The Crucible

“You are not undone. Let you take hold here. Wait for no one to charge you—declare it yourself. You have discovered witchcraft…” 

In this moment, Putnam—one of the wealthiest members of Salem—urges Parris to precede community suspicion by calling out local witches himself. Putnam suggests that this announcement of “discovery” will not only deflect negative attention from Parris’s family, but give him full control over how the community “discovers” and sentences other “witches.” In short, Putnam advises Parris to turn a situation that could potentially undermine his reputation into a situation that enhances his reputation (as a holy “fire and brimstone” reverend who casts out the “witches” from Salem).

As a powerful former “enemy” who held a grudge against Parris, Putnam’s recommendation also carries a great deal of weight. Later on in the play, Putnam has his own suspect motives in calling out Salem’s “witches” (as he hopes to buy up his neighbors’ property at a cheap price). Essentially, with this suggestion of “discover[ing] witchcraft,” Putnam and Parris form a darkly powerful political alliance. Likewise, Senator McCarthy exploited his “discoveries” of supposed communist activities to develop his own political career.

“Now look you. All of you. We danced. […] And that is all. And mark this—let either of you breathe a word, or the edge of a word about the other things, and I will come to you in the black of some terrible night and I will bring a pointy reckoning that will shudder you.” 

In The Crucible, those in power—such as Abigail Williams—obtain and maintain their power through suspect means. As the community begins to speculate about the girls’ activities in the woods, Abigail coerces them to do and say as she directs them to, threatening violence against them if they tell the truth. With this threat, Abigail demonstrates the full extent of her ruthlessness and lack of concern for others. This ruthlessness is analogous to vigorously anti-communist participants in the McCarthy hearings (who violently denounced communists, often with their own selfish aims and agendas).

“Mister Parris, I think you’d better send Reverend Hale back as soon as he come. This will set us all to arguin’ again in the society, and we thought to have peace this year. […] There is prodigious danger in the seeking of loose spirits, I fear it, I fear it. Let us rather blame ourselves…”

When the wise elder Rebecca Nurse learns that Reverend Parris has summoned Reverend Hale, a “witchcraft expert” from Beverly, she predicts that the frenzy around “witchcraft” will only lead to arguments, bitterness, and violence within the community. This moment aptly foreshadows future developments in the play (when the community of Salem responds precisely as Rebecca predicts).

These lines also resonate with irony when Rebecca Nurse is later arrested on false charges of “witchcraft.” Essentially, anyone who objects to the idea of “witchcraft” (and the accusation of “witches”) faces scrutiny. This accusative frenzy mirrors the progression of McCarthy’s anti-communist accusations (whereby anyone who questioned his accusations was labeled “un-American”).

“I am your third preacher in seven years. I do not wish to be put out like the cat, whenever some majority feels the whim. You people seem not to comprehend that a minister is the Lord’s man in the parish; a minister is not to be so lightly crossed and contradicted…” 

Reverend Parris overcomes his initial reservations and proclaims his power over the community. Just as his niece, Abigail, threatened the girls who danced with her in the woods, Parris threatens anyone in his congregation who would contradict him. Thus, he establishes a tone of harsh dominance, signaling that he will gravely punish anyone who questions his judgements or accusations of “witchcraft.” Hereby, Parris suggests that the accuser holds the authority of God Himself. Anything he says is divine law because “a minister is the Lord’s man.”

During the McCarthy hearings, McCarthy similarly wielded his conservative Catholicism and commitment to traditional values. He used his religion to identify himself as the opposite of atheist communists.

“He say Mister Parris must be kill! Mister Parris no goodly man, Mister Parris mean man and no gentle man, and he bid me rise out of my bed and cut your throat! […] I tell him no! I don’t hate that man! […] But he say, You work for me, Tituba, and I make you free! I give you pretty dress to wear, and put you way high in the air and you gone fly back to Barbados! And I say, You lie, Devil, you lie! And then he come one stormy night to me, and he say, Look! I have white people belong to me.” 

