LEIBNIZ AND THE NUREMBERG ALCHEMICAL SOCIETY

George MacDonald Ross (g.m.ross@leeds.ac.uk)

Studia Leibnitiana VI, 1974, (222-248)

[Digital version 2017, with translations of quotations and original page numbers
added in square brackets]

1. Introduction

[222] One of the most obscure periods in Leibniz’s life is the year between the end of
September 1666, when he left the University of Leipzig, and the autumn of 1667, by
which time he was in Frankfurt seeking the patronage of the Elector of Mainz. It is
known that on the 4th of October 1666, he matriculated at the University of Altdorf, near
Nuremberg; that on the 15th of November, he presented his thesis Disputatio de casibus
perplexis in jure; and that on the 22nd of February 1667, he was formally awarded the
degree of Juris Utriumque Doctor. The only other significant piece of information we
have is that he was for a time involved with an alchemical society at Nuremberg; but
there is little agreement among scholars as to the details of this episode in Leibniz’s life.
In this article, I shall try to disentangle the truth (or at least what is most likely to be true)
from the myths that have grown up about the society and Leibniz’s relations to it; for
only then will it be possible to evaluate its importance for understanding the development
of his thought.

The principal difficulty is that Leibniz himself is almost completely silent about his
involvement with any such society; and there do not appear to be any extant records of it,
or any references to it in the writings of the various people alleged to have been its
members. Indeed, the nearest we have to a contemporary source is the biography of
Leibniz written in 1717, 50 years after the event, by his secretary Eckhart. Since it
constitutes the most direct evidence we have, I shall now quote the relevant passage in
full:

After this, he wanted to obtain the degree of Doctor of Law in his native country;
but as he himself told me on a number of occasions, the then Dean of Faculty, at
the instance of his wife, who was maliciously disposed towards Leibniz, refused
to grant him a doctorate on this occasion on the grounds of his youth. This
annoyed [223] him so much that he immediately left for Altdorf, where in the
same year, 1666, he was made Doctor of Law with great acclaim . . . While he
was living in Altdorf, and Leipzig was regretting too late the wrong done to him,
his ambitions grew, and he sought to perfect himself in jurisprudence as well as
other sciences. He visited all the learned people of the neighbouring Nuremberg
to get what profit he could from them. Among other things, he came to hear of a
certain society of learned and other people who were conducting all sorts of
chemical experiments in secret, and were trying to discover the philosopher’s
stone. Now, since he was curious about everything, he was very keen to have
 some practice in chemistry as well; so he considered all the various ways of
getting access to these secrets. The director of the society was a priest. So he
devised the following trick, as he himself often told me with a laugh. He got hold
of some very difficult books on chemistry, and noted down the obscurest
phraseology he could find in them. Out of these he composed a letter to the priest,
which even he himself did not understand, and in it he also requested admission to
the secret society. On reading the letter, the priest came to the conclusion that the
young Leibniz must be a true adept, and not only gave him access to the
laboratory, but asked him to become their assistant and secretary for a certain
salary. He accepted the post. His duties were to keep records of all the
experiments, and to make excerpts from the most famous chemists for their use
and in accordance with their instructions. This was his situation when it chanced
that Herr von Boineburg, the famous minister of the Elector of Mainz, was eating
at the same table as Leibniz at an inn while travelling through Nuremberg. . .

Later, I shall argue that even this account cannot be entirely accurate; but before bringing
it into question, I wish to examine the reliability of various assertions that have been
made by later writers who have accepted Eckhart’s testimony but have tried to be more
specific about the details.

2. The dates of Leibniz’s secretaryship of the society

Eckhart himself does not say exactly when Leibniz became secretary to the society, nor
how long he remained in that position. A few later writers are justifiably cautious about
being too precise: some give no date at all, and others say about 1666 (e.g. Schick
(1942)), or about 1667 (e.g. Wittemans (1938)). The majority, however, are prepared to
be more definite. Thus, Couturat (1901) and Doberer (1948) say without qualification
that he joined it in 1666, and Keller (1895) that he joined it in 1667. Others are even
prepared to say how long he remained in the society: according to Murr (1805) he joined
it in 1666 and resigned very quickly; according to Peters (1901) he joined it in 1666 for
about six months; according to Schmieder (1832) , Kopp (1886) and Kaemmerer (1892)
he joined it in 1666 and remained for a year; and according to Harnack (1900) he joined
it in 1667 and remained for a year. Most specific of all are Guhrauer(1846), who places
his membership in the winter of 1666–67, and Müller (1969), who places it in the spring
and summer [224] of 1667. Yet despite the confidence with which most of these claims
are made and the differences between them, the only writers even to suggest any
arguments in favour of the dates they choose are the last two.

The reasoning implicit in Müller’s account is that Leibniz apparently moved to

Nuremberg shortly after his degree ceremony on the 22nd of February 1667 (i.e. probably
during March), and that he would only then have joined the society. The evidence he
suggests for this is that on April the 16th Leibniz signed a promissary note for 60 thalers
in Nuremberg (and another for 40 thalers on July the 14th, also in Nuremberg). However,
the fact that he was incurring debts in Nuremberg gives us no basis for concluding that he
was actually resident there, since Altdorf was only a few hours journey away, and he
would no doubt have paid frequent visits to the local city if he were still living in Altdorf.
Besides, he had already signed a promissory note for 30 thalers in Nuremberg on
February the 14th, before he is supposed to have left Altdorf. In fact, because of the
proximity of Altdorf to Nuremberg, there is no need to assume that Leibniz had to move
to Nuremberg at all in order to carry out his duties as secretary to the society, unless these
duties were very onerous; hence, even if we knew where he was living at any given time,
this would not necessarily help us to establish when he joined the society. Moreover,
Eckhart explicitly states that Leibniz joined the intellectual circles of Nuremberg while he
was living at Altdorf, and implies that he started making acquaintances soon after his
arrival. It therefore seems quite likely that Guhrauer is right to suppose that Leibniz’s
involvement with the society began during the winter, and not in the spring as Müller
says.

As for the date of Leibniz’s departure from Altdorf to Nuremberg, he had undoubtedly
arrived in Frankfurt by the 25th of November 1667, which is when he signed a
promissory note for 30 thalers there. Müller seems to assume that he would have left
Nuremberg and the society shortly before, i.e. in the autumn. But is even this
approximation at all certain? At this point in the story Müller himself quotes the
following passage from an unpublished manuscript:

When I was 20, I obtained my doctorate in laws with general approbation,

whereupon I set out on my journeys, but as I was passing through Mainz, with the
intention of going to Holland and beyond, I made the acquaintance of the then
famous Elector Johann Philipp. . . .

