Few historical events fascinate modern audiences as much as the Salem witch trials of 1692, which saw more than 200 people accused and 19 people executed for witchcraft. But what underlying factors allowed the witch trials to happen in 17th century Massachusetts, and can we empathize with the people who accused their friends and neighbors? Richard Marranca talks to Greg Houle about the factors that led to the witch trials in Salem and his recent book based on the experiences of his own family, the Putnams, as accusers during the panic.
Greg Houle is a writer and storyteller living in Los Angeles. His work has appeared in numerous publications, and he is the creator and host of “The Salem Witch Trials Podcast.” He is a 7th generation member of the Putnam family of Salem. “The Putnams of Salem” is his first novel.
RM: Hello, Greg. The last time I saw you was in that wonderful podcast from Danvers, MA. You and the panel offered a holistic portrait of Salem before, during, and after the Salem Witch Trials of 1692.
GH: One of the reasons I’m drawn to the Salem witch crisis is because it encompasses so many feelings and emotions that are easily recognizable today. That panel in Danvers included three great experts on the witch hysteria in Salem in 1692: Emerson Baker, Rachel Christ-Doane, and Daniel Gagnon. I wanted them to discuss what makes this event so enduring and address why it happened in the first place. I think that by investigating these most basic questions, we can really get to the heart of why it’s so important.
RM: You said that “the devil was an existential threat.” Can you reach back even further, not just at Salem but in Europe?
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GH: As you suggest, the notion of the devil or an evil figure has always been present in Christian thinking. The Malleus Maleficarum, or Hammer of Witches, was in many ways the Bible for witch hunts. It predates the Protestant Reformation, so the roots of this kind of paranoia stretch far beyond Puritanism.
The idea of the witch, or the person who sells their soul to the devil, has been a part of Christianity for a very long time. But as the Protestant Calvinist belief system, from which Puritanism derived, eventually developed, the duality between good and evil, God and the devil, became much sharper. This evil now seemed to be more of an existential threat to those trying to live a Godly existence. The devil would interfere directly with one’s life. You can imagine the paranoia that this sort of thing stoked among believers.
RM: For Salem, you discuss the atmosphere of fear, King Philip’s War, and the failures of the political-religious authorities. Civilization broke down, right? Is a changing, chaotic, fear-based society with huge convulsions more likely to have divisions and scapegoats?
GH: Yes, absolutely. One of the most fascinating aspects about the Salem witch crisis is how a series of seemingly wide-ranging and not-obviously-connected events unfolded to provide the kindling for this tragedy. As our panel in Danvers discussed, trust in the system was eroding. The very royal charter that had awarded the Puritans their land in Massachusetts had been revoked a few years before the witch crisis. Two decades earlier, the indigenous peoples who had lived on that land for centuries started to change how they dealt with these settlers and were no longer content to allow them to steal it away from them. That shift created enormous conflict that helped to strike a great deal of fear among the Puritan settlers.
Moreover, Salem itself had consistent difficulties with its church leadership for years, which certainly eroded confidence in spiritual matters. On top of all these things, changes were also happening in the economy: an ever-so-slight shift away from subsistence farming. The increasing population of European settlers in New England made land harder to come by and helped foment conflict among neighbors. More immediately, there had been a stretch of seriously cold weather that caused crop failures.
Finally, there was a sense that three generations later, the Puritans were not living on a shining city upon a hill as they had expected. For many, the experience in New England had been a real struggle, and the Puritans were hardly a shining example of Christianity for all to see. Together, this created an atmosphere of friction, fear, and conflict that, in turn, created division. This allowed for scapegoating and cultivated the conditions for this horrible witch hunt.
RM: Cotton Mather popped up in some of the podcasts and I recall, in your novel, The Putnams of Salem: A Novel of Power and Betrayal During the Time of the Salem Witch Trials. Who is he, and did he get pulled in two directions: status quo religion and the new science?
GH: Cotton Mather was a highly regarded Puritan clergy member in New England during the late 17th and early 18th centuries. His father, Increase Mather, was also very well-known and respected. Both played an important role in the witch crisis in Salem. In some ways, Cotton was a bridge between the first generation of Puritans in America and the newer generations, who were naturally veering off from the original course.