In this pivotal moment, the Barbadian slave Tituba desperately attempts to defend herself against powerful community members accusing her of witchcraft. She realizes that the only way to protect herself is to give her accusers exactly what they want. Thus, she offers a false confession of her “witchcraft” activities and names people who “belong” to the devil. Furthermore, the “witches” Tituba names are women who already have a poor reputation in Salem (and already suspected by the people accusing her).

As a black slave in a predominately white society, Tituba realizes that she is one of its most vulnerable members. Thus, she recognizes that her only recourse is to deflect attention onto other vulnerable women like herself. With this passage, Miller suggests that the Salem witch trials—and the McCarthy hearings, by extension—were a vehicle for eliminating anyone who stood out as an “other,” including foreigners, liberals, and sexual “deviants.”

“I never knew it before. I never knew anything before. When she come into the court I say to myself, I must not accuse this woman, for she sleep in ditches, and so very old and poor…But then…then she sit there, denying and denying, and I feel a misty coldness climbin’ up my back […] and I feel a clamp around my neck and I cannot breathe air; and then […] I hear a voice, a screamin’ voice, and it were my voice, and all at once I remembered everything she done to me!” 

Mary Warren recounts her experience in court, wherein the girls accused an elderly homeless woman of being a witch. This passage further confirms that the most vulnerable members of society—those whom Parris finds politically advantageous to eliminate—are the first victims. This moment also vividly illustrates the infectious group-think that overwhelms accusers such as Mary. Within the drama of the moment, Mary transitions from a cynical performer—who doesn’t truly believe in witchcraft—to a full-on believer—who actually begins to “feel a clamp around [her] neck” and “remember” things the accused supposedly did to her. With moments such as this, Miller captures the experience of communist accusers who became swept up in the performativity of the McCarthy hearings, convincing themselves that their claims and suspicions were real.

“Spoke or silent, a promise is surely made. And she may dote on it now—I am sure she does—and thinks to kill me, then to take my place. It is her dearest hope, John, and I know it. There be a thousand names, why does she call mine? There be a certain danger in calling such a name—I am no Goody Good that sleeps in ditches, nor Osburn drunk and half-witted. She’d dare not call out such a farmer’s wife but there be monstrous profit in it. She thinks to take my place, John.” 

In Scene 2 of Act I, Elizabeth Proctor warns her husband that as Abigail gains power, she will turn her accusations from the most vulnerable members of society to more prominent, respected women (such as herself). Elizabeth explains that Abigail—and Parris, by extension—hopes to gain “monstrous profit” by strategically eliminating anyone who stands in the way of her desires. Furthermore, she suggests that her husband’s true sin is not his adulterous affair with Abigail, but the false “promise” he made with their physical union. In this moment, Elizabeth foreshadows the dramatic significance of this “promise,” suggesting that Abigail’s reign over the hearts and minds of Salem—and over Proctor’s own heart and mind—will not end until he publicly renounces this “promise.”

“Since we built the church there were pewter candlesticks upon the altar; Francis Nurse made them, y’know, and a sweeter hand never touched the metal. But Parris came, and for twenty week he preach nothing by golden candlesticks until he had them. I labor the earth from dawn of day to blink of night, and I tell you true, when I look to heaven and see my money glaring at his elbows—it—it hurt my prayer, sir, it hurt my prayer. I think, sometimes, the man dreams cathedrals, not clapboard meeting houses.”

When Reverend Hale questions Proctor about his absence from Parris’s church services, Proctor explains that he resents Parris’ greed and worldly ambition. With this passage, Proctor illustrates that in a theocratic society such as Salem’s, reverends like Parris are not always pure and forthright in their preaching, and often use the church to obtain personal wealth, power, and influence. By illuminating Parris suspect motives, Proctor begins to expose the lies behind the “witchcraft” accusations (and lead Reverend Hale to question his own high-minded religious ideals).

“I cannot think the Devil may own a woman’s soul, Mister Hale, when she keeps an upright way, as I have. I am a good woman, I know it; and if you believe I may do only good work in the world, and yet secretly be bound to Satan, then I must tell you, sir, I do not believe it.” 

