They Flew: A History of the Impossible

by Carlos M.N. Eire

An award-winning historian’s examination of impossible events at the dawn of modernity and of their enduring significance
 
Accounts of seemingly impossible phenomena abounded in the early modern era—tales of levitation, bilocation, and witchcraft—even as skepticism, atheism, and empirical science were starting to supplant religious belief in the paranormal. In this book, Carlos Eire explores how a culture increasingly devoted to scientific thinking grappled with events deemed impossible by its leading intellectuals.
 
Eire observes how levitating saints and flying witches were as essential a component of early modern life as the religious turmoil of the age, and as much a part of history as Newton’s scientific discoveries. Relying on an array of firsthand accounts, and focusing on exceptionally impossible cases involving levitation, bilocation, witchcraft, and demonic possession, Eire challenges established assumptions about the redrawing of boundaries between the natural and supernatural that marked the transition to modernity.
 
Using as his case studies stories about St. Teresa of Avila, St. Joseph of Cupertino, the Venerable María de Ágreda, and three disgraced nuns, Eire challenges readers to imagine a world animated by a different understanding of reality and of the supernatural’s relationship with the natural world. The questions he explores—such as why and how “impossibility” is determined by cultural contexts, and whether there is more to reality than meets the eye or can be observed by science—have resonance and lessons for our time.

Genres: History, Nonfiction, Religion, Philosophy, Christianity, Audiobook, Theology

513 pages, Kindle Edition

First published September 26, 2023

About the author

Author also writes under Carlos Eire


A scholar of the social, intellectual, religious, and cultural history of late medieval and early modern Europe, Carlos Eire is the T. Lawrason Riggs Professor of History & Religious Studies at Yale University. He received his PhD from Yale in 1979, and taught at St. John’s University in Minnesota and the University of Virginia before joining the Yale faculty in 1996.

Reviews

[Whitley · Rating 5 out of 5]

Excellent Exploration of Levitation, Bilocation and Other Extreme States

This is the best book to cover the remarkable physical effects of early modern religious hysteria that I have read. As the title avers, they flew. But how—and why?

[ra · Rating 4 out of 5]

GOD this book was so fun. there are so many tangents in here but they build up perfectly and you can tell there's a real sense of humour about the whole thing not that he isn't taking it seriously because there's nothing more serious than a joke but just approaching everything with a certain lightness. bc obviously none of this is about getting at whether any of this actually happened it's way more interesting to figure out why people believed it. or continue to believe it. lots of 'god forbid women do anything' moments which is perhaps to be expected with a book covering this period of history but what can you do. the council of trent continue to be vibe killers but i believe women personally

[Gareth Russell · Rating 5 out of 5]

Exquisite. Eire’s invitation to re-think how we engage in the study of pre-Enlightenment accounts of religious miracles is somewhere between a piece of history and one of theology. Its academic credentials are clear, but it also involves some personal reflections. Like any good piece of history, it’ll provoke debate rather than broad agreement. One of “They Flew’s” most thought-provoking points comes from its reflections on the ways in which Protestantism fundamentally redefined western concepts of the metaphysical and supernatural activity. I enjoyed this piece by piece, or section by section, over a few months - jotting down ideas and questions as I went. I think had more questions by the time I finished this book than when I began, but that may the point. A fascinating, richly complex piece of religious history.

[Beth · Rating 4 out of 5]

A fascinating book. I'm familiar with Carlos Eire from his memoirs, but this was my first foray into his scholarly work (aka "books with footnotes"). He deals with the phenomena of flight and translocation in saints' lives and related accounts (including some discussion of demon possession, witchcraft, etc) from the perspective of a non-skeptic. That is, he invites us to set aside our modern assumption that such things simply can't be and engage thoughtfully with first-hand accounts.

I found this to be a bit of a mental tightrope walk. As a Christian, I embrace the reality of a spiritual realm; as a Modern, I find it almost impossible not to look for the man behind the curtain. What's more, I'm a Presbyterian, and many of these miracles were used polemically by the Catholic church against the Protestant Reformation. I think I wanted Eire to come to a definitive conclusion - did Teresa REALLY fly?! But he seems content to leave us in the realm of mystery. While a bit disorienting, I enjoyed the opportunity to inhabit an earlier worldview.

[Flynn Evans · Rating 5 out of 5]

A powerful critique of the “dogmatic materialism” that tends to dominate within the historiography on early modern Europe by exploring the plasticity of supernatural phenomena.

[Kaleb · Rating 4 out of 5]

Throughout history, there are multiple well-attested reports of truly miraculous events, levitations, bilocations, healings, and more. This book discusses these miracles and who (allegedly) performed them, focusing on the early modern period in the Catholic Church, focusing on bilocations (being in two places at the same time) and levitations.

These miracles were a double-edged sword for the Catholic Church in the early modern period. On one hand, they happened almost exclusively within the Catholic Church and were an effective polemical weapon against the Protestant Reformers, who had no miracles of their own. These events were seen as proof that God had given the Catholic Church His favor. On the other hand, the Church was wary of “bad” miracles, either total frauds or those genuinely performed through magic or demonic powers. As such, the Catholic Church was skeptical of people who reportedly performed miracles and often closely investigated and monitored them.

The book first discusses people whose miracles were eventually supported by the Catholic Church, Saint Teresa of Ávila, Saint Joseph of Cupertino, and Mary of Ágreda. Then, it turns to figures who were exposed as frauds or believed to be in league with the devil. There’s substantial detail about eyewitness accounts and how outsiders, both educated and laypeople, understood these miracles. In the case of Teresa of Ávila, this includes first-person accounts of her own levitations.

The Protestant Reformers, on the other hand, took a more negative view of miracles. They believed that supernatural events did happen; however, they were never from God. God had ceased issuing spiritual gifts after Biblical times, so only the devil could perform supernatural acts. The prevalence of these miracles in the Catholic Church was thus proof, in their view, that it was in league with the devil.Witch hunts were a common feature of the early modern age for both Protestants and Catholics. Evidentiary standards were loosened, torture was employed, and roughly 50,000–60,000 people (largely women) were executed across Europe.

Of course, the million-dollar question: did they fly? Did these miracles actually happen? Many historians rule out the possibility that these events could have ever occurred. Although they analyze the social and political contexts surrounding them, the events are dismissed per se by virtue of being supernatural. Other historians simply bracket the question, refusing to consider whether these events really happened, deeming it outside the realm of proper historical research.

Carlos Eire ultimately refuses to answer the question. He does, however, point out that the eyewitness testimony supporting these events is overwhelming and that there was near-unanimous belief in the supernatural for most of history, across all cultures. It’s difficult to integrate that into modern historical thinking. Too much credibility can lead to a gullible view of history, yet too much incredulity cuts against the eyewitness testimony and widespread belief of the past. In the epilogue, Eire argues for a “postsecular” approach to history, one that asks historians to suspend their disbelief (funny) and take the miraculous as serious part of the human experience.

Maybe 4.3 stars! This could be a bit repetitive at times, but it’s a very interesting book. Very excited to see Carlos Eire speak at UChicago later today.