As you say, he also considered himself a man of science. He lived during the dawn of the Enlightenment, and he truly embraced it. I’m not sure he would view this as being different from being a man of God. Since the very early days of Christianity and other monotheistic religions, understanding the world through study seemed to go together with understanding God. I think Cotton Mather would have viewed science and religion in a similar vein.
Most critically, the Mathers had initially supported the witch hunt in Salem, as well as the use of what is called “spectral evidence” against the accused. This was critical because spectral evidence was what those who claimed to be afflicted provided to the authorities, i.e., “so-and-so’s specter visited me or harmed me in some way.” It was evidence that could not be corroborated by anyone else. Ultimately, Cotton Mather turned against the use of spectral evidence, perhaps because he saw how it was putting him on the wrong side of history.
While Cotton Mather earns plenty of blame for his role in the Salem witch crisis, it’s also interesting to see how, ultimately, the Puritan clergy, including Cotton Mather, helped to shut down the hysteria in the end.
RM: You mentioned hysteria or mass conversion disorder and collective anxiety. Did almost everyone get caught up in this, whether they took leading roles or remained quiet?
GH: Conversion disorder, or what we used to call mass hysteria and what is now more commonly known as functional neurologic disorder, is a condition that many of the so-called “afflicted” people might have been experiencing in 1692. It wasn’t something everyone in Salem experienced during the witch crisis. Essentially, it’s a condition that can cause people to manifest physical symptoms, such as vocal ticks, muscle spasms, and contortions. These symptoms are consistent with how those who claimed to be afflicted by witches were often described and cannot be explained by a physical disorder. Functional neurologic disorder often develops because of stress or psychological or physical trauma. It’s very likely that some of the “afflicted” people were dealing with this, and there is precedent for this sort of thing, even in the modern day.
RM: You mentioned that John Adams had even seen a hanging and Ben Franklin’s aunt was one of the accusers. Perhaps Hawthorne’s lineage was mentioned too. So, the witch trials had broad involvement from every walk of life, occupation, and turn of mind?
GH: The most striking takeaway that I have from the experience of studying, talking about, and writing about the Salem witch trials is how many people living today have directly descended from somebody who was involved: accused, accuser, or both. When you think about it, it makes perfect sense from a practical point of view, but it also illustrates how enduring this moment in history is more than three centuries later. In addition, the powers that propelled the witch hunt are, sadly, human and very universal: fear, paranoia, and scapegoating.
RM: In your novel and podcasts, you mentioned the brave souls who just didn’t go along. Why do those people, especially the old gentleman, stand against the witch trials? In fact, why do people go along with, or conversely go against, dumb shit?
GH: I do not want to get political here, but the parallels with our own time are pretty striking. People have gone along with dumb shit for generations! But it’s important for us to keep in mind that in late 17th-century New England, the devil was very real to everyone. Witches were real and a legitimate threat, and everyone believed this. Also, in this largely pre-enlightened period, the devil was also how people explained unfortunate experiences. The fear and concern were palpable.
With Salem specifically, it seemed that almost the entire region got caught up in the excitement in the beginning, but as our Danvers’ panelist and director of education at the Salem Witch Museum, Rachel Christ-Doane, says, there were a series of inflection points that helped turn people against the witch hunt: the initial execution of Bridget Bishop in early June, the flurry of executions over the rest of that summer, and the tortuous death of Giles Corey, who was an old man in his seventies. Eventually, people started to realize that the situation was getting out of control.
RM: Can you mention a few of the well-known plays and movies about Salem? Are they accurate? Which do you like most?
GH: By far, the best known is Arthur Miller’s The Crucible, which came out in the early 1950s and is often most people’s entry point into the Salem witch trials. It’s a work of fiction, not unlike my own novel, but it’s also, of course, based on fact. The Crucible is an allegory about the “Red Scare” that happened when Miller wrote the play, and there are several liberties he took with the story, many of which, unfortunately, linger today.
Take the story of Tituba, who was an enslaved woman in Reverend Samuel Parris’ household and one of the first women to be accused. Miller portrayed Tituba as a Black woman, but, in reality, she was Indigenous. He also makes it seem as if she were teaching the young girls of Salem about witchcraft when, in reality, there is no indication that was the case. These two inaccuracies are still commonly believed today but can be directly traced back to The Crucible.
