If there is one area of early modern English history which has, more than any other, been the victim of the ‘condescension of posterity’, it is perhaps the witch trials of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries which hold the strongest claim. But were early modern English people really just superstitious fools or do their apparently absurd beliefs make more sense than might at first appear?
The reason that witchcraft accusations appear to be nothing more than credulous, superstitious nonsense is simply because—in the minds of most people—witchcraft cannot exist. Certainly, an atheist would be hard-pressed to find a justification for such beliefs and most theists, particularly less orthodox ones, tend to similarly doubt its reality. The crucial question seems like an obvious one but is easy to ignore: Why would someone accuse another person of witchcraft, and did they really believe what they alleged?
Various theories have emerged. Perhaps witchcraft accusations were a form of gynocide, a war between male elites and women, the witch playing the role of the subversive mother figure on whose blood the devil is nurtured. Perhaps economic factors were at play and the witchcraze arose from shifting economic contexts in an increasingly capitalistic Europe which saw huge societal changes, isolating some people (often elderly, poor women) who were then accused. Perhaps the erratic, extreme weather caused by contemporary climate change (in the form of a ‘Little Ice Age’) led to famine and poverty which in turn encouraged communities to scapegoat and allege witchcraft. But even if any, or all, of these theories hold water there is still the question of what precisely were the thought processes behind a person who branded another a ‘witch’ and the fact that witchcraft accusations were widespread across Europe—and other parts of the world—for hundreds of years means that these explanations must hinge on some psychological feature of humans which would allow one to accuse another of supernatural feats even if—as we can safely assume—none ever occurred.
A safe place to start is religion. Nearly all treatises which argued that witchcraft was both possible and real hinged on religious scripture which justified these beliefs, perhaps most famously Exodus 22:18’s “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” A semi-viral tweet from YouTuber Mia Mulder went as far as to call witch burnings a form of ‘human sacrifice to appease the Christian God’ which are only considered not to be sacrifices because of ‘Eurocentric historical arrogance’.
Certainly, European superstition—into which belief in witchcraft safely falls—is often viewed as somehow less severe than its non-European (particularly African) counterpart. To call the burnings—or hangings—Christian sacrifices is slightly misleading, however, and arguably inadvertently plays into a Eurocentric view of the witchcraze.
Firstly, the idea that the executions were ‘sacrifices’ arguably stretches the definition of the word, since witches were not presented as offerings, even if the executions had been strictly for religious purposes. The bigger issue, however, is with the idea that most prosecutions and executions were predicated on religious motives.
One thing to note is that many Christians did not believe in the reality of witches. Witches were not deemed impossible, insofar as God could theoretically allow for Satan to command them, but rather it was argued that (1) the Bible did not support their existence (the Exodus line being a mistranslation/misinterpretation) and (2) even if it did, the alleged witches in England were not genuinely witches. The most famous sceptic, Reginald Scot, published his popular book The Discoverie of Witchcraft in 1584 but was nevertheless a Christian. Moreover, those who did believe in Witchcraft were often far from unintelligent or credulous. Physician John Cotta’s The Triall of Witch-craft (1616) begins with a lengthy discussion surrounding how knowledge can be acquired and how a witch might be discovered through natural means if they exercise supernatural powers. The book isn’t thrilling, and it wasn’t a literary success at the time, but it demonstrates a very rational—frankly scientific—understanding of witchcraft which has a religious foundation but does not primarily rely on theology to support its claims.
What about the common people, though? What were the motives of the accusers themselves? Even less religious, it seems. In his 1917 article, ‘A Case of Witchcraft’, G. L. Kittredge put forward that in every case of English witchcraft it was maleficium (the actual harm) which was the essence of the original accusation. Sure, there were subsequent details which fit a very demonological and theological view of witchcraft (the witch’s familiar, the devil’s mark, the pledge to the Devil) but these details were never the primary concern and, if they were not missing entirely, were the product of English culture (which had embedded these stereotypes into people’s minds) or of the authorities which actually prosecuted witches. The average man and woman, however, was far more concerned with the well-being of themselves, their family, and their general livelihood than any religious implications; witchcraft wasn’t an abstract struggle between Christians and Satan but a localised conflict between communities and an alleged evil-doer who threatened their safety. Moreover, instances of witchcraft accusations against women who were already victims of slander and gossip, as well as evidence of financial motives, suggest that God was often far from the forefront of accusers’ minds.
In fact, those who genuinely thought themselves bewitched would often rely on counter-magic to fight back and it’s rare to see accusers resort to prayer, or other religious means. In Henry Goodcole’s 1621 pamphlet concerning the witch Elizabeth Sawyer, he describes an ‘old ridiculous custome’ which was ‘to pluck the Thatch of her [the victim’s] house, and to burne it, and it being so burnd, the author of such mischeife should presently then come.’ Despite this condemnation, Goodcole strongly believed in witches, a testament to the fact that belief in witchcraft varied from an admittedly credulous acceptance of irrational beliefs to more sceptical, logical opinions which nonetheless accommodated a belief in witches.
It’s even possible to argue that this view of witchcraft, as primarily arising from non-religious grounds (even if obviously predicated on misguided religious beliefs) is useful as it allows for a fairly successful model of witchcraft accusations which holds true across Europe and even extends to its colonies (at the time) and beyond. This is not to imply that witchcraft and religion were separate, rather that their relationship is more complex than at it may seem. To view European witch executions as a systemic religious persecution may actually reinforce Eurocentric notions of European witch trials as resulting from scriptural grounds compared to non-European witch trials and superstitions which were nothing more than irrational, backwards beliefs with no basis in reality, or deliberately malevolent lies with financial or personal motives at play. The truth is, the causes of early modern accusations—fear of maleficia, credulous beliefs, financial incentives, slander, etc…—are very similar to those which are cited in witchcraft accusations in modern Africa. As Thias Kgatla notes, in a study which compared both time periods and locations, ‘belief in the practice of witchcraft is found among human groups around the world and go back to the very beginnings of human culture.’ To frame early modern witch hunts as mass religious sacrifice ignores this reality, presents an overly-simplistic model of witchcraft belief, and plays into Eurocentric tendencies rather than moving past them.
Of course, there’s no single answer as to why people were accused of witchcraft. Motives varied from place to place, time to time, and person to person. When accusations were made in good faith, they tended to stem from a fear of maleficia (the physical threat of bewitchment). When accusations were deliberately fabricated, it was often for financial or personal reasons. What’s clear, however, is that witchcraft accusations did not appear out of thin air and for no reason. Although they seem absurd today, witchcraft beliefs were often based on genuine religious and philosophical insights which the average modern reader would find difficult to rebut with ease. Modern views on witchcraft are tainted by our retrospective knowledge of its non-existence, but to the average early modern person the reality of witches—which was supported by many educated members of society—was in little doubt and if misfortune struck, the explanation was often only one poor, elderly woman away.
Early Modern Scribbling 