Rank: Duke · Legions: 31 · Element: Earth · Direction: East · Enn: Rean ganen ayar da Agares
Agares is the second spirit of the Ars Goetia and the first of its dukes — a great Duke who stands first beneath the power of the East. He comes as an old and fair man of mild aspect, riding upon a crocodile with a goshawk perched upon his fist, and that gentle, almost benign appearance conceals a set of powers as varied as they are formidable. He brings back those who have fled and stills those who run; he teaches all the tongues of the world; he casts down false dignities and undermines unjust power; and, the grimoires say, he can shake the very earth. He is, by long report, an approachable and willing teacher despite his might — and in him the seeker meets one of the oldest and most quietly powerful figures of the whole catalogue: the mild old duke whose word returns the runaway, loosens the tongue, humbles the proud, and trembles the ground beneath the mighty.
He comes down to the modern practitioner through the chain of grimoires, his name written as Agares, Agreas, or Aguarès. He appears in Johann Weyer's Pseudomonarchia Daemonum of 1577 as the first duke under the East, and was fixed as the second spirit when that material was gathered into the Ars Goetia, the first book of the Lemegeton or Lesser Key of Solomon. Jacques Collin de Plancy preserved him once more in the Dictionnaire Infernal of 1863, whose engraving fixed his image — the bearded old rider, the crocodile, the hawk — for the modern eye. Across all of these the portrait is remarkably constant: the mild old man, the crocodile, the goshawk, the returning of runaways, the teaching of tongues, the casting-down of dignities, and the shaking of the earth.
Agares's manner of appearing is among the most distinctive in the Goetia, and every element of it carries meaning. He comes as a fair old man — age and wisdom, mildness and experience — yet rides upon a crocodile, that ancient and patient predator of the river's edge, a creature of primordial power and of the threshold between earth and water. Upon his fist he bears a goshawk, the falconer's hunting bird. The combination is deliberate and eloquent: the wisdom of age married to primal, earth-rooted power and to the keen, returning flight of the hawk. His mildness is real, but it is not weakness; it is the calm of something very old and very strong that has no need to threaten. To meet Agares is to meet power wearing the face of a gentle elder.
Of all the details of his form, the goshawk upon his fist is the most telling, for it is the living emblem of his chief power. A trained hawk is loosed to fly far and wide — and then returns, unfailingly, to the falconer's hand. So it is with Agares's most famous gift: he makes those who flee return, and makes those who run stand still. The hawk that always comes back to the fist is the perfect sign of the duke who brings back the runaway, recovers what has departed, and halts the flight of whatever has bolted. Where another spirit's beast is a thing of terror, Agares's hawk is a thing of return — and it marks him, beneath all his other powers, as the great recaller of what has gone.
Within the infernal hierarchy Agares holds the rank of Duke and commands thirty-one legions of spirits, and he holds a particular distinction: he is named the first duke under the power of the East. The grimoires record, too, that before the fall he was of the angelic Order of Virtues — the celestial order associated, in the old angelology, with miracles, steadfastness, and the working of mighty deeds. Something of that origin lingers in him: a spirit of the East and of the dawn, once of an order of power and endurance, now a mild-mannered duke whose gifts still carry the marks of his former estate.
Foremost among Agares's powers is the returning of what has fled. The grimoires state it plainly: he makes those who run stand still, and he brings back runaways. In the old world this meant the return of fled servants, lovers, or any who had bolted; in the modern reading it widens to the recovery of lost things and people, the halting of flight, and the bringing-back of whatever has departed. Some extend it inward as well — the stilling of fleeing, scattered thoughts, the fixing of restless and mercurial energies, the steadying of an unstable situation that threatens to fall apart. In every form the gift is the same: Agares calls back what is running, and stills what will not stand.