Quotes

Miracles, it could be said, are not just puzzling for historians but also immensely frustrating. The further one goes back in time, the more difficult it becomes not to bump into them, or into their preternatural demonic counterparts. The testimonies are simply ­ there in the historical record, cluttering it up abundantly, and their existence cannot be denied. But ironically, it is ultimately impossible to prove that what is claimed in ­ these testimonies happened exactly as recorded. Beyond the realm of faith, the evidence can seem insufficient despite its sheer volume. Hence the frustration.

So it was at the dawn of modernity. Two very differ­ent kinds of levitation coexisted in 1787, a mere twenty years ­ after the canonization of Joseph of Cupertino: a super­ natural or preternatural one rarely seen and ­ limited to folk who surrendered their ­ wills ­ either to God or the devil and another purely natu­ral, readily vis­i­ble to thousands and available to anyone with access to the proper equipment. ­ These two forms of levitation ­ were based on conflicting and seemingly irreconcilable conceptions of reality and of what is deemed pos­si­ble and impossible. They ­ were also based on differ­ent belief systems: an older one that included God, a super­ natural realm, and levitating saints and which kept shrinking and losing influence as time passed, and a newer one that had ­ little or no need for God, the super­ natural, or miracles and which kept expanding and gaining an ever-­widening influence.

[Jonathan White · Rating 4 out of 5]

The book was very, very interesting and well-written. As a Protestant, I must confess that I tended to be quite sympathetic to the Reformer's claims that many of these miracles may have been infernal in origin. Dr. Eire did a good job showing that this interpretation was not a complete freak in the history of the Church, as almost all of the saints touched on in the book were first investigated for suspected demonic meddling when they started manifesting their levitation, bilocation, or whatever other signs and wonders their story entails. Due to this bifurcation of interpretation on the events chronicled in the book, I found the final chapter of the book, focusing on the Devil, to be the most compelling and have written a small rumination on the ideas that that final chapter churned up within my mind.
------------------------------------------------

I have respect for the Devil (but not sympathy).

Such a distinction is needed to understand one of the more enigmatic statements in the Bible found in the book of Jude:

"But when the archangel Michael, contending with the devil, was disputing about the body of Moses, he did not presume to pronounce a blasphemous judgment, but said, 'The Lord rebuke you.' But these people blaspheme all that they do not understand, and they are destroyed by all that they, like unreasoning animals, understand instinctively. Woe to them! For they walked in the way of Cain and abandoned themselves for the sake of gain to Balaam’s error and perished in Korah’s rebellion." Jude 1:9-11

The Devil is a powerful, devastatingly cunning foe and history gives us plenty of examples of well-meaning saints whose bloody attempts to root out the fiend should give us pause whenever we come up with yet another plan to oppose him in our own strength. Jude links this “blasphemous judgment” on the Devil with people who “walk in the way of Cain.” What does this mean? Cain was warned by God that sin (and the Devil) were crouching at his door, waiting to pounce. God explicitly (and omnisciently) warned him of the trap that had been set for him. But the only way to escape from the trap was to turn away from the mesmerizing, soothing resentment he nursed against his brother and amend his own ways, rather than reflexively putting his younger brother in his place. The "way of Cain" could serve as a shorthand for all the perversions dreamt up by the seed of the Serpent, but in its simplest reference is nothing more than trying to remove the splinter in your brother’s eye while a log obstructs your own.

The final chapter of this book, focusing on the medieval concept of the Devil and his schemes, provides a helpful lens through which to view all the preceding chapters. The theological and judicial contortions that Medieval Protestants and Catholics put themselves through in an attempt to root out the Devil from their midst drive home one truth captured by the Jude passage quoted above: It is truly blasphemous to think that any human could foil or oppose the plans of the Devil: who is the Lord’s own executioner, who himself will one day be dethroned and executed–by the Lord himself. As the Devil can never truly stymie any intention of the Lord, attempts to oppose him in one’s own strength are blasphemous hubris. But one must ask, if blasphemy is treason against the Holy– how could judgment against the Devil be blasphemous? Primarily, it is blasphemy against the Lord, the only Judge of the world, and the only one with the power to curb(stomp) the Devil. “Who are you to pass judgment on the servant of another? It is before his own master that he stands or falls” (Rom. 14:4a). And the Devil will fall, certainly,

Reading Dr. Eire’s catalog of the various ways in which Protestants and Catholics attempted to counter the works of the Devil in their midst, it is impossible to escape the irony that their efforts frequently look like murderous persecution of fellow believers in Christ. Rene Girard would have something to say about this (Google: Rene Girard scapegoating). Honestly, all of the various mass-movements aimed at rooting out the Devil reminded me of nothing more than the purity tests endemic to the various Communist movements, or incidentally, the purity tests of the various anti-Communist movements (red scare and all that). Once again, Girard would like a word (Google Girard mimetic rivalry).

One aspect to reading this book that puzzled and pleased me to no end was trying to figure out exactly what the Author’s personal view on his subject matter is. From the bit of biographical information I know about the author, my assumption is that he is a Conservative Catholic, or at least sympathetic to that position. Normally, I prefer reading authors who wear there hearts on their sleeve. That way it’s easier to assess any slant they may have on the topic. However, Dr. Eire’s attempts to remain “objective” about something that is likely near and dear to his heart actually made for a more complexly satisfying read than a passionate polemic. Dr. Eire holds a knife to his throat at the king's table! (Prov. 23:1-2) And what's more, he does all of that while refusing to be "cool-shamed" by academics who outright reject the possibility of the supernatural and the preternatural.

[Josh Kemp · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Properly speaking, miracles are works done by God outside the order usually observed in things."
–Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles III, 101.1

This quote is how Carlos Eire chooses to begin Part Two of his stellar "They Flew," and it gets right to the heart of the issues at hand. After an introduction which explains key terms and notes obvious issues with the historical study of impossibilities, Eire coyly invites his reader to be skeptical of skepticism, and to refrain, at least temporarily, from psychologizing or dismissing these miraculous accounts. Throughout early modern Europe, there are countless testimonies about holy people levitating or flying (the focus of Part One), with less (but still plenty) claiming that saints appeared in two locations at the same time (Part Two). Teresa of Avila is no doubt the most famous person who receives close treatment, though the sections on Joseph of Cupertino and María de Ágreda are also great.

In Eire's framework, there are three explanations for allegedly miraculous events: 1) they are real and good, having their cause in God; 2) they are false, faked by a person or persons for fame, wealth, or another motivation; 3) they are real and evil, having their cause in the devil or demonic forces. Part Three, entitled "Malevolent," covers the Protestant and Catholic responses to these latter two options, providing an excellently thorough survey of Inquisitional activity as well as Lutheran and Reformed demonic investigations. Throughout the book but especially in this third section, Eire accentuates the differences in theology that rippled across the fractures of Western Christianity, with both the miraculous and devilish having a polemical edge for Protestants and Catholics alike. Eire, a devout Catholic, makes the fair assertion that the first explanation of miracles was not available to the magisterial Protestants due to their advocacy of cessationism. The overwhelming response, then, was that these events were demonic and testified to the great evils of Rome whose Pope was the Antichrist himself. Like all Protestants influenced by ecumenical rapprochement, I find this polemical vitriol horribly sad - I also find it tired and boring.