Elizabeth ironically casts suspicion on her character by telling the truth and defending her own goodness. This passage exposes the McCarthyesque rhetoric of the Salem witch trials, wherein the accused seemed more guilty if they attempted to defend themselves.

By emphasizing her “goodness” and upright actions, Elizabeth also tellingly implies a comparison to Abigail, who is not a “good woman” (and had a less-than pure reputation in the community prior to assuming the role of accuser). During the witch trials, the court does not judge a woman by actions, but by her willingness to passively go along with the “witch hunt” rhetoric (which means ascribing to a belief in witches, and a belief in the court’s justice).

“If she is innocent! Why do you never wonder if Parris be innocent, or Abigail? Is the accuser always holy now? Were they born this morning as clean as God’s fingers? I’ll tell you what’s walking Salem—vengeance is walking Salem. We are what we always were in Salem, but now the little crazy children are jangling the keys of the kingdom, and common vengeance writes the law!” 

Proctor challenges Hale, pointing out the absurdity of a judicial system wherein the accused can’t defend herself, and the accuser is seemingly always innocent. During the witch trials, the court does not question the authority of the “crazy little children”—Abigail, Mercy, Mary, Betty, and Ruth—and they are allowed to present spectral evidence as fact. Likewise, during the McCarthy hearings, accused communists were guilty until proven innocent (and evidence of their innocence was not readily accepted or trusted).

Furthermore, Proctor points out that tensions between Salem’s residents have been boiling beneath the surface for some time. The title image of the boiling-over witch’s “crucible” metaphorically suggests that the witch trials are simply a container for these tensions, an extension of “what [they] always were in Salem.”

“Make your peace with it. Now Hell and Heaven grapple on our backs, and all our old pretense is ripped away. Make you peace. […] We are what we always were, but naked now. Aye, naked. And the wind, God’s icy wind, will blow.” 

Proctor demands that Mary accompany him to court and testify against Abigail’s lies, telling her to “make her peace” with the knowledge that Abigail will turn against her. Again, he points out that “we are what we always were,” suggesting that Mary’s reckoning with the truth is inevitable. In this moment, he also alludes to the uncomfortable personal truth he must face by confessing to his affair with Abigail in court. He suggests that he and Mary—along with the rest of Salem’s citizens—must “make their peace” with the inner tensions that lead to the boiling over of their community (and accept the righteous “icy wind” of God’s judgment for their sins).

“Why, you taught me goodness, therefore you are good. It were a fire you walked me through, and all my ignorance was burned away. It were a fire, John, we lay in fire. And from that night no woman dare call me wicked any more but I knew my answer. I used to weep for my sins when the wind lifted up my skirts; and blushed for shame because some old Rebecca called me loose. And then you burned my ignorance away. As bare as some December tree I saw them all—walking like saints to church, running to feed the sick, and hypocrites in their hearts! And God gave me strength to call them liars, and God made men to listen to me, and by God I will scrub the world clean for the love of Him! Oh John, I will make you such a wife when the world is white again!” 

Abigail speaks these lines to Proctor during a brief secret meeting in the woods. Herein, Abigail reveals that Elizabeth was correct in her suspicion (that Abigail intends to take her place). Abigail also explains her deeper motives for accusing members of Salem’s community. She resents the sexual repression of Salem’s highly conservative theocracy, and sees the witch trials as a kind of “cleansing” ritual. By eliminating the judgmental “old Rebecca[s]” of the community, Abigail believes that she and the other young female accusers will be free to express and actualize their forbidden desires.

In this scene, Abigail ironically justifies the witch trials using many of the same phrases Proctor uses to denounce them, railing against “hypocrites” and “ignorance.” At the end of the scene, she even hails the end of Salem’s “pretense” in an inversion of Proctor’s earlier words: “We are what we always were.”

