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The Arch-Conjuror of England: John Dee
Outlandish alchemist and magician, political intelligencer, apocalyptic prophet, and converser with angels, John Dee (1527-1609) was one of the most colorful and controversial figures of the Tudor world. In this fascinating book — the first full-length biography of Dee based on primary historical sources — Glyn Parry explores Dee's vast array of political, magical, and scientific writings and finds that they cast significant new light on policy struggles in the Elizabethan court, conservative attacks on magic, and Europe's religious wars. John Dee was more than just a fringe magus, Parry shows: he was a major figure of the Reformation and Renaissance.
335 pages, Hardcover
First published April 24, 2012
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February 28, 2013
I’m completely beguiled by witchcraft and magic, by the search for deeper, sometimes darker, forms of knowledge and understanding. I’ve read deeply into lots of sources, including the infamous Malleus Maleficarum – the Hammer of the Witches -, a medieval treatise based on misconception and misunderstanding, but one that was to have dire consequences for so many people, particularly women. I’m captivated also by the Faust legend, another dangerous quest.
There is an odd ambiguity in the medieval and early modern understanding of witchcraft and magic. Witchcraft was disapproved of as malevolent magic, though magic, in the form of alchemy, was a reasonably respectable if occasionally risky occupation. It would have been lethal for a woman to set herself up as an alchemist or a magus, for the simple reason that accusations of witchcraft and demonology would quickly follow. Men were on slightly more certain territory, though they, too, were in danger of slipping over boundaries. It was all a matter, you see, of perception…and politics!
Dr Faustus is the stuff of legend; but Dr John Dee is the stuff of English history. His is a fascinating story, one that embraces science and magic, high politics and low comedy. It’s a story long waiting to be told in full. Now it has, admirably, by Glyn Parry in The Arch-Conjurer of England: John Dee.
Conventionally Dee was a scientist living in Tudor England, a man with a brilliant scholarly mind who set off in pursuit of some rather dubious notions. He really stands on the cusp of a great change, a time when superstition, giving way to reason, was still fighting a determined rearguard action. In a profession like his one really needed powerful protectors to avoid accusations of black magic, and as Parry shows, Dee’s protectors included some of the most powerful in Elizabethan England. His patrons went as high as the Queen herself, taking along William Cecil, Lord Burleigh, her chief minister, and Francis Walsingham, her spy master, on the way.
Dee claimed to be able to foretell the future, a skill particularly desired by those in power. He also had a practical political use as a kind of counter-magus! In 1558 when Elizabeth came to the throne in succession to her Catholic sister, Mary, there were many dangers for the nascent Protestant queen. In France Nostradamus, the court magician of Catherine de Medici, predicted all sorts of dire things for England. Dee was hired to give a different spin and cast a better horoscope!
Dee was clearly a reasonably astute politician himself, at least on occasion. His best ‘prophecies’, in other words, were tailored to support policy drifts, which included casting positive auspices on Robert Dudley’s campaign in support of the Dutch revolt against the Spanish, and Cecil’s campaign against the perceived Catholic threat. This was wizardry as a handmaiden to statecraft!
Alas, poor Doctor Dee, astute but not astute enough. He slipped and slipped badly - he made one political contact, one magical contact and one prediction too far. The political contact was a disreputable Polish nobleman by the name of Albrecht Laski. Believing that this man was favoured by the Queen, Dee then hired one Edmund Kelley, a ‘scryer’ who claimed to be able to talk to angels, to back up his prophecy that Laski would be king of Poland. Here Dee took his eye off the political ball; for the player to watch was not Elizabeth but Burleigh, who had no intention of advancing the Catholic Laski’s political ambitions. Down came the house, magic and all.
Now on Continental exile, Dee’s story slips from Faustian tragedy to Rabelaisian comedy. The fraudulent Kelley persuaded him that the only way for him to retain his magical powers was for the two to indulge in a spot of wife swapping. Dee agreed, sufficient proof, if any is needed, that even the most sophisticated minds are not free from risible forms of folly.
Parry has done splendid work in placing Dee, the man, the myth and the magic, in the wider stage of Elizabethan court politics. It explains why his little vessel was subject to such vagaries, moved along in one direction or another by changes in the wind. He also proves one thing that I’ve long believed – that innocence often goes hand in hind with scholarly curiosity, and, goodness, what an innocent Dee was.
There was one nugget of information which I found wholly delightful. It was Dee who coined the term ‘British Empire’, though with all of his other prophecies this showed no great prescience on his part. His British Empire grew from the spurious contention that King Arthur, no less, had once planted colonies in the Americas. I can just see it - an Elizabethan Englishman in the Colonial Court of King Arthur!