This is a lively and well-researched book that I'm sure I will return to in my amateur study of early modern Europe. I don't know if it's because I'd like to be a little more holy and a little less disenchanted, and I'm sure that my irredeemably contrarian nature has something to do with it, but I'm inclined to agree with Eire: the punctuation that follows "They Flew" should not be a question mark, but an exclamation point!

[Keturah Lamb · Rating 5 out of 5]

Fantastic book on levitation that's actually just a tacit defense for Catholicism vs Protestantism. Very well done.

[Dave Courtney · Rating 4 out of 5]

It's an exploration of the seemingly impossible, if one holds to a materialist worldview, from a genuine and studied scholarly approach. It's meant to unsettle our rational senses, but the real strength is that it does so by grounding us in it. The data is there, and we have to wrestle with it, like it or not.

What is that data? Occurances of levitation, bilocation and witchcraft . What this book is really concerned with is exploring how the birth of modernity, the very grounds for the West's percieved rejection of this kind of phenomena, grappled with the reality of this evidence. That is where the book is at its most tantalizing and evocative.

There is also a compelling subtext that looks at the association with these things and religious belief, finding in that connection some interesting notes about the relationship between Protestantism and Catholicism. After all, Western Christianity is birthed in the same soil as modernity, which is a historical observation that often gets swept under the rug when it comes to certain necessary critiques of its theology. The fact that one of these shared qualities is an enduring skepticism of like-minded "spiritual" experiences is worth a book all its own.

[Mark Riddell · Rating 4 out of 5]

This was a fun holiday read, tracing the history of the “impossible” with a focus on levitation and bilocation. Interestingly, reports of both phenomena increased at the same time as empirical thinking was gaining dominance in the West.

The book focuses on 3 key figures from the 16th and 17th century Catholic Church, tracking their reception both in Rome and among emergent Protestantism. (Joseph of Cupertino was my highlight!) Eire helpfully highlights the similarities (acceptance of the supernatural) and differences (evidence of saintliness v evidence of demonic power) in interpretations.

While unnecessarily repetitive at times, I particularly enjoyed the final chapters on the Devil and the focus on the epistemic revolution birthed by the Protestant Reformation. I was challenged to consider how dogmatic materialism has influenced my own Protestant assumptions regarding the impossible and how this shapes my reading of Scripture.

So did they really fly? Eire argues that to deny the possibility may be as fraught with difficulty as affirming it, and so readers are challenged to consider the basis of their own skepticism.

[Sophia · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book was a wonderful recounting of the historical time periods and cultures. Eire also did a great job expressing the perspectives of the different actors and institutions in a grounded way. On the whole, a great read.

Going into this book I was nervous because he makes a few small comments at the beginning that made me aware that he is a believer in these events. That isn't necessarily a problem as long as he can recount and analyze the historical events impartially... Which I believe he did (until the epilogue). I don't personally believe or disbelieve in levitation but being a scholar of religious studies I've seen a lot of academic work where the writer starts out sane and then goes off the rails (I'm looking at you D.W Palsulka). However, what he does is what I think more historians need to be doing-- analyzing their own position and relationship to the material and clearly stating that to the reader in a space that won't bias the material.

When he started talking about Kripal I just facepalmed like of course he likes Kripal. I have no idea what the rest of his work reads like but I'm curious to find out.

[Jonathan Franz · Rating 5 out of 5]

The shift from the medieval to the modern world is never an easy line, and whose to say that our modern and rational worldview is axiomatically "correct." Carlos Eire provides a masterful account of "impossible" events, divine and demonic (sometimes depending on who you ask), right as the world begin the shift from medieval to modern. The most intriguing part of this book though is his decision to undermine the very term "impossible" as a construct of modern epistimology. What if belief in the impossible isn't and shouldn't be improbable? Belief is a powerful thing, more powerful than our modern zeitgeist and its worldview. Belief is why I dare to agree with Eire's final words unironically, "They flew!"

[Rohan · Rating 3 out of 5]

For Catholics, levitation = ultra godly (proof to be sainted).
For protestants, levitation = diabolical (of the devil)
but they both believed that it really did happen!
so what should historians think?

I liked his stories and lots of primary sources, but his argument was very caveated and repetitive which made it hard to follow. Basically, if someone DID fly, why aren't historians interested? The testimony makes it as hard to disprove as to prove, so why are we so sure it didn't happen?

definitely recommend reading a shorter version (or maybe a podcast of his argument?) when or if it comes out so we can chat! but this book, probably not worth it sorry.

p.s.
Martin Luther's advice on demons: "Fart at them!'

[Chris]

A fantastic collection of primarily Catholic stories of levitation, bilocation, withcraft, interrogation and validation, on one hand, and fraud, on the other. It spends a lot of time diving into some of the most notable levitators, Teresa of Avila and Joseph of Cupertino. I was especially interested in how they both saw their own miracles--they both kind of shunned them and were at times embarrassed by or resistant to them happening, which helped bolster their validity in others' eyes. Those who bragged about their miracles were usually found out as frauds.

I loved these stories, and they really do raise difficult questions about how so many people could witness and believe such seemingly impossible acts, yet I wasn't at all convinced by the book's "argument" that neutrally documenting how these were perceived and written about has anything to say about the nature of metaphysical reality. People also believed the sun revolved around the Earth, but that doesn't change or put into question what we know to be true. Most of the book, to be fair, eschews any kind of theoretical interpretation, and at the end, multiple approaches are suggested, including a traditional social-scientific approach that looks at social facts while bracketing metaphysical questions. Other approaches are suggested "beyond" that, including this "study of the impossible" approach that has become fashionable in certain parts of religious studies. Maybe there is something to be said for those, but the historical facts presented here would've benefitted, I think, from a more fully committed social-scientific approach rather than this "what if"-ism. Its perfectly fine for history to stick to history--wildly gesturing beyond that hurts its case more than helps, I think.

[Benjamin R · Rating 4 out of 5]

Honestly this ripped

[Patrick Bigelow · Rating 5 out of 5]

Gnarly.

[John Andrew Szott III · Rating 5 out of 5]

Such a valuable and readable exploration into what has been deemed impossible in modern secularism. It definitely challenges the binaries (modern/premodern, religious/secular, natural/supernatural, etc.) that dominate our current landscape since those binaries may not be as descriptively effective as they claim to be.

[Lux]

A book about levitation and bilocation among Catholic saints, as well as a meditation on how history changes openness to, and enactment of, the impossible. The things left unsaid make its mystery shine.

[Heather Dreier · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very interesting read.

[linde · Rating 5 out of 5]

het is een vreemde wereld

[Hanna · Rating 4 out of 5]

these girlies would have been running pro ana tumblr in 2013..i never felt closer to catholicism

[Josh Friedlander · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book's thesis reminded me of a long blog post I read recently about the Fátima Sun Miracle. That post (by a sceptical atheist) argued in favour of taking miraculous claims seriously, and at least allowing the possibility that they may have a supernatural explanation. "The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it" (Flannery O'Connor line used as one of this book's epigraphs.) Eire (who teaches religious history at Yale) is not definitely saying that these miracles did happen; just annoyed at the typical academic practice of taking for granted that they didn't, and jump ahead to analysing the results of people's belief.

