The history of elves and gonks

 The Jolly Little Helpers: A Whirlwind Tour of Christmas Elves and Gonks

Ah, Christmas and Yule  – that magical time of year when the air smells like cinnamon, cookies vanish mysteriously, and tiny bearded fellows seem to be everywhere, from shelves to workshops. But wait: are those pointy-eared toy-makers in striped stockings the same as those fluffy, hat-over-the-eyes gnomes peeking from your mantelpiece? Spoiler alert: no! Welcome to the delightfully tangled history and folklore of Christmas elves and gonks – two festive favourites with roots in mischief, magic, and a serious love for porridge.

Let’s start with the elves, those hyper-efficient North Pole interns we all know and love. Picture this: a bustling workshop, hammers clinking, reindeer munching carrots, and dozens of green-clad, pointy-eared sprites dashing about making toys.

But these elves weren’t always Santa’s overworked staff. Their story goes way back to ancient Norse mythology, where “álfar” (elves) were ethereal beings – sometimes beautiful light elves shining brighter than the sun, sometimes sneaky dark ones lurking underground. 

Fast-forward through centuries of European folklore, and elves pop up as tricksters: helpful one minute (like in the Brothers Grimm’s “The Elves and the Shoemaker,” where they secretly cobble shoes overnight), pranksters the next (blaming tangled hair on “elf-locks”).

The big Christmas glow-up happened in the 19th century. In 1823, Clement Clarke Moore’s poem “A Visit from St. Nicholas” (you know, “’Twas the Night Before Christmas”) called Santa himself a “jolly old elf” – tiny, magical, and dashing with reindeer.

Soon, illustrators like those in Godey’s Lady’s Book (1873) surrounded Santa with a crew of diminutive helpers. By the early 20th century, especially in America, elves became Santa’s toy factory workforce – cheerful, industrious, and eternally youthful. Today, they’re the stars of movies, ads, and that pesky “Elf on the Shelf” tradition (which, let’s be honest, is just organized parental mischief).

All About Elf on the Shelf: Santa’s Sneaky Little Scout

If you’ve got kids (or just scroll through holiday social media), you’ve probably encountered the Elf on the Shelf – that wide-eyed, red-suited doll who turns December into a month-long game of hide-and-seek with a side of behavioral surveillance. Love it or loathe it (parents, we see those 3 a.m. panic moves), it’s become a modern Christmas staple. Here’s the full scoop on this cheeky tradition!

The Origin Story

The Elf on the Shelf isn’t some ancient folklore – it’s a relatively new invention with wholesome family roots. It started in the 1970s with Carol Aebersold and her family in Georgia, USA. Carol had a pixie elf doll named Fisbee from her own childhood. In 1974, she introduced Fisbee to her three kids (including twins Chanda Bell and Christa Pitts), explaining that the elf watched their behavior during the day and flew back to the North Pole each night to report to Santa.

Fast-forward to 2004: Chanda Bell suggested turning this family tradition into a book. Carol and Chanda wrote the rhyming story, illustrated by Coë Steinwart, and in 2005, they self-published The Elf on the Shelf: A Christmas Tradition. Christa Pitts joined to handle marketing. Initially rejected by every publisher, they sold it themselves – and boom! It exploded in popularity, especially after celebrity sightings (like Jennifer Garner) and media buzz in 2007.

Today, it’s run by The Lumistella Company (founded by the family), which has expanded into a massive “Santaverse” with movies, musicals, parades, and more.

Now, pivot to the gonks – those squat, bearded blobs with oversized hats flopping over their eyes, looking like they’ve just rolled out of a cozy Nordic cabin.

“Gonk” is a quirky British term (popularized in the 1960s-70s for plush toys), but these are really the ancient Scandinavian tomte (Sweden), nisse (Norway/Denmark), or tonttu (Finland). Rooted in pre-Christian folklore, these solitary household spirits guarded farms and homes. Small (often elderly-man sized but shrunk), bearded, and dressed in simple farmer clothes with a conical hat, they were protectors: helping with chores at night, watching livestock, bringing good fortune – but only if respected!

Offend a tomte/nisse? Forget the porridge (julgröt) with a big pat of butter on Christmas Eve? Oh boy. They’d tie cows’ tails, hide tools, or worse – sabotage the farm. These guys were temperamental guardians, not toy-makers. Their Christmas tie-in grew in the 19th century, blending with St. Nicholas traditions; in some places, the jultomte/julenisse became the gift-bringer himself. Today, gonks are hygge personified – plush decorations symbolising warmth, luck, and a nod to those old winter solstice spirits.