Agares teaches all languages, and the grimoires stress the speed of it — the tongues of the world given almost at once. He is the great linguist of the Goetia, sought by those who would learn a language, master communication, or understand what is spoken in unfamiliar speech. The tradition extends this gift, too, beyond ordinary language: to the understanding of codes, ciphers, secret and hidden tongues, and the wordless languages of gesture and sign. His is the gift of comprehension across every barrier of speech — the opening of the ear and the loosening of the tongue.
A darker and more striking power is also his: the grimoires say Agares can destroy dignities, both temporal and supernatural. He casts down rank and authority — and in the reading of many he strips away false dignity in particular: the fraudulent title, the unearned position, the illegitimate or abusive power structure, the pretender propped up by nothing real. Some take this further still, into the work of the spirit: the dismantling of one's own ego, pretense, and false self-importance. It is a power of humbling and of exposure, the toppling of what stands higher than it has any right to — and, like all such powers, it is rightly used against genuine injustice and pretense, not loosed in mere envy or spite.
Last of his recorded powers, and the most elemental, is this: Agares can cause earthquakes. It is the clearest sign of his deep bond with the element of earth and with the chthonic forces beneath the surface of things, and it sits naturally beside the crocodile he rides and the ground his other gifts so often concern. In practical and responsible magic this power is understood symbolically rather than literally — not the loosing of real and harmful tremors, but the shaking of foundations: the upheaval that breaks a stagnant situation open, the tremor that topples what is unstable or unjust, the deep movement that forces a stuck thing, at last, to shift. Agares is the duke who can make the very ground move, and with it the immovable circumstances that rest upon it.
Among practitioners Agares enjoys a reputation that fits his mild appearance: an approachable, willing, and patient spirit, despite the formidable range of his powers. He is not numbered among the fierce or the dangerous; the grimoires describe him as ready to teach and ready to help, an old duke generous with his gifts. He is sought above all for the return of the lost and the fled, for the learning of languages, and for the humbling of false power — and in him the tradition keeps one of its gentler great powers: the fallen Virtue who returns the runaway and loosens the tongue, and whose mildness is the calm of something very old that has nothing left to prove.
Agares re-entered living practice with the occult revival at the turn of the twentieth century, when the Goetia was edited and printed anew — most famously in the 1904 edition of Mathers and Crowley — and passed into working hands. From the demonolatry currents of recent decades he received the spoken Enn by which he is now most often called: Rean ganen ayar da Agares, a chant in the old tongue used to attune the practitioner to his presence. In modern practice his ancient gifts have found new uses: the return of estranged people and lost things, the swift learning of languages for study or travel, the steadying of scattered minds and unstable situations, and the toppling of arrogant or illegitimate authority. The old duke of the East has lost none of his range in the passage of the centuries.
In the living practice of magic Agares is sought by several kinds of seeker. Those who long for someone or something to return — an estranged friend, a lost object, a departed opportunity — come to him as the great recaller. Language-learners and students of communication seek his swift gift of tongues. Those who must contend with arrogant, abusive, or illegitimate power turn to him to humble and expose it. And those whose lives or minds have grown scattered, restless, or stuck seek his stilling, grounding, earth-rooted steadiness, or the upheaval that shakes a frozen situation loose. He is prized as one of the more approachable of the great dukes, willing and patient, and well suited even to those newer to such work.
If a single thread runs through every account of Agares, it is mild and patient power. He is old, calm, and gentle of aspect, willing to teach and slow to threaten, yet beneath that mildness lie gifts that return the fled, loosen every tongue, cast down the proud, and shake the earth itself. He has the patience of the crocodile and the certainty of the hawk that always returns. What he asks is respect and a genuine purpose; what he gives is the recovery of the lost, the gift of understanding, the humbling of false power, and the deep, grounding strength to still what runs and to move what will not. To walk with Agares is to keep company with one of the oldest and steadiest powers of the infernal court — the gentle elder whose quiet word turns runaways home and trembles the ground beneath the mighty.
