Mushrooms in European witchcraft: fungi, folklore, and the old art of flying

The image of a witch astride a broom, red-capped mushroom at her feet, has lodged in our cultural imagination for centuries. That picture mixes woodsmoke, trial records, herbal recipes and folk tales into a single, evocative scene. This article explores how fungi entered the ecclesiastical, legal and popular worlds of early modern Europe, what the evidence actually shows, and how modern scholars separate mythology from likely practice.

setting the scene: witch beliefs and the ecology of early modern Europe

Witchcraft in Europe emerged at the intersection of religion, medicine and everyday hardship. Communities facing crop failure, disease and social strife sought explanations, and accusations of maleficium—harm caused by supernatural means—became a language for those conflicts. Within this environment, references to ointments, nocturnal gatherings and visionary journeys appeared in testimony, pamphlets and demonology manuals.

Those references did not always name ingredients. Trial records frequently record the claim that accused women “flew” to sabbats or communed with familiars, but they rarely describe a step-by-step recipe. That silence left plenty of room for later readers and folklorists to speculate about what enabled those experiences—pharmacology, psychosocial stress, or simply coerced confessions under torture.

At the same time, Europe’s ecology is rich in fungi: woodlands and damp pastures host a surprising diversity, including species with potent alkaloids. Villagers who foraged, brewed, and tended animals lived with these organisms in practical, symbolic and medicinal registers. Understanding the role of fungi in witchcraft claims therefore requires connecting social history with natural history and pharmacology.

witchs’ ointments: texts, trials, and what they really say

One of the most persistent threads in witch lore is the “witch’s ointment”—a salve said to confer flight, ecstasy, or the power to harm. Manuals written by demonologists and confessions recorded by inquisitors often mention ointments as instruments of sorcery. Writers such as Reginald Scot (who famously argued against witch-hunting in the late 16th century) and continental demonologists both engaged with the idea, but with very different agendas.

Some late medieval and early modern sources list specific plants: belladonna, henbane, mandrake, and opium poppy are commonly cited. Those plants contain tropane alkaloids or opiates that can produce delirium, hallucinations, and potentially dangerous physiological effects. Importantly, many of these alkaloids are active through the skin when carried in fatty bases, which helps explain contemporary theories that ointments could produce visionary sensations without ingestion.

Trial testimony sometimes supplied the missing detail, albeit under duress. Accused women were questioned about how they “flew,” and their answers—coerced or not—occasionally mention rubbing salves on a broomstick or a staff. Even then, the specificity varies: a few confessions speak of “ointments” and “unguentums” but do not name mushroom species, leaving it up to later interpreters to fill the gaps.

which fungi come up in the story: amanita, ergot, and liberty caps

When people connect mushrooms with witchcraft they tend to point at three candidates: Amanita muscaria (the fly agaric), Claviceps purpurea (ergot), and Psilocybe species such as Psilocybe semilanceata (the liberty cap). Each has a different chemistry and cultural footprint, and each contributes differently to hypotheses about historical usage.

Amanita muscaria is instantly recognizable: bright red cap with white flecks, often pictured in fairy art. It contains ibotenic acid and muscimol, which produce delirium and altered perception. Ergot is not a mushroom in the classic sense but a parasitic fungus that infects cereal grains, producing powerful ergot alkaloids. Liberty caps are true psychedelic mushrooms that produce psilocybin and psilocin and are native to many parts of temperate Europe.

The table below summarizes these three in concise form, noting chemistry, likely effects, and presence in European contexts.

scholarship and controversy: how historians approach the question

Scholars disagree on how to interpret the patchy evidence. Early 20th-century theories, like Margaret Murray’s idea of a surviving pagan “witch-cult,” have been widely discredited because they overread folklore and cherry-picked trial records. More cautious historians look for interdisciplinary corroboration—textual, chemical, and archaeological—before accepting claims of widespread fungal ritual use.

Anthropologists and historians of religion have also urged restraint. Visionary experiences recorded in confessions can arise from many sources: fever, epilepsy, social pressure, fasting, or the ingestion of herbs and fungi. Proof that a particular fungus was central to witchcraft practices requires converging lines of evidence, which are rarely available.

