By Josh 
When you think of courtroom drama, maybe you picture Law & Order, with passionate lawyers yelling “Objection!” or a slick Netflix documentary about some shady billionaire finally getting busted.
But in the year 897 AD, medieval Rome witnessed a court case so absurd, so downright what-the-heck, that even Hollywood couldn’t have come up with the script. This wasn’t just a bad trial. This was the Cadaver Synod—the day the Catholic Church literally dug up a dead pope, dressed him in robes, sat him on a throne, and put him on trial. Yes, a corpse. A very dead one.
And if you’re thinking: “There’s no way this happened”—welcome to the bizarre world of 9th-century papal politics.
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Setting the Scene: Rome Was a Hot Mess
To understand how this circus happened, we need some context. The 9th century was not a great time for the papacy. Rome was less “holy city” and more “Game of Thrones fan fiction.” Different factions of nobles, bishops, and warlords constantly fought over who got to control the papal throne.
Popes were being installed, deposed, and sometimes murdered at an alarming rate. Imagine changing CEOs every few months, except instead of quarterly reports, you’re fighting over who gets to control Europe’s biggest church.
Into this chaos stepped Pope Formosus, who reigned from 891 AD to 896 AD. His time in office wasn’t exactly peaceful. He made enemies left and right, especially by backing the wrong political candidates in power struggles. But still, when he died in 896 AD, you’d think that would be the end of his problems.
Oh no. Not in medieval Rome.
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Enter Pope Stephen VI: The Man With a Grudge
Formosus was succeeded by a series of short-lived popes (seriously, the turnover rate was wild—some didn’t even last a year). Then came Pope Stephen VI, who decided that the best way to secure his position was not by leading with wisdom or holiness… but by holding a court case against a dead guy.
You read that right. Stephen VI hated Formosus so much that he ordered his rotting corpse dug up, dressed in papal robes, and dragged into court. The trial would become known as the Cadaver Synod.
If you’re imagining a courtroom scene: yes, there was a judge. Yes, there were lawyers. And yes, there was a defendant—only problem was, the defendant was nine months dead.
Court Is Now in Session: One Corpse vs. The Pope
The scene was almost cartoonish. Formosus’ body, probably smelling worse than week-old fish, was seated on a throne in the Lateran Basilica. His decomposed face was propped up, his papal tiara placed on what remained of his head.
Since he obviously couldn’t speak (being a corpse and all), a deacon was appointed to answer questions on his behalf. Imagine being that guy:
Judge: “Do you admit to betraying the church?”
Deacon (looking at corpse): “Uhh… I guess?”
The charges against Formosus were, frankly, bizarre:
1. He had broken church law by becoming pope (because he was already a bishop elsewhere).
2. He had conspired against previous popes.
3. He was just generally unworthy of being pope.
It’s worth noting that Formosus had already been dead nearly a year. Whatever crimes he committed, he wasn’t exactly in a position to re-offend. But logic wasn’t really the point here—this was pure political theater.
The Verdict: Corpse = Guilty
Predictably, the court ruled against Formosus. Stephen VI declared him guilty on all charges. The punishments were brutal—at least symbolically:
– His papal robes were torn off.
– His three blessing fingers (the ones used for making the sign of the cross) were chopped off.
– All his acts and appointments as pope were annulled.
– His corpse was dragged through the streets and tossed into the River Tiber.
Yes, Rome held a full-blown legal trial just to dunk on a dead pope.
Rome Reacts: “Uh, Did We Just Try a Corpse?”
At first, some Romans went along with it—after all, power struggles in Rome often demanded strange displays. But pretty soon, people started realizing: Wait, this is actually insane.
The public turned against Stephen VI. They decided that anyone unhinged enough to put a corpse on trial probably shouldn’t be leading the Church. Within a year, Stephen himself was overthrown, imprisoned, and eventually strangled to death.
Talk about karmic justice.
The Aftermath: A Papal Yo-Yo
The Cadaver Synod set off a wild back-and-forth in church politics:
The pope after Stephen annulled the trial, declaring Formosus innocent.
Then another pope reinstated the guilty verdict.
Then another pope cleared Formosus again.
It was like flipping a light switch: guilty, innocent, guilty, innocent. Imagine being a Roman at the time, trying to keep up:
“So is Formosus a heretic this week or nah?”
“Hang on, lemme check…”
Eventually, the church just quietly agreed never to put a corpse on trial again. (Probably a good rule.)
Why Did This Even Happen?
Historians still debate Stephen VI’s motives. Some say he was pressured by powerful Roman families who hated Formosus. Others think he wanted to prove his own legitimacy by discrediting his predecessor.
But on a deeper level, it shows how wild medieval politics could get. The papacy wasn’t just about religion—it was about land, armies, alliances, and power. And when power was on the line, even the dead weren’t safe.
Why the Cadaver Synod Lives On (In Memes, Not Just History Books)
Today, the Cadaver Synod has taken on a second life as one of the strangest moments in church history. It’s the kind of story that makes you double-check the source, because it sounds made up.
But it’s also weirdly relatable. Who hasn’t wanted to win an argument so badly they keep fighting it long after it’s over? Stephen VI just took pettiness to the next level: instead of subtweeting his rival, he dragged him out of the grave and roasted him in public.
If Twitter existed in 897 AD, the hashtags would have been amazing:
The Trial That Shouldn’t Have Been
The Cadaver Synod is both tragic and hilarious. Tragic, because it shows how political corruption could twist religion into absurdity. Hilarious, because… well, it’s literally a trial against a corpse.
In the end, Formosus got the last laugh. Today, he’s remembered as a pope with a weird name who got the strangest trial in history. Stephen VI? He’s remembered as the guy who lost his mind and got strangled in jail.
So maybe the moral is this: if you’re going to dig up your enemies, make sure history doesn’t bury you instead.