[225] Admittedly, this account is highly abbreviated, but it does clearly imply that after
February he spent only a short while in the area of Nuremberg, before travelling around
for some time till he settled in Frankfurt not later than the middle of November; and it is
much more consistent with Guhrauer’s claim that he left the society at the end of the
winter 1666–67.

Further evidence for the earlier dating might be found in the pattern of Leibniz’s
borrowing during the period in question. On the 12th of October 1666, he borrowed 30
thalers, which last him for 4 months till the 14th of February 1667, when he borrowed a
further 30. This lasted only 2 months till the 16th of April, when he borrowed another 60;
this in turn lasted only 3 months till the 14th of July, though the 40 thalers he borrowed
then kept him for 4 months till the 15th of November. It is noticeable that, apart from this
last period, he needed much less money between October and February; so perhaps he
had an extra source of income during these months — and this could have been his salary
as secretary of the society. On the other hand, the extant records of his borrowings are
likely to be incomplete, in which case we can deduce nothing. Moreover, it is significant
that he signed all the promissory notes up to the 14th of July at Nuremberg, which
suggests that he was still resident there (and presumably still involved with the society)
— though it by no means proves this, since he could have spent most of the time
travelling around, and have made only occasional trips to Nuremberg.

All in all, the evidence is far too scanty for us to be at all certain about the dates of
Leibniz’s association with the society. My own guess is that he joined it in about
December 1666, and that he probably left it as early as March 1667. However, if he was
still occasionally in Nuremberg after that time, his detachment from the society might
have been a gradual process, to which it would be meaningless to ascribe a definite date.
Still less are we in a position to determine whether or not he was paid as secretary for all
the time he was associated with it.

3. Leibniz’s duties as secretary

Eckhart says that Leibniz’s duties were “to keep records of all the experiments, and to
make excerpts from the most famous chemists for their use.” The first of these duties is
understandable, but the second seems rather odd: if they already had books, and many of
the members were learned men with a wide knowledge of alchemy, why should this job
need to be done? I suspect that Eckhart is making an unwarranted [226] deduction from
the fact that in his Oedipus Chymicus of 1710, Leibniz published translations of and
solutions to two chemical riddles (one from Stephen of Alexandria, the other from Basil
Valentine) and mentioned that he had made the second translation when he was a youth.
But while it is fair enough to suppose that he made the translations at the time when he
was a member of the society, it certainly does not follow that it was any part of his formal
duties as secretary to make such translations.

Whether or not we accept all the details of Eckhart’s account, it remains our only source
of information about Leibniz’s duties. Later writers have elaborated the story in various
ways: Schmieder (1832) states that he was responsible for the society’s correspondence,
and Le Forestier (1970) adds that this was for the purpose of liaison with similar groups;
Doberer (1948) says that he had to translate the alchemical classics; Kopp (1843) makes
him the leader of their practical work; Grote (1869) says vaguely but pregnantly that he
became “the guardian of their secrets”; and Morich-Clausthal (1927) considers his duties
so important that he calls him “the life and soul of the society”. But in no case are we
offered any fresh evidence, and we have every right to dismiss all such claims as
unsupported guesswork.

However, the most serious mistake these writers have made is perhaps not that of
attributing to Leibniz specific duties for which there is no evidence, but that of assuming
that he had clearly defined formal duties at all, Admittedly, Eckhart’s wording does
suggest this (in particular the expression “his duties were . . .”); yet the implication of his
account is that the job was created specially for Leibniz: that is, not that the members of
the society were filling a vacancy in their pre-existing establishment, but that they were
impressed by his abilities, and thought that he would be useful to them in a general
capacity. And perhaps his pension, as Eckhart calls it, was as much a form of patronage
to a needy scholar as a contractual payment for services rendered. As before, many
different possibilities are consistent with the evidence at our disposal, and until more
evidence comes to light, we must remain sceptical about attempts to be specific about
Leibniz’s status within the society, or about the nature and extent of his duties.
 4. The other members of the society

[227] The following is a list of those who have been said to have been members of the
society, together with the earliest authority I have been able to find for each:

Daniel Wülfer Murr (1779)

Johann George Volckamer (the elder) Murr (1779)
Justus Jakob Leibniz Murr (1779)
Johann Gerhard Waldau (1786)
Johann Scholz (Scultetus) Murr (1805)
Hieronymus Gutthäter Murr (1805)
Johann Jakob Leibniz Guhrauer (1846)
Johann Michael Dilherr Keller (1895)
Christoph Heiling Keller (1895)
Friedrich Kleinert Keller (1895)
Paul Barth Müller (1954)

I shall now argue that some of these people could not possibly have been members of the
society, or at least not while Leibniz was in Nuremberg, and that the grounds for
supposing the rest to have been members are at best speculative.

Waldau (1786) claims that Dr. Johann Gerhard of Jena was probably a member of the
society on the grounds that he was an adept and his sons were tutored by Justus Jakob
Leibniz. But even if we grant that Justus Leibniz was a member, this suggestion is quite
absurd. Justus Leibniz did indeed tutor Gerhard’s sons at Jena for some time between
1632 and 1638;but Gerhard lived in Jena, which is nowhere near Nuremberg, and died in
1637, long before the earliest date at which the society is alleged to have been founded
(1654). Besides, the fact that Justus Leibniz tutored Gerhard’s son is hardly relevant to
the question of whether or not Gerhard was a member of a society which Justus may have
joined many years later. Waldau may perhaps have confused Johann Gerhard with his son
Johann Ernst Gerhard (1621––1668), who was one of the sons tutored by Justus Leibniz;
but again there is no reason to suppose that Johann Ernst joined the society of which his
former tutor may have been a member, especially since he too lived and worked at Jena
during the relevant period.

Paul Barth (1635–1688), though eleven years Leibniz’s senior, was from 1661–66
Leibniz’s fellow student at Leipzig, having already taken a degree [228] at Altdorf. They
remained friends, and Leibniz visited him at Nuremberg in 1687; moreover, Barth had an
interest in alchemy, as is shown by his letter to Leibniz of the 16th of December 1670.
But since he did not come to Nuremberg till 1676, which is when he became Deacon of
St. Sebald, he cannot have joined the society till long after Leibniz had left it — and even
then there is no evidence at all that he ever became a member of it. So we must reject on
at least two counts the assertion in Müller (1954) that “Paul Barth was a fellow student of
Leibniz in Altdorf (1666) and with him a member of an alchemical society” (my
emphases).
Similarly, Guhrauer (1846) says that Johann Jakob Leibniz, son of Justus Jakob Leibniz,
was a member of the society. Again it is possible that he was at some time a member
(perhaps even likely, given his father’s membership), though we have no actual evidence
either way. What is certain is that he can hardly have been a member of the society at the
same time as our Leibniz, since he was then only about 13, having been born in 1653.