I cannot tell you how many times I have heard an otherwise admired colleague say something like, "Well, it does not really matter if Joseph of Cupertino flew up into the tree after a scream, or if Teresa of Ávila floated off the floor as her sisters piled on top of her to avoid a social embarrassment. What matters is how the popular belief in such presumed levitations was disciplined, controlled, and maintained by the church and later constructed as sanctity and as a saint…Really? I want to pull my hair out in such moments…A super-pious Italian man ecstatically flies into a tree and has to be retrieved with a ladder, or a raptured Spanish nun cannot keep herself on the floor in front of some visiting noblewomen, and these physical events do not matter to you? Uh, excuse me, if either of those things actually happened (and our historical records suggest strongly that they did), such anomalous events change pretty much everything we thought we knew about human consciousness and its relationship to physics, gravity, and material reality. Either single event would fundamentally change our entire order of knowledge. And you don’t care? Don’t you find that disinterest just a little bit perverse?

I'll return to this in a bit, but first some background on the flying. There are some technical distinctions between different types: "relocation, bilocation, multilocation and transvection". The learned professor is beyond reproach on his own turf, but I did spot a small slip-up when he ventured into an area I know something about In a passage on "Jewish antecedents", he refers to Habakkuk's transvection to Babylon in Daniel 14:36. But this passage is extracanonical to Jews, stemming from the Septuagint (which I guess arguably has Jewish origins, but became associated with nascent Christianity very early on).

Flying is far from the only type of miracle, the list is:

• Visible ecstasies, raptures, and trances: When the body enters a cataleptic state and becomes rigid, insensible, and oblivious to its surroundings.
• Levitation: When the body rises up in the air, hovers, or flies.
• Weightlessness: When the body displays a total or nearly total absence of weight during trances and levitations or after death.
• Transvection: When the body is transported through the air from one location to another in some indeterminate measure of time.
• Mystical transport or teleportation: When the body transverses physical space instantaneously, moving from one place to another without any time having elapsed, sometimes over great distances.
• Bilocation: When the body is present in two places simultaneously.
• Stigmatization: When the body acquires the five wounds of the crucified Christ or other wounds inflicted during his passion.
• Luminous irradiance: When the body glows brightly.
• Supernatural hyperosmia: A heightened sense of smell that allows the mystic to detect the sins of others.
• Supernatural inedia: The ability to survive without any food or with very little food at all.
• Supernatural insomnia: The ability to survive without much, if any, sleep.
• Visible demonic molestations: Physical attacks by demons that wound the body.
• Odor of sanctity: When the body emits a unique and immensely pleasant smell.
• Supernatural incorruption: When the corpse of a saint does not decompose but remains unnaturally intact for many years, decades, or centuries.
• Supernatural oozing, or myroblitism: When the corpse of a saint discharges a pleasant-smelling oily substance capable of performing healing miracles directly or through cloths dipped in it.

The bulk of the book is detailed profiles of three miracle-experiencing saints: Teresa of Ávila, Joseph of Cupertino, and María de Ágreda. A third part relates to those whose miracle claims were rejected, either because they were faking, or because their miracles were done by demons or the Devil himself. (Protestants believed that miracles ended in Biblical times, and that modern supernatural manifestations were possible but only by devils, witches, etc.)

When María Lobo de Meneses, the Nun of Lisbon, turned out to be a huge fraud, Fray Luis de Granada wrote a pamphlet postmortem:

Ultimately, then, a key lesson to be learned in this case was that God does not allow frauds to go undetected and that the Inquisition was a perfect instrument guided by His hand.

Hmm.

(Another fun fact about María is that she blessed the Spanish Armada, which was a factor in the increased scrutiny on her miracles.)

Eire also seems to think the whole phenomenon of witch-hunting was a big and tragic mistake, and I couldn't quite figure out why he doesn't extend the same suspension of judgement here. Hunting witches was one of the few issues that Catholics and Protestants were equally excited about. Luther spoke a lot about the devil - sometimes in surprisingly, uh, earthy terms:

"The devil seeks me out when I am at home in bed," Luther said, "and I always have one or two devils waiting to pounce on me. They are smart devils. If they can’t overwhelm my heart, they grab my head and plague me there, and when that proves useless, I show them my a**, for that’s where they belong. Taunts such as "Lick my a**" and "Eat my s***" were hurled at the devil by Luther with abandon. Flatulence topped all this scatology, much like frosting on some cake from hell. Once, after farting loudly, he said: "Take this, devil! Here is a crozier for you; go to Rome and give it to your idol! [the Pope]"

Sometimes, theological issues and farts are intertwined. "Almost every night when I wake up the devil is there, itching to argue with me," he boasted, pointing out that the arguing often involved his central doctrine of salvation by faith alone. "I have come to this conclusion," he added. "When the argument that the Christian is without the law and above the law doesn’t help, I chase him away with a fart." And whenever his conscience was troubled by particular sins, he would say: "Hey, devil, I just s*** in my pants too; have you added that to your list of sins yet?" Luther elaborated on this approach of his: "Tonight when I woke up the devil came, wanting to argue with me, objecting and throwing it up to me that I was a sinner. So, I said to him: Tell me something new, devil! I already know that very well; as always, I have committed many real and true sins…but all these sins are no longer mine, instead they’ve been taken by Christ…If this isn’t enough for you, devil, I just happened to s*** and p*ss: wipe your mouth with that and take a big bite!"

(A scatological tendency present also in Mozart; perhaps it's a German thing?) In response, the Counter-reformation Church hardened the criteria for canonisation, including creating a "devil's advocate" sceptic who would question the veracity of the miracles.

Eire's thesis is thus: the historical record is full of these stories. We can neither prove nor disprove them. Catholics believe they are manifestations of the divine; Protestants believe they are demonic; atheists believe they are lies or delusions. We shouldn't just dismiss them, but should be agnostic - suspending our disbelief just as Joseph of Cupertino was suspended in the air. Radical credulity and radical scepticism are equally bad, and we should remain open to the possibility that the supernatural exists.

My own take - even as someone who is religious and, I think, unusually inclined to take seriously odd beliefs - is that there isn't such a strong reason to believe them. Claims made by lots of people have turned out to be false; there are even examples of it in this book. I thought that part 3 really resolved this question: after all, there turn out to have been people who experienced miracles that were witnessed by vast numbers of independent observers, that actually turned out to be fake, so doesn't that explain the others as well? The more parsimonious explanation is that none of this ever happened, and we can move on.

But - to put on the disinterested-sceptic-social-scientist hat he so dislikes - what does this book say about our time, and theirs? We are experiencing something of an unravelling of the Enlightenment consensus and its whig history. There is growing interest in previously rejected ideas: scientific racism, mercantilism, anti-vaccination…all that was old is new again. Why shouldn't holy levitation be next?

