An illustration of a werewolf consuming children, created by the German painter Lucas Cranach the Elder in 1512

An illustration of a werewolf consuming children, created by the German painter Lucas Cranach the Elder in 1512

The Werewolf in Central European Folklore: Between Shamanic Warrior and Diabolical Monster

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The figure of the werewolf, or wolf-man, occupies a dark and powerful place in the European imagination. Far from being a monolithic creature, the werewolf of Central European folklore is a profoundly contradictory entity, split into two opposing archetypes by centuries of historical and theological pressures. On the one hand, the familiar image of the demonic and cannibalistic monster emerges, a product of the early modern witchcraft trials that embodies anxieties related to sin, heresy, and the loss of humanity. On the other, a lesser-known but historically significant tradition survives in the folds of history: that of the shamanic and protective werewolf, the last remnant of ancient pre-Christian ecstatic cults.

Featured image: An illustration of a werewolf consuming children, created by the German painter Lucas Cranach the Elder in 1512

This dichotomy does not represent a simple linear evolution from “good” to “bad,” but rather a violent schism. The imposition of a rigid Christian dualistic vision (God versus Devil) on a more ambiguous pagan tradition, in which transformation was a morally neutral form of supernatural power, forced the figure of the werewolf into a bifurcation. This process generated two parallel and mutually exclusive archetypes: the diabolical monster shaped by inquisitorial doctrine and the shamanic guardian preserved in isolated folk traditions. The analysis of this fracture reveals a fundamental tension between official demonology and resilient popular belief, tracing the history of how a symbol of ecstatic power was transformed into an icon of terror.

The Werewolf in Classical Antiquity: Divine Punishment and Ritual Transformation

The concept of man transforming into a wolf is not a medieval invention but has deep roots in the classical world, where it often served as a cautionary tale about hubris and divine retribution. The most famous and influential of these stories comes from Greek mythology: the tale of King Lycaon of Arcadia. According to the myth, as recounted by Ovid in his Metamorphoses, the arrogant King Lycaon sought to test the omniscience of Zeus by serving him a meal made of human flesh. Enraged by this act of sacrilege and cannibalism, Zeus punished the king by transforming him into a wolf, his outer form now reflecting the savagery of his soul. This narrative established a powerful archetype: lycanthropy as a divine curse, a punishment for transgressing the sacred boundaries between gods and mortals, and between civilization and barbarism.

Zeus turning Lycaon into a wolf, engraving by Hendrik Goltzius
Zeus turning Lycaon into a wolf, engraving by Hendrik Goltzius, source

However, not all ancient accounts framed lycanthropy as a punishment. The historian Herodotus, writing in the 5th century BCE, described the Neuri, a tribe living near the Scythians, who were said to transform into wolves for a few days each year before returning to their human form. This account suggests a more cyclical, perhaps shamanistic or totemic, relationship with the wolf, devoid of the moral judgment present in the Lycaon myth. Similarly, the Roman writer Pliny the Elder recounted a story of an Arcadian man from a specific clan who, chosen by lot, would swim across a lake, transform into a wolf, and live with a pack for nine years. If he had abstained from eating human flesh during that time, he could swim back and regain his human form. These tales point to a belief in a temporary, ritualized, and conditional form of transformation, distinct from an eternal divine curse.

These classical narratives are themselves echoes of a more ancient and widespread Proto-Indo-European belief complex. The transformation into a wolf was often linked to specific ritual acts or a particular social status, especially concerning young, unmarried warriors operating outside the normal bounds of society. In Hittite tradition, for instance, warriors known as “wolf people” would don wolf skins to gain magical power and a special juridical status. The Greek phrase for becoming a wolf, lúkōi genésthai, was also associated with ritual killing. This suggests that the myths of Lycaon and the Arcadian wolf-men may be fragmented memories of ancient initiation rites for warrior bands (kóryos), where young men ritually “became” wolves to harness their ferocity and operate as a unified pack. This ancient warrior tradition provides the foundational context for the later, more specific Germanic cults of the Úlfhéðnar.