So, elves vs. gonks? Elves are Santa’s energetic crew: pointy ears, colorful outfits, North Pole hustle. Gonks are chill home guardians: hidden faces, earthy vibes, porridge enthusiasts. One’s about global toy delivery frenzy; the other’s about quiet farm protection (with a side of pranks).

In the end, both remind us Christmas magic comes from ancient tales of helpful (and slightly naughty) little beings. Whether you’re team elf (go, workshop warriors!) or team gonk (porridge for everyone!), these folklore favorites add that extra sparkle – and maybe a bit of mischief – to the season. Just remember: leave out cookies for elves… and buttery porridge for gonks. You don’t want tangled reindeer reins or knotted cow tails this year!

The Yule Log

 The Cozy Glow of the Yule Log: From Ancient Fires to Modern Treats

Picture this: It’s a chilly winter evening, the shortest day of the year has just passed, and your family gathers around a massive log crackling in the hearth, flames dancing as stories are told and hopes for the new year flicker to life. That’s the essence of the Yule log tradition – a ritual that’s warmed hearts for centuries, symbolizing light triumphing over darkness. But like many holiday customs, it’s evolved in fascinating ways, from pagan bonfires to chocolate cakes and even TV screens.

The roots go way back to pre-Christian Europe, tied to winter solstice celebrations. Ancient Norse and Germanic peoples celebrated “Yule” (or jól) around the solstice, marking the sun’s rebirth with feasting, fires, and evergreens. Burning a huge log – often oak, ash, or birch – was thought to bring good luck, protect against evil, and ensure fertility for crops. The log was chosen ceremoniously, sometimes decorated, sprinkled with wine or oil, and meant to burn for days (ideally 12, echoing the 12 days of Christmas later on). Ashes were saved for protection or scattered on fields.

The Yule Log and Its Ties to Paganism: A Blurry but Fascinating Connection

Okay, let’s dive into this cozy holiday staple – is the Yule log truly a pagan relic, or more of a medieval mash-up? The short answer: It’s complicated. Popular culture loves to call it an ancient pagan ritual, straight from Norse or Germanic winter solstice vibes, but scholars are more cautious. The tradition has strong associations with paganism through its name, symbolism, and timing, but the hard evidence for the specific “burn a massive log” custom points to medieval Christian Europe, with possible (but unproven) deeper roots.

The word “Yule” itself is undeniably pagan. It comes from Old English “geōl” or Old Norse “jól,” referring to a midwinter festival celebrated by Germanic and Scandinavian peoples long before Christianity arrived. These pre-Christian Yule celebrations marked the winter solstice – the longest night, when the sun “returns” – with feasting, bonfires, and rituals to honor the rebirth of light. Fires were big in solstice traditions across ancient Europe (think Romans, Celts, and Norse), symbolizing warmth, protection from evil, and the sun’s victory over darkness.

Many sources link the Yule log directly to these pagan roots: a huge log (sometimes a whole tree trunk) burned to bring good luck, fertility, and sunlight’s return. Ashes were scattered for protection or crops, and it tied into gods like Thor or Odin. Modern neo-pagans enthusiastically revive it as a solstice ritual, burning logs with intentions for the new year.

But here’s the scholarly caveat: The earliest documented evidence of burning a special “Christmas log” dates to the 12th century (around 1184 CE in Europe), and in England, it’s not mentioned until the 17th century (first as “Christmas log” in 1648 poetry, then “Yule log” soon after). Historians like Ronald Hutton argue it’s likely a medieval invention that spread across Christian Europe, later retroactively tied to pagan Yule because “Yule” just meant “Christmas season” by then. Early church writings condemn pagan fire rituals around January, but nothing exactly matches the Yule log – more like not sharing hearth fire or offerings to stumps

As Christianity spread, the tradition got a makeover. By medieval times in places like France, England, and Scandinavia, the log became part of Christmas Eve rituals. It represented Christ’s light in the darkness or warmth for the holy family. Families would drag in a massive trunk (sometimes the whole tree!), light it with a piece saved from last year, and keep it going through the holidays. Superstitions abounded: If it went out early, bad luck; if shadows danced weirdly, watch out for misfortune.

Scholars debate how “pagan” it really was – some evidence points to it being more of a medieval Christian custom that borrowed the name “Yule” (an old word for the season) – but either way, it blended beautifully into holiday folklore.

