Order Rosae Crucis, along with Elias Ashmole, Francis Bacon, John Dee, Robert Fludd, Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, Isaac Newton, Blaise Pascal, and Baruch Spinoza (chapter 85). Descartes’ “secret notebook,” written in code, and later decoded by Leibniz, is the subject of a fascinating book by one of this book’s contributors, Amir Aczel.

  Robert Boyle (1627–91), both alchemist and first modern chemist, is best known for Boyle’s Law. A gentleman scientist, Boyle promoted Christianity energetically both in word and deed. Robert Langdon mentions him as an early member of th
e Invisible College whose fellow member Newton told him to keep silence about their research (chapter 30).

  Sir Isaac Newton (1642–1727), English physicist and mathematician, arguably ranks as top all-time scientist. The lion’s share of his writing, however, was invested in eccentric biblical hermeneutics, esoterica, and alchemy. Twentieth-century economist John Maynard Keynes reportedly said, “Newton was not the first of the Age of Reason. He was the last of the magicians.” In TLS, Newton’s name appears as the answer to an anagram, Jeovah Sanctus Unus (chapter 30), which is how he sometimes signed his name; in connection with his temperature scale (chapter 89), which took the revered Masonic number, 33 degrees, as the boiling point of water; and for a surfeit of biblical interpretation (chapter 131). Newton also had a prominent role in The Da Vinci Code, where it was alleged that he was one of the grand masters of the “Priory of Sion.” It is clear Dan Brown is fascinated with Newton’s multifaceted personal history as scientist, geometer, exegete, alchemist, and mystic.

  Benjamin Franklin (1706–90), American scientist and statesman, was an honorary member of the Royal Society of London (chapter 30) for his demonstration that lightning and electricity are one and the same phenomenon. He also appears in TLS for being one of the Masonic conceiver/designers of Washington, D.C. (chapter 6), a great inventor (chapters 21, 133), a printer (chapter 126), and an American forefather concerned about the dangers of interpreting the Bible literally (chapter 131). Yet his prominence in the novel owes itself to his hobby of designing magic squares, and particularly to a variant, mentioned in his Autobiography, featuring “broken diagonals.”

  Thomas Jefferson (1743–1826), American political philosopher and statesman, drafted the Declaration of Independence. The third American president, he was accomplished in science, architecture, education, and the humanities. Jefferson is mentioned for many relevant aspects of his life and work. TLS highlights what is today the little-known Jefferson Bible (chapter 131). Originally titled The Life and Morals of Jesus of Nazareth, this unique Bible reflected Jefferson’s personal philosophy of deism. The Jefferson version of the story is the four Gospels expurgated of “superstition” and miracles; for example, he edited out the Virgin birth and the Resurrection.

  Manly Palmer Hall (1901–1990), Canadian-born mystic, who lived most of his life in the United States, is best known for his The Secret Teachings of All Ages: An Encyclopedic Outline of Masonic, Hermetic, Qabbalistic and Rosicrucian Symbolical Philosophy (1928). Hall was a prolific writer on ancient mysteries of all types and ended up becoming a Freemason. Dan Brown has spoken about Hall’s influence on his own appreciation of mystical truth, and quotes this book in the novel’s opening epigraph as well as at its end. In effect, Hall gets the first and last word; Langdon sums up the whole long journey with the words of this “philosopher” (chapter 133).

  Secret Knowledge

  Hiding in Plain Sight in the Infinite Universe

  an interview with Ingrid Rowland

  Ingrid Rowland, an American academic based in Rome, is a fascinating writer and thinker on Renaissance art and philosophy. A frequent contributor to The New York Review of Books, she has written biographies of Giordano Bruno, the great sixteenth-century scientist/mystic/philosopher, and Athanasius Kircher, one of the most important but least known thinkers of the Baroque era. The daughter of a Nobel Prize–winning chemist, Rowland has a unique humanist perspective on science and on the experiences of the alchemists and the Greek and Renaissance philosophers that went into laying the groundwork for the scientific revolution. Dan Burstein interviewed Rowland on a day when she had just finished reading The Lost Symbol in preparation for a review she was writing for The New Republic.

  Your overall reaction to The Lost Symbol?

  Dan Brown never anticipated that The Da Vinci Code would be as successful as it was, and that people would have taken it so seriously. Now, with The Lost Symbol, he has truly taken stock of the power he can muster through the written word. This is a better thriller as well as a more responsible book.

  The concept of the so-called Ancient Mysteries imbues TLS. What do you think that is a reference to, or metaphor for?

