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There are a lot of controversial topics within the wider Pagan community, topics that are generally better ignored to avoid fanning the flames of an argument. Unfortunately, these more emotive topics (with vested interests entrenched) tend to house the most powerful catalysts for intellectual change. As a result of this, it’s time for me to be the latest to take up the mantle of defendant for the legitimate existence of the Warlock.
As far as most Neopagans are concerned, a Warlock is an individual to be maligned and ignored. Certainly, the most popular definition of a Warlock would promote this ostracism. All too typically, Pagans are treated with suspicion as it is; it’s hard to see how furthering a negative stereotype would be helpful when so many people need no encouragement for religious bigotry.
Yet, I am a Warlock.
I am comfortable with the term, and equally comfortable with the cynicism I’m treated to as a result.
So let’s discuss why I’d use such a divisive title, and start by describing why it’s so divisive. In fact, let’s start with the dictionary definition of the term:
“A man who practices the black arts; a male Witch; sorcerer. A fortune teller or conjurer”.
So far, so good. The black arts have been a byword for Witchcraft since the likes of Sprenger and Kramer let their misogynistic repressions get the better of them. We shouldn’t be surprised to see this here. Moving on, however, the term for a male Witch seems to fit relatively nicely, and there should be no real umbrage with sorcery, fortune telling or conjuring. Sure, there’s the fact that male and female Witches are known simply as “Witches” throughout the Craft, but we’re not really coming up against anything here that’s particularly off the beaten track or offensive. I mean, we could probably argue about the validity of calling Witchcraft a black art in our modern age, but there’s honestly no reason to be upset here.
So why the angst?
Let’s look at where the word comes from.
To get us going, Warlock is attributed to the old English “wærloga”, and this is where we start hitting the skids – the term implies a traitor or liar. Splitting up the term, we’re left with wær (a solemn promise) and loga (derivative of leogan, which is to lie) , and it’s at this point where we get to the most common definition of a Warlock throughout the Neopagan community: the Oath-Breaker. At first glance then, we’re talking about a pretty hateful and dishonest individual and not the type of person you’d want to share a building with never mind a coven and its secrets. In short, it doesn’t take us very long to run into the reason why a Warlock would be so quickly shunned by legitimate Witches, Wiccans and Pagans.
Yet, there are immediately two nagging problems here:
1) Old English is not necessarily where the word first appeared, and its attribution is questionable.
2) Promise-breaking is hardly commendable, but exactly what oath are we describing?
Old English (or Anglo-Saxon) was spoken, roughly, between the 5th and 12th century and encompassed almost the entirety of modern England. Where it didn’t reach was what we now identify as Wales, or the vast majority of Scotland; and Scotland is interesting, because the spiritual mother of modern Witchcraft, Doreen Valiente, believed that’s where the word originated. This is curious. It’s simply not logical to assume that a word came from a certain language and certain country, when said language was never spoken in said country. Something else is likely going on. Scotland during this time was no friend of England (much like now depending who you ask, hoho) , and much of its customs were far more similar to mainland Europe than they were to its southern neighbour. Funnily enough, this also extends to how the ancient Scots treated Witches.
But what’s the likely source of the word if not Anglo-Saxon?
We can debate until we’re blue in the face where the etymological source lies, but there is essentially one inescapable fact; the actual word, Warlock, was never used in England and first popped up in the 16th century… In Scotland. As is usual, Valiente was bang on the money. In Scottish texts, the term Warlock was very much used to represent the current dictionary definition we started this discussion with – a male practitioner of Witchcraft. Funnily enough, if we do want to take up the etymological baton again, there is another potentially attributed source, and it’s the old Norse word “vardlokkur”. If we split vardlokkur, similarly to the way we did with wærloga, we come up with vard (spirit) and lokkur (song) which brings us to the spirit-caller definition that’s slowly starting to see growing popularity amongst Pagans and Witches of all stripes. Alas, there’s another inescapable fact – once again, just like wærloga, the source of the word is beyond accurate attribution.
In short, we’re guessing.
Both Anglo-Saxon and Old Norse have their roots in Germanic, but Norse lasted from around the 8th century to the 14th and moved into Scotland with its invaders. Anglo-Saxon ranged from the 5th to the 12th century, again moving into England with its invaders, but at an earlier stage than Old Norse. With all these facts borne firmly in mind, it’s dramatically more likely that the word Warlock made its way to the modern day via the root vardlokkur; not only was Anglo-Saxon never spoken in Scotland, even if it was, Old Norse would have succeeded it prior to the first Warlocks ever being named by the likes of Robert Burns. What is also of great interest here is the fact that the Burning Times started in Scotland at the end of the 16th century, roughly coinciding with King James VI and his publication of Daemonologie. Naturally, we know the story here: the prosecutions began, otherwise innocent terms were perverted into evil ones to indict the ungodly, and anyone found guilty was tried (if they were lucky) and executed.