As for the names added to the list by Keller (1895), he gives Murr (1805) as his source
for Christoph Heiling and Friedrich Kleinert, but he goes far beyond what Murr actually
claims. Murr had in his possession some manuscripts which he believed to have been
collected by a member of the Nuremberg society. From these he quotes an account of an
alchemical experiment, which begins with the heading “C.H. Artista”; and in a footnote
to this heading he claims that C.H. Artista was Christoph Heiling, though he gives no
authority for this attribution, and in his earlier work of 1779 he quotes the same document
without mentioning Heiling’s name. But this in no way implies that Murr thought that
Heiling was a member of the society, especially since he does not include him in his list
of members on the same page. On p.86, Murr refers to Friedrich Kleinert as Heiling’s
pupil, but in a context which has nothing at all to do with the Nuremberg society. Heiling
and Kleinert may, for all I know, have been members; but there is no evidence whatever
that they were.

[229] Keller also claims that Johann Michael Dilherr was a member of the society, but he
produces no authority at all for this. Given that he was a prominent Nuremberg
intellectual, and is known to have had dealings with Leibniz at the time, it is quite
possible that he was a member; but again there is a complete absence of any positive
evidence linking him with the society.

Finally, we have the list of members given by Murr (1779): Daniel Wülfer, Johann Georg
Volckamer the elder, and Justus Jakob Leibniz, to which he added Johann Scholz and
Hieronymus Gutthäter in his work of 1805. The question is, did he have any positive
evidence for asserting that these people were members of the society, or is his list merely
the result of plausible guesswork? For a number of reasons I consider the second
alternative far more likely. Firstly, on each occasion, after giving the list of members, he
quotes from a number of documents: a letter of March 1676 from Volckamer to the adept
Franz Gassmann, the alchemical record headed “C.H. Artista”, and Leibniz’s Oedipus
Chymicus; but none of these make any reference either to the society or to its
membership. If he had had any documentary evidence he would surely have used it in
preference to items which give no support at all to the assertions he was making.
Secondly, if there had been any documentary evidence, it is likely that some of it would
have survived, or at least have been quoted in biographies of these alleged members of
the society; but as far as I am aware, there is no independent evidence for their
membership of it. For instance, G.A. Will, who must have known virtually all there was
to be known about the lives of Nuremberg intellectuals, gives detailed information about
all five alleged members in his Nürnbergisches Gelehrten-Lexikon (1755–58) and his
Nürnbergischen Münz-Belustigungen (1764–67); but he is completely silent about any
Nuremberg alchemical society, even though he does mention Volckamer’s involvement
with the Blumen-Gesellschaft, the Academia Recuperatorum and the Akademie der
Naturforscher. C.C. Nopitsch, in his supplement to Will’s Lexicon (1802–1808) does
indeed say that Wülfer was president of the alchemical society, and that Volckamer,
Justus Leibniz and Gutthäter were members, but he gives Murr (1779), Murr (1805) and
Waldau (1786) as his authorities. Thirdly, though it is just possible that there was an aural
tradition about the society, it would hardly be reliable after a lapse of 113 years, and
[230] Murr would surely have given his authority. Fourthly, it is suspicious that he gives
a longer list in his later than in his earlier work — it is possible that more evidence had
come to light, but he does not claim this, and it is more plausible to suppose that he had
simply thought of more people who were likely to have been members.

This interpretation of Murr’s assertions is supported by the fact that the names on his first
list are prima facie likely candidates for membership of the society in that it is known that
Leibniz was acquainted with them; and by the fact that the names on his second list are at
least possible candidates in that they were citizens of Nuremberg interested in alchemy,
though not known to have been acquaintances of Leibniz. We know that Leibniz knew
Wülfer at the time, because he wrote to Bierling in a letter of 16th March 1712: “As a
young man I often visited Daniel Wülfer at Nuremberg and I was acquainted with other
learned men of Nuremberg at the same time.” It also seems certain that he knew Justus
Leibniz, though the best evidence I can find for this is only indirect: in a letter of 5th
March 1703, Justus’s son, Johann wrote to Leibniz of the days when “in my earliest
youth I often used to embrace your Excellency.” This must refer to the period 1666–67,
when Johann was about 13, and it is clear that Johann would only have met Leibniz
during visits by the latter to Johann’s father Justus. As for Volckamer, Leibniz certainly
knew him later in life: Volckamer was at least aware of his presence in Nuremberg in
1687–88, and they exchanged letters in 1691; but although there is no direct evidence that
they were acquainted in 1666–67, it is probable that they were, since Volckamer is
precisely the sort of person whose acquaintance Leibniz would have sought as being a
prominent Nuremberg intellectual interested primarily in scientific matters. So, if Murr
was just guessing when he produced his lists and was not relying on positive evidence
which he failed to reveal, then it would seem that his criterion for the earlier list was to
include Nuremberg intellectuals with whom Leibniz is known to have been acquainted,
and that he added Scholz and Gutthäter to the second list on account of their interest in
alchemy.

[231] But what should we believe? If there was an alchemical society at Nuremberg, it is
hard to imagine that Volckamer would not have been a member of it, given his interest in
science and his penchant for joining societies; and it also seems quite likely that Scholz
and Gutthäter would have been members, as known patrons of alchemical research. The
cases of Wülfer and Justus Leibniz are more problematic, since their published works
show no special interest in alchemy, and the fact that they were known to Leibniz far
from proves that they were members of the same society. In the absence of any further
evidence, it would be unwise to place too much reliance on Murr’s unsupported
testimony.

If we accept that a citizen of Nuremberg interested in alchemy and known to Leibniz is at

least likely to have been a member of the society, then there is a surprising omission from
the list of names canvassed as members. Peter Paul Metzger was keeper of the mint
during the period that Leibniz was in Nuremberg; and although there is no direct
evidence that they knew each other at the time, it is highly probable that they did, since
Paul Barth, in a letter to Leibniz of 6/16 December 1670, refers to him at length and
without considering it necessary to explain who he was. Moreover, it is clear that they
were closely acquainted by the time of Leibniz’s later stay in Nuremberg (1687–88),
since it was at the mint that he met Johann Jakob Leibniz, and in a letter of 10/20 January
1688 he asked Landgraf Ernst von Hessen-Rheinfels to send letters care of Metzger at
Nuremberg. That Metzger was interested in alchemy is abundantly proved by the
contexts in which he appears in Leibniz’s correspondence. Thus I see no reason why
Metzger should not be regarded as at least as strong a candidate for membership of the
society as any of the other people mentioned; and if he was a member, the mint would
have been a particularly suitable place for the society to carry out its experiments.

