Rank: Marquis · Legions: 40 · Element: Fire · Direction: East · Enn: Avage secore Amon ninan
Among the seventy-two spirits of the Ars Goetia, Amon wears one of the most fearsome forms and turns it to one of the gentlest ends. He is set down as a Great Marquis of the Lesser Key, the seventh spirit, commanding forty legions, and he comes as a wolf with a serpent's tail, breathing fire — an image of pure ferocity. Yet his office is the mending of what is broken: Amon is the great reconciler of the Goetia, the spirit who ends feuds and settles quarrels, who restores broken friendships and kindles love, and who reveals truly the things of past and future. There is a striking paradox at the heart of him — a terrible shape set to peaceful work — and it makes him one of the most valued and surprisingly constructive of all the spirits. To study Amon is to learn that ferocity and reconciliation are not opposites, and that the fiercest-seeming power in the catalogue may be the one most willing to make peace.
He comes down to the modern practitioner through the chain of grimoires, his name written as Amon or Aamon. He appears in Johann Weyer's Pseudomonarchia Daemonum of 1577 as a great and mighty marquis, and was fixed as the seventh 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. Across these sources the portrait is constant: the fiery wolf with the serpent's tail, the raven-headed human form, the knowledge of past and future, and — most distinctively — the reconciling of quarrels.
The origin of the name Amon has long fascinated demonologists, for it echoes one of the greatest names of the ancient world: Amun, also written Amon or Ammon, the hidden and supreme god of Egyptian Thebes, lord of the unseen air and king of the gods, whose worship endured for thousands of years; some have heard in it also the Carthaginian Baal-Hammon. The resemblance is striking, and many writers, from older demonographers to modern occultists, have proposed that the Goetic Amon is a demonised memory of that Egyptian deity, recast as a devil as the old gods so often were. It must be said plainly, however, that this is a proposed connection and not an established fact: the true derivation of the grimoire name is uncertain and debated among scholars, and the echo, however suggestive, may be coincidence as much as inheritance. What can be said with confidence is that the name has carried this resonance of an ancient, hidden divinity for centuries, and that the resonance colours how many approach him — but the careful seeker should hold the link as an intriguing possibility rather than a settled truth.
Amon's first form is among the most vivid in the Goetia. He appears as a wolf — the cunning, tireless hunter — but bearing the tail of a serpent, and from his mouth he vomits flames of fire. Each element carries old meaning. The wolf is predatory intelligence and the bond of the pack, fierce loyalty and the hunt; the serpent is ancient wisdom, the keeper of hidden knowledge, the creature of the threshold; the fire is power, passion, and transformation. Together they make an image of formidable, primal force — and it is worth holding in mind that this ferocity belongs to a spirit whose work is peace, for in Amon the fierce energies are not loosed to destroy but harnessed to resolve.
When the magician commands him to take a human form, Amon does not become wholly gentle. He appears, the grimoires say, as a man bearing the head of a raven — in many accounts set with the teeth of a dog — retaining the beast even in human shape. The raven is among the most meaningful of birds in the old symbolism: the carrier of prophecy and omen, the keeper of memory, the bird of the threshold between life and death, present always at the edges of the unseen. That Amon wears its head in his speaking form suits him exactly, for it is in this shape that he reveals the past and foretells what is to come. The dog's teeth keep the wolf's bite within the man — a reminder that his constructive office is backed by real and formidable power.
Within the infernal hierarchy Amon holds the rank of Great Marquis and commands forty legions of spirits. Weyer calls him great and mighty, and he is counted among the stronger marquises of the Goetia — no minor spirit, but a power of real weight. His strength, however, is turned to particular ends: not war or terror, but knowledge, love, and the mending of conflict. He is a marquis whose might serves reconciliation, and that is the key to understanding both his fearsome form and his gentle work.