Agares is described throughout the grimoire tradition as a fair old man, mild and benign of aspect, riding upon a crocodile and carrying a goshawk upon his fist. Every element of the image carries meaning: the old man is age, wisdom, and experience; the crocodile is ancient, patient, primal power and the threshold between earth and water; the goshawk is keen sight, the hunt, and — most of all — the return, the trained bird that always comes back to the hand. His mildness is genuine, and the grimoires stress it, but it is the calm of something very old and very strong rather than any weakness. Practitioners who reach him in vision or meditation describe a presence quite unlike the fierce or fearsome spirits: an old, calm, grounded, and patient intelligence, earthy and steady, sometimes felt as a great weight or stillness rather than seen. Some perceive the bearded rider, the crocodile, or the hawk directly; others feel only a deep, ancient steadiness, a sense of something settled and immovable, or the faint impression of the earth itself. There is rarely fear in the encounter, and often a curious reassurance — the sense of being in the presence of a wise and unhurried elder who has seen a great deal and is in no rush at all. The signs associated with his presence and favour are accordingly earthy and grounding: a deep steadiness or settling; the impression of soil, stone, or the patient weight of the earth; and, in the days that follow, the stirrings of his gifts — the unexpected return of someone or something lost or fled, a language or a difficult communication suddenly coming easier, an arrogant obstacle losing its footing, or a stuck situation beginning at last to move. Dreams of crocodiles, hawks, old men, the earth, or trembling ground are often reported. Across these accounts the common thread is grounded steadiness. Agares manifests as a power of great age and patience, and those who meet him tend to come away not shaken but settled — steadier, and carrying the sense of something long-running finally brought to stand.
Enn: Rean ganen ayar da Agares
Working with Agares is among the steadier and more approachable of the Goetic relationships. He is an old and mild-mannered duke, willing to teach and patient with those who seek him, and he comes not in terror but with the calm of great age. His gifts are practical and wide-ranging — the return of the lost and the fled, the swift learning of tongues, the humbling of false power, and the grounding or upheaval of stuck situations — and he gives them readily to those who approach with respect and a genuine purpose. What follows is a guide to that relationship: how to meet the old duke, and how to work with him in his several domains of return, language, justice, and the moving of the earth.
Agares is approached as one approaches a wise and powerful elder: with respect, patience, and a clear purpose. His mild appearance is no invitation to take him lightly — beneath it lies very old and very real power — but neither does he demand the fearful ceremony of the fiercer spirits. He is, by long report, willing and approachable, generous with his teaching to those who come sincerely. Bring him patience above all, for his is the slow, certain power of the crocodile and the patient earth; he rewards steadiness far more than haste, and answers the composed seeker more readily than the anxious one.
Make a clean and grounded space and set his seal at the centre as the focus of the work. Where tradition is followed, face the East, the quarter of which he is the first duke. Earthy and grounding touches suit his nature — stone, soil, or simple earthen things, and a calm, settled atmosphere. Prepare yourself in the same spirit: steady and ground yourself, set aside restlessness and haste, and come knowing clearly what you seek — what you would have return, what you would learn, what false thing you would see humbled, or what stuck matter you would have move. A calm, grounded, patient bearing is the right state in which to call him.
When the space is ready, light the candle, fix your gaze upon his seal, and recite his Enn — Rean ganen ayar da Agares — slowly and steadily, letting it draw his patient presence near. Greet him with the respect owed an old and noble duke, and state your purpose plainly — the return you seek, the tongue you would learn, the dignity you would see cast down, or the ground you would have shaken. Then settle, and attend with patience to what he gives, for his answers, like his nature, are often unhurried and sure rather than sudden.
Agares is honoured with earthy and grounding offerings: bread, grain, stone or earth, dark or rooted foods, and fine drink, set out with respect. Things of the old and the enduring suit him, as do tokens of the earth he is so bound to. Offer with patience and sincerity rather than in haste; a spirit of such age and steadiness values a genuine, unhurried gift far more than a hurried or showy one, and an offering made calmly, in the same grounded spirit in which he works, honours him best.