[232] To sum up, there is no direct evidence at all as to who may have been members of
the society, but it is not unlikely that its membership would have included Volckamer,
Metzger, Scholz and Gutthäter, and possibly also Wülfer, Justus Leibniz and Dilherr.
There is no reason to suppose that Heiling or Kleinert were members; it is impossible that
Barth or Johann Leibniz were members in 1666–67 (though they could have joined it
later); and Gerhard could never have had anything to do with it.

5. The leadership of the society

According to Eckhart (1717) the director of the society was a priest; and virtually all
writers on the subject follow Murr (1779) in identifying this priest with Daniel Wülfer
(some gratuitously adding that he was also its founder). However, not only does Murr fail
to give any evidence for his identification, but there are positive grounds for questioning
it. Wülfer was indeed a minister of religion (he was Vorsteher of the Lorenzkirche), but
he was a Protestant; and the word Eckhart uses is ‘Priester’, a word normally reserved for
Catholic priests. It is true that Nuremberg was a Protestant city, but it did have some
Catholic inhabitants (though without the franchise); and if we are to take Eckhart
seriously, we shoudl conclude that the director of the society is more likely to have come
from this community than from the Protestant community to which Wülfer belonged.

With the course of time the question has become even more confused. In a footnote to
Justus Leibniz’s name, van Dülmen (1969) writes: “Others name him as Vorsteher,” and
he refers to Nopitsch (1808). This is odd, because it is Wülfer whom Nopitsch calls the
Vorsteher of the society. It is possible that the footnote has been misplaced, and [233]
that van Dülmen is merely making the minor point that whereas Eckhart called Wülfer its
Direktor, others such as Nopitsch use the term Vorsteher. On the other hand, he may be
thinking of Müller (1954), who does indeed give the impression that Justus Leibniz was
in charge of the society by referring to “. . . an alchemical society of which the Senior
was Justus Jakob Leibniz . . .” I suspect that this impression is not intentional, since
Müller (1969) distinguishes the society’s Präsident (Wülfer) from its Senior (Justus
Leibniz). Yet even this is a mistake, arising perhaps from a reference in Guhrauer (1845)
p. 47 to “Senior Justus Leibniz”, a title he had in virtue of being Senior des Geistlichen
Ministeriums, [Senior member of the holy ministry] and which has nothing to do with the
alchemical society.

6. Leibniz’s introduction to the society

It has been claimed that Leibniz knew certain members of the society before joining it, in
particular Volckamer, Justus Leibniz, Dilherr, and Wülfer; but as I have already shown,
we have far too little evidence either about Leibniz’s acquaintances or about the date of
his joining the society for any such claims to be more than pure guesswork. In the case of
two of these, the further claim has been made that they helped him gain membership of
the society. Thus Müller (1969) says that it was through Wülfer’s mediation that he
became a member, an assertion which seems to rest on the assumption that Leibniz was
already a frequent visitor at Wülfer’s house. But, as I have argued above, it is more likely
that Leibniz started visiting Wülfer only after he had joined the society, in which case
there is no reason to suppose that Wülfer had any hand in introducing him to it.
Moreover, if Wülfer was the priest referred to by Eckhart, it would make nonsense of his
account to suppose that Wülfer already knew Leibniz well, since his point is that Leibniz
deceived the priest into thinking he was an adept.

A far commoner story is that it was Justus Leibniz who helped Gottfried join the society.
However, this claim is equally incompatible with Eckhart’s testimony, which makes it
clear that Leibniz’s admission depended on his deceitful letter to the priest, and not on
any personal introduction; but as I shall suggest later, this is the part of his account which
is most open to question, so we should not take the inconsistency as an adequate disproof
of the claim. The assumption on which the story depends is that Justus was a relative of
Gottfried’s. This may be true, [234] but there is no clear evidence for it. They were
certainly not uncle and nephew as some writers have maintained, and it would be rash to
assume that their relationship, if any, was close enough for Justus to have had any special
obligations towards Gottfried. Besides, as I have already pointed out, we cannot even be
certain that Justus was himself a member of the society. Consequently, since it cannot be
established even that they knew each other beforehand, we are certainly entitled to reject
as pure phantasy the elaboration of the story, first found in Schmieder (1832), that
Leibniz’s interest in alchemy was first awakened by reading alchemical books in Justus’s
library.

It still remains possible that Leibniz was introduced to the society by one of its members,
though the extent to which this is likely depends largely on how much faith we put in the
details of Eckhart’s account. But even if it is true, we have too little information to guess
who this might have been with any degree of confidence.

7. The dates of the society

A number of writers state categorically that the society existed from 1674–1700, their
source being the more guarded statement in Murr (1805) p. 79 that “in 1654 an
alchemical society was founded in Nuremberg, which lasted almost to the beginning of
the 18th century.” Murr gives no evidence for his dating, and he goes beyond what he had
said in 1779, when he confined himself to the assertion that it was founded in 1654. As
before, I am reluctant to accept Murr’s unsupported testimony since, if he had any
positive evidence, he could so easily have quoted it instead of the irrelevant documents
he does in fact reproduce. On the other hand, if it was a guess it is difficult to see any
reason for his choosing the date 1654 in particular; and in the absence of any further
evidence, the question must remain open.

[235] As for Murr’s assertion that the society “lasted almost to the beginning of the 18th
century,” he again gives no supporting evidence, but in this case there is one piece of
evidence he might have used in forming his opinion. This is alluded to by Keller (1895),
who asserts that the society was founded in about 1664 (this is presumably a misprint for
‘1654’), and then continues: “Perhaps we would know little about this society if it had not
happened that its opponents succeeded in bringing a severe governmental mandate
against it in the year 1696.” But if this is Murr’s evidence, it is far from conclusive. The
mandate referred to is almost certain the Decretum in Senatu of 12th December 1696
banning all alchemical activities in Nuremberg; and it is quite possible that, if the society
still existed at the time, the decree might have made it impossible for it to continue
(although, given that it was a secret society, it might equally well have continued to exist
underground). However, the decree makes no mention of any particular society, and it
certainly provides us with no evidence either that the society of which Leibniz had been a
member still existed, or that it was disbanded as a result of the decree.

In short, the only time at which we hear anything about the society is the period from
1666–67, when Leibniz was a member of it; and unless we assume that Murr was silent
about documents to which he had access, there is no evidence as to when it came into
existence or when it ceased to exist.