[Vileness Fats · Rating 5 out of 5]

I'm much more of a reader than a writer, so I'm sharing this review that closely mirrors my take on this superb book penned by Mr. Eire. Composed by Peter Harrison, the piece was published by PUBLIC DISCOURSE on 2/18/24:

Impossible but True? A Review of They Flew: A History of the Impossible by Carlos Eire

Eire’s absorbing and impeccably researched book invites us to at least ponder that alternative balancing act while reminding us of historian Ethan Shagan’s apposite observation that “every era is credulous, but they are credulous in different ways.”
How do you solve a problem like Maria?

Sister María was born in 1602 to an unremarkable family in the small village of Ágreda, located in the northeastern Spanish province of Soria. She was destined to spend her entire life there, most of it cloistered in the local Franciscan convent. Confirmed at the age of four on account of her precocious piety, from her early years onward she devoted herself to a life of prayer and self-mortification. At age eighteen, she began to experience increasingly frequent and extended raptures, during which she would rise into the air. Word of these levitating raptures soon spread well beyond Ágreda and for several years a steady stream of curious visitors made their way to the convent to witness, and report on, these extraordinary events.

But levitation was not Sister María’s most impressive feat. While ostensibly closeted in her convent in Ágreda, she crossed the Atlantic and evangelized the Jamano tribes in New Spain (now Texas and New Mexico). This she claimed to have done on more than 500 occasions. Her bilocation was subsequently corroborated by both Spanish missionaries in New Mexico and the objects of her missionary endeavors, giving rise to the legend of the “Lady in Blue” (on account of the blue cloak that was part of María’s Franciscan habit). María was an “avatar of the impossible.”

The well-attested accounts of María de Ágreda’s otherwise implausible accomplishments generate a problem for the historian, and this problem lies at the heart of Carlos Eire’s fascinating and thought-provoking new book: They Flew: A History of the Impossible. In this beautifully written “history of the impossible,” Eire is concerned not merely with providing rich and absorbing descriptions of the many early modern figures who performed impossible feats such as levitation, but also with exploring, with a largely unprecedented honesty and openness, how historians should deal with the “overabundance of testimony” affirming past events that we now regard as impossible.

Sister María is, to be sure, one of the more spectacular cases that Eire offers to readers, but his book canvasses many similar figures. Teresa of Avila also figures prominently in his narrative. While something of an underachiever in the bilocation stakes, Teresa was a frequent levitator. A distinctive feature of her levitations is that, in addition to attestation in numerous sources (admittedly mostly hagiographical works associated with her canonization), we also have her own, firsthand accounts. Arguably, these are the most detailed reports of this kind on record. In addition to providing descriptions of her altered states, these testimonies offer insights into Teresa’s reflections on the how and why of levitation. They also bear the ring of truth.

Teresa’s personal accounts were not produced out of any pride in her aerial accomplishments. For a start, she was essentially forced to write an autobiographical account of her experiences by her superiors. She was, moreover, a deeply reluctant flyer. She often found it necessary to anchor herself with objects that were attached to the floor or walls, since the frequency of her unwelcome levitations interfered with the performance of routine activities. Her aversion to levitation also prompted her to prevail upon those in her company to pull her back down to earth whenever she began to float. She repeatedly and fervently prayed that she might be spared what, for her, was plainly a dubious privilege: “I often begged the Lord not to grant me any more favors with visible external signs.” These petitions eventually met with some success, and the more spectacular external signs of her divine raptures began to subside with time.

A third major exemplar of the impossible to whom Eire introduces us is the relatively little known “flying friar,” Joseph of Cupertino (not the home of the modern marvels produced by Apple, but a town in the province of Lecce, in the heel of Italy). Joseph’s aerial achievements were even more frequent and spectacular than those of Teresa. Most of his levitations occurred while he celebrated Mass, most often during the consecration of the elements. His flights were often accompanied by loud screams and shouts, an exception to the general rule. When indoors, the height of his elevation was limited only by the ceiling. Outdoors, he would ascend to the treetops. On the occasion of a papal audience in Rome, he soared over the head of Urban VIII, hovering above the pontiff until commanded to return to earth by Father General Berardicelli. Urban was clearly impressed and is said to have offered to serve as a witness for canonization proceedings, should Joseph be literally translated to heaven during his pontificate.

Joseph’s feats were also attested to by a great number of observers from a broad range of social estates. The records of his exploits are consistent, numerous, and credible. One of the most celebrated witnesses, from the other side of the confessional divide, was the Protestant nobleman Johann Friedrich, whose subsequent conversion to Catholicism was prompted by his firsthand observations of Joseph’s miraculous elevations. It was Johann Friedrich who lured the brilliant German polymath G. W. Leibniz to Wolfenbüttel to serve in the renowned ducal Herzog August library, suggesting that he was no enemy of rational enlightenment.

Despite the spectacular nature of his performances and the parade of onlookers that they attracted, Joseph made no secret of the fact that his public levitations were a source of deep shame and embarrassment. Indeed, one of the most striking common features of Eire’s levitators is their resolute reluctance to be the center of attention and their deep and oft-expressed desire to keep their feet firmly on the ground. As we have seen, Teresa prayerfully begged to be relieved of the burden of levitation. Joseph also prayed that his involuntary elevations would cease. María was similarly determined to be liberated from her capacity for flight. Unlike the others, however, María suffered the ignominy of being placed on public display in her elevated state without being aware of it by her convent sisters, who conspired to keep this secret from her. She was deeply embarrassed when she eventually discovered the truth and thereafter took to locking herself away from public view. Even then, her fellow nuns found ways to access her room and convey her, weightless, into venues for public viewing. Eventually, her repeated prayers for the cessation of these ecstatic visions were answered.

Our levitators had good reason to be resistant to their special gift. At a moral level, to which our subjects were acutely sensitive, the public adulation that they brought could potentially lead to the foremost of the seven deadly sins: pride. Equally worrying was the fact that widely reported instances of miraculous feats would inevitably attract the attention of the Inquisition, leading to formal inquiries and potential accusations of fraud or demonic possession. Such sinister possibilities point to the grave dangers that attended miracle-working during this period. But they also indicate that sixteenth- and seventeenth-century ecclesiastical authorities were not credulously inclined to believe every report of miracle-working. Skepticism is not the sole preserve of the modern, secular West. The official imprimatur granted to the miracles of Teresa, María, and Joseph, and the transmission of their feats to posterity, mean that their performances of the “impossible” had satisfied rigorous, forensic tests of authenticity. So while it is undoubtedly true that there were different standards of credulity then, there were standards nonetheless, and we should ask what this counts for when we now seek to pass historical judgments on their veracity.

Much of our present incredulity about these levitation narratives, along with the relative ease with which we dismiss them, rests on the assumption that we are more intellectually mature than our forebears; that Western history has followed a simple trajectory from a medieval age of superstition and credulity, through the progressive stages of a disenchanting Protestant Reformation and a scientific revolution, to arrive at a rational and enlightened modernity. The problem with the standard story, as Eire points out, is that it is precisely during the putative phases of disenchantment and rationalization that we see an increase in reports of supernatural and preternatural happenings.