Parry has brought our home-grown Faust out of the shadows. His scholarly efforts are commendable, and weighty. I could only wish that he had carried them a tad more lightly; the long passages from Dee’s own writings are crushingly dull. Still, if you are interested in the occult and the place of prediction in politics, if you are interested in the highs and the lows of an Elizabethan life, then I think you will enjoy this book. I did.
There is an odd ambiguity in the medieval and early modern understanding of witchcraft and magic. Witchcraft was disapproved of as malevolent magic, though magic, in the form of alchemy, was a reasonably respectable if occasionally risky occupation. It would have been lethal for a woman to set herself up as an alchemist or a magus, for the simple reason that accusations of witchcraft and demonology would quickly follow. Men were on slightly more certain territory, though they, too, were in danger of slipping over boundaries. It was all a matter, you see, of perception…and politics!
Dr Faustus is the stuff of legend; but Dr John Dee is the stuff of English history. His is a fascinating story, one that embraces science and magic, high politics and low comedy. It’s a story long waiting to be told in full. Now it has, admirably, by Glyn Parry in The Arch-Conjurer of England: John Dee.
Conventionally Dee was a scientist living in Tudor England, a man with a brilliant scholarly mind who set off in pursuit of some rather dubious notions. He really stands on the cusp of a great change, a time when superstition, giving way to reason, was still fighting a determined rearguard action. In a profession like his one really needed powerful protectors to avoid accusations of black magic, and as Parry shows, Dee’s protectors included some of the most powerful in Elizabethan England. His patrons went as high as the Queen herself, taking along William Cecil, Lord Burleigh, her chief minister, and Francis Walsingham, her spy master, on the way.
Dee claimed to be able to foretell the future, a skill particularly desired by those in power. He also had a practical political use as a kind of counter-magus! In 1558 when Elizabeth came to the throne in succession to her Catholic sister, Mary, there were many dangers for the nascent Protestant queen. In France Nostradamus, the court magician of Catherine de Medici, predicted all sorts of dire things for England. Dee was hired to give a different spin and cast a better horoscope!
Dee was clearly a reasonably astute politician himself, at least on occasion. His best ‘prophecies’, in other words, were tailored to support policy drifts, which included casting positive auspices on Robert Dudley’s campaign in support of the Dutch revolt against the Spanish, and Cecil’s campaign against the perceived Catholic threat. This was wizardry as a handmaiden to statecraft!
Alas, poor Doctor Dee, astute but not astute enough. He slipped and slipped badly - he made one political contact, one magical contact and one prediction too far. The political contact was a disreputable Polish nobleman by the name of Albrecht Laski. Believing that this man was favoured by the Queen, Dee then hired one Edmund Kelley, a ‘scryer’ who claimed to be able to talk to angels, to back up his prophecy that Laski would be king of Poland. Here Dee took his eye off the political ball; for the player to watch was not Elizabeth but Burleigh, who had no intention of advancing the Catholic Laski’s political ambitions. Down came the house, magic and all.
Now on Continental exile, Dee’s story slips from Faustian tragedy to Rabelaisian comedy. The fraudulent Kelley persuaded him that the only way for him to retain his magical powers was for the two to indulge in a spot of wife swapping. Dee agreed, sufficient proof, if any is needed, that even the most sophisticated minds are not free from risible forms of folly.
Parry has done splendid work in placing Dee, the man, the myth and the magic, in the wider stage of Elizabethan court politics. It explains why his little vessel was subject to such vagaries, moved along in one direction or another by changes in the wind. He also proves one thing that I’ve long believed – that innocence often goes hand in hind with scholarly curiosity, and, goodness, what an innocent Dee was.
There was one nugget of information which I found wholly delightful. It was Dee who coined the term ‘British Empire’, though with all of his other prophecies this showed no great prescience on his part. His British Empire grew from the spurious contention that King Arthur, no less, had once planted colonies in the Americas. I can just see it - an Elizabethan Englishman in the Colonial Court of King Arthur!
Parry has brought our home-grown Faust out of the shadows. His scholarly efforts are commendable, and weighty. I could only wish that he had carried them a tad more lightly; the long passages from Dee’s own writings are crushingly dull. Still, if you are interested in the occult and the place of prediction in politics, if you are interested in the highs and the lows of an Elizabethan life, then I think you will enjoy this book. I did.
