Old Thiess, A Livonian Werewolf: A Classic Case in Comparative Perspective
Old Thiess, A Livonian Werewolf: A Classic Case in Comparative Perspective (2020) by Carlo Ginzburg and Bruce Lincoln is, as far as I can tell, the best English-language scholarly book about the fascinating figure of Old Thiess. Old Thiess (short for Mattheis, the Baltic version of Matthew) was an octogenarian man who was put on trial in 17th century Livonia (modern Latvia and Estonia) after proudly proclaiming himself a werewolf. Not a monstrous werewolf in the traditional model, but a “hound of God” who harrowed hell and fought evil witches to return fertility to his indigenous lands. But just because Old Thiess is the best English book on this obscure subject doesn’t mean it is always a satisfying read.
The book includes an English translation of the entirety of the transcript from Old Thiess’s trial, an invaluable primary document for those interested in the case. The first essay in the book is from Otto Hofler (1901-1987), one of the first scholars to write about Old Thiess. Which would be fine, of course, if not for the fact that Hofler was a Nazi. He didn’t join the party to save his life or even his job; he was a true believer, a committed Nazi since 1922 and a member of Henrich Himmler’s SS Ahnenerbe. And it’s not as if Hofler’s opinions on poor Old Thiess were unrelated to his Nazi leanings; Hofler used Thiess’s belief that he joined a pack of werewolves to fight evil witches as evidence for his Mannerbund theory, the idea that society arises from the bonds created by men who form super special no-girls-allowed ritual associations (never mind that Thiess said he fought alongside women werewolves), but that only Nordic men have the “distinctive gift” of “state-building power” (45). While there might be a case in which an essay by a Nazi adds something to a book on history, religion, or culture–I would be hard-pressed to find it, given that accepting Nazi ideology indicates a pretty large dearth in your critical thinking skills–this is certainly not the case for Hofler. His “scholarly” writing about Thiess is clearly more about his own bigotry than the werewolf in question. If you do pick up Old Thiess, feel free to skip this chapter in the knowledge that you are not missing anything.
The rest of the book comprises Ginzburg’s and Lincoln’s dueling interpretations of Old Thiess and his unusual form of lycanthropy. Lincoln’s argument is intriguing and, in my opinion, plausible in part. Ginzburg’s argument is intriguing but, faced with any scrutiny, reveals itself to be based mostly on imagination rather than evidence. Lincoln argues that Old Thiess’s claimed lycanthropy was a form of resistance against the upper class Germans who were occupying his indigenous Baltic lands. The Germans believed that Livonians were backwards, primitive people, especially with regard to their beliefs in witchcraft and lycanthropy. In Lincoln’s view, Thiess invented his tale of werewolves defending the fertility of the Livionian lands as a sort of subtle “screw you” to the German inquisitors: you think that Livonians are savage and beastly like werewolves? Well, if we were werewolves, we would use our abilities to defend ourselves against those who would steal the fruits of our agricultural labor, whether they are evil witches or occupying Germans. Ginzburg takes a less grounded approach, comparing Old Thiess to other groups of people across Europe, like the Italian benandanti and the Hungarian taltos, who claimed to possess magic powers and fight evil forces. Ginzburg claims that these groups represent the survival of “a single agrarian cult” characterized by Eurasian-style shamanism that once dominated all of Europe, in which people entered ecstatic states to fight for their communities against magical forces. Ginzburg’s arguments are, in my opinion and in Lincoln’s, lacking in any real grounding, based on shaky if not shoddy comparisons and little if any good evidence. Ginzburg even spends a good chunk of one of his essays discussing a dream reported by Sigmund Freund’s patient known as the “Wolf-Man,” as if this random person’s random dream could provide any sort of evidence in a historical argument.
The last third or so of the book consists of a conversation between Ginzburg and Lincoln about their conflicting perspective on Thiess. While I had high hopes for this exchange, it was ultimately very unsatisfying. Lincoln tries to get Ginzburg to acknowledge that his arguments could be based on unfounded comparisons between peoples from across wide geographic and temporal expanses, and that Old Thiess’s case should be considered in its local cultural and historical context rather than as evidence for a single shamanistic cult. But Ginzburg mostly refuses to engage, diverting the conversation to abstract questions about methodology and obscure scholars. For example, he asks, “Would it be possible to say that Benveniste worked within the Saussurean paradigm?” (182). I don’t know, I thought we were here to talk about a werewolf!
In summary, Old Thiess is probably one of the best English-language books for learning more about the old Livonian werewolf, because it is one of the only ones. It is definitely worth the read if you’re interested in this odd little topic, provided you are willing to skip the Nazi part and skim some of Ginzburg’s fluffier essays. If you aren’t committed to getting your hands on a physical book, you might be better off reading the trial transcript here and trying to track down some of the better essays online, if you have access to article databases through your library.
The accompanying image is in the public domain and was sourced from the National Gallery of Art. Entitled “Jove Turns Lycaon into a Wolf,” it was created by Georg Andreas Wolfgang the Elder in 1665, twenty-six years before Old Thiess was put on trial for lycanthropy.
Entitled “Jove Turns Lycaon into a Wolf,” this etching was created by Georg Andreas Wolfgang the Elder in 1665, 26 years before Old Thiess was put on trial for lycanthropy.