François Rabelias was a Renaissance man in fifteenth-century France. That is, not only did he actually live during the French Renaissance, but he also pursued the multiple careers expected of somebody we would today label a “Renaissance man.” He was a writer, a doctor, a monk, and, although they didn’t really have the label at the time, a humorist.
Among a bunch of other things, he wrote “The Life of Gargantua and of Pantagruel.” It’s his best known work, and tells the story of two giants. Gargantua is the giant father, and Pantagruel is his giant son. Their adventures are chronicled in five books filled with both satire and crude humor — Rabelais was particularly fond of bathroom jokes.
Rabelais and his work inspired some original words — you might call someone “Rabeliasian” if they are “marked by gross robust humor, extravagance of caricature, or bold naturalism” (okay, that’s perhaps not the most laser-guided of definitions), and “Pantagruelism” is “rooted in a certain gaiety of mind pickled in the scorn of fortuitous things,” for example. More than that, he played the same role in French that Milton and Shakespeare filled in English; creating loads of new words that entered the language.
“Gargantua and Pantagruel” also contributed to language — English, in this case. There was an abbey described in the story, called “Thélème.” Remembering that Rabelais was poking fun at everything he could think of, the primary rule of the fictional monks of Thélème was “Fay ce que vouldras”, or “Do what thou wilt.” A more modern translation would be “Do whatever the heck you want to.”
Rabelais wasn’t entirely facetious in describing Thélème; he evidently really did think that people (well, he said “men”, but it was 16th Century Europe, so what can you expect) have “naturally an instinct and spur that prompts them unto virtuous actions.” If that’s really the case, then “do what thou wilt” will tend to have a favorable outcome.
The name of the abbey of Thélème was based on the Greek word for “will:” thelema. Now, living in the early years of the 21st Century, you may feel some justifiable skepticism about the proposition that people’s natural instincts prompt them to “virtuous action”. And you’d probably be right, because in the 1700s a ne’er-do-well named Sir Francis Dashwood founded an organization called the “Hell-fire Club,” bought an old abbey in England, and engraved Rabelais’ Thélème rule over the entrance. But once the members went inside, by all reports they delighted in engaging in acts that were decidedly NOT virtuous.
After that, the word “thelemic” was adopted in the 20th Century by world-class occultist, unpleasant fellow, and “guy who really wishes he’d lived during the time of the Internet” Aleister Crowley. He started his own club (he called it a religion) and went on at length (he went on about everything at length) about “thelemic power-zones.”
The word “thelemic” is still around. Sort of. Feel free to Google it, but you’re on your own if you follow some of those links. I suspect Crowley, if he were still around, would be deeply into sword-and-sorcery video games and movies, and he’d believe every last detail.