While it doesn’t have anything to do with Salem, the 2015 film The Witch, which is about a tormented 17th-century New England family, provides a really good sense of what I imagine the fear and paranoia must have felt like to many in Salem in 1692.
RM: How did Salem get so immersed in witch culture? You mentioned that a million people a year visit, especially in October. (We visit Salem most years, along with Concord, etc.) But the “action” happened in what is today’s Danvers?
GH: Mostly, I think it’s a result of the name: we call them the “Salem witch trails,” therefore we go to Salem to connect with that event. There was a split between Salem Town and Salem Village, even in the 17th century. Eventually, Salem Village because Danvers and, as you mentioned, Salem Village is where most of the “action” took place.
Most people who walk the streets of Salem, MA, today probably know very little about what actually happened nearby in 1692. I’m not blaming them for that. It is what it is. Part of the reason I started my podcast was to provide a window into these remarkable events—why they happened and what they mean for us today—because I think the truth is actually more frightening.
Over the last several decades, we seem to have conflated this historical event with modern notions of witchcraft, which often dilutes the actual history that took place. I also think that Salem has decided to embrace this for obvious reasons: it attracts people. I can hardly blame them for that.
RM: What’s a good strategy for visiting Salem and Danvers? Walks, talks, museums, farms, and graveyards that one can visit? What architecture is left from that fateful era of 1692?
GH: If you’re really looking to explore the history, you should go to Danvers, formerly Salem Village. I would highly recommend doing a walking tour with Daniel Gagnon, who has been a guest on my show a few times. He’s from Danvers and is extraordinarily knowledgeable and thoughtful. You can trust what he says!
The Rebecca Nurse Homestead is a great location to visit. She was one of the victims of the witch hunt, and it’s one of the few witch-hunt-era homes that you can tour. You can also see remnants of the parsonage where Reverend Parris and his family lived and where the “afflictions” began. You can see Ingersoll’s tavern, although it is a private home, so you can’t go inside, which is where many of the early examinations of the accused took place.
In Salem itself, the Salem Witch Museum does a very good job of outlining the history of the witch hunt and making it understandable. It’s definitely worth a visit.
I will also say DO NOT visit in October. It’s just too busy at that time!
RM: If we journeyed back seven generations in a time machine, we’d meet Thomas Putnam and his daughter Ann, your ancestors. What’s it like being related to them? How did that inspire you to write the novel? Did you have a eureka moment, or was this a slow evolution?
GH: It was definitely a eureka moment for me!
In spite of my lifelong passion for history and my familial connection to the events, I didn’t have any particular interest in this moment in history until recently. I’m not entirely sure why that was, but I think it had something to do with my preconceived notion about the Salem witch trials. To me, they seemed like the tragic result of some overzealous, misogynistic Puritan fanatics. It seemed like an embarrassing anomaly of history that wasn’t worth the time.
But when I happened to visit Salem during the summer of 2021 while back east to visit family, I suddenly became obsessed with the idea of what my ancestors must have been thinking during that intense year. What was going through their minds as they made these accusations? Why was Thomas so hell-bent on accusing his neighbors? And what was Ann suffering from? She must have been so frightened. What could have been going through her mind?
These kinds of questions just kept coming up, and that’s what led me to want to write the story from their perspective.
RM: In the Author’s Note, you wrote that you wanted to write a novel “about why the Salem witch hysteria took place at all.” You used many “tools” to understand the why. Do we know more over time, or is it still a mystery?
GH: We will never know for certain why this tragedy happened. But my desire in telling this story, even as historical fiction, is to use Thomas and Ann as an entry point for understanding how something like this could happen in the first place. I also think it’s critical for us to understand the world they were living in: what drove them, what scared them, what were their hopes and concerns? I wanted to paint that picture for readers as well. And because it’s written in first person, the novel is somewhat myopic. It’s not always easy for the reader to understand what is happening. That was intentional because Thomas and Ann were not all-knowing narrators. They are unreliable in many ways. Confusion, misunderstandings, and misinformation ran rampant.
