Witchcraft, Oracles, and Magic Among the Azande The Azande, an ethnic group in Central Africa, have a rich cultural tradition that includes beliefs in various supernatural phenomena. One of the fundamental aspects of their belief system is the existence of witchcraft and the role it plays in their society. In the Azande worldview, witchcraft is seen as a pervasive force that can cause harm to individuals and communities. They believe that witches possess special powers that allow them to harm others through their thoughts and actions. The Azande believe that witchcraft is hereditary, passed down from one generation to another through bloodlines. This belief contributes to a sense of fear and suspicion within their society, as anyone could potentially be a witch.
Witches, however, make fascinating and versatile horror adversaries.
With almost no reliance on shock value or gore apart from one scene involving a raven and a breast , The Witch takes an unnerving look at some extremely human qualities, like fear and blame. A lot of the film s aesthetic, especially in a scene involving a satanic Sabbath, is clearly taken directly from lurid 17th-century engravings of women dancing nakedly and quite badass-ly, to tell you the truth, around fires.
This belief contributes to a sense of fear and suspicion within their society, as anyone could potentially be a witch. To help navigate the threat of witchcraft and determine its origins, the Azande rely on oracles. These oracles, known as poison oracles, involve the use of poisonous substances to determine guilt or innocence.
By turning fantasy into reality, The Witch exposes society’s fear of female sexuality
This film, in which witches actually exist and aren’t just torture-addled fantasies, has surprisingly feminist themes.
(Photo By The Witch still)After years of vampire and zombie supremacy, witches have clawed their way out of those beguiling Blair Witch woods and back into the horror mainstream. Which is a huge relief for anyone who, like me, can no longer look at a zombie for more than three minutes without becoming, well, zombified. And Twilight has done such a number on vampires that the poor bastards may never be scary again.
Witches, however, make fascinating and versatile horror adversaries.
Director Robert Eggers’s debut feature, The Witch, is a deeply unsettling collage of New England folklore with – horror of horrors – some surprisingly feminist themes.
Set in mid-17th-century colonial America, a time and place where women were forced to dress up as sofas and were generally loathed and mistrusted, the film follows a fresh-off-the-boat English family who have been banished from their puritan community for being, it seems, overly puritanical.
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Finchy from The Office (Ralph Ineson) makes an unexpectedly compelling scripture-spouting puritan dad. Ineson is, of course, a professional gruff Yorkshireman slash some sort of stretched-out Sean Bean. He was made to play characters built on the very worst facets of masculinity.
Subscribe to the Saturday Read View all newsletters THANK YOUIn The Witch, he does the “Bible thumping, musket-wielding, man of the woods” thing very convincingly and is mostly seen chopping wood and droning on about salvation in a voice like a washing machine sinking in gravel.
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His eldest daughter Thomasin, played by the extremely spooky Anya Taylor-Joy, is at that mega-sinful “sexually mature but yet unmarried” stage of womanhood.
Societal fear of female sexuality permeates The Witch like a gnarled and spindly tree branch. The entire witch trope, of course, was built on confessions extracted via torture. Under duress, thousands of women in 16th- and 17th-century Europe and America admitted to all sorts of now stereotypically witchy things, like child sacrifice and sex with the Devil.
This period of mass hysteria-fuelled public burnings is something explored in fascinating depth in historian Lyndal Roper’s 2004 book Witch Craze. This investigation into the persecution of “witches” in Baroque Germany was once recommended to me by a Holocaust historian, who said that if one book could explain why the Holocaust happened, it’s Witch Craze.
It may seem bizarre and flippant that, in a review of a horror film with Finchy from The Office in it, I’m sidestepping to the Holocaust. Hear me out though. “Witchcraft accusations were a hall of mirrors where neighbours saw their own fear and greed in the shape of the witch,” writes Roper in Witch Craze.
The scapegoating that goes on in panic-led persecutions is founded on taking that which is other – say, elderly widows who keep themselves to themselves – and turning it into a single manifestation of a culture’s darkest fears.
In the 16th and 17th centuries in particular, young women represented temptation, while post-menopausal women raised deep-rooted fears of infertility.
The Witch, in a sense, is an exploration of what archaic societies saw when they looked into the “hall of mirrors” alluded to by Roper. This is a film, of course, in which witches aren’t just torture-addled fantasies: they actually exist.
In one scene, Caleb, William (Ineson)’s prepubescent son, is lost in the forest. To the suitably foreboding sound of discordant strings, he is lured towards a menacing cottage. Without getting sidetracked about how the occult horror genre manages to make a cottage menacing, a beautiful (but clearly evil because she’s wearing a cloak) woman emerges from the house and kisses Caleb on the lips.
