The Burning Times: Reclaiming Our History

They burned us. For three centuries, they burned us. Or did they? The 'Burning Times'—a term coined by modern witches and pagans—refers to the European witch hunts spanning roughly 1450 to 1750. It's a phrase heavy with pain, with loss, with rage at historical injustice. It's also, like many historical narratives, more complicated than it first appears. Let's start with what we know: Between 40,000 and 60,000 people were executed for witchcraft in Europe during this period. Some historians estimate higher; some lower. The majority were women—approximately 75-80%—but men were also accused and killed. The accused came from all social classes, though the poor and marginalized were disproportionately targeted. Methods of execution varied by region. Despite the name 'Burning Times,' most accused witches in England and its colonies were hanged, not burned. Burning was more common in Scotland and continental Europe. Many died in prison before trial. Some were tortured to death during interrogation. But here's where history gets contested: Modern witches and pagans sometimes claim that nine million witches were killed, that these were practitioners of an ancient pagan religion, that the witch hunts were a deliberate campaign of genocide against the Old Religion. This narrative, popularized in the 19th and 20th centuries, doesn't hold up to historical scrutiny. The nine million figure appears to have no historical basis—it was likely invented by 18th-century authors and amplified by later writers. The actual death toll, while still horrific, was likely 40,000-60,000. Were the victims practicing an organized pagan religion? Probably not. Most historical evidence suggests they were Christians—often devout ones. Some may have practiced folk magic or healing traditions alongside their Christianity. Some were probably innocent of any magical practice at all, convicted on false accusations, grudges, or forced confessions. So why does this matter? Why complicate a narrative of persecution? Because truth matters. Because we honor the dead by seeing them as they were, not as we wish they'd been. The people executed in the witch hunts were real individuals with complex lives, not symbols. They deserve accurate memory. BUT—and this is crucial—just because the 'Burning Times' narrative isn't historically accurate doesn't mean it isn't meaningful. The witch hunts happened. The persecution was real. Tens of thousands died, accused of the crime of witchcraft. The overwhelming majority were women, killed in a centuries-long campaign that was absolutely fueled by misogyny, religious extremism, social anxiety, and political manipulation. The execution of people for supposed witchcraft represents a genuine historical trauma. Those deaths created ripples through time. They established patterns: fear of powerful women, suspicion of herbalists and healers, the association of feminine power with evil, the willingness to torture and kill based on spectral evidence and forced confessions. These patterns persist. When modern witches talk about the 'Burning Times,' they're not just referencing historical events—they're naming an ongoing legacy of fear around feminine power, spiritual autonomy, and practices outside mainstream religion. So how do we hold both truths? How do we honor historical accuracy while acknowledging meaningful trauma? First, we educate ourselves. Read scholarship by historians like Ronald Hutton, Diane Purkiss, and Brian Levack. Understand the actual social, economic, and religious factors behind the witch hunts. Second, we acknowledge that reclaiming and reframing history is a valid response to trauma. The modern witch movement has taken the word 'witch'—once a deadly accusation—and transformed it into a declaration of power. That's not historical fiction; that's healing through language. Third, we remember them. We say their names when we know them: Alse Young, the first person executed for witchcraft in the American colonies. Agnes Sampson, tortured and executed in Scotland. Maria Pauer, burned in Austria. Anna Göldi, the last person executed for witchcraft in Europe, in 1782. We light candles for them. We speak of their suffering. We commit to remembering, to learning, to never letting such persecution happen again. And finally, we live our magic out loud. Every spell we cast in freedom, every circle we draw in peace, every open practice of our craft is a refutation of those centuries of persecution. We exist, we practice, we thrive. That is how we honor them. The Burning Times may be more metaphor than precise history, but metaphors have power. Stories have power. And the story we tell about the past shapes the future we create. So yes, they burned us. And we rose from the ashes, phoenix-like, wings spread wide, ready to soar. Never forget. Never again.