8.The alchemical activities of the society

Eckhart states unambiguously that the society was concerned with chemical experiments,
including the search for the philosopher’s stone. Later commentators, starting with Murr
(1779), have taken this as meaning that it was an alchemical society. In order to avoid
confusion here, we must be very careful about the meanings of these terms at different
historical periods. Till the eighteenth century, the terms ‘chemistry’ and ‘alchemy’ were
used more or less interchangeably, activities which we should now call chemical being
called alchemical, and vice versa. This is not to say that no one every distinguished
between what we should now regard as respectable objectives of scientific activity and
the vain dreams of the alchemists; but it was only very gradually that there developed an
awareness of the wide gulf that separates the aims, methodology and metaphysical
presuppositions of modern scientific chemistry from those of traditional
chemistry/alchemy. Consequently, to apply either term in its modern sense to the period
in question is liable to mislead, since to call the science chemical would draw attention
away from [236} its occult elements, and to call it alchemical would undervalue its sober
scientific methods and intentions. But as long as we are aware of these limitations to our
terminology, it should not matter which term we use.

In calling the Nuremberg society alchemical, a large number of writers seem to have
assumed that its interests would have centred almost exclusively on the occult; and von
Dülmen (1969) has provided a much needed corrective in saying that it was not a secret
alchemical society at all, but simply a circle of intellectuals interested in experiments in
natural science. As I shall argue later, he is perhaps right to play down the elements of
secrecy and the extent to which it was a formally constituted society; but to make so
sharp a contrast between alchemy and experimental science is surely a serious
anachronism. Besides, to deny that the society practised the former flatly contradicts not
only Eckhart’s testimony, but what little evidence we can find in Leibniz’s own writings.

Like so many other aspects of the story of the society, the fact that it was concerned with
alchemy has also been subject to further fanciful elaboration. Murr (1779) asserts that
their work was based mainly on vitriol, and he quotes as his source the end of Leibniz’s
Oedipus Chymicus. Now, in this work Leibniz had shown that the solution to Stephen of
Alexandria’s riddle was ‘arsenicon’, and that the solution to Basil Valentine’s was
‘vitriolum’. He then concludes by saying (p. 22):—

But Basil’s riddle seems to contradict the Greek one. However, although this is
true, there will perhaps be some who will contrive a reconciliation between them.
Those who claim that they alone are worthy to be called philosophers proclaim
“Our vitriol, our arsenic”. That is, there exists among their secret papers, to which
I was once given access as if to the Eleusinian mysteries, a certain substance to
which either name can appropriately be given.

But while it is reasonable to assume that the papers to which he refers were in the
possession of the Nuremberg alchemical society, there is no clear statement that the
society itself based its research on this substance which is both vitriol and arsenic. A
more natural interpretation of Leibniz’s remark would be that this was just one theory
among many which [237] he discovered among the society’s papers, leaving entirely
open the question of what they actually did. Besides, Murr is careless in mentioning only
vitriol, and Waldau (1786) is at least more accurate when he says that their work was
based on vitriol and arsenic.

An even wilder extrapolation from the limited evidence is to be found in Schmieder

(1832), who writes (p. 415):—

He [Leibniz] himself practical experiments, but he pursued a completely different

course from the Nuremberg society; for while the latter remained loyal to Basil’s
Visitando Interiora Terrae, and worked only from vitriol, he sought the Prima
Materia in phosphorus derived from urine.

But, as we have just seen, the substance referred to was not vitriol, but something
between vitriol and arsenic; and Leibniz does not say that the society based its research
on it, still less on Basil’s book, the title of which he does not even mention in the
Oedipus Chymicus. As for the reference to phosphorus, Schmieder refers to Leibniz’s
Historia inventionis Phosphori; but this work is nothing other than a sober and scholarly
account of the discovery of phosphorus, and there is no suggestion whatever that he
considered it to be the Prima Materia, or anything else of alchemical significance
(though he does refer to, and demolish, a story that its discoverer, Heinrich Brand,
thought that it contained the secret of the philosopher’s stone).

In short, the evidence at our disposal is once again very limited. It seems certain that the
society was involved in the archetypally alchemical activityt of searching for the
philosopher’s stone, possibly on the basis of some substance describable equally as
‘vitriol’ or ‘arsenic’; and it would be surprising if it was not also interested in more
general expoeriments which we would be prepared to call chemical rather than
alchemical. But beyond this we have no grounds for making even informed guesses.

9. The society and Rosicrucianism

One of the most extraordinary myths that have grown up around the Nuremberg society is
that it was Rosicrucian. As far as I know, the person responsible for starting the myth,
whether consciously or not, was Kopp. In his work of 1843, he writes:—

Around the middle of the 17th century, we find a number of alchemical societies
which could have come into existence partly out of the splitting up of the
Rosicrucian movement, partly out of the accidental coming together of individual
alchemists at one and the same place. Among these should be named the
Alchemical Society in Nuremberg. . . .

[238] This statement is rather vague, but Kopp must at least mean that some of the
members of the Nuremberg society may have been connected with one of the splinter
groups formed after the break-up of the Rosicrucian movement (in about 1616). Whether
he means more than this is open to question; but if this is all he means, and not that the
society was itself a Rosicrucian group, then there is an element of truth in what he says.

One of the leading proponents of the Rosicrucian ideals had been J. V. Andreae; but in
about 1616 he disassociated himself from the movement, and thenceforth engaged
himself in founding various reforming societies with general ideals similar to those of
Rosicrucianism, but without its elaborate mythology and symbolism.One of these
societies was the Unio Christiana of Nuremberg, which he founded in 1628 together with
Johann Saubert, Conrad Baier and Christoph Leibniz, and which lasted at least until
1646. Christoph Leibniz was the father of Justus Jakob Leibniz, and he included his name
in a list of members of the Unio which he later helped to compile. Another possible link
between the alchemical society and Andreae’s projects is J.G. Volckamer; as we have
seen, he was likely to have been a member of the former, and although there is no
evidence of his having had anything specifically to do with the Unio, he was at least a
friend of Andreae’s.

However, although there is this remote historical connection between two possible
members of the alchemical society and Rosicrucianism, this gives us no reason for
supposing that the society had anything whatever to do with that fraternity. Firstly, the
connection between the society and the Unio is remote enough, and virtually nothing
follows from the fact that they had one member in common; and even if a closer
connection were established it would not make the society Rosicrucian, since [239] the
Unio was formed in conscious opposition to Rosicrucianism. As Andreae himself said:—

I devised this imperfect copy of some truly Christian Society in opposition to the
disgraceful hoax of the fictitious Rosicrucian Fraternity.