Fast-forward to the 19th century in France, when fireplaces started shrinking in urban homes (thanks, Napoleon-era chimney regulations or just city life?). The real log became impractical, so clever pâtissiers turned it into dessert: the bûche de Noël! This rolled sponge cake, filled with buttercream and frosted to look like bark (complete with meringue mushrooms and powdered-sugar snow), first popped up around the 1830s-1870s, with recipes documented by the late 1800s. It was a sweet nod to the old ritual, perfect for the table instead of the hearth.

Then came the 20th century’s genius twist: the TV Yule log. In 1966, New York station WPIX filmed a roaring fireplace at Gracie Mansion, looped it with holiday tunes, and aired it on Christmas Eve. Why? To give apartment dwellers without fireplaces that cozy vibe – and let station staff go home early! It was a hit, running for hours commercial-free. They refilmed it in 1970 for better quality, and it became a beloved tradition, revived in 2001 after fan petitions. Now, it’s streamed everywhere, with countless YouTube versions (some with cats, jazz, or even Star Wars twists).

Today, whether you’re burning a real log (rare but still done in some rural spots), slicing into a decadent bûche, or queuing up a crackling video with cocoa in hand, the Yule log reminds us of the same thing: In the deepest winter, light and warmth always return.

The history of the Christmas Tree

 The Magic of the Christmas Tree: A Timeless Tradition

Ah, the Christmas tree – that glorious, twinkling centerpiece of holiday cheer that somehow makes even the messiest living room feel magical. Every year, millions of us drag a pine (or fake one) into our homes, string it with lights, and hang ornaments while blasting carols. But have you ever stopped mid-tinsel to wonder where this all came from? The Christmas tree has a fascinating backstory, blending ancient rituals, religious symbolism, and a dash of royal influence, and it’s way more significant than just a spot to stash presents.

Let’s rewind to the very beginning. Long before twinkling lights or glass baubles, evergreens were revered in ancient cultures for staying green through brutal winters – a bold symbol of life triumphing over death. The Egyptians brought palm branches indoors during the winter solstice to celebrate their sun god Ra’s recovery. Romans decked their homes with evergreen boughs for Saturnalia, hoping for a bountiful spring. Druids and Vikings did similar things, using evergreens to ward off evil or honor gods. Basically, humans have been obsessed with “hey, this plant doesn’t die in the cold!” for millennia. 

Fast-forward to medieval Europe, and things get more Christmas-y. In Germany around the 16th century, the modern Christmas tree as we know it started taking shape. Devout Christians brought fir trees indoors, decorating them as “Paradise trees” to represent the Garden of Eden – complete with apples for the forbidden fruit and wafers for redemption. There’s a charming (if likely apocryphal) legend about Martin Luther wandering through a snowy forest, awestruck by stars twinkling through branches, and deciding to recreate the scene at home with candles on a tree. Germany gets the credit for kicking off the indoor decorated tree tradition, often with nuts, fruits, and those risky real candles

By the 19th century, the trend exploded. German immigrants took it to America, but it really went viral thanks to British royalty. Queen Victoria and her German-born husband, Prince Albert, set up a lavish tree at Windsor Castle, and when an illustration of their family gathered around it hit the newspapers in 1848, everyone wanted one. Suddenly, Christmas trees were the height of fashion across England and the U.S.

So, what’s the deeper significance? At its core, the Christmas tree is a powerful symbol of hope and renewal. The evergreen represents eternal life, tying into Christian ideas of Jesus as the light of the world (hence the candles and lights). The triangular shape points heavenward, ornaments evoke stars or fruits of paradise, and the star or angel on top recalls the Bethlehem star or heavenly messengers. But it’s evolved beyond religion – today, it’s a secular beacon of joy, family bonding, and that cozy winter magic.

Around the world, the tradition twists in fun ways. In Germany, trees are often decorated secretly and revealed on Christmas Eve. Norway gifts massive trees to cities like London as thanks for WWII aid. Some places use unique “trees” – like Georgia’s curly hazelnut branch chichilaki or tropical adaptations in warmer climates. But everywhere, it’s about gathering loved ones. Of course, Pagans and witches also put up trees at this time usually for Yule Tide but its meaning and symbolism is essentially the same minus of course the Christian bits and with added pagan decorations and historical significance.