July 7, 2013
Like the dyslexic Faustus who sold his soul to Santa, the life of John Dee was a black comedy of errors. His vain and vulgar efforts to harness the occult for material ends often rendered him ridiculous. But there is a darker tale in Dee’s work for the Tudor state: a story of dodgy dossiers, fear-mongering and greed.
During the Tudor period no clear distinction was made between science and magic. John Dee’s study at Cambridge of arithmetic, geometry and astronomy enabled him to become a navigational consultant, who worked with England’s greatest explorers. But it also helped him measure the rays of celestial virtue that emanated from the stars and influenced human affairs. Mathematics helped him predict the future — and that was a much sought-after skill.
In the absence of news media, economists and pollsters, the powerful were desperate for expert guidance on what the future might hold. And if their belief in the value of astrological readings is that of another age, their understanding of the propaganda value of political forecasts was as sophisticated as our own. In 1558 Catherine de Medici’s conjuror Nostradamus, predicted a stream of calamities for the English enemy under their new queen, Elizabeth I. To calm national nerves Dee was hired, not to pick an auspicious date for Elizabeth’s coronation, as has long been claimed, but (Parry reveals) in the assumption that he would cast a more positive horoscope.
For over 20 years Dee continued to prove occasionally useful to his political masters: hard-headed men such as Elizabeth’s favourite Robert Dudley, and her Secretary of State, William Cecil. His prophecies supported Dudley’s pursuit of war in the Netherlands and Cecil’s desire to ever raise the threat alert against Catholics. But the occult was a dangerous business to be in. Accusations of black magic could lead you to the rope, and having the right political protection was all-important. Invariably those in league with Satan were found amongst the ideological opponents of those in power.
The problem for a jobbing magician seeking patronage was that religious affiliations could change overnight. Dee had cast horoscopes and crystal gazed for Elizabeth during her Catholic sister Mary’s reign, at a time when Elizabeth was suspected of treason. He had saved his neck by ‘coming out’ as a Catholic priest and taking up a post with the Protestant-burning bishop of London, Edmund Bonner. This was not forgotten or forgiven by all Protestant Elizabethans. Despite Dee’s marriages and ‘discoveries’ of Catholic threats, he was smeared as a ‘conjuror’ of evil spirits.
Dee’s poor judgment got him into further trouble in 1583. The arrival of the exotic looking Polish nobleman Albrecht Laski caused a sensation at court. He wore a red costume and had a magnificent white beard tucked into his belt. The Queen seemed to like him. Dee had employed a new whiz of a ‘scryer’ who could talk to angels, and they were saying Laski would be King of Poland. Only too late did Dee discover that Cecil disliked any encouragement of the Catholic Laski’s ambitions. The angels’ prophecies did for Dee at court. He went broke and had to flee England with Laski and the scryer.
In Europe the comedy of errors continued as the scryer — a drunken fraudster called Kelly — developed a reputation as an alchemist. Kelly persuaded Dee that the angels had told him that he could only keep his powers of transmutation if they swapped wives for sex. Dee, and the wives, dutifully (if unhappily) agreed. And to be fair, the wife-swapping seemed to work. When Dee returned to England in 1589 it was only because Elizabeth hoped he might be able to bring the great alchemist, Kelly, with him.
The place of the occult in Tudor politics is a fascinating and largely untold story. Unfortunately Glyn Parry’s life of Dee suffers the weakness as well as the strengths of the scholarly biography. The narrative sinks beneath the weight of detail. The long passages on Dee’s occult writings and practices are particularly dull — like having some one relay to you their dreams. We get to know Dee, but the ‘old imposturing juggler’, turns out to have been a bit of a bore. This review first appeared the the Spectator 3 March 2012
During the Tudor period no clear distinction was made between science and magic. John Dee’s study at Cambridge of arithmetic, geometry and astronomy enabled him to become a navigational consultant, who worked with England’s greatest explorers. But it also helped him measure the rays of celestial virtue that emanated from the stars and influenced human affairs. Mathematics helped him predict the future — and that was a much sought-after skill.
In the absence of news media, economists and pollsters, the powerful were desperate for expert guidance on what the future might hold. And if their belief in the value of astrological readings is that of another age, their understanding of the propaganda value of political forecasts was as sophisticated as our own. In 1558 Catherine de Medici’s conjuror Nostradamus, predicted a stream of calamities for the English enemy under their new queen, Elizabeth I. To calm national nerves Dee was hired, not to pick an auspicious date for Elizabeth’s coronation, as has long been claimed, but (Parry reveals) in the assumption that he would cast a more positive horoscope.
