I am not a witch, father!
Thomasin, The Witch
I’m just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood
Nina Simone, ‘Please Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood’
You will have come across the ancient Greek imperative to “know thyself”. At first glance, it appears an easy enough instruction to follow – heck, there’s only two words to it! But it begs a question. Namely: what is there to know? Who can authoritatively determine what my self is? Does anyone really get me? Can a person be got?
Today, friends, we will be talking about identity. But fear not: the sophistry bit of this edition of IKOAPH is over. Now we will dive into the juicy folk horror The Witch (2016) and the juicier folk horror of the human condition (time immemorial).
The Witch follows the fall of a family ousted from their puritanical New England community, as a direct result of the father’s principles/pride. Daddy Will is unwilling to budge on some religious point, and so leads his wife and five children into the wilderness and sets up a farm. Things do not go well. His corn is (in the words of wife Katherine) “trash”, and his baby Sam is snatched away. Will thinks a wolf is to blame, but the audience knows this is the doing of the witch of the woods, who uses the babe as some kind of gruesome beauty treatment. The youngest child’s disappearance is followed by more misery, and the four remaining children are subjected to the destructive forces of witchcraft and terrible parenting.
There is a huge amount to be said about the mother-daughter and father-child relationships depicted in this movie, enough to fill many newsletters. But today I want to focus on how false perception and false accusation can hurt an individual trying their best to make their way through this wicked world.
The doctrine of Daddy Will is a harsh one. He teaches his children religion, but it is a school of faith thought that deems everyone a sinner. As Will walks through the woods with his eldest son Caleb (age uncertain, I’d hazard 12?), he takes the boy through a catechism, and periodically congratulates Caleb’s acknowledgement of Caleb’s fundamental evil.
William: What is thy birth sin?
Caleb: Adam’s sin imputed to me, and a corrupt nature dwelling within me.
William: Well-remembered, Caleb. Very well. Canst thou tell me what thy corrupt nature is? Caleb: My corrupt nature is empty of grace, bent unto sin, only unto sin, and that continuously.
To please his father, Caleb needs to affirm he has a corrupt nature. When the son seeks assurance that his baby brother is not in hell, Will cannot or will not give it. Poor Caleb lives with the belief that there is “evil in his heart” and were he to drop dead, unpardoned of his sins, he could face damnation.
Caleb is told to strive for righteousness while being quizzed on his inherent badness. The boy’s sense of self is warped by his father’s theology.
Mother Katherine projects badness into her eldest daughter Thomasin long before anyone is accused of sorcery. As baby Sam was disappeared during a game of peek-a-boo with his sister (the boy was grabbed when she momentarily covered her eyes), Katherine clearly holds Thomasin to blame for the tragedy. Having decided Thomasin is at fault, she finds ways to reassure herself of Thomasin’s badness. When children Jonas and Mercy act up, Katherine scolds Thomasin. She shows displeasure when Thomasin, after a day of chores, has forgotten or not quite got round to bedding the goats. When a silver cup goes missing, Katherine insinuates Thomasin must have lost it – she connects the absent cup with her lost son by sarcastically asking “did a wolf vanish it too?” “What’s the matter with thee, Thomasin?” is Katherine’s favourite question. She delivers it not with concern, but accusation. What is wrong with you? What is making you bad?
Children are perceptive, and even little Mercy can pick up on this hate. Adolescent Thomasin certainly understands how her mother regards her. “Let me find favour in your eyes,” she begs. It is a plea for affection, of course, but also for validation. She wishes to be seen as good. Thomasin has been brought up to trust and obey her mother, to perceive her as a teacher. This is the woman who is meant to offer her love, through the very nature of motherhood. It may not be easy for the daughter to disregard her poor opinion. On some very base level, Thomasin might fear that if Katherine cannot find favour, there is no favour to be found.
Following further diabolical tragedy and some clear exhibition of sorcery, Accusations of cup-stealing descend into accusations of witchery. At the film’s climax, Katherine denounces her daughter entirely, saying she bewitched Caleb with “sluttish looks”, killed her children, killed her husband, is smeared with the devil’s sin, etc. etc. Thomasin has maintained her innocence when previously denounced, and she still tries to reject the false perceptions of others. When Katherine starts to physically attack her, Thomasin responds to the blows by repeating the words “I love you”. It is an earnest attempt to be good, to retain her position as dutiful daughter. But then she fights back. The scene results in an act of matricide. Katherine described her daughter of being smeared in sin. Thomasin ends up literally smeared in her mother’s blood.
All alone, Thomasin turns to the devil. She signs his book. While some might see this ending as the ultimate rejection of an oppressive patriarchal society, I cannot consider The Witch’s finale to be a true #GirlBoss moment. She has joined the forces that killed her beloved brothers and father and chosen a lifestyle where she will bring misery upon others. The devil tempts her with butter, a pretty frock, and the world. But the pursuit of deliciousness does not require the negation of all your beliefs and principles.
Thomasin hasn’t become a fun witch, like Willow pre-season six of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. She’s become the new witch of the woods. She is now The Witch.
Which is to say, she’s become the bad thing her mother believed her to be. Her self has been truly corrupted.
Our (and by our I mean, of course, society’s) continued interest in witch-hunt narratives is tied up with our dread of false accusation. In these stories, we see the immediate, physical peril of such accusations (with characters being subject to torture and execution). We can also see parallels with other events (as any GCSE student who read The Crucible will know), and fear that we, too, will be persecuted based on a falsehood. But in addition to this there’s another dread – one might call it a primal horror – at play.
The fear of being misunderstood.
We (and by we I mean humans) wish to be seen. If we are seen, we don’t have to feel so alone (see previous rant on A Nightmare on Elm Street). But beyond the very natural desire for connection, there is another reason we might seek out recognition. A need to reaffirm our sense of self.
There is an episode of The Simpsons where Bart, feeling his mother’s distance after he’s been caught shoplifting, asks to spend time with his best friend Milhouse’s mom. We see Mrs Van Houten and Bart chatting, and after a light spell of laughter the boy looks the woman dead in the eye and says “tell me I’m good.”
This scene haunts me. Bart’s desperation feels so raw.
Maybe there are people whose self-belief never falters. But the rest of us have to contend with self-doubt, insecurity, uncertainty. Sometimes we turn to others to offer the faith in ourselves we lack. But people can both bolster one’s sense of self and erode it. When we don’t feel seen, we might worry we’ll disappear, like that girl from season one of Buffy. When we are told we are bad, especially by those whose opinions we hold dear, we might begin to believe it.
Even if Mrs Van Houten didn’t acquiesce to Bart’s request for affirmation, he still had Marge who, despite his petty crime, could recognise her boy as someone capable of goodness and love. But Thomasin had a very different upbringing to the Simpson’s children.
We are social beings who find meaning through our relationships, so it is hardly unusual that we may be influenced by the way people see us.
A sense of self is not set in stone, and it takes will to maintain it.
Yes, one should know thyself. But also, please:
Tell me I’m good.
NEXT TIME
I’m probably taking a break next week, but if you have any requests for the super special Halloween edition, please let me know.
I’ve never liked these puritan types. Crops fail, we’ve all been there! I could give this William fellow some farming advice.