In the end, whether your tree is a towering real fir scented with pine or a minimalist artificial one, it’s more than decor. It’s a thread connecting us to ancient solstice celebrations, medieval faith, and Victorian whimsy – a reminder that even in the darkest season, there’s light, life, and a reason to celebrate together.

Who was Eliphas Levi

 Éliphas Lévi and “As Above, So Below”

Éliphas Lévi (1810–1875), born Alphonse Louis Constant, is the single most important figure in turning the ancient Hermetic maxim “as above, so below” into the foundational principle of modern Western occultism. More than any alchemist, Rosicrucian, or Renaissance magus before him, Lévi transformed the phrase from an alchemical or cosmological observation into the supreme law of magic itself.

Lévi’s Famous Formulation (1855–1856)

In his two masterpieces — Dogme et Rituel de la Haute Magie (1855–1856, translated as Transcendental Magic) — Lévi repeatedly returns to the Emerald Tablet and gives the axiom its classic 19th-century occult form:

“The Great Magical Arcanum is summed up in the words of Hermes: ‘That which is above is like that which is below, and that which is below is like that which is above.’

There is a single law for the infinite and the finite, for the visible and the invisible, for heaven and earth.

The microcosm (man) is identical in organization and essence with the macrocosm (the universe).

To know one is to know the other; to act on one is to act on the other.”

For Lévi, this is not poetry or vague mysticism. It is the mechanism by which magic works.

 

The Astral Light: The Medium of Correspondence

Lévi’s greatest original contribution is his doctrine of the Astral Light (Lumière Astrale), a universal plastic mediator that fills all space and serves as the common substance of souls, stars, and physical matter.

•  The Astral Light is the “great agent” of the Emerald Tablet (the Wind that carries the child in its womb).

•  It is polarized: it has an active (above) and a passive (below) face.

•  Every thought, desire, or ritual gesture impresses a form on this fluid, and because of the law “as above, so below,” the impression on the invisible plane must eventually manifest on the visible plane — and vice versa.

In short: the Astral Light is the living proof that the macrocosm and microcosm are not just analogous; they are linked by a real, tangible medium that the trained will can manipulate.

Human Being as the Living Pentagram

Lévi’s most iconic illustration is the Baphomet drawing (the “Sabbatic Goat”) in Dogme et Rituel. The caption reads:

“The Goat of Mendes… bears the signs of the Pentagram on its forehead… because, as Hermes said, ‘That which is below is like that which is above…’

The magician who raises his arm towards heaven and points downward with the other is the living image of the law: he becomes the Pantacle of the Great Arcanum.”

For Lévi, the upright human body with arms raised and one foot forward is the Pentagram incarnate — the microcosmic mirror of the five elements, five planets, and five wounds of Christ. When the magician assumes this posture and pronounces the correct words, he literally becomes the conduit through which the “above” descends into the “below.”

Practical Magic as Applied Correspondence

Lévi turns the axiom into a complete magical technology:

•  To heal a sick organ (below), invoke the planetary force that corresponds to it (above).

•  To bind a spirit, draw its sigil on earth at the exact moment the corresponding star is culminating in heaven.

•  To gain power over another person, work on the astral image of that person, because the astral double and the physical body are linked by unbreakable sympathy.

This is why Lévi insists that “the magician must know astrology, physiology, and the correspondences of the Kabbalah,” because all these sciences are simply tables of the single law of analogy.

Influence and Legacy

Lévi’s interpretation became the DNA of almost every subsequent occult movement:

•  The Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn built its entire system of correspondences (Tree of Life, colors, planets, tarot, etc.) on Lévi’s version of “as above, so below.”

•  The famous Golden Dawn ritual gesture of the “Sign of the Enterer” and the “Sign of Silence” is a direct enactment of the ascent/descent cycle in the Emerald Tablet.

•  Aleister Crowley’s core definition of magick — “the Science and Art of causing Change to occur in conformity with Will” — is unthinkable without Lévi’s prior insistence that the law of analogy makes such causation possible.

•  Even the New Age “law of attraction” is a highly diluted descendant of Lévi’s Astral Light doctrine.

Lévi’s Final Word

In the conclusion of Dogme et Rituel, he writes:

“The entire magical work consists in ascending consciously, by the ladder of the four worlds and the thirty-two paths of the Kabbalah, from earth to heaven, and then descending again charged with the power of the things above, to command the things below.”

For Éliphas Lévi, “as above, so below” is not a mystical truism. It is the operating manual of the universe — and the magician who truly understands it becomes, in his own words, “the king of the visible and invisible worlds.”