At the same time, a few scholars—drawing on trial testimony, ethnographic parallels, and pharmacology—have argued that certain practices were plausibly real. Their cautionary conclusion is not that witches all ate liberty caps nightly, but that the sensory world of early modern Europe included substances and techniques capable of producing the sensations described in the records.

amanita muscaria: myth, shamanism, and the European record

Amanita muscaria holds a special place in popular imagination because of its striking appearance and its role in Siberian shamanic practice. Among some Siberian groups, shamans consumed or used the sap of fly agaric in rituals; the ethnographic record there is relatively strong. That fact invites speculation that similar practices might once have existed in parts of Europe.

Direct evidence for European ritual use of Amanita muscaria is limited. Folklore associates the mushroom with fairies, thresholds and magic, and artists often used it as an emblem of the uncanny. This symbolic presence, however, is not the same as solid documentation that it was an ingredient in early modern witchcraft ointments.

Part of the problem is pharmacological: Amanita’s active compounds produce effects that are difficult to control and sometimes dangerous. They also produce a different experiential profile than the serotoninergic psychedelics of Psilocybe species. Taken together, these features make Amanita possible as a ritual agent, but not a simple answer to the question of what witches used.

ergot and the ergotism story: outbreaks, hypotheses, and limits

Ergotism—poisoning from ergot-infected grain—has a clear historical footprint in Europe. Outbreaks caused severe symptoms: convulsions, gangrene and hallucinations. These events were often catastrophic and well-documented in local records, making ergot a tempting explanation for episodes of mass “possession” or strange behaviour.

The ergot hypothesis gained popular attention in the 20th century, notably when Linnda R. Caporael proposed in 1976 that ergot poisoning might explain the Salem witchcraft incidents. The idea is attractive because ergot alkaloids can affect the nervous system, and contaminated bread could expose many people at once. But critics point out that the pattern of accusations in many witch trials does not align neatly with ergot outbreaks or with the timing and geography of documented ergotism.

Most historians today treat ergot as one plausible factor in specific cases but not a universal explanation. Where grain contamination was known to have occurred, ergotism might have exacerbated tensions or contributed to strange symptoms. Elsewhere, social, political and psychological causes remain more persuasive.

psilocybin mushrooms: the liberty cap and the archaeological silence

Psilocybe semilanceata and related species are native to much of Europe and produce effects similar to modern clinical psychedelics. In principle, their presence in pastures and lawns means they were available to farmers and herders—and therefore possible agents of altered experience.

Despite this ecological availability, archaeological and documentary evidence for deliberate psilocybin use in medieval or early modern Europe is scarce. There are a few hints in folklore and medicinal herbals about “mushrooms” with mind-affecting properties, but these references are vague and open to interpretation. Unlike Siberian shamanism, there is no strong ethnographic tradition from Europe that points to organized mushroom cults in the documented past.

The lack of clear evidence does not settle the question. Small, localized practices can leave little trace, especially when they are clandestine. But the responsible historian treats such possibilities as hypotheses to be tested rather than established facts.

how might ointments have worked pharmacologically?

One frequently cited mechanism for non-oral ingestion is transdermal absorption. Certain alkaloids—particularly those from nightshade plants—are lipophilic and can cross the skin when mixed into fatty carriers such as animal fat or oils. This property makes the ointment explanation biologically plausible for some compounds named in early recipes.

Fungal alkaloids complicate the picture. Some ergot alkaloids can be absorbed through the gut and mucous membranes; others require ingestion. Psilocybin is generally active when eaten, and its stability in fats or in topical preparations is uncertain. Amanita compounds also behave differently and are not as well-suited for controlled transdermal delivery.

Another consideration is synergy. Early recipes often combined diverse plants—nightshades, poppies, possibly fungi—so interactions could amplify or modify effects. Such mixtures would be unpredictable and often dangerous, but that unpredictability may help explain why descriptions of witch experiences vary so widely across sources.

iconography and folklore: mushrooms as symbols of the uncanny

Even where mushrooms were not pharmacological tools, they played powerful symbolic roles. In European folktales and seasonal customs, toadstools signalled liminal space—places where the ordinary rules of life and death loosened. Fairy rings and solitary mushrooms were omens, markers of otherworldly traffic, and triggers for local anecdotes about enchantment.

Visual art amplified these associations. Painters and illuminators used the bright visual language of the mushroom to evoke magic, threshold moments, and the presence of the uncanny. Those images reinforced the fit between the natural oddity of certain fungi and human narratives about witches, fairies and the night.

