Chapter I · The Witch: Heretic and Anarchist (continued 2)

In fine, upon a candid examination of this theory of the continuity of some primitive religion, which existed as an underlying organization manifested in Witchcraft and sorcery, a serious rival feared and hated by the Church, we find that nothing of the sort ever survived, that there was no connexion between sorcery and an imaginary “Dianic cult.” To write that “in the fifteenth century open war was declared against the last remains of heathenism in the famous Bull of Innocent VIII”⁠[92] is to ignore history. As has been emphasized above, the Bull Summis desiderantes affectibus of 1484 was only one of a long series of Papal ordinances directed against an intolerable evil not heathenism indeed, but heresy. For heresy, sorcery, and anarchy were almost interchangeable words, and the first Bull launched directly against the black art was that of Alexander IV, 1258, two hundred and twenty-six years before.

That here and there lingered various old harmless customs and festivities which had come down from pre-Christian times and which the Church had allowed, nay, had even sanctified by directing them to their right source, the Maypole dances, for example, and the Midsummer fires which now honour S. John Baptist, is a matter of common knowledge. But this is no continuance of a pagan cult.

From the first centuries of the Christian era, throughout the Middle Ages, and continuously to the present day there has invariably been an open avowal of intentional evil-doing on the part of the devotees of the witch-cult, and the more mischief they did the more they pleased their lord and master. Their revels were loathly, lecherous, and abominable, a Sabbat where every circumstance of horror and iniquity found expression. This in itself is an argument against Miss Murray’s theory, as none of the earlier religions existed for the express purpose of perpetrating evil for evil’s sake. We have but to read the eloquent and exquisite description of the Eleusinian Mysteries by that accomplished Greek scholar Father Cyril Martindale, S.J.,⁠[93] to catch no mean nor mistaken glimpse of the ineffable yearning for beauty, for purity, for holiness, which filled the hearts of the worshippers of the goddess Persephoneia, whose stately and impressive ritual prescribing fasts, bathing in the waters of the sea, self-discipline, self-denial, self-restraint, culminated in the Hall of Initiation, hallowed by the Earth-Mother, Demeter, where the symbolic drama of life, death, and resurrection was shown by the Hierophant to those who had wrestled, and endured, and were adjudged worthy. How fair a shadow was this, albeit always and ever a shadow, of the imperishable and eternal realities to come! How different these Mysteries from the foul orgies of witches, the Sabbat, the black mass, the adoration of hell.

In truth it was not against heathenism that Innocent VIII sounded the note of war, but against heresy. There was a clandestine organization hated by the Church, and this was not sorcery nor any cult of witches renewing and keeping green some ancient rites and pagan creed, but a witch-cult that identified itself with and was continually manifested in closest connexion with Gnosticism in its most degraded and vilest shapes.

There is a curious little piece of symbolism, as it may be, which has passed into the patois of the Pyrenees. Wizards are commonly known as poudouès and witches poudouèros, both words being derived from putere, which signifies to have an evil smell. The demonologists report, and it was commonly believed, that sorcerers could often be detected by their foul and fetid odour. Hagiographers tell that S. Philip Neri could distinguish heretics by their smell, and often he was obliged to turn away his head when meeting them in the street. The same is recorded of many other Saints, and this tradition is interesting as it serves to show the close connexion there was held to be between magic and heresy.⁠[94] Saint Pachomius, the cenobite, could distinguish heretics by their insupportable stench; the abbot Eugendis could tell the virtues and vices of those whom he met by the perfume or the stink. Saint Hilarion, as S. Jerome relates, could even distinguish a man’s sins by the smell of a warm garment or cloak. Blessed Dominica of Paradise, passing a soldier in the street, knew by the foul smell that he had abandoned the faith, to which, however, her fervid exhortations and prayers eventually restored him. Saint Bridget of Sweden was wellnigh suffocated by the fetor of a notorious sinner who addressed her. Saint Catherine of Siena experienced the same sensations; whilst Saint Lutgarde, a Cistercian nun, on meeting a vicious reprobate perceived a decaying smell of leprosy and disease.

On the other hand, the Saints themselves have diffused sweetest fragrances, and actually “the odour of sanctity” is more than a mere phrase. One day in 1566, when he had entered the church at Somascha, a secluded hamlet between Milan and Bergamo, S. Charles Borromeo exclaimed: “I know by the heavenly fragrance in this sanctuary that a great Servant of God lies buried here!” The church, in fact, contained the body of S. Jerome Emiliani, who died in 1537. S. Herman Joseph could be traced through the corridors of Steinfeld by the rare perfumes he scattered as he walked. The same was the case with that marvellous mystic S. Joseph of Cupertino. S. Thomas Aquinas smelt of male frankincense. I myself have known a priest of fervent faith who at times diffused the odour of incense. Maria-Vittoria of Genoa, Ida of Louvain, S. Colette, S. Humiliana, were fragrant as sweet flowers. S. Francis of Paul and Venturini of Bergamo scattered heavenly aromas when they offered the Holy Sacrifice. The pus of S. John of the Cross gave forth a strong scent of lilies.

Miss Murray has worked out her thesis with no inconsiderable ingenuity, but when details are considered, historically examined, and set in their due proportions, it must be concluded that the theory of the continuity of an ancient religion is baseless. Her book is called A Study in Anthropology, and here we can, I think, at once put our finger upon the fundamental mistake. Anthropology alone offers no explanation of Witchcraft. Only the trained theologian can adequately treat the subject. An amount of interesting material has been collected, but the key to the dark mystery could not be found.

Yet, as our investigations have shown, it was not so far to seek. In the succinct phrase of that profound and prolific scholar Thomas Stapleton⁠[95]: “Crescit cum magia hæresis, cum hæresi magia.” (The weed heresy grows alongside the weed witchcraft, the weed witchcraft alongside the weed heresy.)