We tend to flatten out history as time goes on. We view Puritans, for example, as these staid, dower people. In actuality, they were dynamic and multifaceted, just like us. More than anything, I wanted to inject some human emotion into this moment. We can’t simply say that all the accusers were lying or that they wanted to steal the land of those they were accusing. These answers are too simple and not correct. With this novel, I wanted to try to contribute to our understanding of the people involved in the witch hunt. I want to try to show them as dynamic, scared, flawed human beings with a wide range of emotions.
RM: Can you tell us about Thomas and Ann, your ancestors, and the narrators of the novel? Between them, they accused 100 people of witchcraft. Did your family delve into this and tell stories about them and Salem? Was this part of a family or collective memory?
GH: The lore in my family existed, but it was very vague and much more connected to Ann than Thomas. Perhaps that’s because Ann is the more sympathetic character. What I like about telling the story through their eyes is that they both represent different perspectives. Thomas is the third generation of his family to live in America. His grandfather and father, who was only a teenager at the time, immigrated to America from England in the 1630s. They were wildly successful, buying land and establishing themselves in Salem Village. By the time of the witch hunt, Thomas Putnam Jr. was a 40-year-old man of privilege, but he was clearly not doing nearly as well as his father and grandfather did. With more competition for land, it’s just not as easy for him as it was for them. Because of this, I chose to write Thomas as a desperate and fading patriarch, which, to me, seems very plausible given the circumstances.
In Ann’s case, she is his eldest child. The fourth generation of Putnams in America. Her father holds their family in the highest regard, and so I saw him as putting pressure on Ann, wittingly or unwittingly, to be a “good” Puritan. That’s a lot for a twelve-year-old girl to handle. Moreover, Ann’s mother, Ann Senior, seemed to suffer from some psychological disorder, and that also created challenges for her. In many ways, Ann feels like this idealized Puritan who never had a chance to succeed because Puritanism was just a façade. She is an extraordinarily tragic figure. Both her parents died within two weeks of each other, seven years after the witch crisis. She was in her late teens and left to raise her siblings alone. She never married and likely died a bit of a pariah in the community.
RM: In the novel, you wrote a bit about the hysterical girls and the enslaved Tituba and her husband, John Indian. What was their role in the witch trials? Is it too easy to scapegoat them, to blame them?
GH: I’m particularly fascinated by Tituba, an enslaved woman from Barbados living in this Puritan village in frigid Massachusetts. What must her life have been like? It’s not surprising that she was viewed with suspicion.
Tituba’s story is particularly pivotal because it was her testimony at the beginning of the witch hunt that ignited the flames. She explained that the devil had visited her and offered her nice things and that he told her there were several witches in Salem. Had she denied the accusations like the other two women who were first accused, who knows how the witch hunt would have developed? Why did she confess? We’ll never know for sure, but it was likely because she wanted to tell the authorities what they wanted to hear to get them off her back. Imagine how scared she must have been: an enslaved woman with no power or standing in the community being grilled by the authorities? It was a horrible situation for her to be in.
When it comes to the young people who claimed to be afflicted, I think it’s too simple to say they were all simply lying. Yes, in some cases, lies were certainly told. But, as I mentioned earlier, functional neurologic disorder was likely part of the equation as well because the fear that these children faced, whether it was real, imagined, or both, was extraordinarily frightening. Imagine for a moment the fridged darkness of a 17th-century New England village at night. Your pastor is constantly telling you that the devil is trying to deceive you, and you’ve heard frightening stories about natives attacking, killing, or stealing children. The fear was very palpable for them.
RM: As you said, we “yearn for neat and tidy answers.” But it’s much more layered. Your novel delves into the why. Did writing get you closer to that time and place, to the human condition in general? Is history a foreign country, or is it ever present? Is there anything you’d like to add that we had to skip over? Any warnings?
GH: Writing The Putnams of Salem reinforced my belief in the notion that people, whether they live now or lived centuries ago, are universal in so many ways. Then and now, we have hopes, fears, dreams, and concerns. We make mistakes, we triumph, we fail, we get jealous, and the list goes on and on. I tried to write Thomas and Ann with empathy. I don’t wish to excuse the terrible role my ancestors played in this horrific moment in history, but I did want to try to understand it from their perspective. My biggest takeaway from this experience is that the human condition has remained pretty constant.