“Mister Proctor, if I should tell you now that I will let her be kept another month; and if she begin to show her natural signs, you shall have her living yet another year until she is delivered […] What say you to that? […] Come now. You say your only purpose is to save your wife. Good, then she is saved at least this year, and a year is long. […] Will you drop this charge?” 

Judge Danforth reports that Elizabeth has claimed she is pregnant, though she shows no signs of pregnancy. This mysterious pregnancy is significant on many levels. It prompts the surprised Proctor to declare that his wife must be pregnant because she “cannot lie.” Danforth soon after turns this proclamation against Proctor (when Elizabeth lies in her testimony to save her husband’s reputation). Danforth also attempts to use the pregnancy as a bargaining tool to make Proctor drop his charges against the court. So doing, Danforth reveals that he is far more concerned with the reputation of the court than he is with the well-being of Salem’s citizens (and that he is willing to use suspect measures to preserve that reputation). Finally, Elizabeth’s pregnancy is a complex symbol for the future of Salem. It may be a hopeful future, a future that ends in tragedy, or a future wherein their true destiny remains in doubt (for “this year, and a year is long”).

“But you must understand, sir, that a person is either with this court or he must be counted against it; there be no road between. This is a sharp time, now, a precise time—we live no longer in the dusky afternoon when evil mixed itself with good and befuddled the world. Now, by God’s grace, the shining sun is up, and them that fear not light will surely praise it. I hope you will be one of those.” 

After Francis Nurse presents a signed list of 91 citizens—who testify to the good character of his own accused wife, Corey’s accused wife, and Proctor’s accused wife—Danforth ominously announces that he will investigate everyone who signed the list. Nurse is horrified that he has brought harm to the very people who sought to protect him and his family.

In this moment, Danforth’s harsh rhetoric—“This is a sharp time, now, a precise time”—closely mirrors the fear-mongering anti-communist rhetoric of Joseph McCarthy. The list of 91 names also mimics the “blacklist” of major media figures McCarthy suspected as communists.

“If Jacobs hangs for a witch, he forfeit up his property—that’s law! And there is none but Putnam with the coin to buy so great a piece. This man is killing his neighbors for their land!” 

Giles Corey offers a deposition revealing evidence that Putnam encouraged his daughter to accuse George Jacobs of being a witch. As Corey explains, Putnam wishes to buy Jacobs’s land at a cheap price, and the law dictates that all accused witches must forfeit their property. With this deposition, Corey reveals that many members of the community have dark, suspect motives in the witch trials. Many of the accusing girls are essentially puppets carrying out the wishes of these community members. Danforth makes it clear, however, that Corey’s evidence will not hold merit unless he names the person who offered it. Fearing for the person’s safety, Corey refuses to name him, and is himself arrested for contempt of court.

This insistence on “naming” community members closely mirrors the McCarthy hearings. Corey’s contempt of court experience mimics Miller’s own experience being held in contempt of the House of Un-American Activities. In 1952, the Hollywood director Elia Kazan appeared before the House of Un-American Activities and “named” Miller, along with eight members of the Group Theatre, including Clifford Odets, Paula Strasberg, Lillian Hellman, J. Edward Bromberg, and John Garfield.

“Let you consider, now—and I bid you all do likewise:—in an ordinary crime, how does one defend the accused? One calls up witness to prove his innocence. But witchcraft is ipso facto, on its face and by its nature, an invisible crime. Therefore, who may possibly be witness to it?—the witch, and the victim. None other. Now we cannot hope the witch will accuse herself; granted? Therefore, we must rely upon her victims—and they do testify, the children certainly do testify. As for the witches, none will deny that we are most eager for their confessions. Therefore, what is left for a lawyer to bring out? I think I have made my point.” 

In this moment, Judge Danforth reveals the extent of his terrifying power and callous disregard for the dissenting feelings of Hale, Parris, and the accused victims. He shows that not only is he willing to accept spectral evidence as fact, but that he believes the law is designed to favor this evidence. Danforth’s acceptance of spectral evidence in The Crucible mirrors the real-life Magistrate William Stoughton, who highly favored any testimony by the accusers and denounced any evidence offered by the accused.