We then see her perfectly normal (if not slightly sexy, I guess) hand, placed on the boy’s back, turn into a witchy claw.
This transition, one of the film’s surprisingly few jumpy moments, perfectly illustrates the duality of the witch: she is both a seductress and a hag – ie. she embodies both of society’s most feared forms of womanhood. It’s interesting, perhaps, that a similarly contradictory duality was applied to Jews in Nazi Germany: they were simultaneously plotting communists and money-grabbing capitalists.
Thomasin is blamed, largely by her mother, for the disappearance of her two brothers (Caleb’s disappearance into the forest is preceded by the vanishing of baby Sam at the beginning of the film). The atmosphere of paranoia cultivated by the grieving mother is something very particular to the whole witch genre (yes, think The Crucible).
Thomasin’s yet non-vanished younger siblings (a pair of utterly terrifying twins) denounce her as a witch. She denounces them in return, based on their bizarre relationship with the family goat, Black Philip. These Salem-esque denouncements may be a cliché, but they’re an important reminder that, in the stories The Witch is based on, the true evil-doers were those who tortured and killed so called witches.
Thomasin is the archetypical outsider. The eldest daughter of a banished family, her anger and frustration are read by her zealot parents as indicators of a sinful disposition. Naturally, she’s blamed for blighted crops and general eerie goings-on.
With almost no reliance on shock value or gore (apart from one scene involving a raven and a breast…), The Witch takes an unnerving look at some extremely human qualities, like fear and blame.
A lot of the film’s aesthetic, especially in a scene involving a satanic Sabbath, is clearly taken directly from lurid 17th-century engravings of women dancing nakedly and quite badass-ly, to tell you the truth, around fires. Which is fun and possibly quite celebratory.
So, if zombies and vampires would kindly step aside, the witches are here and they’re way scarier.
This transition, one of the film’s surprisingly few jumpy moments, perfectly illustrates the duality of the witch: she is both a seductress and a hag – ie. she embodies both of society’s most feared forms of womanhood. It’s interesting, perhaps, that a similarly contradictory duality was applied to Jews in Nazi Germany: they were simultaneously plotting communists and money-grabbing capitalists.
The belief is that the oracle will reveal the witch's identity or the cause of misfortune. The poison oracle is administered by a specialist who ingests a poisonous substance and then waits for a reaction. The reaction is believed to provide insight into the source of witchcraft and who is responsible. Magic is also an integral part of the Azande culture. They believe in the efficacy of magical practices and the ability to manipulate supernatural powers. Magic is often used for healing, fertility, and protection, among other purposes. The Azande believe that certain individuals, known as nganga or medicine men, possess the knowledge and skills to harness and utilize magical powers. These individuals are seen as powerful figures within their society and are consulted for various needs. It is important to note that Azande beliefs in witchcraft, oracles, and magic are not considered irrational or superstitious within their cultural context. Instead, these beliefs are deeply ingrained in their worldview and provide explanations for misfortune, illness, and other aspects of life that cannot be easily explained. These beliefs and practices continue to be an essential part of Azande culture, despite the influence of modernity and outside influences..
Reviews for "Witchcraft Oracles and Magic: The Supernatural in Azande Social Organization"
1. Jane Doe - 2/5
I was quite disappointed with "Witchcraft, Oracles, and Magic among the Azande." While the book promised to provide readers with a deep understanding of the Azande people's belief system, it failed to deliver on that front. The author's writing style was dry and academic, making it difficult to stay engaged throughout. Additionally, I found the structure of the book to be confusing, with the author jumping between different topics without clear transitions. Overall, I was left feeling unsatisfied and wanting more substance from this book.
2. John Smith - 1/5
I regret purchasing "Witchcraft, Oracles, and Magic among the Azande." The author seemed more focused on showcasing their intellectual prowess than actually explaining the Azande culture. The book was filled with convoluted theories and complex language that made it inaccessible to the average reader. Moreover, the author's bias towards Western perspectives was evident throughout, which undermined the authenticity of their research. I would not recommend this book to anyone looking for a comprehensive understanding of Azande beliefs and practices.
3. Sarah Thompson - 2/5
As someone with a genuine interest in anthropology, I was disappointed by "Witchcraft, Oracles, and Magic among the Azande." While the content had the potential to be insightful and informative, the execution was lacking. The author relied too heavily on outdated research and failed to incorporate more recent findings in the field. Additionally, the book lacked a clear narrative thread, often meandering through various concepts without providing a cohesive framework. Overall, I felt that this book missed an opportunity to delve deeper into the fascinating world of the Azande people.