The Epstein affair is fascinating from many angles. One uncomfortable question lingers in the background: why is there such intense interest among certain powerful men in very young girls? An ordinary observer might expect the wealthy and influential to prefer confident, experienced adult women—women capable of offering far more in every sense. The ultra-rich, after all, can choose partners who merely appear youthful while being fully adult. So why the fixation on minors?
That is a serious moral and psychological question. It may also intersect with broader cultural pathologies among Western elites—pathologies that help explain their peculiar moral flexibility in other domains as well. But whatever its deeper causes, the scandal itself is not unprecedented. Affairs of this kind have surfaced periodically throughout modern history. What is new is not the behavior; what is new is the political and cultural weight attached to it.
Fifty or a hundred years ago, such conduct would have been regarded as indecent, even decadent—but not as a seismic political event. It would have stained reputations, not destabilized institutions. What demands explanation today is not merely the misconduct, but the way it has become a symbolic battleground.
The second striking feature is the proliferation of grotesque conspiracy theories surrounding the case—beliefs embraced not only by fringe figures but by intelligent people and respected journalists. A generation ago, this would have seemed unthinkable. Yet here we are, watching some of the most irrational tendencies of Western civilization surface in full view. Why now?
Claire Lehmann of Quillette has compared the phenomenon to the witch trials of early modern Europe. For centuries, alleged witches were generally tolerated. When accusations arose, they were often handled mildly. Sociologist Rodney Stark has even argued that, through much of the medieval period, there was a kind of tacit coexistence between village “witches” and official clergy. The credulous and restless might seek magical solutions; the priest could later remind them that he had warned them all along.
The true explosion of witch trials came only in the late sixteenth century, reaching murderous intensity in the seventeenth. By 1700, they had largely subsided. What changed? Competition. As Lehmann notes—drawing on several historical studies—the brutality coincided with fierce rivalry between Catholics and Protestants. Each side sought to demonstrate greater zeal and moral purity. In regions where one confession maintained a stable monopoly, witch hunts were comparatively rare.
The parallel to our present moment is not exact, but it is suggestive. In a country sharply divided between liberals and conservatives, there is a race to expose more, condemn more fiercely, and prove greater righteousness. One side sees vast Jewish conspiracies and Illuminati networks; the other sees Mossad plots and omnipresent patriarchy. No claim is too absurd. Doubt itself becomes evidence of complicity: “You don’t believe this precise narrative? Then you must be defending them.” Collective irrationality feeds on polarization.
And how did the witch trials end? Not because of a sudden scientific breakthrough disproving the existence of witches. The seventeenth and eighteenth centuries produced no single discovery that demolished belief in sorcery. Rather, the rise of the modern absolutist state made sectarian competition politically irrelevant. Once centralized authority became secure, rulers preferred stable taxpayers to burning heretics. Fiscal order trumped moral frenzy.