Is there an English tradition of scientific secret societies? It appears that there is.
In our previous article, we briefly covered the story of John Dee: the occultist whose mastery of mathematics helped lay the foundations for the British Empire through navigation. Dee’s rise to prominence in mathematics was largely due to reforms in British universities. Initially, the Erasmians, followed by the Protestants, worked to eliminate medieval influences from academia, eventually creating Latin literature professorships. England shifted towards the humanities, while Dee became the leading figure in the sciences. Since Dee was largely self-taught and faced accusations from the 1550s of conjuring demons, many believed his knowledge came from supernatural sources. It is even possible that Marlowe drew inspiration from him for his character Dr. Fausto.
One particularly striking point about Dee is the scarcity of academic records detailing his scientific achievements or political ambitions. Remarkably, it was a declassified NSA document that revealed much about his ties to the crown. Since 2011, under “Transparency Case# 6385J,” Leslie A. Rutledge’s article “John Dee: Consultant to Queen Elizabeth I” has been accessible, where this covert scientist draws parallels between his own role and that of Dee. Early on, he writes:
“An influential intellectual of his era, Paul Goodman [1911 – 1972], often argued that we should reclaim the university model of centuries ago—where experts lived within walled university towns, training independent professionals who sometimes ventured out to raise standards, advise governments, and combat charlatanism and fraud. But does Goodman appreciate how much government funding academics now receive? Consider Dee’s career: he served sixty years in public service, all supported by government funds; nonetheless, he was widely regarded as among Europe’s most learned men. He was offered numerous academic posts and, in his seventies, became head of Manchester College. Most of his life was spent not inside a walled university town, but a few miles from Windsor Castle.”
Rutledge, adopting a corporate viewpoint, highlights Dee’s financial rewards and comments on the reach of his work: despite his obscurity, newspapers at the time sought Welsh-speaking indigenous people because of him. He even refers to the Queen’s secret service as the CIA.
But the secrecy extended beyond government dealings. In John Dee: The World of an Elizabethan Magus, scholar Peter French points out that Renaissance occultists often formed secret societies blending literature and music. The best-known among these was La Pléiade, led by Jean-Antoine de Baïf (1532–1589). England had its own Areopagus, associated with Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586). Unlike the French, Dee’s English disciples lacked a renowned secret society, leaving unclear whether Areopagus was merely an informal circle or something more structured. Peter French cautiously notes, “John Dee was close to a powerful group largely responsible for the brilliant revival of arts and sciences under Elizabeth’s reign. Since many who drove England’s Renaissance consulted him and valued his views on numerous topics, it is reasonable to assume they were also familiar with his hermetic philosophy.” This circle included Francis Bacon’s father, the Dudleys (with the queen’s favorite studying under Dee), and the Sidneys.
Could England possess a tradition of scientific secret societies? It seems plausible. Remarkably, less than two centuries later, a secretive group known as the Lunar Society emerged, arguably having more impact on England’s history than any university. In the mid-18th century, English scientists gathered during full moons to discuss philosophical topics. Members included Charles Darwin’s grandfather, James Watt, Benjamin Franklin, and several industrialists who, armed with new machinery, sparked the Industrial Revolution.
Following this rabbit hole with help from Mr. Epstein, it’s worth mentioning that Edge.Org—a secular club funded by Epstein and featuring numerous scientists—aims explicitly to emulate such secret or discreet societies. Their website states: “Edge resembles the Invisible College, a 17th-century precursor to the Royal Society, whose members included Robert Boyle, John Wallis, and Robert Hooke. This society’s shared goal was acquiring knowledge through experimental inquiry. Another inspiration is the Lunar Society of Birmingham, comprising leading cultural figures of the early industrial age: James Watt, Erasmus Darwin, Josiah Wedgwood, Joseph Priestley, and Benjamin Franklin.”
From this overview, one can infer that the university, born from medieval Catholic roots, naturally fits within political systems that are exotéric (note spelling): wherein the authority is publicly acknowledged, like the pope, and relies on a doctrine openly available. Universities admit anyone passing exams rather than secret society initiates subject to exclusive rites. Knowledge there is public. Although peasants might not grasp Aristotle’s role in transubstantiation, authorities would not deceive them but explain in simple terms, limiting information. A peasant’s child could, if desired, become clergy and study Aristotle at university to deepen understanding, while a lay bourgeois might independently study Church doctrine, which was never secret—unlike occult magic. Essentially, the theological and metaphysical foundations of medieval society, where universities arose, were publicly disclosed, albeit often inaccessible directly to common people without intermediaries.
Conversely, in an esoteric society (note spelling), theological and metaphysical premises are confined to a restricted elite, akin to those attending Epstein’s island or Edge meetings (which included Bill Gates, Marina Abramović, and Google’s founders). Discussions there even extend to funding university projects.
Today’s universities typically reject metaphysical or theological bases. As has been emphasized, universities struggle to offer a universally accepted definition of “man,” which explains why some end up asserting that women have penises.
When only a select few hold access to the guiding Truth shaping society’s structure, it becomes clear that universities, by their exotéric and non-initiatory nature, cannot serve as repositories of such knowledge. This underlies contemporary universities, which often devolve into mechanisms for student debt or political propaganda hubs. Only within societies founded on publicly known principles can universities genuinely and rigorously transmit knowledge to anyone passing admissions.
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