“I…I cannot tell how, but I did. I…I heard the other girls screaming, and you, Your Honor, you seemed to believe them and I…It were only sport in the beginning, sir, but then the whole world cried spirits, spirits, and I…I promise you, Mister Danforth, I only thought I saw them but I did not.” 

To prove that she is not lying—in her courtroom testimony that she was previously lying—Mary must “pretend to faint.” The frightened girl finds herself unable to pretend, and explains that she was only able to lie before because she believed in her own performance. In this moment, Mary captures the psychology of group-think and mob-mentality (that was prevalent during both the Salem witch trials and the McCarthy hearings).

“Let you beware, Mister Danforth—think you be so mighty that the power of Hell may not turn your wits?” 

When Judge Danforth’s sympathies appear to momentarily veer away from the accusers, Abigail retaliates with an implied threat. Unlike the other girls—who mere puppets of the powerful men in Salem—Abigail has nothing to lose, and she will accuse anyone of witchcraft who gets in her way, even Judge Danforth himself! This moment ironically illustrates the fickleness of the spectral evidence Judge Danforth accepts in his courtroom. His acceptance of spectral evidence can easily turn against him.

“A man may think God sleeps, but God sees everything. I know it now. […] Excellency, forgive me, forgive me. She thinks to dance with me on my wife’s grave! […] God help me, I lusted, and there is promise in such a sweat! But it is a whore’s vengeance, and you must see it; I set myself entirely in your hands, I know you must see it now. My wife is innocent, except she knows a whore when she see one.” 

In this pivotal moment, John Proctor testifies to his previous affair with Abigail. So doing, he recalls his wife’s earlier words regarding the implied “promise” of this affair. After witnessing Abigail’s madness in the courtroom, Proctor has come to understand his own role—his own complicity—in stoking the boiling “crucible” of Abigail’s desires. He recognizes that her romantic and sexual desires lead to the witch trials, and he begs the court to recognize her true intentions to “dance with [him] on [his] wife’s grave.”

“I should hang ten thousand that dared to rise against the law.” 

In the face of an impending violent uprising against the court, Hale and Parris urge Danforth to reconsider his execution sentences. Danforth, however, remains steadfast in his convictions, refusing to acknowledge the court’s wrongdoing and weakness.

“Let you not mistake your duty as I mistook my own. I came to this village like a bridegroom to his beloved; bearing gifts of high religion, the very crowns of holy law I brought, and what I touched with my bright confidence, it died; and where I turned the eye of my great faith, blood flowed up. Beware, Goody Proctor—cleave to no faith when faith brings blood. It is mistaken law that leads you to sacrifice.” 

Hale begs Elizabeth to help him produce a false confession from her husband (and thus save him from execution). He urges her not to think of this lie as a sin, proclaiming that life is more important than holiness and “It is mistaken law that leads you to sacrifice.” With this statement, he suggests that the holy “laws” that lead to pointless martyrdom of innocent accused victims (such as Giles Corey) are no better than the unjust “laws” of the courtroom (and the bloodlust of accusers like Abigail).

“John…it come to naught that I should forgive you. Will you forgive yourself? It is your soul, John. […] Whatever you will do, it is a good man does it. […] I have sins of my own to count.” 

In their final conversation, Elizabeth expresses to her husband that she has forgiven him in her heart. She warns, however, that she cannot forgive or judge his sins, and that only he can judge himself. So doing, she leaves the decision—of whether he should offer a false confession—up to him.

“You will not use me! I am no Sarah Good or Tituba, I am John Proctor! You will not use me! It is no part of salvation that you should use me!”

John Proctor refuses to offer a false confession when compelled to name other members of his community. He announces that unlike the vulnerable members of society they accused—Sarah Good and Tituba—he “will not [be] use[d]” by the court for their own political purposes. In this moment, Proctor’s defiance of the court mirrors Miller’s own defiance of House of Un-American Activities (when he refused to name other suspected communists).