That symbolic life left its mark on everyday imagination. People who encountered an especially dramatic mushroom might connect it to stories of witches or familiars, thereby creating circular evidence: the presence of mushrooms bolstered tales about witches, and tales about witches encouraged attention to mushrooms.

regional patterns: Scandinavia, the British Isles, the Mediterranean, and eastern Europe

Geography matters. Different parts of Europe had different ecosystems, legal cultures and religious landscapes, and these differences shape how fungi appear in witch-related sources. Scandinavia, the British Isles, continental Germany and Eastern Europe each offer distinct patterns of folklore and trial records.

In Scandinavia, ethnographic records show a strong shamanic streak in pre-Christian belief, and some modern commentators have suggested links between shamanistic trance practices and fungal use. That suggestion remains debated, but it fits with a documented cultural openness to trance in northern traditions.

The British Isles present a mixed picture. English demonologists and skeptical writers like Reginald Scot preserved testimony about ointments, whereas folk belief attached mushrooms to fairies and cautionary tales. In parts of Eastern Europe, particularly where rye agriculture dominated, ergot outbreaks were a known hazard, and local records sometimes note mysterious afflictions linked to contaminated grain.

Scandinavia: shamanic echoes and mushroom folklore

Skandinavian folklore retains motifs—spirit journeys, shape-shifting, ecstatic seers—that scholars sometimes link to shamanism. The presence of Amanita muscaria in birch forests of the north made it a candidate for ritual use among some groups historically engaged in trance practices. Ethnographers have documented surviving customs where mushrooms occupy a ritual or symbolic role, though the evidence for historical, systematic mushroom ingestion is not conclusive.

Archaeological finds and medieval sources in the region rarely provide clear instructions for psychoactive use. Instead, patterning comes from oral tradition and local lore, where mushrooms are woven into the fabric of seasonal rites and stories about boundary crossings. Those patterns help explain why Scandinavia often appears in discussions of visionary practices in Europe more than other regions do.

the British isles: liberty caps and pastoral life

The liberty cap (Psilocybe semilanceata) grows in damp pastures across the British Isles, a familiar sight to shepherds and meadow-keepers. Folk names and stories sometimes attach to its presence, but the historical record stops short of documenting widespread ritual use. English legal records and witch trials refer to ointments and familiars more than to mushrooms by name.

There is, however, a long history of mushroom knowledge in rural Britain: foragers recognized edible and poisonous species, and folk medicine used certain fungi medicinally. That practical knowledge coexisted with superstition, but it did not necessarily translate into psychedelic ritual practice that would leave clear documentary traces.

the mediterranean and southern europe: herbs, oils, and the classic pharmacopeia

In southern Europe, herbal medicine had deep roots going back to Greco-Roman antiquity. Mandrake, opium poppy and various nightshades appear prominently in Mediterranean pharmacopeia, and these plants are often the ones named in witchcraft-related sources from the region. Fungi play a smaller visible role in Mediterranean witch narratives, perhaps because the cultural repertoire favored well-known herbal ingredients for both healing and harm.

That said, rupicolous and pasture fungi are present in Mediterranean ecosystems too, and localized folk uses certainly existed. The dominant point is that regional medicinal traditions shape which organisms enter into magical thinking, and in many southern contexts, the classic herbal canon overshadowed fungi as agents of altered states.

case studies from historical texts: what early authors recorded

Several early texts speak about ointments and magical practice in ways that illuminate contemporary thinking. Reginald Scot’s Discoverie of Witchcraft (1584) is a notable English example that catalogs beliefs skeptically and reproduces some alleged recipes. On the continent, demonologists and inquisitorial manuals describe the phenomena they sought to suppress, often including salves among the tools of maleficium.

The Compendium Maleficarum (published in the early 17th century by Francesco Maria Guazzo) compiles many accounts of witchcraft and includes vivid descriptions of sabbats and ointment use. Such texts served both as manuals for persecutors and as repositories of folklore, and they preserve the idea of topical psychoactive preparations more clearly than many trial transcripts do.

Even when authors supplied ingredient lists, they frequently named well-known plants rather than fungi. That emphasis reflects medicinal culture and the familiarity of certain herbs, but it also signals the limits of our sources: many trial confessions do not contain the botanical specificity modern readers might hope for.

modern receptions: neopaganism, literature, and the mushroom revival

Contemporary neopagan and occult movements have taken an interest in historic practices, and mushrooms feature in some modern ritual and symbolic repertoires. Practitioners vary: some adopt mushrooms as sacred signs, others use them as literal sacrament in guided ritual settings. These modern uses are creative reinterpretations rather than direct continuations of documented early modern practice.