Among Amon's gifts is a clear and double sight: he reveals the past truly and perfectly, and he foretells the things that are to come. This is the raven's gift, the knowledge that reaches both backward and forward in time, and it makes him a spirit of prophecy and of memory alike. He is sought to uncover what was — the buried history of a matter, the true origin of a quarrel, the facts behind a confusion — and to foresee what will be. And this foresight is not separate from his reconciling work but bound to it: for to mend a conflict, one must often first understand how it began and where it is tending, and Amon gives both the looking-back and the looking-ahead that genuine peace requires.
Here is the gift for which Amon is most distinctive and most valued. He reconciles controversies between friends and foes alike — he ends feuds, settles quarrels, heals breaches, and restores broken bonds. Where so many of the Goetic spirits are sought to gain, to harm, or to compel, Amon is sought to mend: to bring estranged friends back together, to cool a bitter dispute, to find resolution in a conflict that has hardened past reason. The old texts note his value in matters of feud and controversy; modern practitioners turn to him for relationship conflicts, family estrangements, legal disputes, and quarrels of every kind. His is a fiery reconciliation — passionate resolution rather than cold compromise, as befits a flame-breathing spirit — but reconciliation it truly is, and few powers in the whole tradition are so squarely set toward peace.
Alongside the mending of quarrels, Amon procures love and friendship — and the two gifts are of a piece. He both kindles affection where it is wanted and restores it where it has been broken, making him a spirit of bonds in every sense: their making, their deepening, and their repair. He is sought to draw love, to strengthen a friendship, to warm a relationship grown cold, and to knit together what estrangement has torn. In this he complements his reconciling office perfectly, for love and friendship are the very bonds that quarrels break, and Amon tends to both the wound and the tie.
The deepest truth of Amon is the paradox he embodies: a spirit of terrible aspect — the fire-breathing wolf, the raven-headed man with a dog's teeth — whose work is love, friendship, and the making of peace. The contrast is not a contradiction but a teaching. Reconciliation is not a weak or passive thing; it can take real force to break the grip of a feud, real fire to burn away a hardened resentment, real fierceness to bring enemies back to the table. Amon's terrible form is the measure of the power his gentle work requires. He reminds the seeker that peace is not the absence of strength but the turning of strength toward healing — and that the fiercest energies, rightly directed, are exactly what mending often demands.
Among practitioners Amon holds a reputation that surprises those who know only his form: a fierce-looking but genuinely constructive spirit, valued above all for reconciliation, love, and knowledge rather than feared for harm. He is described as strong, intense, and cunning, but his office is benevolent in its aims — the restoring of bonds and the settling of strife. In him the tradition keeps one of its quiet correctives to the assumption that every infernal spirit is malevolent: here is a great marquis of frightening shape whose chief work is to make peace and to bring people back together, and who is sought, again and again, not to wound but to heal.
Amon 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: Avage secore Amon ninan, a chant in the old tongue used to attune the practitioner to his presence. In modern practice his reconciling office has made him especially beloved: where the medieval texts noted his value in feuds and controversies, today he is sought constantly for the conflicts of ordinary life — estrangements, broken friendships, family rifts, troubled relationships, and disputes of every kind — as well as for love and for the knowledge of past and future that has always been his.
In the living practice of magic Amon is sought, above all, by those who would mend what is broken. People come to him with estranged friends and family, with relationships gone cold or bitter, with feuds and disputes and conflicts they long to resolve; and he is sought, too, for love, for friendship, and for the clear knowledge of past and future that helps a tangled matter come clear. He is prized as a spirit whose fearsome look belies a constructive and benevolent office, and one whose help arrives as the softening of hardened hearts, the opening of closed doors, and the slow return of peace. Those who treat with him faithfully — with respect, and with a genuine desire for reconciliation rather than for victory — describe a powerful ally in the healing of bonds.
If a single thread runs through every account of Amon, it is fierce reconciliation. He is terrible in form and constructive in purpose, strong and cunning and fiery, yet turned toward love, friendship, and peace; he reveals the past and foresees the future, and uses both to mend. What he asks is respect and a sincere desire for genuine resolution — not the manipulation of others, but true peace and true connection. What he gives is the healing of broken bonds, the kindling of love and friendship, and the knowledge to understand a conflict from its root to its end. To walk with Amon is to learn that the fiercest power can be the gentlest in its aim, and that there is, even in the infernal catalogue, a great spirit whose work is to bring what has been torn apart back together.
