Werewolf trials in early modern Europe reveal a curious legal and theological paradox. While tales of lycanthropy brimmed with diabolical imagery and supernatural fear, they were rarely the concern of the Inquisition. Instead, local and secular courts took charge—sentencing alleged werewolves not for heresy, but for violence, murder, and madness. Why did these cases fall outside the Church’s domain?
By Lorris Chevalier
In early modern Europe, the phenomenon of werewolves occupied a strange intersection between folklore, medicine, and demonology. Despite the intensely supernatural nature of lycanthropy and its association with diabolical pacts and witchcraft, werewolf trials were not prosecuted by the Inquisition. Instead, they fell under secular or local judicial authority. To understand why, we must explore the legal, theological, and intellectual frameworks of the time.
A Jurisdictional Divide
The Holy Office, or Inquisition, was primarily tasked with rooting out heresy—doctrinal deviations and religious crimes against the Catholic faith. Witchcraft did fall under its purview, but only insofar as it intersected with heretical beliefs or actions. The crime of lycanthropy, however, was often framed not as a heretical offense but as a criminal act involving murder, mutilation, and cannibalism. As such, werewolf cases were typically judged in secular courts, especially in regions such as Franche-Comté, Lorraine, and parts of Germany.
Jean Bodin, in his De la Démonomanie des sorciers, fiercely defended the belief in werewolves and other supernatural phenomena, criticizing physicians who attempted to explain them away through natural causes. He argued that to deny the reality of lycanthropy was to deny centuries of testimonies and the consistent witness of entire peoples. His polemic targeted, among others, the German physician Johann Wier (De praestigiis daemonum, 1563), who attributed the phenomenon to melancholic delusions, hallucinations, or drug-induced visions. Although deeply pious, Wier viewed many accused witches and werewolves as victims of mental illness, not as servants of the devil.
British Library Royal 20 B. XX, f.64
Similarly, Reginald Scot, in The Discoverie of Witchcraft (1584), rejected tales of werewolves and witches altogether, considering them dangerous superstitions. His skepticism was even more radical than Wier’s, aiming to dismantle the entire edifice of witch trials.
Even Ambroise Paré, the celebrated royal surgeon, admitted in Des Monstres et Prodiges (1573) that demons could take on various bestial forms—serpents, cats, wolves, bulls—but his approach was grounded in natural philosophy and observation. He left open the possibility of illusion and deception by demonic forces rather than true transformation.
The Theological Debate on Metamorphosis
The real crux of the issue was the theological question: Can the devil truly transform a human being into an animal?
For thinkers like Nicolas Rémy, the Lorraine demonologist and judge, the answer was a complex one. In his Démonolâtrie, Rémy devoted an entire chapter to the subject of animal metamorphosis among witches. He was not easily convinced of its reality, though he acknowledged the testimonies of the accused and witnesses in over 900 trials he had overseen. He cited numerous accounts of witches appearing as animals—cats, dogs, or wolves—but questioned whether these transformations were real or merely perceived.
erewolf attack, woodcut from Kaysersberg’s Die Emeis (1517)
While the experiences of those involved appeared convincing, Rémy concluded the transformations were only apparent, not real. He argued that God, having created man in His image, would not allow the devil to so profoundly deform that creation. Thus, demonic illusions and sensory deception, rather than physical transformations, were the most plausible explanation.
This view is echoed in his cautious tone when discussing anecdotes told to him by nobles such as Paul de Salm or his patroness, Diane de Dommartin. Though he recorded their tales—of witches turning into dogs or cats—he interspersed these accounts with ancient references and philosophical reflections before ultimately casting doubt on the reality of true metamorphosis.
Politics, Patronage, and Public Belief
Rémy’s reluctance to outright deny the possibility of transformation also stemmed from political considerations. As a magistrate and intellectual operating in a deeply hierarchical and faith-saturated society, he could not afford to dismiss the beliefs of his aristocratic patrons or the broader populace, who largely accepted the reality of werewolves.
Instead, he toed a middle line: acknowledging the testimonies and cultural weight of lycanthropic belief, while asserting that what people saw were illusions orchestrated by the devil. “The sense of sight is deceived by the artifices of demons,” he wrote, “who cause these metamorphoses to appear. Even though the acts performed in these shapes may be real, they do not confirm the reality of the phenomenon.”
An Insoluble Question
Ultimately, the question of werewolf transformations remained unresolved in the eyes of early modern thinkers. The Church hesitated to intervene directly, likely due to the theological uncertainty surrounding the issue. Unlike witchcraft, which was framed as an offense against divine law, lycanthropy lingered on the edge—part medical condition, part illusion, and part folklore.
In this sense, the werewolf was not a clear enemy of the faith, but rather a troubling enigma. The lack of doctrinal clarity and the overwhelming number of localized cases made it impractical and undesirable for the Inquisition to take over such trials. The secular courts, less constrained by theological debate, were far more willing to sentence werewolves to death for crimes of violence and terror—real or imagined.
Thus, the werewolf trials remained in the hands of local judges, influenced by fear, tradition, and the demands of social order, rather than the more doctrinally precise, but less flexible, machinery of the Inquisition.
Dr Lorris Chevalier, who has a Ph.D. in medieval literature, is a historical advisor for movies, including The Last Duel and Napoleon. Click here to view his website.
Top Image: In Geneva a man killed 16 children when he had changed himself into a wolf; he was executed on 15 October 1580. Coloured ink drawing from the Wickiana, chronicle of Johann Jakob Wick.
