Alchemy: gold for the gullible

I have been writing a book about gold, including a chapter on the ancient art of alchemy. Alchemy is a paradox. On the one hand, it is bogus science. You cannot turn base metals into gold. A universal elixir that could cure all diseases and grant eternal life does not exist.

And yet far brighter folk than me – from Isaac Newton, who at one stage thought he had cracked it, to Johannes Kepler – have kept on trying. Alchemy has captivated human beings for millennia. It is almost as old as civilisation itself. The space it occupies in modern fiction (witness Harry Potter or The Alchemist) shows the extent to which alchemy still fascinates and fixates humans the world over.

Alchemy has played a huge role in the development of science, chemistry especially. Many of its theories, techniques and instruments laid the groundwork for modern science. Alchemists developed methods for distillation, sublimation, precipitation and crystallisation: methods still used in chemical synthesis and analysis. They contributed to the discovery of new substances, including phosphorus, sal ammoniac and aqua regia. They developed the scientific method, emphasising observation, experimentation and empirical verification.

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In the 18th century, Augustus the Strong, King of Saxony, who had a spending problem, heard of a chap who could make gold, called Johann Friedrich Böttger. He kidnapped and imprisoned him, ordering him to come up with the Goldmachertinktur (gold-making tincture). Böttger couldn’t, of course, and became something of a laughing stock.

How alchemy conned the Nazis

But alchemy has also led to fraud after fraud. Frauds are not funny when you get caught up in them. They can break you. They can humiliate you. But comedy equals tragedy plus time. Consider the story of a German named Heinz Kurschildgen who managed to con Heinrich Himmler.

In 1914, Kurschildgen started his first job as an apprentice in a dye factory in his hometown of Hilden, near Dusseldorf. He became fascinated by the chemicals he was working with and built a small laboratory at home to conduct experiments.

Before long, he thought he had found a way to make gold, and even persuaded several investors to give him money. However, it soon became clear that he couldn’t make gold, and he found himself prosecuted for fraud. The courts let him off on the grounds that mentally he was not all there – but only on condition that he solicited no further investments with schemes to make gold. He was soon claiming he could produce other transmutations, and became a joke in his hometown, where a bust was even erected in his honour, albeit ironically, inscribed with the words: “For the genius gold-maker, from his grateful hometown”.

But in 1929, he returned to his first calling: kidding people he could make gold. He approached German president Paul von Hindenburg and Hjalmar Schacht, the head of the Reichsbank (the central bank), with a proposal to make the gold they needed to pay off Germany’s World War I reparations.

These had been set at 132 billion gold marks, which translates to 47,300 tonnes. To give you an idea of how unrealistic a figure this was: it was an amount not far off all the gold that had ever been mined in history by that time. That would take considerable alchemy.

But Kurschildgen was not to be deterred. He raised a load more money, defrauded his clients and ended up with another 18 months in jail. After his release, he was soon at it again. This time, he approached the newly elected Nazi government with a plan to make petrol from water.

Chief scientific advisor, Wilhelm Keppler, paid him a visit and Kurschildgen agreed to reveal his methods and surrender the rights to the government. Meanwhile, his claims about being able to make gold piqued the interest of SS leader Heinrich Himmler, who had a notoriously superstitious streak and a fascination with alchemy. Himmler started funding Kurschildgen generously to conduct his experiments.

But Reichsanstalt physicists soon declared his contraptions useless, and Kurschildgen ended up in a concentration camp. “Himmler has fallen for a gold and petrol maker,” said Joseph Goebbels in his diary. “He wanted to defraud me, too. I knew what he was about straight away”. After two years Kurschildgen was released for good behaviour. Himmler had him put straight back in the camp. On no account did he want this embarrassing story becoming public.

After the war, Kurschildgen insisted he had been a victim of Nazi persecution, so he could claim compensation. “The Gestapo would stop at nothing to get my invention,” he told the courts. As with most of his ventures, his petition was unsuccessful. Even so, you can’t fault the man’s ambition.

Dominic Frisby writes the newsletter The Flying Frisby (theflyingfrisby.com)

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