From early manhood to the close of his life, Mather was an unfaltering believer in Protestant Christendom’s great witchcraft devil, backed by countless hosts of lesser ones, and he also believed in her special witchcraft. He had full faith in a devil as ubiquitous, active, and malignant as his own vigorous and expansive intellect could conjure up; had faith that extra manifestations of afflictive might, of knowledge, or of suffering in the outer world were produced by the devil, and faith also that even that mighty evil one was unable to afflict men outwardly, excepting either at the call or by the aid of some human servant who had entered into a covenant with his Black Majesty. The woe-working points of this man’s faith were, that special covenantings with the devil were entered into by human beings, in consequence of which the covenanting mortals became witches—that is, they thence became able to command all his powers, as well as he theirs; also that only through such covenanted ones could he or his do harm to the bodies and external possessions of men. Therefore, he reasoned, that, whenever extra and unaccountable malignant action appeared, some covenanter with the devil must be in the neighborhood of the malignant manifestation.
And yet, practically, Mather was not disposed to let the public get knowledge of the covenanter. His choice was, to keep secret the names of bewitched actors, the afflictors of the suffering ones, and to strive by prayers, fastings, manipulations, &c., to relieve the unhappy sufferers. Had his policy been adopted by the public, had his example been widely followed, there would have been no execution for witchcraft in his generation.
We can—and we are glad that we can—state that Mather’s faith embraced some other invisible beings than malicious ones, who had access to man. In that respect he probably differed from, and was favored above, most of the clergy and church members of his times; and perhaps his possession of faith in the ministry of good angels made him a more lenient handler and more patient observer of the afflicted, than were most of his cotemporaries. His prolonged attention to Martha Goodwin, to Mercy Short, to Margaret Rule, and his offer to take care of five or six Salem ones if he could be allowed the management of them, bespeak kindness in him above what was common in his age toward those deemed to be under “an evil hand.” He once wrote thus:—
“In the present evil world it is no wonder that the evil angels are more sensible than those of the good ones. Nevertheless it is very certain that the good angels continually, without any defilement, fly about in our defiled atmosphere to minister for the good of them that are the heirs of salvation.... Now, though the angelic ministration is usually behind the curtain of more visible instruments and their actions, yet sometimes it hath been with extraordinary circumstances made more obvious to the sense of the faithful.”
He was not unmindful and did not omit to record the fact that “the enchanted people talked much of a white spirit, from whence they received marvelous assistances.... Margaret Rule had a frequent view of his bright, shining, and glorious garments, ... and says he told her that God had permitted her afflictions to befall her for the unspeakable and everlasting good of her own soul, and for the good of many others; and for his own immortal glory.”
When a being or beings of such glorious appearance present themselves, and when their utterances and influences are elevating and blissful, it is not wise to ignore them. The very laws which permit the advent of low and dark spirits are natural, and can be availed of, on fitting occasions and conditions, by elevated and bright ones; therefore wisdom invites man to solicit and prepare the way for visits by the latter class.
The courtesy of S. F. Haven, Esq., the accomplished librarian of the American Antiquarian Society, Worcester, Mass., recently permitted us to see a long-lost and recently discovered manuscript, giving, in Cotton Mather’s handwriting, an account of Mercy Short. We judge from cursory perusal of a modern manuscript copy of Mather’s account, that the librarian had ample grounds for reporting to the society that Mercy Short’s was “a case similar to that of Margaret Rule, but of greater interest and fuller details.” He further remarked in his report, that “it will be remembered that the account of Margaret Rule was not published by Mather himself, but by his enemy Calef, who by some means obtained possession of it. The story of Mercy Short, from an indorsement upon it, appears to have been privately circulated among his friends, but there is nothing to show that Mather ever intended it for publication.”—S. F. Haven’s Report, April 29, 1874.
Common fairness requires all modern critics to remember and regard the fact that Mather’s accounts of Mercy Short and Margaret Rule were never given to the public by himself; that they never received his revision and correction for the press. Because of this they perhaps come to us more alive with the spirit of frankness and sincerity, and with more detail of little incidents. Unstudied records are generally honest and substantially accurate, even if marred by looseness of style and expression, and by statements of wonders.
Our views would require us to refrain from calling Calef Mather’s “enemy,” as the librarian did. He was the enemy of unscriptural definitions of witchcraft, and of unjustifiable proceedings against those accused of it; but not, as we read his purposes and feelings, the enemy of Mather himself. He was the enemy of opinions of which Mather was a conspicuous and outspoken representative, and whose writings furnished provoking occasion for an attack upon disastrous errors.
We trust the public may ere long see Mather’s account of Mercy Short in print. That, and the one of Margaret Rule, show us very authentically, and we can almost say beautifully, the temper of Mather witch-ward, in the spring and autumn of the year next following the memorable 1692. Nothing then inclined him to ways that led to human slaughter. The conditions, seeming acts, and surroundings of those two girls apparently gave him opportunity and power to evoke a repetition of Salem’s fearful scenes, in which the modern world has been deluded to believe that his soul found pleasure. If that soul loved blood, it could easily have set it flowing in 1693, and found wherewith to gratify its appetite; but it did not.