  The phrase “Ancient Mysteries” refers to a long-standing European tradition that held that the Egyptians had access to extraordinary sources of wisdom and power. Both ancient Greeks, like Plato, and the Hebrew Bible refer admiringly to ancient Egyptian wisdom, as does the apostle Paul. Europeans in the Renaissance believed that the Egyptians recorded their highest truths in hieroglyphic symbols in order to ensure that such powerful knowledge could never be abused by the superstitious masses. But the idea that only an elite few understand the way the world really works is much older even than ancient Egypt; it may well be part of human nature to think so. The Mysteries to which Dan Brown refers are a body of beliefs once shared, in the same basic form, by Renaissance humanists, modern Freemasons, the Rosicrucians, and others. In his new book, however, he carefully avoids describing these beliefs in much detail—unlike The Da Vinci Code, which borrowed heavily, and not always successfully, from a book called Holy Blood, Holy Grail, which traced the story of Mary Magdalene much as we read about it in Brown’s novel. In The Lost Symbol, however, Brown simply mentions a few enigmatic ideas and names, developing them only enough to further the plot of his story rather than trying to explain them in depth. The most important result of this careful process of self-editing is much faster, more economical storytelling, and this capacity to fine-tune his own work is the sign that Brown is a real professional in his chosen field, which is the writing of thrillers.

  You’ve written the definitive modern biography of Giordano Bruno, the sixteenth-century mystic, protoscientist, and cosmologist. In Angels & Demons, Brown alluded to Bruno, saying that many “scientists” were burned at the stake. Bruno seems to be one of the only examples of that—someone who might actually qualify as a scientist who was burned at the stake for his heresy. Brown again alludes to Bruno, and others before and after him, in TLS, as one of the early thinkers who imagined not only a solar-centered universe, but a human-centered universe as well.

  Bruno’s ideas about the infinite universe—both his cosmos made up of multiple worlds, that is, multiple solar systems, and his conviction that the boundless universe is entirely built of atoms—remain truly significant steps toward our present understanding of nature. Bruno’s reputation has suffered because our histories of cosmology are so focused on technology that they often begin with Galileo’s discoveries with the telescope. Hence it is easy to make a case for Galileo as a recognizably modern scientist, whereas Bruno is a more elusive, and in many ways a seemingly more old-fashioned, figure. He posed thought problems that could barely be confirmed by experiment and called himself a “natural philosopher” rather than a mathematician, although he did refer to his work as a “natural and physical discourse.” In fact, of course, many modern scientists still make their pioneering discoveries by first posing thought problems, much as Bruno did, long before they can prove their intuitions by experimentation.

  Bruno’s philosophy aimed above all to improve the position of individual human beings as citizens of an inconceivably large universe. He believed that an accurate understanding of our position within the cosmos would improve our moral behavior as well as the clarity of our thought. He wrote that we should seek God within ourselves rather than outside, for each of us has our own spark of divinity in us; it is only a question of knowing where to look for that spark.

  There are other figures in the history of science, philosophy, and mystical knowledge that Brown mentions or alludes to. What are your thoughts on Paracelsus? Pythagoras? Agrippa? Dürer?

  Paracelsus is still the foremost precursor, in many ways, of modern medical practice despite the radical strangeness of most of his ideas, especially his ideas about religion. Paracelsus believed that by mixing chemicals together in the right way he could compensate for imbalances in th
e human body. We do the same thing when we take pills for what ails us, although we don’t define the imbalance in terms of the four humors, or define the chemicals, as he did, in terms of mercury, sulfur, and salt. Yet his division of matter into these three substances was of fundamental importance to the future of chemical analysis.

  He was an extremely successful medical practitioner, and a rather conservative one—but he was also a showman. Many of his claims now sound bombastic, but underpinning his bombast is a clear idea that the entire world is made up of elements and that the human body needs a balance of those elements. He also firmly believed that human ingenuity could find a way to restore that balance. We bear witness to the same beliefs whenever we take a vitamin pill.

  Paracelsus was also interested in alchemy, the long-held belief that matter could be transformed, under certain circumstances, from one form into another. My father, a chemist, told me recently that the alchemists misjudged the energy level required to perform their operations—it needs the same level of energy as is used for splitting the atom. But philosophically, the transformations of matter imagined by Paracelsus and other alchemists make sense.

  What about Pythagoras? He’s mentioned five times in TLS.

  Pythagoras was already a legendary figure by the time of Plato, in the fourth century b.c.—he probably lived about two centuries earlier than Plato. We have none of his own writings, only the legends about him and his theorem about right triangles (the square of the hypotenuse equals the sum of the squares of the legs). He believed that numbers had special qualities that were significant in themselves, whereas we tend to use numbers just as tools for calculation. Algebra, calculus, and even advanced arithmetical operations were beyond his scope. But I suspect that we are less far removed from Pythagoras and his number theory than we may like to think.