The Cadaver Synod: When the Pope Put a Corpse on Trial

☕️ Alice’s Mad Tea Party Presents:

🫖 Alice Spills the Tea: The Cadaver Synod: When the Pope Put a Corpse on Trial

“Imagine dragging a dead pope into court and yelling at him. This actually happened.”

Alice twirls a silver spoon in her tea, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Oh, my darlings, you are in for a delightfully ridiculous tale today. You see, mortals have done some truly unhinged things throughout history, but this? This takes the bloody cake.

Let’s set the scene: It’s the year 897 AD. The Pope (yes, THE Pope) orders his men to dig up the corpse of a former Pope… just to put him on trial.

That’s right. They hauled a decomposed, rotting, dead man into a courtroom, propped him up on a throne, and then proceeded to yell at him as if he was going to defend himself.

And people say I’m mad?”

Alice sighs dramatically, taking a sip of her tea.

“Let’s dive into this absolute mess, shall we?”

So, Who Was This Poor Dead Guy?

His name was Pope Formosus, and let’s be honest—he probably just wanted to rest in peace. But oh no, mortal politics wouldn’t allow that.

Formosus had been Pope nine years earlier, but the new Pope, Stephen VI, hated him with the fiery passion of a thousand burning cathedrals.

Why? Because Formosus backed the wrong guy in a power struggle, and Stephen, being the very picture of Christian forgiveness, decided that the best way to deal with his dead enemy was to exhume his rotting corpse and put it on trial.

Because logic.

The Trial of the Century (or, “Your Honor, the Defendant is Actively Decaying”)

Picture this:

They drag Pope Formosus’s skeletal remains into court, dress him in his papal robes (because dignity), and prop him up on the stand like some sort of unholy puppet.
Pope Stephen VI sits on his throne, yelling accusations at the literal corpse.
The corpse (as corpses do) remains silent.

And because even medieval lunatics had to maintain some semblance of legal procedure, they assigned Formosus a defense attorney.

Who, by the way, had the impossible job of defending a man who had been dead for nine years.

Alice smirks.

“I have to imagine it went something like this:

Pope Stephen: ‘This man is guilty of ALL THE CRIMES!’
Defense Attorney: ‘Your Holiness… he is literally decomposing.’
Pope Stephen: ‘EXACTLY! Look at him! A disgrace!’
Defense Attorney: ‘…I need a drink.’”

The Charges?

Oh, my dear tea-drinkers, you’d think they’d at least put some effort into making it sound reasonable, but no. Pope Stephen accused Formosus of:

Being Pope Illegally.
(Bit late for that, babe, he already served and died.)
Perjury.
(Again, HE IS DEAD, what’s he going to do, lie even harder?)
Serving as a bishop when he wasn’t supposed to.
(Oh yes, let’s make sure this technicality is cleared up in the afterlife.)

But because insulting a corpse wasn’t enough, Pope Stephen then declared all of Formosus’s decisions invalid, including the people he had ordained as priests.

Oh, and then—get this—he ripped the sacred vestments off the corpse, cut off three of his fingers, and had his body thrown into the Tiber River.

Because nothing screams mature and rational leadership like dumping your predecessor’s desecrated body into a river after screaming at it in a courtroom.

So… Did This Work Out Well for Pope Stephen?

Oh, absolutely not.

It turns out that digging up corpses for revenge is not a particularly stable political move. The people of Rome took one look at this rotting courtroom spectacle and collectively went, ‘Oh no, this man has lost his entire damn mind.’

A few months later, Pope Stephen was thrown into prison and strangled to death.

Alice claps her hands together, beaming.

“Ahhh, poetic justice. We love to see it.”