The sixteenth century thus witnessed a significant rise in reports of supernatural events, including levitation. Especially conspicuous in the age that we’ve come to call the “Age of Reason” is a remarkable rise in reports of demonic activity. Testimonies of personal encounters with the devil circulated widely in print, and the 1550s saw the growth of a new literary genre—the Teufelsbuch, or “devil book.” Devils were assigned to specific vices and afflictions: drunkenness, gluttony, lust, melancholy. There was even a “trousers devil,” thought to be complicit in the vogue for donning sexually suggestive attire. Dating from this period is the most famous devil book of all, The History of Dr. Faustus (1587), which relates the cautionary tale of Faust, whose insatiable curiosity led him to sell his soul to the devil. This uptick in demonic activity was related to the formalization of the rite of exorcism in the Rituale Romanum of 1614.

To bracket the question of their truth is to avoid the issue that arguably lies at the heart of the historical quest: what actually happened?


Those who catalogued supernatural and demonic events took great pains to sift the factual from the fraudulent and routinely appealed to the weight of empirical evidence. Witch-hunter Peter Binsfield, who authored the 1589 Confessions of Warlocks and Witches, announced that his relations were accumulated, not from “scattered rumours, but from the independent and concordant testimony of many witnesses” who “reported these things as certain facts.” Almost a century later, Joseph Glanvill and Henry More, two fellows of the newly founded Royal Society, documented instance after instance of supernatural events, including levitation, arguing that empirical evidence unambiguously pointed to the existence of a spiritual realm.

This brings us back to the conundrum confronting contemporary historians: how to write a history of the impossible. To accept stories of levitation as true is to run afoul of the ruling assumption of methodological naturalism and run the risk of being thought a crank. To bracket the question of their truth is to avoid the issue that arguably lies at the heart of the historical quest: what actually happened? Eire does not offer an unambiguous solution to this conundrum. But he does propose that the historian’s task is one of comprehension rather than the more reductive business of logical explanation (in our terms). This entails “not only embracing what may seem strange in the past but accepting the strangeness as an essential rational feature of the past, not as something irrational.”

In the eighteenth century, when reports of levitations and bilocations had already begun to wane, the skeptical Scottish philosopher David Hume proposed a celebrated argument against accepting miracle reports. At the heart of the argument lies a principle that the wise should proportion their belief to the evidence. Hume was convinced that this principle would invariably count against miracles since, in his view, laws of nature were necessarily better attested than apparent exceptions. But Hume’s principle of proportioning belief to evidence is susceptible to an alternative reading: Is it more likely that the events in question really happened than that the countless testimonies to their occurrence are false or fraudulent? Eire’s absorbing and impeccably researched book invites us to at least ponder that alternative balancing act while reminding us of historian Ethan Shagan’s apposite observation that “every era is credulous, but they are credulous in different ways.”
https://www.thepublicdiscourse.com/20...

NOTES AND QUOTES:

Eire's book was a perfect follow-up to the three "postsecularist" works of Jeffrey Kripal's that I completed reading over the winter. Here's a wonderful comment of Kripal's that Eire shares in "They Flew," addressing colleagues of his who prefer the strolling through forests over the climbing of trees:

A super-pious Italian man ecstatically flies into a tree and has to be retrieved with a ladder, or a raptured Spanish nun cannot keep herself on the floor in front of some visiting noblewomen, and these physical events do not matter to you? Uh, excuse me, [but] if either of those things actually happened (and our historical records suggest strongly that they did), such anomalous events change pretty much everything we thought we knew about human consciousness and its relationship to physics, gravity, and material reality. Either single event would fundamentally change our entire order of knowledge....

Eire closes his book by saying:

Belief is the immortal soul of the imagination, as well as of all mentalities, mindsets, worldviews, epistemic regimes, discourses, social imaginaries and social facts. And when it comes to things supernatural--that inexhaustible fuel of the fires of faith--the power of belief can be limitless. Anything is possible. One might even dare to add an exclamation point at the end of the following sentence.

They flew!

[Phil Cotnoir · Rating 4 out of 5]

I listened to this book a few weeks after reading Rod Dreher’s thought-provoking new book, Living in Wonder. Both books present some challenges to Protestant readers as they take aim at various aspects of modern metaphysical assumptions which, of the three major branches of Christianity, are most embedded within the children of the Reformation. Carlos Eire takes as his subject the levitation of medieval Catholic monks and nuns, prodigiously attested to by copious historical records. I was not aware of this phenomenon before. The book is a serious intellectual and historical treatment of a subject that would be treated as ridiculous by many.

The book traces the historical records of levitation from antiquity to the modern age. It shows up consistently throughout those many centuries in a number of different religious and pagan contexts, though it reaches its apogee in the medieval period within certain Catholic circles.

The book focuses in on three specific people for whom levitations and other similar miracles were common and widely attested: St. Teresa of Avila, St. Joseph of Cupertino, and the Venerable María de Ágreda. The overall picture that emerges is one where, despite budgeting for exaggeration and embellishment by hagiographers and admirers, it’s hard to deny that something truly remarkable happened with these people. The volume and variety of witnesses makes it very difficult to explain away.

The strangeness of the topic and the solidity of the evidence offers a direct challenge to our absorbed habits of skepticism and our confidence in the stable laws of nature. We come away with nagging questions. Just what happened, exactly? And how does it make sense within our understanding of reality? The book navigates this challenge carefully, letting the weight of the evidence land on the reader gradually, leaving the uncomfortable questions to nag at our modern minds.

The book includes a substantial and helpful treatment of medieval and early-modern views about the devil, witchcraft, and demons.

I was fascinated to learn that the topic of miraculous levitations became a proxy for the battle between the Roman Catholic church and the new fledgling but energetic Protestant churches, with both treating the phenomenon as real but Protestants largely attributing it to the power of the devil. Thus the rather fascinating phenomenon was reduced to one facet of a high-stakes battle between entrenched religious groups; a battle that not infrequently resulted in torture and death.

The fact that Protestant denunciations of Catholic miracles occurred in this fraught context gives me pause. I don’t think I agree with the esteemed Reformers in this matter, but I can understand how there was a strong impulse to circle the wagons. For their part, Catholic apologists argued forcefully that these miracles were nothing less than a divine seal of approval and approbation on the entire Roman Catholic institution; God’s ‘amen’ to their claim to be the One True Church. Thus there was a powerful partisan incentive, aside from the normal human proclivity, for Catholic chroniclers to exaggerate and inflate the accounts of the miraculous in their midst. This helps me understand why the debate about these kinds of preternatural or supernatural events played out the way they did in the wake of the Reformation.

With a bit of historical distance, and a warming of relations between good-faith members of Catholicism and Protestantism, it seems like a good time to revisit this issue. Here is a sketch of my own still-forming view of this. Levitations can be faked rather easily, especially if they occur indoors, but this cannot explain most of the historical record. The phenomenon is, at least part of the time, real. The physical body somehow is able to suspend the force of gravity, or to be unaffected by it, during a state of spiritual ecstasy. This porous barrier between the physical and the spiritual was the default worldview within medieval Catholicism, though it was considerably hardened within Protestantism, in part as a reaction against Catholic fixation on these and similar topics, and then fully cemented by the time of the enlightenment (which was really the enshrining of the new dogma of mechanistic, reductive materialism).

