N employing the term superstition, it is in the sense defined by Franz v. Schonthan:—
Zwar nicht wissen—aber glauben
Heisst ganz richtig—Aberglauben.
(Not to know, but to believe; what else is it, strictly speaking, but superstition?)
It is natural, no doubt, that superstition should decrease in the same ratio as education and enlightenment advance, but its total extinction need not be anticipated for a long time to come. True, its death-knell was sounded by the first invented printing press, a contrivance which, nevertheless, tends to some extent to foster its growth, since “believers” read in history facts that give support to their own beliefs. And although this survival may not exactly please the practically minded, to the antiquary or the psychologist its extinction would be certainly regretable.
It must not be rashly concluded that superstition goes hand in hand with foolishness or absence of commonsense, nor must it be looked on as a symbol of weak-mindedness. Did not Augustus Cæsar hold strong views regarding putting the left shoe on the right foot, maintaining that such procedure betokened some dire calamity? And again, did he not deem the skin of a sea-calf to be a certain preservative against lightning? Yet he was not generally regarded as a particularly foolish or weak-minded man.
Of the various forms of superstition current at the present time, none hold such sway as the credence in witchcraft. The date of its origin is lost in the dim past, but we may safely surmise that it arose early in the mind of man. Moses denounced witches in no measured terms. “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” he said, and this decree survived until a comparatively recent date. In mediæval times the law of Moses certainly held good; it mattered nothing what position in the social standard the accused held. In the year 1537 Lady Janet Douglas was burned in Edinburgh on the charge of being a witch. John Knox was once accused of being a wizard because “nothing but sorcery,” so it was said, “could account for Lord Ochiltree’s daughter”—“ane damosil of nobil blude”—falling in love with him—“ane old, decrepid creature of most base degree of ony that could be found in the countrey.” Although the days are past when witches were publicly tormented or executed, even at the present time such a reputation is not without danger to the supposed witch. To effect a cure from the spell cast, it used to be considered almost essential that her blood be drawn, and within quite recent years I have known of cases where reputed witches have been shot at with “silver bullets,” or struck at with hay-forks or other sharp instruments.
Having its birth in so remote a past, it is, perhaps, not to be wondered at that witchcraft has persisted so long, that its demise is so protracted. Until a few years ago, when the law stepped in to punish those who made a livelihood by “conjuring”—i.e., pointing out witches and producing spells to confound them—witchcraft formed an everyday topic of conversation, and little secrecy was deemed necessary; but now, though as staunchly believed in as ever, the subject is alluded to in bated breath, and it is no easy matter to discover the whereabouts of a “conjurer” or “witch-doctor.”
In the more remote corners of the county may still be heard fragments of the old Dorset speech, and in these same out-of-the-way spots one may chance on the strangest of superstitions and customs. Witchcraft holds a place in the minds of the illiterate, the semi-educated, and even the better educated, from which no amount of argument can expel it. Thomas Hardy and William Barnes have both used the theme as a groundwork for prose and poem. It may be interesting to note here that Conjurer Trendle, in the former’s story entitled “The Withered Arm,” was no fictitious personage, but had a veritable existence. He is still well remembered (under his real name, of course) by some of the older people who dwelt near, and the house in which he lived, in the central portion of “Egdon Heath,” may still be traced in a heap of decayed walls and rotten timbers.
The reason for this strong and enduring belief is not difficult to find; thought-transference, mental telepathy, hypnotism, are all scientifically admitted; that our ancestors observed the effects of these “sciences,” attributing the causes to some easily explainable or at least plausible reasons, is more than probable.