Secondly, although the Rosicrucians were fascinated by the mystical significance of

alchemical symbolism, the manifestos on which the movement was based bitterly
attacked those who tried to find the philosopher’s stone; and since virtually all we know
about the Nuremberg society is that its members were searching for the stone, it would be
very strange indeed if it were a Rosicrucian group.

The whole question is made more complicated by the fact that Andreae and others
sometimes referred to a society in Nuremberg called ‘Antilia’ — though from the
evidence it is hard to deduce whether or not it actually existed, and if so, what it was and
what relation it bore to the Unio Christiana. Be that as it may, Kvačala (1899) believes
that Antilia probably did exist as a separate society, and that most of the four Leibnizes
(Christoph, Justus, Gottfried and Johann — but he is not clear which he means) were
members both of Antilia and of the Unio. He then argues that the alchemical society and
Antilia were probably one and the same, on the grounds that some of the Leibnizes were
also members of the alchemical society, and that it would be unlikely for them all to be
members of three distinct societies in the same city. However, we know so little about the
dates, membership, purposes and even the existence of the various societies, that
Kvačala’s suggestion (about which he himself is rather diffident) must be regarded as
entirely lacking in foundation.

We have seen that there is an element of truth in Kopp’s claim that the alchemical society
came into existence “partly out of the splitting up of the Rosicrucian movement,” though
there are certainly no grounds for saying that it was itself a Rosicrucian society. But
whether due to a misunderstanding of what Kopp said, or to some hopelessly confused
assumption that alchemy and Rosicrucianism are much the same sort of thing (which they
certainly are not), Guhrauer calls the Nuremberg society “a secret society of the
Rosicrucians.”It is no doubt largely through his authority as Leibniz’s principal
biographer that the myth that Leibniz was a member of a Rosicrucian society has been
recounted [240] as fact, with or without further elaboration, by the large majority of
subsequent writers, including Keller (1895, 1903), Couturat (1901), Fischer (1902),
Peters (1916) and Yates (1966);and it has also found its way into a number of major
encyclopaedias.

The only person to suggest any independent evidence is Yates, who points to certain
similarities between the ideals of Rosicrucianism and those to be found in Leibniz’s early
plans for founding learned societies. But although these similarities are interesting in
themselves, and although they might have given evidence of the influence of the society
on the development of Leibniz’s thought if it had already been established that the society
was Rosicrucian, such parallels are quite insufficient to counteract the contrary evidence
we have examined. Besides, as was pointed out by Buhle as early as 1804, the only
explicit references to Rosicrucianism in Leibniz’s writings are sceptical and hostile.
However, I would not wish to lay too much stress on this particular argument, since much
of what Leibniz said later about alchemy was also sceptical and at least mildly hostile;
and that does not count against his having had a different attitude in his youth. The
trouble is that virtually nothing that Leibniz wrote between 1666 and 1667 survives; and
while it is legitimate to use the knowledge that he was then involved with an alchemical
society in interpreting his later writings, it is much more hazardous to argue back from
his mature opinions to what he may or may not have been doing during that time.

10. The reliability of Eckhart’s account

So far I have tended to accept as true what Eckhart says about Leibniz’s involvement
with the alchemical society, but to be highly sceptical of any additions to the story by
later writers. But why should I not be equally sceptical about Eckhart’s account itself? If I
am reluctant to [241] take Murr’s word for it that the society was founded in 1654 or that
Wülfer was its director, why should I not also reject Eckhart’s unsupported testimony,
and say that the whole story is a complete fabrication? For it is important to remember
that Eckhart’s testimony is largely unsupported. In fact the only evidence we can glean
from Leibniz’s own autobiographical writings would seem to contradict Eckhart’s
account. As we have already seen, he makes no mention of the alchemical society, and he
implies that he left the area of Nuremberg soon after getting his degree at Altdorf.
However, there are two good reasons for accepting what Eckhart says as at least broadly
correct.

The first reason is that although Leibniz does not explicitly say that he was a member of
an alchemical society at Nuremberg, he does drop one or two hints that this was the case.
I have already quoted his remark that “as a young man I often visited Daniel Wülfer at
Nuremberg and I was acquainted with other learned men of Nuremberg at the same
time.” This may refer to the alchemical society, but by itself it tells us nothing. Far more
significant is the passage at the end of the Oedipus Chymicus, where he says he was once
given access to secret alchemical writings “as if to the Eleusinian mysteries.” It is
difficult to see what else this could mean than that he was at least given access to the
secrets of a group of people interested in alchemy, and possibly only after some sort of
ceremonial introduction. He does not actually say when or where this happened, but it
would not be too rash to assume that he is referring to the time when he was in or near
Nuremberg in 1666–67. This receives further support from the following passage in a
letter to Gottfried Thomasius of 7/17 December 1696:–

[242] I was first introduced to the study of chemistry at Nuremberg, and I do not
regret having learned as a youth what a man would be cautious about. For
subsequently I was often urged [to undertake chemical investigations], not so
much on my own account as for the sake of the princes with whom I had contacts;
and although I did not lack interest, it was tempered with circumspection. I have
 seen the shipwrecks of Becher and of other men I have known very well, who
have as it were been carried along by the fair wind of the chemical dream.

The second reason for taking Eckhart’s testimony seriously is that there would have been
many people still alive who could have contradicted his story if it had been a fabrication,
and he would have had no motive for inventing it. On the contrary, he had if anything a
motive for suppressing it. By the beginning of the 18th century, there was a growing
consciousness of the distinction between chemistry as a respectable science, and alchemy
as an irrational and superstitious pseudoscience; and Eckhart, wanting to show his master
to posterity in a good light (in this work at least), would have been embarrassed by his
youthful dalliance with the occult. This consideration is very important, not only because
it lends credence to the general features of Eckhart’s account, but because it may also
help us to evaluate some of the stranger details of it.

The main peculiarity in the story as presented by Eckhart is this: in describing Leibniz’s
motives for joining the society, he makes it perfectly clear that he wanted to learn about
chemistry and that he believed that the society had secret knowledge which would be
worth acquiring; but when he explains the way in which Leibniz managed to join it, he
says that he resorted to a deliberate trick, which consisted in pretending that he
considered obscure alchemical terminology to be meaningful, when in fact he regarded it
as nonsense. Now, it is just possible that Leibniz believed that the society had made
valuable empirical discoveries which were independent of the mumbo-jumbo of
alchemical theory, and that he was prepared to pretend to accept the latter in order to
have access to the former. But, as I have already argued, it would surely be an
anachronism to suppose that he could have formulated so sharp a distinction between
chemistry and alchemy at that stage both in the development of the science and in his
own intellectual growth. And if he [243] did not make any such distinction, then there is a
clear inconsistency in Eckhart’s account, since it implies both that he did and that he did
not take alchemy seriously.