The Proto-Indo-European Wolf-Warrior

The roots of the connection between man and wolf sink into a deep past, long before lycanthropy was associated with evil. The etymological origins of the term itself, from the Old English “werwulf” (composed of “wer,” man, and “wulf,” wolf), indicate a deep-rooted cultural association in Germanic societies. This connection was not metaphorical, but ritualistic and military, linked to warrior practices dating back to a common Proto-Indo-European heritage.

The Männerbund and the Wolf Cult

At the heart of this tradition is the concept of the Männerbund, the “league of men” or male warrior band, a fundamental social and military institution in many ancient Germanic societies. These groups of young warriors often identified totemic ally with predators such as the bear or, more significantly, the wolf. Lycanthropy, in this context, has been reconstructed by scholars as an aspect of the initiation rite of the Proto-Indo-European warrior class, known as the kóryos. Traces of these cults are found in various cultures, from Hittite to Greek and Germanic, suggesting a common origin. The identification with the wolf was not purely symbolic. The warriors ritually “became” wolves to absorb their strength, ferocity, and cunning. This often occurred by wearing wolf skins, a practice that gave the Úlfhéðnar (singular Úlfhéðinn) their name, literally “wolf skins” or “wolf coats.” This was not a curse, but a form of ritual transformation aimed at obtaining a sacred and terrible power.

The Úlfhéðnar and Ecstatic Fury in Battle

The Úlfhéðnar were considered the elite warriors of Odin, the Norse god of war, magic, poetry, and ecstasy. Their distinguishing feature was the berserkergang, a trance-like state of fury that pervaded them in battle. Norse sources, such as the skaldic poem Haraldskvæði and the Völsunga saga, describe these warriors as fighting “mad as dogs or wolves,” biting their shields, and being said to be immune to fire and iron. This was not mere battle rage, but an ecstatic spiritual state, a form of divine possession. In this state, the warrior transcended his own individuality, identifying with his comrades, his totemic animal, and his patron god, Odin. The transformation into a wolf was the outward manifestation of this ecstatic trance.

An engraving on a Vendel era bronze plate from Öland, Sweden,
An engraving on a Vendel-era bronze plate from Öland, Sweden, shows a berserker poised to decapitate his enemy on the right and Oden on the left, though Oden lacks his usual identifying symbols, source

An impressive archaeological testimony to this link is one of the Torslunda plates, Swedish artifacts from the 6th-7th century, which depicts a wolf-headed warrior armed with a spear next to a one-eyed figure, interpreted as Odin. This artifact provides direct visual evidence of the link between deities, warrior cults, and ritual transformation into a wolf. Originally, this ecstatic power was a venerated military resource sanctioned by religion. However, with the progressive centralization of Scandinavian societies and subsequent Christianization, this uncontrolled and liminal fury became a social danger. Already in the later sagas, berserkers begin to be described not as elite champions, but as violent and destructive plunderers. This internal shift within Norse culture foreshadows the later and more extreme demonization of the werewolf figure by the Church. The “inner beast” was recontextualized from a source of power to a threat to the social order, long before the witchcraft trials began. The qualities that made the Úlfhéðinn a hero in a pagan warrior society turned him into a monster in a settled, Christian society.

The Pact with the Devil: The Werewolf of the Witchcraft Trials

Between the 15th and 17th centuries, the perception of the werewolf underwent a radical transformation. The folkloric figure, ambiguous and linked to a pagan past, was absorbed and redefined by Christian demonology. Lycanthropy ceased to be an inherited curse or a magical ability and became an act of heresy: a conscious pact with the Devil.

Demonization and Diabolical Pact

In early modern Europe, the werewolf was no longer a victim of his condition, but a heinous criminal who had forged an alliance with the forces of evil. This view marked a fundamental departure from previous representations, which were sometimes even compassionate. The transformation itself was now attributed to demonic means: the Devil provided his adept with a magical belt of wolf skin or a special ointment that allowed the metamorphosis. This process externalized the transformation, making it a deliberate choice to embrace evil. The werewolf thus became a powerful symbol of the anxieties of the era: the fear of the subversion of Christian society, the religious uncertainty unleashed by the Reformation, and the fear that the boundaries between civilization and wilderness, and between the nobility and the “beastly” peasant class, might collapse.