At the same time, literature, film and visual art borrow the mushroom-witch motif freely. That recycling of imagery influences public perceptions in turn, strengthening the association between fungi and witchcraft even when historical support is thin. This feedback loop between scholarship, art and popular imagination complicates efforts to assess historical reality.

On a personal note, during a foraging walk in a birch wood in Scandinavia I once found a cluster of bright red amanitas amid old roots. An elderly local we chatted with told a story about “fairy rings” and a woman who once made salves—an anecdote that perfectly illustrates how living memory, folklore and landscape combine to keep these associations alive. Anecdotes like this are valuable for cultural texture but cannot stand in for documentary proof.

archaeology, residue analysis, and the limits of material evidence

Archaeology offers some tools for testing hypotheses about historic drug use, but the world of organic residues is difficult terrain. Plant alkaloids degrade over time, and fatty carriers can obscure or destroy chemical traces. Researchers have only occasionally identified plant or animal residues that might relate to magical salves, and fungal residues are notoriously ephemeral.

Advances in molecular techniques—ancient DNA and mass spectrometry—hold promise, but they require well-preserved contexts and clear targets. Until more direct residues are found in datable contexts tied to ritual objects, most arguments about mushroom use will remain interpretive rather than conclusive.

That methodological caution pushes historians toward a balanced approach: combine textual, ethnographic and ecological evidence, recognize the uncertainties, and avoid sweeping claims based on a single line of evidence.

ethical and safety considerations: why historical curiosity shouldn’t mean risky experimentation

Curiosity about historical practices can tempt people to experiment with wild fungi or to attempt recreating ointments. That impulse is dangerous. Many of the plants and fungi discussed—especially ergot-contaminated grain and nightshade species—can cause severe poisoning or death. Modern foragers and scholars must respect both the social history and the pharmacological risks.

Legal and ethical issues matter too. Some psychoactive species are controlled in various jurisdictions, and collecting them may be illegal. Moreover, attempting to recreate historical substances in the name of scholarship without medical oversight is irresponsible. Responsible study emphasizes archival research, botanical expertise, and laboratory testing rather than backyard chemistry.

When modern ritual workers choose to incorporate mushrooms symbolically or sacramentally, the safer route is informed, consensual, and legal practice with clear harm-reduction measures. Curiosity about the past should never be an excuse for endangering oneself or others.

where the evidence points and where it leaves open questions

The cumulative picture is nuanced. Some substances clearly present in early modern Europe—nightshades and poppies—fit the pharmacology of topical salves and are well documented in texts. Certain fungi were present ecologically and become metaphorically entangled with witchcraft through folklore and iconography. But direct, widespread evidence that mushrooms were central to European witchcraft is limited.

That limitation matters less than it might seem. Even if fungi were not the dominant pharmacological agents, they were part of the sensory landscape that shaped imagination and experience. The idea of flying, the use of ointments, and the presence of fungi in art and story all intersect to produce the pattern we now discuss under a single thematic headline.

Scholarly work continues. New methods in residue analysis, careful readings of neglected documents, and interdisciplinary dialogue between historians, mycologists and anthropologists could sharpen our understanding. For now, a balanced view recognizes both the imaginative power of mushrooms in European folklore and the caution required by the patchy historical record.

questions for further research and reflection

Several lines of inquiry deserve deeper attention. First, targeted residue analysis of well-dated artifact contexts might reveal botanical traces that texts do not preserve. Second, comparative ethnography—carefully done—could help identify structural patterns that point to possible but undocumented practices. Third, closer study of marginal sources, such as household recipe books or local herbals, might yield overlooked references.

Finally, scholarly humility is essential. The interplay of fear, rumor, pharmacology and persecution that produced the witch trials resists reductive explanations. Mushrooms are part of that story—as symbols, as possible ingredients, and as provocateurs of the imagination—but they are not a single, neat key to unlocking the phenomenon of witchcraft in European history.

Understanding the past requires a willingness to sit with uncertainty, to weigh multiple kinds of evidence, and to appreciate how natural substances and cultural meanings braid together. Mushrooms matter in this story, but they belong to a broader tapestry of social, medicinal and symbolic threads that made early modern Europe a world of both practical knowledge and persistent wonder.