This is Agares's most famous gift. Bring him what has fled or been lost — a departed person, a lost object, a strayed opportunity, a situation slipping away — and ask him to bring it back, or to make it stand still. For lost things and strayed circumstances, ask plainly for their recovery. Where the matter concerns a person who has left, the wise and worthy path is the same as in all work touching another's will: ask him to open the way for their return, to clear what drove them off, to draw rather than to drag — not to compel an unwilling heart back against itself, for a return so forced is no true return. And he may be asked, too, to still your own flight — to ground a scattered mind, to halt avoidance, and to make you stand and face what you have been running from.
For the gift of tongues, bring Agares the language you would learn or the communication you would master, and ask for his swift teaching. He is the great linguist of the Goetia, and is sought by students of languages, travellers, and any who must understand or be understood across a barrier of speech — and his gift is said to extend to codes, ciphers, and the wordless languages of sign and gesture. As with all his teaching, pair his aid with your own genuine study and practice; he opens the ear and loosens the tongue, but the learning is still walked, not merely granted.
Agares can cast down dignities, and here the practitioner must work with conscience and care. His is the power to humble the arrogant, to strip away false or fraudulent authority, to expose the unearned title, and to undermine an illegitimate or abusive structure of power. Sought rightly, it is a power of justice and of protection — turned against genuine tyranny, fraud, and the abuse of position, not loosed in mere envy, spite, or ambition for another's place. Some turn it inward as well, asking him to cast down their own ego, pretense, and false self-importance in the work of honest self-knowledge. Ask for the humbling of what is genuinely false and harmful, take responsibility for what you set in motion, and leave true and earned authority untouched.
Agares causes earthquakes — and in responsible practice this is understood as the shaking of foundations rather than the loosing of literal, harmful tremors. Bring him the stuck and the stagnant, the situation frozen past moving, the unstable structure that ought to fall, and ask him to shake it loose — to force the upheaval that breaks a deadlock open, topples what is unsound, and makes a frozen circumstance, at last, begin to move. It is a power for deadlocks and for needed, if disruptive, change; approach it knowing that upheaval is rarely gentle, and ask for it only where the ground genuinely needs to move.
Agares's answer is felt as grounded steadiness. Practitioners describe an old, calm, patient, earthy presence — a sense of weight, settling, or stillness — and, in the days that follow, the stirring of his gifts: the unexpected return of someone or something lost or fled; a language or a difficult communication suddenly coming easier; an arrogant obstacle losing its footing; a frozen situation beginning to move. Dreams of crocodiles, hawks, old men, the earth, or trembling ground are often reported. His way is patient and sure rather than sudden and dramatic, and a deep, grounding steadiness — or the quiet turning-home of something that had run — after a sincere petition is itself among the surest signs that the old duke has heard.
Agares rewards patience and steadiness tended over time. Return to him in gratitude when his gifts arrive, not only in need; keep your purposes honest and your promises kept; and bring to the relationship the same grounded, unhurried steadiness with which he works. Record what you ask and how matters turn, that you may learn his patient, certain way. So tended, the bond settles and deepens, and the old duke of the East becomes a steady, lasting ally — one who returns the lost, opens the tongue, humbles the false, and keeps the ground sure beneath your work.
With Agares the cautions are mostly ethical and practical. In matters of return that touch another's will, draw and open rather than compel — a person forced back is not truly returned. Use his power to cast down dignities only against genuine fraud, abuse, and tyranny, never in mere envy or spite, and take responsibility for what you topple. Understand his earthquakes as the shaking of foundations, not as the loosing of literal harm. Respect his age and power despite his mildness, and do not mistake his patience for weakness or summon him idly. Approached with respect, patience, and an honest purpose, Agares is among the steadiest and most generous of the great dukes — the gentle elder whose quiet word brings the runaway home and moves the immovable ground.