The idea of possession and exorcism is, in many ways, ridiculous. Surely all those demons and spirits belong to the collective imagination of less enlightened times—to the mud and dungeons of Dark Age paranoia?
Perhaps so. But why does the idea of exorcism linger so insistently, along with all those other quasi-religious superstitions including Halloween, traditionally the day of remembrance for souls yet to reach heaven? It seems we have an instinctive cultural sense that spirits are kind of hanging around somewhere. Is it so surprising that one or two of them should turn out to be a bit nasty?
Or maybe it’s the fault of one particular film. As Joseph P Laycock, the editor of a deeply unsettling new volume of accounts describing exorcisms throughout history, explains: “In the modern US, exorcism was once extraordinarily rare.” However, “All of this changed after 1973, when The Exorcist created a massive demand for exorcisms. Evangelicals and Pentecostals were already positioned to cater to this new market.” Other, more recent cultural phenomena have also piqued the appetite for exorcism. One Catholic priest has argued that “more exorcisms were needed than ever before, because cultural trends such as yoga and the Harry Potter franchise were leaving millions vulnerable to demonic influence.”
If modern theologians see the devil in yoga, this collection makes clear that ancient civilisations saw “the beast” as a much more immediate presence. A 2,600-year-old excerpt from the library of Ashurbanipal, which contains thousands of ancient Assyrian tablets, recalls how: “The Evil Devil prowleth in the City/ [It hath no rest] from slaughtering men./ They smite the hero/ They lay low the maiden/ The little ones like a leek they tear in pieces.” In this case, this evil spirit was banished by making a dough effigy of the possessed, with the model or the man (the instructions are ambiguous) then doused with water. The run-off was collected and sprinkled in the “broad places/ That the evil influence which hath brought low his strength/ May be carried away.”
The Romans practised exorcism, and a 2nd-century story by Lucian of Samosata recalled a spirit “of a dark smoky complexion” leaving an afflicted patient. There are also accounts here from Josephus of a 1st-century Jewish exorcism, as well as exorcisms in the Islamic world. In a story taken from the Hadith, Muhammad himself cures a boy by blowing in his mouth and instructing the spirit to “go away.” In Japanese folklore, spirits in the shape of a fox can sometimes possess a victim, and in Tibet, demons are banished by luring them into a stone, which is then smashed.
However, these accounts feel restrained alongside the gory exorcisms of the Christian world. “Juliana,” by the 9th-century poet Cynewulf, describes how the title character, said to have been martyred for her faith in the early 4th century, interrogates a devil about its victims. “I wrought it that their bodies spurted blood,” says the demon, “and they suddenly gave forth their life through an outpouring of the veins.”
A 16th-century report from Somerset, a hotbed of possession, tells how a devil took hold of a woman, “contorted her into a hoop and rolled her round the house.” In that account, the victim “was so sore tormented that she foamed at the mouth, and was shaken with such force that the Bed and Chamber did shake and move in most strange sort.”
Then in 1634 came the possession of Loudin, when an entire convent fell under the devil’s influence, leading to one of the most famous mass exorcisms in history. It went on for so long and in such a public manner that Loudin’s possessed nuns became something of a tourist attraction. The problems began with the arrival of a priest named Urbain Grandier, described as “handsome, highly-educated, and a charismatic preacher.” Grandier was also known to have written a treatise on why “priestly vows of celibacy cannot be honoured.”
Soon after his arrival in Loudin, 17 nuns began experiencing “disturbances.” Jeanne des Anges “described sexual fantasies about Grandier, which she attributed to his sorcery.” Other nuns “uttered cries so horrible and so loud that nothing like it was ever heard before,” and the stuff they came out with “would have astonished the inmates of the lowest brothel in the country.” Meanwhile, the Mother Superior “was carried off her feet and remained suspended in the air at the height of 24 inches.”
The possessed were thoroughly exorcised, with the account remarking that “it seems the regimen of thrashing and contortions during daily exorcisms made them quite fit.” The nuns at least managed to get something out of their system. As for Grandier, he was arrested, tortured and burnt as a sorcerer.
As the accounts come closer to the present day, they become increasingly disturbing. A South African exorcism conducted in 1906 is a hideous maelstrom of fighting, throttling, levitation, screaming, expanding heads, limbs stretching and cracking “as if they were about to break.” Oddest of all is the “uncanny glow in the eyes of the possessed.” An exorcism from 1928, in Iowa, is described in similarly graphic terms, including convulsions, barking, and “an infernal stench.” That account, which includes a deeply unsettling Q&A with the demon itself, particularly influenced William Peter Blatty, author of The Exorcist.
What drove all these strange events? That most exorcisms involve women suggests a procedure used by the powerful to purify society at the expense of the weak. Stories of exorcism, Laycock writes, often aim “to establish the authority of a religious figure or institution, or else to associate a rival religion or controversial social practice with the demonic.”
It’s hard to argue with that rather dry, post-Enlightenment opinion. But it ignores our lingering and very real attachment to the idea of spirits and the question of why, every year, many thousands of otherwise rational people dress up as ghouls and ghosts and go walking in the streets to demand favours from their neighbours, threatening trickery if they are not appeased. What, you might ask, possesses them to do that?
Due to an editing error, the original version of this article described Cynewulf as a 19th-century poet. The text has been corrected
