Witches Are Back. Why?
The widening spiritual divide in the United States between women and men.
IN 2011, THE BARNA GROUP, A POLLING FIRM that specializes in surveys related to American Christianity, observed that while church attendance and volunteering were declining overall as part of a broader trend of dechurching, women still continued to participate in religious activities more frequently than men. A larger cultural conversation followed: Throughout the 2010s, observers became focused on the idea of a “men’s crisis” in the church. Books were published with titles like Why Men Hate Going to Church, and think pieces in outlets like the Christian Century grappled with the question: “Why do men stay away?” Solutions were proposed: Bible studies directed only at men, pub churches, outdoor ministries involving camping trips with spiritual themes—the fishers of men becoming, in some cases, men who fished.
All eyes were on absentee men, and women were assumed to be remaining a bedrock of American Christianity, just as they had been dating back to the colonial period. But by 2016, the Pew Research Center was observing that the gap between the genders in church attendance was narrowing. While women were still labeled “more religious” at the time, that didn’t mean they’d stay Christian—and as it turns out, they’re not. Recent trends show American women are leaving Christianity at an accelerating rate.
While much has been written about the broader phenomenon of dechurching, the specific gender dynamics here warrant closer attention. Many women cite the debate over women’s leadership within many churches, especially evangelical ones, as a reason for their departure. Christian culture’s endorsement of traditional gender roles and purity culture has also contributed to dechurching women’s discontent. For some, scandals and the ongoing issues of sexual abuse within certain Christian communities fuel their disillusionment, as do perceived sexism and misogyny in Christian theology, the church’s increased politicization during the Trump era (particularly on issues like abortion), and the church’s history of racism, xenophobia, and homophobia. Many of these reasons for leaving have become staples of a growing ‘exvangelical’ literature, many of whose leading authors are women.
So where are the women going?
Many young women today are identifying as “nones” (not to be confused necessarily with atheists or agnostics) or “spiritual but not religious,” as one might expect. But there has also been significant growth in another area: those who describe themselves as “witches.”
The decentralized nature of movements and social phenomena like witches, neopagans, and Wiccans makes it difficult to determine the exact number of people who identify with them, which results in wide variations in estimates. But some trends are apparent even without precise figures. In the 1986 edition of Drawing Down the Moon, journalist Margot Adler estimated that there were between 50,000 and 100,000 active self-identified pagans or Wiccans in the United States. By 1999, sociologist Helen A. Berger, noted for her research on the pagan community, placed the number at 200,000, while Aidan A. Kelly, a scholar of Gardnerian Wicca and occult movements, had estimated 300,000 neopagans as early as 1992. In contrast, a 1990 Trinity College religious survey found only 8,000 adherents, but by 2008 that same survey reported around 340,000. The Pew Research Center’s 2014 Religious Landscape Study estimated that 0.3 percent of the U.S. population, nearly 1 million people, identified as Wiccan or Pagan.
And women dominate these movements. According to Voices from the Pagan Census, the majority of practitioners across various Neopagan traditions are female: 68 percent of Wiccans and 67 percent of Pagans. “Goddess worshipers,” who center their devotion and practices around various female deities (such as Diana, Isis, and Freyja), exhibit an even stronger female presence, with 74 percent women to only 25 percent men participating in these groups.
Although it remains unclear how many of these individuals are deeply committed practitioners, social media trends suggest at least a growing recreational interest in occultism. The hashtag #witchcraft has amassed over 7 million posts on Instagram, while TikTok’s “WitchTok” has over 11 billion views. There is also a thriving business of magical goods and services on platforms like Etsy, professional tarot reading websites such as “Moonlight,” and a whole host of popular New Age apps. Famous figures like actress Anya Taylor-Joy have openly embraced “witchy” practices, such as crystals and tarot cards; Lana Del Rey famously participated in a public hex on Donald Trump.
We’re having a witchy moment, and institutions are adapting to the rising interest. There’s Cherry Hill Seminary, for example, a school exclusively for neopagans that offers a master of divinity with a focus on neopagan traditions. Wiccan chaplains are beginning to serve both college campuses and prisons. Interest in witchcraft and related practices is steadily increasing, especially among young American women.
Stanford University’s Tanya M. Luhrmann, in her 1989 book Persuasions of the Witch’s Craft, identifies several factors that explain the appeal. A key advantage over traditional religion, she argues, lies in witchcraft’s lack of rigid structure, which makes the practice highly accessible to newcomers while also providing long-term practitioners the freedom to explore and deepen their craft. Luhrmann highlights the romantic allure of modern witchcraft, which combines elements of supposedly ancient traditions, mysterious forces, and personal empowerment, fostering both a connection to the past and an avenue for individual spiritual expression.
Luhrmann also underscores witchcraft as a distinctly female spirituality, often centering on a female deity in contrast to patriarchal religious traditions like Christianity. For many practitioners, it becomes, in Luhrmann’s words, “the only spirituality in which women are proud to menstruate, to make love, and to give birth,” celebrating aspects of womanhood that other traditions may stigmatize or ignore.