Quite by accident, this brings us to point number two.
What oath exactly did these individuals break? Sticking with the Anglo-Saxon root most Pagans attribute Warlock to, it’d be appropriate to consider how Witches were prosecuted in England as opposed to Scotland. With Protestantism having made its mark by this time, there is significant evidence pointing toward Catholics being consistently accused and tried for Witchcraft due to the far more elaborate rituals they conducted that were nigh indistinguishable from magic, and their approach toward relics. In fact, multiple contemporary records describe engagement in “popery” as synonymous with Witchcraft; the terms used interchangeably more than once. Committed Protestants are deeply suspicious of rituals and mysticism to this day, so one can imagine that the Reformation would have been a particularly volatile time for anyone engaging in such activities, however holy the intent.
Against this backdrop, the only oath or promise that could be broken and see the church care would be a person’s baptism. To be baptised is to basically commit your life to Christ, depending on your denomination, and this is the most importantly held promise a Christian can make. Breaking this promise is considered a great offence to Christ, and it’s also worth noting that Witches under trial were consistently accused and convicted of doing exactly that. If a Witch made a pact with Satan they were denying their baptism and denying the creator of the heavens and the earth.
It’s probably also worth mentioning that those accepting the tale of humanity’s evolution in the form of Adam and Eve are likely to consider this a far worse crime for a male, given that Eve was the one that predetermined the subjugated role of women as far as Christianity is concerned; she did, after all, lead Adam astray in the Garden of Eden. During the trials it was a relatively common feature that women were expected to err because of this fact, meaning men denying their baptism could very well be viewed as worse. If we accept this to be true, and much of it’s perfectly logical, then we are (yet again) back where we started; these “oath-breakers” are seeing Witches as very obvious bedfellows because they were both accused of and executed for the very same things.
So, we’re here. After a lot of looking through the annals of history, we can relatively safely draw a conclusion:
Given the origin of the word Warlock in Scotland, its most likely etymological root in Norse, and the circumstantial evidence that implies they were tried for identical crimes to Witches, it’s fair to conclude that a Warlock is, indeed, a male Witch.
This is, of course, a conclusion. It would be very wrong to state it as a fact because there are a few gaps that wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny. What we can say, however, is that our conclusion here is far more likely than any other. But there’s one more question ringing loudly in my ears:
“Who cares?!”
Well, I do.
I accept the stance of modern Paganism, Witchcraft and Wicca with regard to titles; whether you are male or female, all practitioners of the Craft are known as Witches. That’s fine. It’s a perfectly valid view but it’s not one I happen to subscribe to. It’s my inalienable right to reject it, and it’s a right I exercise. To me, the duality of nature, allied to the verve of my own individuality, forces me to reconcile this issue differently.
The God and Goddess, for example, are different genders; as are the Priest and Priestess of a coven, and this is deliberate. Nature, in all its forms, distinguishes between the sexes at every turn because that’s how our planet has developed and evolved. We, as human beings, are psychologically inclined to resolve the differences between males and females and accept them for what they are – differences. From darkness and light, sun and moon, positive and negative, left and right, good and evil, Yin and Yang, body and spirit, male and female, sperm and egg, the cosmos is one big canvas of dualities working together for mutual advantage. The practice of Witchcraft should not stand alone in defiance of this, and it appears that there isn’t a historical precedent arguing that it should. Clumping everyone under one umbrella and calling the job a good one is historically unfair, and it doesn’t make any more sense in the modern age.
For these reasons, I think it’s logical and sensible to use the term Witch for a female practitioner of Witchcraft, and Warlock for a male practitioner. One could argue that other titles could be used and, in all honesty, I’m perfectly comfortable with that; I know people who prefer sorcerer or wizard (male and female) and they’re comfortable with their reasons for choosing to do so. And I suppose, when all falls down, that’s what’s most important – how you feel about what you are. I think the term Warlock suits me properly and it’s a term I’m stimulated by, something which helps in the three major facets of magic – imagination, sensitivity and emotional content. If somebody wants to use the title “Grand High Mufti of the Third Urinal from the Right” then they should absolutely feel free. They just need to be ready to defend the choice when it’s under criticism.
Oh, and one last thing.
Just as it’s my inalienable right to reject normal titular convention, Pagans of all stripes have that same right to reject mine. I bring this up only as a reminder that if you choose to call yourself a Warlock, you’re going to have to accept that many modern Witches and Wiccans have already committed the word negatively to their subconscious. They are not wrong. They just draw a different conclusion from the same information. Under the paragon of Paganism, it pays to have an open mind, but open-mindedness does not mean “you accept and agree with everything I say”. If someone flat-out doesn’t like Warlocks, you’re going to have to live with that.
Warner Brothers’ Charmed sure has a lot to answer for.
(this is the Charmed geek Yana talking).