Amon is described throughout the grimoire tradition as appearing first in a fearsome bestial form: a wolf with the tail of a serpent, vomiting flames of fire from his mouth. When the magician commands him to take a human shape, he appears as a man bearing the head of a raven — in many accounts set with the sharp teeth of a dog — retaining something of the beast even in human form. Each feature carries meaning: the wolf's cunning and ferocity, the serpent's ancient wisdom, the fire's power, and the raven's long association with prophecy, memory, and the threshold of the unseen. Practitioners who reach him in vision or meditation describe a presence that is intense and formidable but rarely simply hostile. The first impression is often of fierce energy, of something powerful, cunning, and watchful — sometimes the wolf, sometimes the dark raven-headed figure — yet many report, beneath the ferity, an undercurrent of focus turned toward resolution: a sense of a strong intelligence weighing a matter, looking to settle it rather than to destroy. Some perceive the forms directly; others feel only a fierce, intelligent heat and a strange impression of being understood. The signs associated with his presence and favour are accordingly fierce yet constructive: an intensity that settles into clarity; the impression of fire, of wolves or ravens, of a watchful intelligence; dreams of birds, wolves, serpents, or fire, or of conflicts resolving; and, very characteristically, a sudden softening in a strained relationship, an unexpected opening toward reconciliation, knowledge of a past matter surfacing, or a clear sense of how a conflict will turn. Across these accounts the common thread is fierce resolution. Amon manifests as a powerful and formidable spirit whose energy, for all its ferocity, bends toward mending — and those who meet him with respect and a sincere wish for peace tend to come away not frightened but strengthened, carrying a new clarity about how a broken thing might be made whole.
Enn: Avage secore Amon ninan
Working with Amon is, for all the ferocity of his form, oriented toward the gentlest of ends: the mending of what is broken. He is a strong and fierce marquis, but his great offices — reconciliation, love and friendship, and the knowledge of past and future — are constructive ones, and he is approached not to wound but to heal. He asks respect, and he asks above all sincerity, for his is the work of genuine peace and genuine connection, which cannot be faked or forced. What follows is a guide to that relationship: how to meet him past his fearsome shape, and how to work with him in his great domains of reconciliation, love, and knowledge.
The first thing to understand about Amon is not to be unsettled by his form. He comes as a fire-breathing wolf with a serpent's tail, and even in human shape he keeps the raven's head and the dog's teeth; it is a fearsome sight. But his office is constructive, and the ferocity is the measure of his power, not of any malice. Meet him with steady respect, as a strong and capable ally rather than a monster, and — if it eases the work — command him to take his human form, in which he speaks of the past and the future. Composure and respect are the proper bearing; his fierceness answers to a steady hand, not to fear.
Make a clean and ordered space and set his seal at the centre as the focus of the work. Prepare yourself, above all, in intent — for Amon's chief gifts are the healing of bonds, and these demand honesty about what you truly seek. If you come for reconciliation, come genuinely wanting peace and ready to do your own part in it; if for love or friendship, come with a true and open heart; if for knowledge, come ready to hear the real history or the likely future, even if it is not what you hoped. A sincere desire for genuine resolution is the ground on which all work with Amon is best built.
When the space is ready, light the candle, fix your gaze upon his seal, and recite his Enn — Avage secore Amon ninan — slowly and steadily, letting it draw his presence near. Greet him with respect as a Great Marquis, and, if you wish, ask him to put on his human form so that he may speak clearly. State your purpose plainly — the bond you would mend, the love you would kindle, the truth of past or future you would know — and then attend, with composure, to what he gives.
Amon is honoured with offerings suited to a strong and fiery spirit: rich or warm incense, fine wine or strong drink, dark or hearty fare, and tokens of fire. Because his work is the mending of bonds, offerings that carry the spirit of peace and connection suit him well — and an offering made in the same sincere spirit as the reconciliation you seek honours him doubly. Offer with respect and genuine feeling; a spirit whose office is the healing of relationships responds to authenticity far more than to mere form.