SCHOLARS OF NEOPAGANISM AGREE that popular culture has been instrumental in introducing people to witchcraft and neopagan practices. The widespread availability of books, television shows, and films featuring witches and magical themes has significantly expanded public awareness, often sparking curiosity and drawing individuals toward these spiritual paths. This fascination is fueled by a broader cultural embrace of occult-themed art and entertainment in which ‘witchy’ aesthetics and narratives have gained mainstream appeal.
University of Bristol professor Ronald Hutton, a leading expert on witchcraft, has explored in his exhaustive studies how the figure of the witch has undergone one of the greatest rehabilitations in cultural history. Once seen primarily as an evil, a sort of supernaturally empowered terrorist, the witch has transformed: Witches have become polyvalent, appearing as magical allies and even endearing and relatable leading characters as often as figures of evil. TV shows, books, and movies from Bewitched, to Sabrina the Teenage Witch (and its recent reboot), Charmed, and Wicked, as well as the Harry Potter series stand as testaments (as it were) to the remarkable evolution of the witch’s image. It should be no surprise that Gen Z women might feel a stronger connection with the rebellious, empowered figures like teenage witch Sabrina than with Mary Cooper, the devout, born-again mother of three from Young Sheldon. Simply put, witches have a ‘cool factor’ in pop culture for young women that Christians have yet to effectively rival.
Moreover, as Tara Isabella Burton argues in Strange Rites, the magical world of Harry Potter functioned as a kind of remixed religion for many individuals raised without traditional faith. For Millennials and Gen Z, the witches and wizards of Harry Potter not only taught moral lessons but also posed philosophical challenges and provided cultural identity markers, such as the house system for personal affiliation. Some character names from the Potterverse have even influenced baby-naming trends.
Likewise, recent feminist scholarship, such as Mona Chollet’s In Defense of Witches, Silvia Federici’s Witches, Witch-Hunting, and Women, and Lindy West’s The Witches Are Coming, continues to relate the historical persecution of women as witches to contemporary struggles for women’s rights. While many historians are wary of drawing direct parallels between early modern witch trials and modern feminist movements, many women nonetheless find a deep resonance between their own experiences and the plight of those who were executed for witchcraft. This identification, however loosely imagined, speaks to a shared sense of marginalization, resistance, and the struggle for autonomy.
Constance Grady contends that the rising allure of the witch aesthetic in popular culture represents a “power fantasy,” embraced by influential pop-culture figures like Lorde, Florence and the Machine, and Lana Del Ray—not people who would describe themselves as witches or Wiccans but who playfully or performatively like the vibes. Grady points out that in fairy tales, witches are powerful figures—more powerful than, say, princesses—embodying a sense of autonomy and control that resonates deeply, particularly with young women. This portrayal of witches as symbols of empowerment has become a significant draw in modern media. Los Angeles-based professional witch Amanda Yates Garcia, who began her own journey into the occult at the age of 11, openly acknowledges that the dark-power aesthetic of the witch is what often initially draws in many women. So even if it’s just about embracing ‘witchy vibes’ or dabbling in what we might dub ‘cultural Wicca,’ the allure of magic is clearly winning with Millennial and Gen Z women.
WHILE THERE HAS BEEN a surge of interest in witchcraft from American women, American men seem to have started heading back to the pews.
Many commentators have interpreted this trend primarily through the lens of male political grievance or a desire to reinstate traditional gender roles, rather than recognizing it as a sincere pursuit of religious meaning. Ed Kilgore suggests that “many young men are attracted to Christianity precisely because they feel it gives divine sanction to their craving for power and status within their own homes and in society as ‘servant-leaders.’” Similarly, Ahmad Greene-Hayes of Harvard Divinity School argues that the “overwhelming whiteness and the increasing maleness of congregations like that of Grace Church isn’t an accident. It’s a selling point—especially for young white conservative Christian men who perceive themselves as embattled and disenfranchised.” Feminist commentator Jill Filipovic echoes these concerns, asserting that these churches offer promises of “clarity, meaning, and respect” to men who feel alienated or displaced. According to Filipovic, this sense of aggrievement makes these conservative Christian spaces particularly appealing, providing structure and purpose for young men who feel left behind by contemporary social shifts.
The rise and prominence of the so-called ‘TheoBros’ lends credence to the idea that increasing male religiosity is downstream of politics. This cohort of hyperonline, ultraconservative pastors, theologians, and commentators is known for its combative rhetorical style and robust presence on platforms like X, YouTube, and Substack, where they promote their theological positions and engage in culture-war debates. Presenting themselves as guardians of orthodox Christianity against the perceived threats of secularism, feminism, and progressive Christianity, they aim to influence not only the beliefs of young men but also the broader landscape of national politics. Prominent figures in this movement include Douglas Wilson, Stephen Wolfe, and Joel Webbon.
And there’s no doubt that many Christian congregations have grown more political, more male-centric if not misogynistic, and more hostile to minorities of various stripes. “Christian nationalism” is real and it threatens not only the traditional patriotism it seeks to subvert but the traditional Christianity it actively perverts.
