Act 3 of "The Crucible"

Act 3
Among the characters in the play, it is Deputy Governor Danforth who seems to provide the most obvious symbol of Senator Joseph McCarthy. Danforth rules over the proceedings as if he automatically has assigned guilt to the accused suspects, and adopts a harsh and vindictive air. However, Miller does not make Danforth a direct equivalent of the irrational demagogue McCarthy; rather, Danforth is a stern, cold man of unfailing faith in his judicial powers.
He does not manifest any particular political ambition, but instead acts to preserve the strength of the court over which he rules. This does make Danforth suspicious of any attack on the plaintiffs and the proceedings, but does allow him some room for flexibility. He uses reason to persuade Proctor to drop his charges against Abigail, telling him that his wife is spared for at least a year and that he need not worry about her execution.
. It is Danforth's stern rationality that makes him a more disturbing figure; he is not a malicious villain equivalent to Abigail Williams or Thomas Putnam, but rather a man who operates out of intense faith in the integrity of his court. He operates under the assumption that good and evil can be clearly and intensely defined, a flaw of tragic irony. In his desperate hope to sharply delineate good and evil, Danforth becomes the willing accomplice of those who obscure this line.
It is Reverend Parris who appears as the demagogue in this act of the play, denouncing all challenges to the court as challenges to Christianity and God himself. Parris is paranoid and foolish, demanding that all ninety-one people who attest to the good name of the three accused women be brought in for questioning. It is Parris' rabid defense of the trials that finally causes Hale to break from the court and offer a defense of the Proctors, Coreys and Nurses.
Parris knows that the trials are a fraud and that the girls are lying, yet continues to push against witchcraft to suit his ends.

Miller develops the motivations of the proponents of the witchcraft trials in this chapter. Reverend Parris remains motivated by suspicion and paranoia, while Thomas Putnam moves from an original motivation of grudges against others to unabashed greed. Abigail Williams, in contrast, has moved from self-preservation to a more general lust for power. However, upon the arrest of Rebecca Nurse and Elizabeth Proctor, Reverend Hale now eschews the supernatural explanations for more concrete, legal explanations.
He redeems himself from his role as a Pontius Pilate by serving as an advocate for justice. This is significant, for it provides concrete evidence that opposition to the trials does not necessarily mean opposition to law and order.
Deputy Governor Danforth espouses the central irony of the witchcraft trials: because there can be no concrete evidence of witchcraft, one must automatically assume that accusations are true, for the only two persons who take part in the crime are the witch and the victim, and the witch will never accuse herself. This essentially negates the idea of evidence, taking opinion and allegation to be concrete fact. It is this flaw that on which Abigail Williams and the other girls capitalize when making their accusations.
Miller establishes that it takes only a simple accusation for a person to be convicted of witchcraft. Thomas Putnam uses this for economic gain, coercing his daughter into accusing George Jacobs so that he may purchase his land once Jacobs has been executed. Yet it is Abigail Williams who brings this particular quality into sharp relief. Abigail is intense and dramatic; she targets the weak-willed Mary Warren, knowing that she will easily break from her alliance with Proctor once challenged.
When Abigail pretends to see a yellow bird attacking her, it is an obvious falsehood, yet the court accepts it as truth because they have established that such evidence is irrefutable proof.
The chapter culminates to encompass two central ironies. The first of these is that, to prove his own innocence and prove himself faithful to his wife, John Proctor must publicly declare his infidelity. To save Elizabeth and protect himself from an inevitable accusation of witchcraft, Proctor must tear down his name and condemn himself for the crime of lechery.
Despite Proctor's obvious sin, this places Proctor as a martyr, sacrificing any chance for a good reputation in Salem, where public reputation is essential, in order to save his wife and others wrongly accused of witchcraft.
The second irony involves the testimony of Elizabeth Proctor. To save her husband from accusations of witchcraft, she must condemn him for lechery. Miller establishes that she is an honest woman who never lies, yet at the moment in which her honesty is most critical she chooses the noble yet practical lie that she believes will defend her husband. As Hale notes, it is a natural lie for Elizabeth Proctor to tell, yet an incredibly ill-timed one; Elizabeth Proctor chooses dishonesty at the precise moment that her integrity matters the most.
Miller continues the theme of revolving accusations in this act when Mary finally breaks down and accuses Proctor of witchcraft. Fearful of her own life, Mary realizes that the only way to save herself is to accuse Proctor of coercing her into attempting to overthrow the court. In this case the accusation contains some truth: Proctor did force Mary Warren into testifying, yet in this case the purpose is to promote true justice rather than to dispute it.
At the end of this chapter, Proctor condemns himself by claiming that God is dead. When he states this, he speaks metaphorically, lamenting a world in which a stock villain such as Abigail Williams may preside over the ostensibly just and moral society of Salem. Once again Proctor gives into melodramatics when faced with injustice. He may be correct, yet expresses his righteousness through means that make him an easy target for those such as Abigail and Reverend Parris.