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The ancient poet Ovid wrote about people changing into trees or animals. Art historian Aby Warburg loved Ovid and studied stable forms in history. Yet Warburg himself was terrified of turning into a monster. His personal battle shows the frightening power of transformation.
Warburg sat in a Swiss sanatorium in 1922. His doctors asked him to write the story of his illness. He hoped this would help him heal.
He began by remembering childhood fears. He wrote about a scary ghost and a cruel character from a children’s book. He even recalled a childhood hallucination of being bitten by a rabid dog. He was sure he would die from it. Warburg’s mind was filled with dark thoughts he called “demonic” and “cursed.”
His fears often came from stories. Warburg wrote to his wife that he felt he was becoming a werewolf again. This was not just a feeling. In 1918, he asked for books about lycanthropy, the study of werewolves. At the sanatorium, a nurse heard him scream, “I am a werewolf!” He also spoke in a strange, made-up language.
For years, Warburg acted in wild and frightening ways. He had violent outbursts and shouted for long periods. He saw things that were not there. He believed his food was poisoned and that he was a cannibal. He thought the people around him were ghosts or had animal heads.
When Warburg died in 1929, he left behind an unfinished project. It was a collection of images showing mythical creatures like centaurs and minotaurs. Warburg did not see these as simple stories. He saw them as signs of a dangerous superstition that haunts human history. For him, history was a battle between reason and madness, order and chaos.
In 1923, Warburg attacked two doctors just before his family visited. When his wife and children arrived, he ignored them. He was focused on his own troubled thoughts. “If only I could be healed!” he later wrote.
Doctors gave him many diagnoses, like “melancholia” and “schizophrenia.” But Warburg’s own cry—“I am a werewolf!”—was perhaps the most accurate. His condition matched an old idea called clinical lycanthropy, where a person believes they are turning into a wolf.
Warburg hoped a lecture might prove he was well. He decided to talk about a trip to see Hopi Native American snake dances in 1896. His assistant helped him prepare. During a walk, Warburg pointed to a church painting of Moses with a bronze snake. He saw a connection between Moses, the snake rituals, and his own fears.
He gave the lecture to doctors and other patients. He showed slides of the Hopi ceremony, where dancers held live rattlesnakes. He compared this to the ancient statue of Laocoön struggling with snakes and to the painting of Moses. His final slide was a photo he took of Hopi children. The talk was a success. His son even cheered for him.
While preparing, Warburg remembered being a boy of eight. His mother was sick, and he was bored in church. He escaped to read adventure stories about “Red Indians.” He also ate sausages he was not supposed to have. He later called these acts his “inoculation against active cruelty.” This memory of childhood rebellion surfaced as he tried to calm his mind for the lecture.
At the sanatorium, nurses saw Warburg talking to moths and butterflies for hours. He called them “little creatures that have a soul.” This gentle behavior contrasted with his violent outbursts. While his “Werewolf” side attacked people, it would kindly care for insects.
He often asked his wife to find a special medallion. It showed Fortuna, the Roman goddess of luck. He believed he had hidden it in his study “in my fear.” He saw the medallion as a symbol of hope and a new beginning.
In late 1923, Warburg heard about a politician named Adolf Hitler. Warburg said Hitler should be hanged. He saw the new political violence in Germany as another curse. He still felt trapped by his illness and by the “devils” he saw in the world. He waited for his own fortune to change.
For his large library, Warburg created a special rule. He called it the “Law of the Good Neighbor.” It meant every book was placed so it was a good companion to the books next to it. His library was a place of careful, rational order.
But inside his own mind, a different and terrible rule governed. It was the law of the beast he believed lived within him. His life was a struggle between the orderly historian and the haunted man who feared he was a monster. His story shows how the fear of transformation can be a powerful and terrifying force.