If we want to accept as much as possible of what Eckhart says, the most plausible
interpretation is surely that Leibniz did indeed take alchemy seriously (we have his own
word for it, and why else would he have wanted to join the society?), and that he wrote
the letter to the priest as an honest token of his interest and qualifications. He may have
exaggerated both his commitment to alchemy and his understanding of it, as is to be
expected in any letter of application; but to say that the letter was a deliberate trick makes
nonsense of the whole story. In his old age, however, he would have been in a much
better position to contrast the occultism of the Nuremberg society with the greater
intellectual and experimental rigour of eighteenth-century science, and he would no doubt
have been embarrassed by his youthful involvement with the former. It is therefore
perfectly understandable that he should have played down the seriousness of his
attachment to the society, and tried to laugh the incident off as an elaborate hoax which
gave him something to do and brought him in some money when he was otherwise
unemployed. I am inclined to believe that Eckhart’s account is an accurate report of what
Leibniz told him (his remark that Leibniz often joked with him about it seems perfectly
disingenuous), but that Leibniz himself, whether consciously or unconsciously, had
coloured the events in such a way as to reflect his later rather than his earlier attitude
towards the occult.

Another respect in which Eckhart’s account may be misleading (though there is no way
of checking this) is over the question of the extent to which the society had a formal
constitution. Eckhart’s language certainly suggests that it had, since he talks of a director,
a paid secretary, a laboratory, and some sort of admission procedure. On the other hand,
he is generally very vague about details: he says nothing about its membership, he gives
the society no name, and he does not even state that it [244] was a secret society, but only
that the chemical experiments were done in secret. The usual assumption is that the
society was formally constituted; but van Dülmen (1969) goes to the opposite extreme:—

On the basis of the evidence so far available it cannot be proved that there was
any secret alchemical society, but only a circle of intellectuals who were probably
also interested in scientific experiments. . .

However, as I have argued at the beginning of this section, there can be little doubt as to
the existence of the alchemical society; and although the evidence as to the details is
indeed vague and scanty, there is no evidence at all that Leibniz was a member of any
definable circle of intellectuals interested in scientific experiments (particularly if these
are understood as involving a conscious rejection of the occult). Weak evidence for the
existence of a society with extreme characteristics does not collapse into strong evidence
for the existence of a society with more moderate characteristics.

Nevertheless, there is much to be said for van Dülmen’s scepticism about the formal
constitution of the society. It would not involve too strained an interpretation of Eckhart’s
account to suppose that it consisted of an informal group of like-minded people under the
general leadership of the unnamed priest; that the members contributed enough money
for alchemical apparatus and some laboratory assistance; and that their secrecy was little
more than that of any closed group meeting together for a common purpose (though in
their case they would have the added motive of not wanting the formula of the
philosopher’s stone to become known to outsiders). This would also help to account for
the absence of any records of the society and of any references to it. But until more
evidence comes to light, we are simply not in a position to judge of the degree of
formality with which the society was constituted.

11. Conclusion

There can be no doubt that for a short while, probably during the winter of 1666–67,
Leibniz was actively involved with a group of people in Nuremberg who indulged in
alchemical experiments, and there seems no reason to question Eckhart’s report that he
was paid for assisting them. Beyond this one can do little more than speculate; and I hope
I have succeeded in showing that many of the speculations which historians [245] have
actually produced are entirely without foundation, in particular the myth that the group
was a Rosicrucian society. Details such as the constitution, dates and membership of the
society, and the precise nature of Leibniz’s duties, would be interesting if we could
discover them; but they would hardly be of any importance for the understanding of
Leibniz’s intellectual development. What matters is simply the fact that when he was a
young man he was interested in and learned about alchemy.

There are indiications of this interest in his writings throughout his life, and it mayh seem
a glaring omission that I have not used them as an argument in favour of his having been
a member of the society. The reason why I have avoided doing this is partly because such
evidence wopuld be inconclusive; but more impo0rtantly because my ultimate purpose is
not to establish the fact of his membership, which I believe I have adequately proved
without reference to his later attitudes, but to use the fact of his membership to support
the view that his interewst in alchemy should be seen as an important factor in his earl;y
intellectual development. In a later article I intend to examine his attitude to alchemy as
evidence in his writings, and to evaluate its importance for the genesis of some of his
leading philosophical ideas. In the present article my purpose has been the humbler onne
of clearing away some of the myths and ungrounded specualtions that surround this
episode in Leibniz;s life, As a reminder of how necessary this is, I shall conclude by
quoting some extracts from H. Morich-Clausthal’s article, Wie Leibniz Alchemist wurde
[“How Leibniz became an alchemist”]:—

. . . When he was visiting his uncle, the minister Just. Jak. Leibniz, in Nuremberg,
he was through his mediation introduced to a society which was concerned with
the Hermetic or gold-making art, and of which the most important members, apart
from Leibniz, were the minister Daniel Wülfer, the founder and first director of
the association, Dr. Joh. Gottl. Volckamer, the physician Joh. Scholz, and others.

This union, the aims of which were to further alchemy and to give the opportunity
to its innumerable friends of studying this art more deeply, was called ‘The
Alchemical Society at Nuremberg’, and it became very famous both for the
number of its local members, and for its lively communication with foreign
followers of the same art. Founded in 1654, it existed till the beginning of the
18th century. It possessed an alchemical library and its own laboratory, which
people worked in every day. The results and supposed successes of their
experiments were carefully recorded and discussed at their meetings. The meeting
also decided exactly how the works should be carried out.

The Nuremberg Alchemical Society was a branch of the Rosicrucian

Fraternity . . .

The Young Leibniz, who was attracted towards the Nuremberg Society on
account of the Hermetic art, found great pleasure in his uncle’s books . . . In no
time at all he was completely familiar with all the mysteries of alchemy . . .

[246] Now he decided to be accepted as a member by this society with whom he

came into daily contact. To this end he composed an introductory paper, which
produced great astonishment in the society . . . They at once made him their
secretary with responsibility for their secret writings, and as such he even drew a
small salary. He had to make daily records of the processes which were being
 used for the experiments in the laboratory, to conduct correspondence with
foreign members, and also to provide excerpts from the Latin alchemists. He was
in charge of the practical work, and was generally the life and soul of the society,
of which Leibniz was certainly the most famous member. But he retained this post
for only a little over a year. . .