Within premodern cultures and in certain spiritualist and occult traditions even today, this separation does not exist in the same way, and testimonies of such “impossible” feats regularly trickle out, though hard evidence that would be amenable to scientific analysis is almost never produced. The fact that the real phenomenon was mostly located within certain Catholic institutions like monasteries and convents does not, for me, serve to underwrite the whole of Catholicism. Far from it. But neither do I dismiss it as merely a trick of the devil to deceive the masses. We should leave room for demonic trickery and preternatural manipulations, such as the testimony of one tortured soul in the book who eventually confessed to making a pact with two demons, resulting in her ability to manifest, among other things, inexplicable levitations—I don’t see why that wouldn’t be possible. But if it’s not all demonic, and if I don’t buy what the pro-Roman Catholic apologists were selling, then we need some other framework to fit this into.

And so for me the conclusion is that these weird things did and do happen. They happened for a variety of reasons, perhaps divine and angelic, or demonic and devilish, or maybe even some other source besides that remains mysterious to us. God, in his perpetual purpose to confound the proud and the worldly-wise, perhaps scattered such manifestations among the Catholics in such a way as to frustrate the excesses of the Protestants. The injunction to “test the spirits” (1 John 4:1) applies to individuals. For Catholics to dismiss Protestants because of their lack of miracles (something which is not true today, if it ever was) is just as misguided as Protestants lumping all Catholic miracles together and denouncing them as demonic. In both of these approaches I see an all-too-human pride in one’s institution, one’s group. “You are still worldly. For since there is jealousy and quarreling among you, are you not worldly? Are you not acting like mere humans?” (1 Cor. 3:3:).

If I have taken anything away from my reading of church history, it’s that God does not play favourites with his children. There is enough shameful wreckage in each and every human grouping of Christians to keep us humble, and enough goodness and grace to rightly celebrate. We do well to keep this in mind even as we hold our Biblical, theological, and historical convictions firmly.

Carlos Eire has produced a book that feels very much suited to our moment of metaphysical re-evaluation. Although I struggled and skimmed through some parts of it—the accounts of levitations all blur together after a while—I enjoyed this book and the way it made me wrestle through this fascinating historical thread running from the medieval world well into our modern age.

The central question—they flew?—rests uneasily on the modern mind. Can we really believe they flew without losing all the goods modernity has bequeathed on us? Can we believe it without reverting to a medieval worldview that, if enchanted, also tended to be marked by ignorance and superstition? Can we really believe they flew and still remain well equipped to live and lead in the twenty-first century? My answer to all these questions is yes.

We must let go of reductive materialism and the hold it has on our minds. By this I mean broadening our view of reality in order for it to accord with the way the world really is. In fact, I’ve become convinced that letting go of reductive materialism is going to be a necessary step if we are to hold on to the goods of the modern age; if we are to avoid the ditch of scientism and the ditch of superstition; if we are to have the perceptual tools and the wisdom to navigate the challenges of the twenty-first century—an age when, if my intuition is right, we will see the return of the old gods and every strange being and phenomenon we so eagerly ignored during the age of reason.

In other words, we may well need categories for things even stranger than floating nuns and flying friars.

[Emily · Rating 1 out of 5]

“They Did Not Fly: In How Many Ways Can You Make the Same Statement Using the Academic Register?

This book could be the basis of an excellent Atlantic Magazine type article if the author would explore the one point he skirts assiduously; the felt need of witnesses to be consistent with the prevailing view. With the Inquisition on your back, who dared to say that the Emperor had no clothes?

Other missed opportunities include the process by which the Church and parishioners transitioned from ready willingness to believe in miracles to total skepticism. In today’s world, what are people’s beliefs about miracles, and how are these associated with their educational levels, ethnic culture, and nationalities?

I would have wanted to know what current mental health professionals and neurologies have to say about the saints’ clinical pictures. So many interesting possibilities.

I understand that the author is suggesting that our worldviews are as rigid as those of people in the early modern era and that the world would benefit from more flexibility than we currently practice. But, redundancy is tiresome and insulting and if the writing is clear and straightforward, there is no need for it. Which brings me to a question I often ask myself lately. Where are the editors of yesteryears who did not let authors ramble to their heart’s content?

[Ross Blocher · Rating 4 out of 5]

What a fascinating and highly specific slice of history! And right in my wheelhouse. In They Flew: A History of the Impossible, historian Carlos Eire focuses on the stories of saints (or candidates for sainthood) in the late Middle Ages and into the 17th century who were reported to levitate or bilocate (appear in multiple places at one time), along with a host of other paranormal signs of God's favor. As Eire goes to great lengths to explain (there's much repetition in this book), it doesn't fully matter whether these events are true, or literal - we are left with stories of people who flew, and that in itself is interesting and an important component of human history. I agree, but it felt like Eire bent so far backwards to remain neutral (presumably not to offend an audience that believes in levitation and bilocation, stigmata, demon possession, automatic writing, prophecy, incorruptibility...) that he was practically floating himself.

There are many individuals mentioned, but the three primary figures are St. Teresa of Avila (known for her religious ecstasies (quite likely the result of temporal epilepsy) who I knew the most about going in, thanks to the famous Bernini statue), Mary of Jesus of Ágreda (who in addition to levitating and writing a much-contested work of theology (The Mystical City of God) was said to mystically travel from her monastery in Spain to the New World, where she appeared to native Texans and New Mexicans as the "Lady in Blue"), and St. Joseph of Cupertino. I'll focus on Joseph for a moment, because the stories of his levitations made me realize where I'd point my time machine if I had one. He was said to not only float within the space of the church - where he would apparently lose mass during mass - but also float outdoors, to heights at which people could barely see him. His church levitations were not only frequent, but inspired pilgrimages of believers who came in great numbers and attested to his feats. He was able to repeat this not only for skeptics who sought to disprove his abilities - the Inquisition often played the odd role of debunker in order to weed out attention-seekers and demoniacs - but even flew to the satisfaction of Pope Urban VIII, who asked to see the levitation himself.

As an investigator of paranormal abilities, I wanted nothing more than to witness the events in question. I would often think in terms of mental conditions that might produce the described behavior, or how I might pull off some of the feats described if I were accomplishing them as trickery. Some of the levitators were said to rise just a few inches off the ground, and I thought how that could easily be done with robes covering support structures such as poles coming from the ground or a nearby wall, or trick shoes. Indeed, there is a chapter on tricksters who were caught, and these were the types of methods they used. There was a sister Maria who used sticks hidden under her skirts and thick shoes, and whose stigmata (marks of Christ's wounds) were rubbed off and revealed as paint by the Inquisition. She didn't think they would rub so hard, as her cries of pain had dissuaded other investigators from exposing her. Magdalena de la Cruz was similarly exposed as a fraud, after failed prophecies and after passing off a pregnancy as divinely "implanted". With Joseph of Cupertino, we can only speculate based on clues. One interesting note was that his levitations were preceded by a large shout and a leap, which suggests that either he was covering the sound of a mechanical assist, or simply exerting a gymnastic effort that was enough to impress audiences of the 1600s as indistinguishable from flying. Wires in dim lighting are another possibility, but harder to pull off. We all know that one very non-supernatural human ability is to sweeten stories with each retelling, which I can say for sure is a factor at play in all of these stories.