Peter Stumpp, the “Werewolf of Bedburg” (1589)

The most infamous case, which served as the archetype for the malevolent werewolf, was that of Peter Stumpp (also known as Stubbe or Stump), a German farmer from the Cologne region. His trial and execution in 1589 became a European media event. Subjected to torture, Stumpp confessed to a 25-year criminal career, during which he allegedly committed murders, acts of cannibalism (including that of his own son), and incest. He claimed that all these atrocities were made possible by a magic belt given to him by the Devil, which allowed him to transform into a ferocious wolf.

Stumpp’s trial was a didactic tool. The gruesome details of his alleged crimes and his brutal execution were disseminated throughout Germany and as far as England through cheap pamphlets and woodcuts. These materials were state- and church-sanctioned moral tales, powerful warnings against heresy and pacts with the Devil. The punishment was as monstrous as the confessed crimes: Stumpp was tied to a wheel, his flesh was torn with red-hot pincers, his limbs were broken, and finally, he was beheaded and his body burned. His head was displayed on a pole, topped with the effigy of a wolf, as a public warning.

Peter Stumpp
The execution of Peter Stumpp in Cologne in 1589, source

The fame of Peter Stumpp and the consolidation of the diabolical werewolf archetype were a direct result of the new technology of printing. The rapid dissemination of pamphlets and broadsheets about his case created a standardized and “viral” image of the werewolf that overshadowed and suppressed other, more ambiguous local folk traditions. The printed materials on Stumpp were tools designed to teach a specific lesson about heresy and the Devil, sometimes even in verse to aid memorization. The printing press allowed the inquisitorial and state version of the werewolf to become the “official” version, effectively winning the war of narratives against competing popular beliefs.

The Hounds of God: The Ecstatic Werewolf and Agrarian Cults

While official demonology forged the image of the werewolf as a servant of the Devil, a radically different narrative survived in some remote areas of Europe. An underground tradition has emerged in which men and women with special powers transformed not to do evil, but to fight it, acting as protectors of their communities.

Carlo Ginzburg and the Benandanti of Friuli

In the 1960s, Ginzburg discovered in the archives of the Inquisition of Friuli the records of trials against a group of peasants who called themselves benandanti, meaning “good walkers” or “those who go well.” These individuals, both men and women, claimed to have been born “with the caul” (enveloped in the amniotic sac), a sign that predestined them for a sacred task. According to their testimonies, four times a year, during the nights of the Ember days (periods of fasting linked to seasonal cycles), their spirits would leave their bodies, which remained in a trance-like state, to go to the fields. There, armed with fennel stalks, they fought against witches and warlocks (malandanti), who were armed with sorghum stalks.

The outcome of these nocturnal battles determined the fertility of the crops for the coming year: if the benandanti won, the harvest would be abundant. The benandanti considered themselves soldiers of Christ, fighting for the good of the community. This worldview left the inquisitors completely bewildered, as it did not fit into any of their demonological categories. They therefore attempted, with leading questions and sometimes with torture, to force the benandanti to confess that their nocturnal gatherings were in fact diabolical sabbaths, gradually transforming the protectors of the harvest into witches in their own eyes.

The Werewolf of Livonia: The Testimony of “Old Thiess” (1691)

An extraordinary and even more explicit parallel to the figure of the protective werewolf emerged from a 1691 trial in Livonia (a region that today includes parts of Latvia and Estonia). An eighty-year-old man, known as “Old Thiess,” appeared in court and proudly proclaimed himself to be a werewolf. Thiess, however, vehemently rejected the idea that werewolves were servants of the Devil. On the contrary, he claimed that he and his companions were the “Hounds of God” (Hunde Gottes).

Three times a year (on the nights of St. Lucy, Pentecost, and St. John), they transformed into wolves and descended into Hell to fight the Devil and his witches. Their mission was to recover the seeds of grain, livestock, and fruits of the earth that the witches had stolen. By winning these battles, they ensured a good harvest for the community. As with the benandanti, Thiess’s testimony profoundly confused the court. He insisted that his actions were for the good of humanity and that the souls of werewolves went to Heaven after death, directly contradicting every aspect of the official demonological framework.

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