Perhaps it is unfair to single out Morich-Clausthal in this way, since his mistake is only
that of believing what earlier scholars have written. But his article is so perfect a
distillation of all that is false or ungrounded in the various accounts of this episode in
Leibniz’s life, that we could hardly ask for a clearer warning that our interest should be
tempered with circumspection.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

This is not intended as a complete list of all works which happen to mention Leibniz’s
involvement in the alchemical society; but I have tried to include all important references,
together with a random collection of minor ones as examples of received opinion.

Arnold (1955): Paul Arnold, Histoire des Rose-Croix (Paris 1955) pp. 307–3090.
Baruzi (1907): Jean Baruzi, Leibniz et l’organisation religieuse de la terre (Paris 1907)
pp.7, 203.
Belaval (1969): Yvon Belaval, Leibniz, initiation à sa philosophie (Paris 1969) pp. 47–
48.
Bresslau (1870): H. Bresslau, Leibniz als Politiker, in: Zeitschrift für preußische
Geschichte und Landeskunde VII (1870) p. 328.
Buhle (1804): Johann Gottlieb Buhle, Ueber den Ursprung und die vornehmsten
Schicksale der Orden der Rosenkreuzer und Freymaurer (Göttingen 1804) pp. 236–
237.
Couturat (1901): Louis Couturat, La logique de Leibniz (Paris 1901) p. 131, n. 3.
Doberer (1948): K.K. Doberer, The Goldmakers, trans. E.W. Dickes (London 1948) pp.
149– 154.
Eckhart (1717): Johann Georg von Eckhart, Lebensbeschreibung des Freyherrn von
Leibniz (1717), in Murr (1779), pp. 137–140.
Fischer (1902): Kuno Fischer, G.W. Leibniz: Leben, Werke und Lehre, 4. Aufl.
(Heidelberg 1902) p. 48.
Fleckenstein (1958): Joachim Otto Fleckenstein, Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, Barock und
Universalismus (München 1958) p.184.
Fontenelle (1718): Bernard le Bouvier de Fontenelle, Eloge de M. Leibnitz, in: Histoire
de l’Academie Royale des Sciences, Année 1716 (Paris 1718) p. 104.
Grote (1869): Ludwig Grote, Leibniz und seine Zeit (Hannover 1869) pp. 37–40.
Guhrauer (1846): G.E. Guhrauer, Gottfried Wilhelm Freiherr v. Leibniz, Eine Biographie
(Breslau 1846) Vol. I, pp. 45–48.
Harnack (1900): Adolf Harnack, Geschichte der königlichen preußischen Akademie der
Wissenschaften zu Berlin (Berlin 1900) Vol. I, pp. 45–48.
Hochstetter (1948): Erich Hochstetter, Zu Leibniz’s Gedächtnis (Berlin 1948) p.3.
Huber (1951): Kurt Huber, Leibniz (München 1951) pp. 30–32.
Kaemmerer (1892): Hermann Kaemmerer, Chemie, in: Nürnberg. Festschrift dargeboten
der 65. Versammlung der Gesellschaft Deutscher Naturforscher und Ärzte (Nürnberg
1892) pp. 38f.
Keller (1895): Ludwig Keller, Comenius und die Akademien der Naturphilosophen des
17. Jahrhunderts, in: Monatshefte der Comenius-Gesellschaft IV (1895) pp. 90–95.
Keller (1903): Ludwig Keller, Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz und die Deutschen Sozietäten
des 17. Jahrhunderts, in: Monatshefte der Comenius-Gesellschaft XII (1903) pp. 145–
146, 150.
Kistner (1908): Adolf Kistner, Deutsche Physiker und Chemiker (Kempfen 1908) p. 24.
Klopp (1864): Onno Klopp, Die Werke von Leibniz, Erste Reihe (Hannover 1864) Vol. I,
p. XVI.
Kopp (1843): Hermann Kopp, Geschichte der Chemie (Braunschweig 1843) Vol. II,
p.190.
Kopp (1886): Hermann Kopp, Die Alchemie in älterer und neuerer Zeit (Heidelberg
1886) Vol. I, pp. 232–233.
Kreiner (1949): Artur Kreiner, Der junge Leibniz in Altdorf und Nürnberg, 1667 Sekretär
einer alchimistischen Gesellschaft, in: Nürnberger Hefte I. 9 (1949) pp. 12–14.
Kvačala (1899): Jan Kvačala, J.V. Andreä’s Antheil an geheimen Gesellschaften, in: Acta
et Commentationes Imperialis Universitatis Jurevensis VII (1899) Part II, pp. 44–
45.
Le Forestier (1970): René Le Forestier, La Franc-maçonnerie templière et occultiste aux
XVIIIe et XIXe siècles (Paris 1970) p. 65.
Liermann (1971): Hans Liermann, Geistiges und gelehrtes Leben im Zeitalter des Barock
and der Aufklärung, in: Gerhard Pfeiffer (ed.), Nürnberg — Geschichte einer
europäischen Stadt (München 1971) p. 336.
Loemker (1956): G.W. Leibniz, Philosophical Papers and Letters, trans. Leroy E.
Loemker (Chicago 1956) Vol. I, p.8.
Meyer (1952): R.W. Meyer, Leibnitz and the Seventeenth-Century Revolution, trans. J.P.
Stern (Cambridge 1952), p.2.
Morich-Clausthal (1927): H. Morich-Clausthal, Wie Leibniz Alchemist wurde, in: Die
Spinnstube IV (1927) pp. 295–296.
Müller (1954): Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, Sämtliche Schriften and Briefe, Hrsg. von der
Deutschen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin, Reihe I, Band 5, ed. Kurt
Müller & Erik Amburger (Berlin 1954) p.36, n.12.
Müller (1969): Kurt Müller & Gisela Krönert: Leben und Werk von Gottfried Wilhelm
Leibniz. Eine Chronik (Frankfurt am Main 1969) pp. 10–11.
Murr (1779): Christoph Gottlieb von Murr, Journal zur Kunstgeschichte und zur
allgemeinen Literatur VII (Nürnberg 1779) p. 138n.
Murr (1805): Christoph Gottlieb von Murr, Litterarische Nachrichten zu der Geschichte
des sogennanten Goldmachens (Leipzig 1805) pp. 79–85.
Nopitsch (1808): Christian Conrad Nopitsch, 4 supplementary parts (1802–1808) to Will
(1755), Part VIII (1808) p. 424.
Peters (1901): Hermann Peters, Leibniz in seiner Beziehung zur Chemie und den anderen
Naturwissenschaften, in: Chemiker-Zeitung 81 (Cöthen, 9. Oct. 1901) pp. 865866.
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