In later chapters, Eire devotes space to later levitators and stories of demon possession, witchcraft, witch hunts, Protestant hijinks, and more modern levitators and bilocators (I was surprised to learn just how common a miracle bilocation was, given that I'd really only heard of it as an eastern phenomenon in Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda). These chapters are dense and interesting, and I feel that if they had been expanded and the prior chapters contracted, the book might have felt more balanced and evenly engaging, but there were fascinating pieces of information all throughout. I've certainly come away with some new regular vocabulary: thaumaturge (a magician or worker of miracles), aethrobat (one who flies or levitates), and charism (a spiritual gift, and a direct sibling of charisma). And I'd never heard that "hocus pocus" may just be a corruption of the Latin "Hoc est corpus meum": "this is my body" from the Catholic eucharist ceremony. Also, the more I learn about Martin Luther, the more repulsive I find him to be. He apparently had a fixation on defecation and farts, and believed they were a means of rebuking the devil. Quotes from Luther: "I chase him away with a fart" (said of demonic presences), and "If this isn’t enough for you, devil, I just happened to shit and piss: wipe your mouth with that and take a big bite!" and "Hey Devil, I just shit in my pants, too. Have you added that to your list of sins yet?"

Eire is right that these stories are an important part of human history, whether the supernatural exists or not. I was left with the impression that otherworldly claims themselves follow trends and fads that tie them to their eras. Many of the "miracles" passed off as acts of God sound laughable to modern ears. This is a great collection of those stories.

[Brandon Pomeroy · Rating 5 out of 5]

Yes redundant at times but SO well researched and interesting.

[Clay · Rating 1 out of 5]

.5 rounded up, as this is perhaps the worst history book I have ever read. Erin Maglaque says a lot of what I'm about to say in better words: https://www.nybooks.com/articles/2024...

However, I don't entirely agree with her, and for one simple reason: she believed Eire when he told her what this book was about, and believed him again when he repeated it in his conclusion. That makes sense - there is no reason to disbelieve him. After all, why would a historian lie about the subject of their own book? It's nonsensical. That is, however, exactly what Eire has done. He claims this book is a history of the impossible; a radical reframing of how we view miracles and magic, and a full-throated refutation of "secularist" history which outright dismisses such events.

That is not what this book is about. This book is, in fact, barely about anything. It is, at best, three poorly argued and poorly sourced books slammed together into one discordant whole. The first section of the book is the only one that actually deals with levitation, and only one of the chapters within this segment actually deals with the "impossible" nature of levitation and questions our automatic dismissal of it - and it's built off the less believable case of the two, based entirely on a hagiography! I cannot for the life of me understand why he chose to structure it this way! The other two chapters are from a book that could be more accurately named something like They Were Moved to Various Monasteries: A History of Stuff That Happens All The Time. They mostly handle the social and cultural effects of the BELIEF in levitation on the daily lives of the two figures, and their treatment by Church officials. That is, in fact, completely normal shit to talk about. Not impossible at all, in fact.

The second section claims to deal with bilocation (the miracle of appearing two places at once), but includes only one serious case study of bilocation. The rest of the segment is about, I am being completely fucking serious right now, DIVINE REVELATION. This is probably because bilocation is a shitty and stupid miracle - unlike levitation, which in theory you could basically just kinda look at and see if someone was flying - two people have to see the same person in different places at the same time and be 100% certain it was the same person. The bilocations in question? It was a Spanish woman who spent her life confined in a nunnery bilocating to NEW MEXICO so that she could CONVERT NATIVE PEOPLE TO CATHOLICISM. A PLACE WHERE NOBODY WOULD HAVE KNOWN WHAT SHE LOOKS LIKE. AM I GOING FUCKING CRAZY? As for Divine Revelation, well, you can never prove that one way or the other, for the basic reason that it happens INSIDE SOMEONE'S MIND.

The last section is the least sensical, somehow, and it's on witchcraft, frauds, and belief in the devil. I don't even know how this got in here, honestly. This is an entirely different topic from an entirely different book just tacked onto the end because it also involves people flying around. There's a reason the above review barely even discusses this section - what the fuck are you even meant to do with this, as a reader? If we are to take what Eire claims his thesis is (which, as established, is barely extant within the text) and apply it to this section, it would effectively argue that witchcraft and demonic interference in the world are just straight up real, and therefore witch trials are totally cool and normal things to do. That CAN'T be what he's arguing (right? RIGHT??) - because that would be insane. You would have to be insane to do that.

Eire also hates Protestantism with a vitriol I have not seen in anyone have since the time he studies. There's a section in his introduction called "The Trouble with Protestants." The line "no miracles, no Catholicism" appears in his conclusion, targeted at liberal and progressive Catholics who have the GALL to look at a story of a woman doing magic colonialism in New Mexico with a dash of uncertainty. This book is deranged and nonsensical, uncertain what it is arguing. The true impossibility at hand is that it was published at all (but then again, he is a senior scholar at an Ivy League institution, so like his bilocating heroine, Maria de Agredar, he has the proverbial ear of the king).

[Oliver Brauning · Rating 4 out of 5]

They Flew is very engaging, although it's more an investigation into social facts, rather than the documentary evidence for these seemingly 'impossible' events. The reason for that is simple: most of the evidence relating to these allegedly supernatural and preternatural events are in contained in the Vatican, and there has never been an attempt to archive them (seems like an entire academic career just waiting for someone). Carlos Eire said in a interview with Tara Isabella Burton that the number of impossible cases he discusses in his book is only the very tippy-top of the iceberg. I would highly recommend watching that interview to go along with reading the book.

Most of They Flew is not scholarly analysis, but rather stories about these people who claimed to do miracles while in a state of cataleptic ecstasy. Eire recounts the stories of alleged levitators and bilocators, some of whom were canonized, others who were proved to be frauds, and the unsettling case of Sor Luisa de Carrión, who was acquitted of fraud and making a pact with the devil, but nevertheless has still not had her claims vindicated by the Catholic Church.

These stories are very interesting, and not just because they are tales of wonder workings—it is astounding to discover how famous these impossible-doers were, how they were involved with and honored by the most powerful men in Europe. Furthermore, They Flew remains gripping as Eire, the author of several memoirs, keeps the prose conversational and accessible to non-academics and non-specialists.

To go along with the simple language, Eire pairs admirable erudition, both on Protestant-Catholic relations and the surprisingly complicated subject of demonology. It was very helpful to have an introduction to the differences between magic, sorcery (called maleficium in Ancient Rome), and pacts with devils to gain powers.

It seems that the 17th Century must have been the most action packed of all centuries. Everyone knows about its religious wars, worldwide voyages, and conquests; about its triumphs in music, theatre, and portraiture; about the planting of liberalism, rationalism, and empiricism. What Eire argues effectively, is that the impossible feats of saints, witches, and demoniacs may have just been the most important of all. They are certainly the most terrifying.