Werewolf trials in early modern Europe reveal a curious legal and theological paradox. While tales of lycanthropy brimmed with diabolical imagery and supernatural fear, they were rarely the concern of the Inquisition. Instead, local and secular courts took charge—sentencing alleged werewolves not for heresy, but for violence, murder, and madness. Why did these cases fall outside the Church’s domain?
By Lorris Chevalier
In early modern Europe, the phenomenon of werewolves occupied a strange intersection between folklore, medicine, and demonology. Despite the intensely supernatural nature of lycanthropy and its association with diabolical pacts and witchcraft, werewolf trials were not prosecuted by the Inquisition. Instead, they fell under secular or local judicial authority. To understand why, we must explore the legal, theological, and intellectual frameworks of the time.
A Jurisdictional Divide
The Holy Office, or Inquisition, was primarily tasked with rooting out heresy—doctrinal deviations and religious crimes against the Catholic faith. Witchcraft did fall under its purview, but only insofar as it intersected with heretical beliefs or actions. The crime of lycanthropy, however, was often framed not as a heretical offense but as a criminal act involving murder, mutilation, and cannibalism. As such, werewolf cases were typically judged in secular courts, especially in regions such as Franche-Comté, Lorraine, and parts of Germany.
Jean Bodin, in his De la Démonomanie des sorciers, fiercely defended the belief in werewolves and other supernatural phenomena, criticizing physicians who attempted to explain them away through natural causes. He argued that to deny the reality of lycanthropy was to deny centuries of testimonies and the consistent witness of entire peoples. His polemic targeted, among others, the German physician Johann Wier (De praestigiis daemonum, 1563), who attributed the phenomenon to melancholic delusions, hallucinations, or drug-induced visions. Although deeply pious, Wier viewed many accused witches and werewolves as victims of mental illness, not as servants of the devil.
Similarly, Reginald Scot, in The Discoverie of Witchcraft (1584), rejected tales of werewolves and witches altogether, considering them dangerous superstitions. His skepticism was even more radical than Wier’s, aiming to dismantle the entire edifice of witch trials.
Even Ambroise Paré, the celebrated royal surgeon, admitted in Des Monstres et Prodiges (1573) that demons could take on various bestial forms—serpents, cats, wolves, bulls—but his approach was grounded in natural philosophy and observation. He left open the possibility of illusion and deception by demonic forces rather than true transformation.
The Theological Debate on Metamorphosis
The real crux of the issue was the theological question: Can the devil truly transform a human being into an animal?
For thinkers like Nicolas Rémy, the Lorraine demonologist and judge, the answer was a complex one. In his Démonolâtrie, Rémy devoted an entire chapter to the subject of animal metamorphosis among witches. He was not easily convinced of its reality, though he acknowledged the testimonies of the accused and witnesses in over 900 trials he had overseen. He cited numerous accounts of witches appearing as animals—cats, dogs, or wolves—but questioned whether these transformations were real or merely perceived.
While the experiences of those involved appeared convincing, Rémy concluded the transformations were only apparent, not real. He argued that God, having created man in His image, would not allow the devil to so profoundly deform that creation. Thus, demonic illusions and sensory deception, rather than physical transformations, were the most plausible explanation.
This view is echoed in his cautious tone when discussing anecdotes told to him by nobles such as Paul de Salm or his patroness, Diane de Dommartin. Though he recorded their tales—of witches turning into dogs or cats—he interspersed these accounts with ancient references and philosophical reflections before ultimately casting doubt on the reality of true metamorphosis.
Politics, Patronage, and Public Belief
Rémy’s reluctance to outright deny the possibility of transformation also stemmed from political considerations. As a magistrate and intellectual operating in a deeply hierarchical and faith-saturated society, he could not afford to dismiss the beliefs of his aristocratic patrons or the broader populace, who largely accepted the reality of werewolves.
Instead, he toed a middle line: acknowledging the testimonies and cultural weight of lycanthropic belief, while asserting that what people saw were illusions orchestrated by the devil. “The sense of sight is deceived by the artifices of demons,” he wrote, “who cause these metamorphoses to appear. Even though the acts performed in these shapes may be real, they do not confirm the reality of the phenomenon.”
An Insoluble Question
Ultimately, the question of werewolf transformations remained unresolved in the eyes of early modern thinkers. The Church hesitated to intervene directly, likely due to the theological uncertainty surrounding the issue. Unlike witchcraft, which was framed as an offense against divine law, lycanthropy lingered on the edge—part medical condition, part illusion, and part folklore.
In this sense, the werewolf was not a clear enemy of the faith, but rather a troubling enigma. The lack of doctrinal clarity and the overwhelming number of localized cases made it impractical and undesirable for the Inquisition to take over such trials. The secular courts, less constrained by theological debate, were far more willing to sentence werewolves to death for crimes of violence and terror—real or imagined.
Thus, the werewolf trials remained in the hands of local judges, influenced by fear, tradition, and the demands of social order, rather than the more doctrinally precise, but less flexible, machinery of the Inquisition.
Dr Lorris Chevalier, who has a Ph.D. in medieval literature, is a historical advisor for movies, including The Last Duel and Napoleon. Click here to view his website.
Click here to read more from Lorris Chevalier
Further Readings:
Simon, Maryse. Les métamorphoses diaboliques: Croyances et controverses. (Presses universitaires de Strasbourg, 2019)
Top Image: In Geneva a man killed 16 children when he had changed himself into a wolf; he was executed on 15 October 1580. Coloured ink drawing from the Wickiana, chronicle of Johann Jakob Wick.
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