Why Eve Should’ve Ditched Adam: Witchcraft & Capitalism in Mediaeval Europe

Witchcraft Versus The Patriarchy

Francisco de Goya y Lucientes, Witches' Sabbath (The Great He-Goat), 1819

The Christian church has begrudged women ever since Eve first partook of the forbidden fruit. Despite—or perhaps due to—having enlightened humanity, women were henceforth subjected to the whims of patriarchy. Though this misogyny is not unique to the Abrahamic traditions, it is exemplified by the witch-hunts that wracked Mediaeval and Early Modern Europe. During this period, half of Europe’s population found its existence demonised in a practice of hate that still affects us today.

What is not so widely recognised, is the ways in which this misogyny facilitated the formation of capitalism, and the role of food within this. Capitalism’s core tenets are enshrined in its etymology. Constituted of capital: 'relating to the head or top’—synonymously ‘wealth’—and -ism, a particular ideology or movement: the suffixing -ism onto capital denotes a monetised system centred on the top. As an ideology, capitalism is now seemingly inseparable from culture: so ingrained with our daily lives that it has become integral to our societal functions. Our purpose is our work; our wealth becomes our standing; our value is in our capital. 

As an economic and political system, capitalism finds its genesis in the shifting agrarian landscapes of Mediaeval Europe. During this era land became increasingly privatised, and a mercantile system of profitable trading began replacing serfdom. Workers were employed rather than indentured, and wage-labour became the principal drive behind human progress.

Under capitalism, wage-labour has invariably been male dominated, a gendered hierarchical division which has relegated women—with their unique relationship to reproduction—to the perceived lesser task of procreating new generations. This has effectively facilitated the co-option of female sexuality as a form of social reproduction. Sex that sits outside of procreation—for pleasure; as a livelihood; etc.—has been historically regarded as dangerous for its distraction from labour. This is evidenced in the widespread asceticism that gripped Europe in the Mediaeval era. e

Frans Francken the Younger, Witches' Sabbath, 1606

Those women who did not conform—older; unmarried; or non-reproductive—were deemed superfluous, and their existence was ostracised. Alan Macfarlane’s Witchcraft in Tudor and Stuart England (1970) posits the theory that these nonconformist women, as those most disempowered by capitalism, were identified as lesser units of society, and deemed witches for their non-normativity. However Macfarlane’s notion does not account for how these women inspired such terror. 

This is where Silvia Federici’s ideas in Caliban and the Witch: Women, the Body and Primitive Accumulation (2004) are pertinent. In Caliban, Federici suggests a critical alternative to the Marxian theory of Primitive Accumulation: a notion which—to overly simplify it—posits private property as the main progenitor of capitalism. In her treatise, Federici suggests that witch-hunts were a calculated attack on women that sat outside of the patriarchal capitalist canon, and reflects on the importance of this in the widespread shift to capitalism orchestrated by the ruling class. She also puts forward the notion of the female reproductive commons, which capitalist patriarchy strove to enclose and hegemonise.

Due to their association with reproduction, women in pre-capitalist societies were often considered to have a close connection to nature. This is evidenced through the predominantly female practices of healing; herbalism; and midwifery, which provided women with independence. Capitalism sought to control these practices and strip these independent women of their autonomy. Through the mythical exaggeration of their ‘crimes’ as witchcraft, these practitioners were tarnished as terrorists, scaring society into thinking autonomy to be evil, discouraging disobedience, and purposefully alienating practices that had previously been considered normal. This effectively ‘civilised’ society into a new subjectivity dependent on capitalism.

During this period, the witch-hunts reached their zenith with the Malleus Maleficarum (1486): a treatise on witchcraft that effectively elevated the Catholic notion of ‘sorcery’ to heresy. This is evidenced in the Catholic law of the time, which deemed witchcraft a crimen exceptum: a crime so heinous that its punishment exceeded all normal legal procedures. It is somewhat potent that ‘heresy’—from the Greek hairesis—means ‘choice;’ for it is only through the absolute absence of choice that one could avoid being labelled heretical. 

The Malleus effectively formalised the witch-hunt from finger-pointing to a refined art, and helped bring into law the criminalisation of alleged witches. It is also in the Malleus that food became a prevalent identifier of a witch’s practice. Food, as a resource, is fundamental to survival, and, as such, often plays a central cultural role. Milk, both human and nonhuman, is especially culturally significant. A mother’s milk is a baby’s lifeblood, and has been historically intertwined with female fertility. This thinking was no different for the demonologists of the Malleus, who accused witches of stealing milk. In Sweden, Finland, Poland, and Franconia (now South-Germany), witches were called 'milk-thieves.’ Similarly, the Dutch terms for ‘witch’ and ‘milk-thief’ were interchangeable.

Accusing older women of milk-theft turned younger women against them. Witches were believed to make men impotent and women barren: both odious crimes in any society centred on social reproduction. Witches were also accused of magicking milk from thin air: an especially challenging notion for a society believing in a Limited Good—a theory coined by anthropologist George M. Foster. This belief is held by many traditional societies, and suggests good things: health; wealth, etc.—are finite. As such, they are always in short supply; any significant gain can only come at the expense of others. Alleged witches’ redistributive magic thus challenged the formation of an economy based on tangible capital.

Societies that hold the notion of Limited Good tend to maintain strong equality, and are resistant to social change. Scarcity can thus be fractious, and just one pointed finger can scapegoat a common enemy. This is, in part, what united people in their fear of the individual threat of witchcraft towards the communal good. Witches’ supposedly congregated in ritual Sabbath gatherings, where they would feast upon human flesh, or scavenged meat. For those who partook, their hunger was never sated, embodying the cardinal sin of gluttony. 

Demonologist’s accounts of witchcraft and the importance of what they ate can help us understand the complex historical relationship between food and symbolism. Without it, we would struggle to fully comprehend the ways in which witchcraft invoked such terror in Early Modern Europe, and the long-lasting impact this has had on societal perceptions of women.

Today, we live in the legacy of the witch trials. The misogynistic division of labour persists with the gender pay gap; women’s reproductive autonomy continues to be patriarchally controlled; and nature oriented practices are still viewed with suspicion. Heresy, however, gains traction every day. Pro-choice, ecofeminism, and the fight for equality remain concurrent feminist movements, challenging capitalism with more holistic views of the world, and helping society unlearn its patriarchal leanings. It is a shame that the forbidden fruit didn’t give Eve with prescience as well as knowledge, for otherwise she might have ditched Adam and his patriarchal leanings when she had the chance.