No one before or since has made the ancient Hermetic axiom feel so alive, so dangerous, and so absolutely practical.

Éliphas Lévi’s Baphomet (1856): A Complete Key to the Symbolism

The famous drawing appears as the frontispiece to the second volume of Dogme et Rituel de la Haute Magie (1856). Lévi himself titled it “The Goat of Mendes” and later simply “Baphomet.” It is not a devil, not a deity to be worshipped, and certainly not a random satanic fantasy. It is, in Lévi’s own words, “the hieroglyphic image of the Great Magical Arcanum,” the synthesized emblem of the entire occult doctrine “As above, so below.”

Here is what every major element actually means according to Lévi’s own explanations (scattered through Dogme et Rituel, Histoire de la Magie, and his letters):

Overall Posture and Gesture

•  Androgynous winged goat-headed figure seated in a perfect frontal pose on a stone cube.

•  Right hand points upward to a white moon, left hand points downward to a black moon → the solved Great Arcanum: “That which is above is like that which is below.”

•  The posture is the exact living embodiment of Hermes Trismegistus’ law. The figure itself IS the solved Emerald Tablet.

Head and Face

•  Goat’s head: the traditional symbol of the element Earth and of the generative force in nature (the same goat that pulls Thor’s chariot, that was sacrificed in ancient rites, etc.).

•  Torch between the horns: the flame of Intelligence, the Promethean fire, the divine spark in matter.

•  Pentagram on the forehead (point upward): the dominion of Spirit over the four elements; the human being who has achieved magical equilibrium.

Torso and Breasts

•  Female breasts + visible phallus (caduceus rising from the groin): perfect androgyne, the Rebis of alchemy (rebis = res bina, “double thing”). The solved Mercury, male-female united.

•  Dark and light breasts: the duality of forces (mercy/severity, attraction/repulsion) reconciled in the Adept.

Arms and Hands

•  Arms bear the Latin words SOLVE (left) and COAGULA (right): the great alchemical rhythm — dissolve and coagulate, separate and join. The entire magical process in two words.

•  The same words appear on the arms of the Baphomet in Crowley’s Thoth Tarot Trump XV, showing direct descent.

Wings

•  Bat-like or dragon wings: the sublimated volatile principle, the power of ascent from earth to heaven (line 8 of the Emerald Tablet).

Lower Body

•  Scaled reptilian legs ending in hooves: the mastery of the lowest, most material forces.

•  Seated on a stone cube: the Cube of Perfection, the philosophical salt, the fixed and perfected matter.

Caduceus Rising from the Groin

•  The twin serpents of the caduceus intertwine around a central rod that rises from the genitals.

•  Exact symbol of equilibrated desire: sexual energy transmuted into spiritual force. Kundalini, the serpent power, raised and balanced.

The Two Moons (on the pedestal in some versions)

•  Crescent moons, one white, one black, with the figure pointing to both.

•  The solved lunar polarity: the Astral Light in its dual aspect.

The Surrounding Elements (in the full plate)

•  Two chained figures (sometimes shown, sometimes omitted): humanity before initiation — bound to matter.

•  The stone globe or black sphere behind: the primordial chaos that the Adept has ordered.

Lévi’s Own Summary Statements

•  “The goat… represents the equilibrated forces of nature, the synthesis of all dogmas, the universal equilibrium.”

•  “Baphomet is the hieroglyph of magical omnipotence… the image of the Pantheomorphic Absolute.”

•  “If one were to pronounce the divine name while making the sign of Baphomet (arms in the ‘as above, so below’ gesture), one would evoke the creative force itself.”

Crucial Point: Baphomet Is Not Satan

Lévi explicitly contrasts his figure with the Christian Devil:

“The devil of the Christians is nothing but a perversion of our goat… We rehabilitate the true Baphomet, the great magical agent in its unity.”

For Lévi, the Christian Satan is the Astral Light misused and unbalanced; Baphomet is the Astral Light mastered and equilibrated.

Legacy

Every subsequent depiction of Baphomet — from the Golden Dawn, to the Taxil hoax, to LaVey’s Church of Satan sigil, to modern metal album covers — derives ultimately from Lévi’s 1856 drawing, but almost always loses the original meaning. Lévi’s Baphomet is not evil, not a being to worship, and not a historical Templar idol. It is a philosophical and magical synthesis: the human being who has become the living bridge between heaven and earth, the perfect illustration of the solved Hermetic maxim “As  above, so below.”