But, despite the visibility and volume of Christian nationalists and TheoBros, it is worth questioning the depth of their influence on young men’s return to church pews. Mark David Hall, who has explored the movement’s origins and ideology, expresses skepticism about the significance of both the term and the movement itself. He argues that while progressives often use “Christian nationalism” as a catchall label for politically engaged Christianity, the actual number of Christians meaningfully aligned with this ideology is relatively small. According to Hall, those who genuinely embrace Christian nationalism are little more than “a handful of idiosyncratic, patriarchal Calvinists” who have been given undue attention for political gain and beneficial marketing.
If not the ‘TheoBros,’ what is drawing men back to church? A more straightforward answer might be: meaning.
Jordan B. Cooper, a popular Lutheran pastor and YouTuber known for his critiques of redpill influencers, highlights the growing sense of male anxiety. “Many men today feel adrift, lacking clear direction in a society that often leaves them behind,” Cooper shared via email. “The church offers both an eternal purpose and the gift of brotherhood in this life, providing hope and meaning where many feel lost.” Samuel L. Perry, a prominent sociologist of American Christianity at the University of Oklahoma, takes a more sociological view, emphasizing traditional pathways to stability and maturity. “While some churches can serve as breeding grounds for hate or propaganda, the majority do not,” Perry explained via email. “In fact, many of these men may even meet a spouse in church. Research consistently shows that both marriage and church involvement tend to have a civilizing effect on young men, encouraging them to become more responsible citizens and more thoughtful partners.” (Not everyone agrees. “The idea that toxic masculinity is some pervasive force leading men to faith is smoke and mirrors,” argues Ryan Reeves, editor of Man in the Mirror. “What’s often overlooked is the chronic loneliness and aimlessness experienced by younger men. The real issue isn’t a hunger for power but a deep sense of disconnection—and the search for belonging.”)
But what stands out is the specific type of Christian traditions and practices experiencing revival. For example, the Latin Mass has seen a significant resurgence, particularly among younger generations. Similarly, within the Anglican tradition, the 1662 version of Book of Common Prayer, with its King James English stylings, has attracted new interest, with InterVarsity Press recently publishing a pew edition and service book to meet increasing demand. Eastern Orthodoxy is gaining new converts and as well as a surging online interest. Gavin Ortlund, a Protestant scholar who has engaged with these developments in his new book, observes that rising interest in church history is fueling a renewed attraction to more sacramental, liturgical, and historically rooted traditions. He also identifies a sense of “ecclesial angst” (an anxiety among parishioners about whether they are members of the true church) as a driving force behind these shifts. As Ortlund puts it, “People are aching for the ancient, the transcendent, the stable, the deep.”
But what men are we talking about? Nicole Penn, a Ph.D. student researching muscular Christianity at George Mason University, observes that much of this revival seems centered on college-educated men. As she explains, “Multi-hour YouTube debates on theology or the recovery of traditional church rituals appeal most to men for whom intellectual engagement with faith is part of the allure.” Notably, the New York Times report on this trend focused on students at Baylor University in Waco—another reminder that this resurgence is not purely ideological but also shaped by the demographics of higher education.
IT REMAINS UNCLEAR whether the surge in male religiosity is a lasting movement or merely a passing phase. Yet, what is clear is that, for many young men, the church offers more than just ideology. It offers purpose, belonging, and a connection to something deeper and enduring.
Given this appeal, the allure of the magical and the sacramental do not seem so far apart.
Rev. Dr. Winfield Bevins, author of Ever Ancient, Ever New: The Allure of Liturgy for a New Generation, sees a connection between these seemingly divergent trends. Both men and women are drawn to spiritual practices that offer transcendence and continuity with a meaningful past. “The recovery of liturgy, sacrament, and tradition among young people, and the draw to things like witchcraft or magic, probably come from the same universal longing for mystery and transcendence,” he explains via email. Both witchcraft’s appeal to women and men’s return to traditional Christianity reflect a shared desire for meaning, community, and identity in an increasingly fragmented world.
The 2024 election season has hammered home the fact that men and women are diverging in their politics and their choice of digital spaces—and the trends of the last decade show they are also splitting spiritually. The data suggest that a significant number of young men are finding something they are longing for in ancient Christian rites and the wisdom of the church fathers. In a world of modern ease and displacement, they are increasingly discovering purpose in ritual and discipline, turning to rosary beads, incense, icons, and Scripture to connect with something sacred and enduring. Meanwhile, many American young women are apparently finding something they are longing for in gurus, prophetesses, and priestesses of all magical shapes and forms. The best-selling feminist literature and female-empowerment media, as well as the latest fashion trends, suggest that women are discovering resonance in the stories of witches, persecuted and burned as symbols of resistance against oppression and rising power. Through crystals, candles, and tarot cards, all shared on Pinterest, Instagram, and TikTok, they claim these narratives, embracing personal agency and a spirituality rooted in self-exploration and liberation from hierarchy.
Though these paths appear to be miles apart, they reflect the same underlying discontent with modernity and a yearning for something transcendent. The hope is that these young men and women, despite searching in remarkably different ways, will eventually find the wisdom and meaning they need together.
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