This is Amon's great and most distinctive gift. Bring him the broken bond — the feud, the quarrel, the estrangement, the relationship gone cold, the dispute that has hardened past reason — and ask him to reconcile it. He ends controversies between friends and foes alike, and is sought for family rifts, lost friendships, troubled partnerships, and conflicts of every kind. Approach this work honestly: ask for genuine peace and mutual understanding, not for the other party's defeat or for a false surface calm; and be willing to do your own part, to soften where you have hardened, for true reconciliation is never one-sided. Worked in that spirit, Amon is among the surest of all the spirits for the healing of strife — bringing, in his fiery way, the warmth that thaws a frozen bond.
Amon both kindles bonds and restores them. Bring him the love you would draw, the friendship you would deepen, or the affection that has grown cold or been broken, and ask for his help in making or mending it. As with all work upon the bonds between people, the wise and worthy path is to ask him to draw, to warm, and to open — to make you magnetic and ready, to thaw what has frozen, to clear the way to willing connection — rather than to compel an unwilling heart. Love and friendship freely given are the bonds worth having, and worth asking for; Amon, the mender of bonds, is well suited to help them form and to heal them when they break.
For knowledge, ask Amon — best in his human, raven-headed form — to reveal the past or to foretell what is to come. He reveals the past truly and perfectly and foresees the future, and is sought for divination in both directions of time: to uncover the real history of a matter, the hidden origin of a quarrel, the truth behind a confusion, or the likely course of things to come. This sight pairs naturally with his reconciling work, for understanding how a conflict began and where it is tending is often the first real step toward ending it. Ask a clear question, attend to what surfaces, and weigh it with a steady mind.
Amon's gifts combine into a single, powerful practice: the resolution of conflict. Bring him a dispute in its fullness — use his foresight to understand its true history and its likely course, and his reconciling power to soften the hearts involved and open the way to peace. He is turned to for legal disputes, family estrangements, workplace conflicts, and quarrels of every kind, and his particular strength is that he offers both the understanding and the healing: first the clear sight of what the matter really is, then the fiery warmth that can thaw it. Approach with a genuine wish for resolution rather than victory, and do the human work — the conversation, the concession, the reaching-out — that his help opens the way for.
Amon's answer is felt as fierce intelligence turning toward peace. Practitioners describe an intense, powerful, watchful presence that settles into clarity, and, in the days that follow, the stirring of his work: a sudden softening in a strained relationship, an unexpected message or opening from someone estranged, a dispute beginning to loosen, knowledge of a past matter surfacing, or a clear sense of how things will turn. Dreams of wolves, ravens, serpents, or fire, or of conflicts resolving, are often reported. His way is fierce but constructive, and the quiet thawing of a frozen bond, or a sudden clarity about a tangled conflict, after a sincere petition is itself among the surest signs that the marquis has heard.
Amon rewards respect and sincerity tended over time. Return to him in gratitude when his help arrives, not only in need; be honest with him and with yourself about the bonds you bring him, for his is the work of genuine connection; and keep the promises you make. Record what you ask and how matters turn, so that you learn his fierce but constructive way of working. So tended, the relationship deepens, and the mender of bonds becomes a lasting ally in the keeping and the healing of all your ties.
With Amon the cautions are chiefly ethical, for his work touches the bonds and the free will of others. Seek genuine reconciliation and genuine love, not the manipulation, control, or defeat of other people; a peace forced or faked tends to fail, and to bind the worker in the failure. Respect his strength — he is a fierce and mighty marquis, not to be summoned idly or treated as a tool — and meet his form with composure rather than fear. Take responsibility for the bonds you set in motion, and do your own human part in the mending, for Amon opens the way but does not walk it for you. Approached with respect, sincerity, and a true desire for peace and connection, Amon is among the most constructive and benevolent of all the great spirits — the fierce healer of what has been broken.