For over 20 years Dee continued to prove occasionally useful to his political masters: hard-headed men such as Elizabeth’s favourite Robert Dudley, and her Secretary of State, William Cecil. His prophecies supported Dudley’s pursuit of war in the Netherlands and Cecil’s desire to ever raise the threat alert against Catholics. But the occult was a dangerous business to be in. Accusations of black magic could lead you to the rope, and having the right political protection was all-important. Invariably those in league with Satan were found amongst the ideological opponents of those in power.
The problem for a jobbing magician seeking patronage was that religious affiliations could change overnight. Dee had cast horoscopes and crystal gazed for Elizabeth during her Catholic sister Mary’s reign, at a time when Elizabeth was suspected of treason. He had saved his neck by ‘coming out’ as a Catholic priest and taking up a post with the Protestant-burning bishop of London, Edmund Bonner. This was not forgotten or forgiven by all Protestant Elizabethans. Despite Dee’s marriages and ‘discoveries’ of Catholic threats, he was smeared as a ‘conjuror’ of evil spirits.
Dee’s poor judgment got him into further trouble in 1583. The arrival of the exotic looking Polish nobleman Albrecht Laski caused a sensation at court. He wore a red costume and had a magnificent white beard tucked into his belt. The Queen seemed to like him. Dee had employed a new whiz of a ‘scryer’ who could talk to angels, and they were saying Laski would be King of Poland. Only too late did Dee discover that Cecil disliked any encouragement of the Catholic Laski’s ambitions. The angels’ prophecies did for Dee at court. He went broke and had to flee England with Laski and the scryer.
In Europe the comedy of errors continued as the scryer — a drunken fraudster called Kelly — developed a reputation as an alchemist. Kelly persuaded Dee that the angels had told him that he could only keep his powers of transmutation if they swapped wives for sex. Dee, and the wives, dutifully (if unhappily) agreed. And to be fair, the wife-swapping seemed to work. When Dee returned to England in 1589 it was only because Elizabeth hoped he might be able to bring the great alchemist, Kelly, with him.
The place of the occult in Tudor politics is a fascinating and largely untold story. Unfortunately Glyn Parry’s life of Dee suffers the weakness as well as the strengths of the scholarly biography. The narrative sinks beneath the weight of detail. The long passages on Dee’s occult writings and practices are particularly dull — like having some one relay to you their dreams. We get to know Dee, but the ‘old imposturing juggler’, turns out to have been a bit of a bore. This review first appeared the the Spectator 3 March 2012
June 1, 2020
Excellent scholarly book on Dee that far outshines its rivals (in particular Woolley's pulp fiction attempt). It places Dee in his cultural and intellectual context, in his own time, and in the highly politicised - and religiously charged - courts of the late Tudors, making his career, and the myths surrounding that career, far less occult. In doing so, he challenges (with ample evidence to back up his claims) many of the myths and legends that have been perpetuated since Dee's own time.
September 5, 2017
A well researched, although often rambling and ill structured, biography of John Dee. Parry delves into the political involvement of Dee more than any other aspect, focusing heavily upon his involvement with Cecil and Walsingham and only occasionally erring towards mere conjecture.
August 9, 2018
A good account, and some parts are fascinating, but the book suffers from a tendency to ramble somewhat, and comes out as a touch unfocussed at times. That being said, this is fascinating subject matter, and when the author is in his swing, it's a great read.
April 26, 2021
A biography of the life of John Dee, the Elizabethan magician. Academic in content, the works pulls together all that is known (which is a surprising amount).
December 23, 2025
I read this after hearing more about John Dee on NPR. Interesting, very in-depth. But a bit dry for my average-reader's tastes.
May 30, 2015
The sometimes tedious tale of Dr John Dee's clumsy attempts to earn a decent living as a magician in Elizabethan England and Imperial Prague. It is a world of slander and persecution, of niggardly, fickle and impoverished patronage by noble, church and monarch alike. If it were not for Dee's own writings and the vehemence of his enemies, he would have been forgotten.
April 13, 2016
This is well researched and written, but the endless court intrigue bored me senseless. If you've more of a taste for this aspect of history, it's probably a great book. But reading this just made me long for a more imaginative work that focused on his magical thinking, even if it distorted things in a strictly historical sense.
November 22, 2012
A great historic account on John Dee's life, however there is so much information and detailed describtion on his daily activities that it is a bit too much to digest if you are simply looking for entertaining stuff on great personalities in occultism.
February 26, 2013
Excellent but very much an academic study. Helps set Dee in his historical context when belief in the supernatural (alchemy, etc) was taken very seriously by everyone from royalty downwards.
January 27, 2017
Tour de force tour d'horzon of the magical mental myth structure of that time.
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews