Medieval Medicine and Astrology

Way back in March (and doesn’t that seem like a lifetime ago?), I submitted an essay on Medieval Medicine and Astrology. The medieval period is a little earlier than I’m actually studying (I sat in on an undergraduate module, Because I Could), but I thought it would be a good idea to get a little bit of cultural background before diving straight into the early modern. I promised, at the time, that I would follow up the essay with a blog post or two about astrology and herbals, and then life intervened in the form of a global pandemic… and here we are. 

I’ll admit that this isn’t the blog post that I’d intended to write (perhaps I’ll get to that later), but reading through so many different books in preparation for writing the essay, I became fascinated by how the authors’ views of astrology had changed over time. In An Illustrated History of the Herbals*, published in the 1970s, Frank Anderson is rather scathing about the inclusion of astrology in medical texts. He considers it ‘remarkable’ that Hildegard of Bingen, for example, writes a book so strongly rooted in twelfth century science, when ‘all of her other works are of a mystical and theological nature’. Anderson does concede that her writing represents the work she carried out in the convent, and that ‘Her Physica, in addition to displaying the state of knowledge then existing about the natural world, gives us a reliable picture of how medicine was practiced by the clergy.’ While Hildegard of Bingen’s prognostications are largely based on observable lunar events rather than the full complexities of astronomy, her work still represents a close relationship between medical and metaphysical thought. 

An image of an astrological chart, from Thurneisser's Historia, 1578.

Anderson is similarly dismissive of the astrological diagrams found throughout Thurneisser’s 1578 Historia.** (I know, it’s not medieval, but, I couldn’t resist sneaking into the sixteenth century for a moment.) Anderson’s caption below this image of an astrological chart reads: 

‘Scattered throughout Thurneisser’s Historia are numerous horoscopes with their arcane symbols. … Its major purpose was to baffle the uninitiated.’  

But people with a medical training, who were the intended audience of Thurneisser’s book, would absolutely not have been ‘uninitiated’, nor would they have found the astrological symbols ‘arcane’. By the sixteenth century, astrological symbols were included in widely distributed texts, including almanacs and school books, so they wouldn’t have been particularly mysterious or secret during that time. 

The emphasis of Thurneisser’s Historia was on using astrology to determine not only when to administer a particular medicine, but also when to collect the plants, and when to best prepare the remedies. This is a feature of many herbals right through to the seventeenth century. Anderson considers that the Historia’s ‘botanical value, as well as its medical value, was absolutely nil.’ Apparently, ‘the Historia delights the eye while offering little but offense to the mind’. I have to say that I find this assessment spectacularly unfair! While Anderson’s mind may have been offended in 1977, simply writing off astrology as valueless completely fails to take into account the educational background of the medical writers of the period, as well as prevailing cultural beliefs. 

During the 1950s, Grattan and Singer*** were equally scathing about medieval medicine, describing the Middle Ages as a ‘thousand years of scientific degradation’, largely due to the teleological perception that few medical advances were made during this period. Singer in particular considered astrology firmly in the realms of magical, rather than scientific, thinking.  

Consequently, it’s important to understand that this absolutely wasn’t the case from the twelfth century onwards. In order to become a physician and formally practice medicine, you needed a University education. For the “Trivium”, you learnt Grammar, Rhetoric, and Dialectic. These enabled you to study Latin, and to understand and discuss it critically and philosophically. Once you’d passed those subjects, you could go on to study the higher level “Quadrivium” – Mathematics, Geometry, Astronomy and Music. 

The terms astronomy and astrology were sometimes used interchangeably, but whereas astronomy was a quantifiable, observable science, astrology could be considered its practical cousin – how you applied the astronomy you’d learned. In order to become a physician, your education came with both astronomy and astrology built in. Accepted by many as a basic scientific principle, the planets were considered to have demonstrable effects upon the body. This meant that an understanding of astrology was vitally important to the practical application of medicine, and definitely not unenlightened superstition.


*Frank J. Anderson, An illustrated history of the herbals (New York; Guildford: Columbia University Press, 1977)  Astrological image from page 185.
A copy is viewable online from Archive.org.

**Leonard Thurneisser zum Thurn, Historia… (Berlin, 1578)
A copy is viewable online from Archive.org.
The illustration referenced by Anderson, shown above, is on page 57.

***J. H. G. Grattan and Charles Singer, Anglo-Saxon magic and medicine: illustrated specially from the semi-pagan text Lacnunga (London: Oxford University Press, 1952)

Cyclamen Serendipity

I’m just heading into my third week of my MA History course, and the first two have already been full of fantastic connections.

Tweet from Anna Soper on the folkloric uses of cyclamen

First of all Tomos Jones, one of the PhD students at the Herbarium, shared this tweet with me. It’s part of the #folklorethursday hashtag, and the theme this week was the folklore of “elders”. The use of the word “crones” reminded me of a lecture I attended earlier this year by Dr Olivia Smith, who was talking about the origins of the phrase “Old Wives’ Tales” and some of the ways in which folk and oral traditions were marginalised by the cultural transition into print.

When I was taking notes during the lecture I wrote down, “how to separate actual women’s knowledge from reported Old Wives’ Tales???“, which turned out to be exactly the issue that Dr Smith was investigating in her research. When talking about Old Wives, or perhaps Crones (as above), these figures are often used as a shorthand means of describing an unreliable source or narrator.

I went back to Gerard’s Herball to see what he had to say about Cyclamen as a love potion:

Gerard’s Herball, first edition. Photograph by Claire Smith.

Being beaten and made up into trochises, or little flat cakes, it is reported to be a good amorous medicine to make one in love, if it be inwardly taken

Link to online copy of Gerard’s Herball, 1636 edition, page 845 (image shows 1597 edition, p. 695)

I particularly like “it is reported” as a nice vague way of absolving Gerard from any responsibility, should said love potion turn out not to work. Also, who reports it? Whose knowledge is being simultaneously reported and omitted by these noncommittal turns of phrase? That’s definitely something I’m going to be interested in when it comes to my dissertation. The majority of early printed herbals in English were translations and compilations from various earlier sources, but scattered amongst the empirical research is an awful lot of “it is reported” and “everybody knows”.

I think it’s also important to note that little round cyclamen cakes are not the benign floral love potion that we might imagine them to be. Gerard mentions several times, in both The Vertue and The Danger of the plant that it “killeth the childe” (see image & link above), to the point where Gerard advises that a pregnant woman should not even go near to the plant, nor step over it. While Gerard’s warnings may now seem a little overstated, we do know that Cyclamen is indeed toxic. In fact the Journal of the Cyclamen Society (Vol. 18, No. 1, June 1994, pp. 15-17) contains an article by Dr J. Rupreht regarding the dangers of Cyclamen purparescens as an abortifacient.


Folks, please, do not eat cyclamen, or attempt to recreate any of Gerard’s given remedies.


Last week we had a seminar to discuss how best to begin our dissertation research. One of the important pieces of advice was to read around our chosen subjects, and to look into other disciplines to find out different information and make connections.

Genus Cyclamen: Science, Cultivation, Art and Culture by Brian Mathew (Royal Botanic Gardens, 2013)

The following day I went into the Herbarium to continue my regular volunteering with the Cyclamen Society collection. While I was there, I flicked through a book which had been sitting on the bench next to my computer for weeks and weeks – Genus Cyclamen: Science, Cultivation, Art and Culture by Brian Mathew. Entirely by coincidence, I opened it at a page discussing the depiction and description of cyclamen in Gerard’s Herball.

Gerard’s Herball of 1597 contains descriptions and illustrations of two distinct Cyclamen, C. purpurascens and C. hederifolium; C. repandum and C. balearicum were added by Johnson in 1636.

Genus Cyclamen: Science, Cultivation, Art and Culture by Brian Mathew (Royal Botanic Gardens, 2013) p. 450

There is also a fascinating discussion of the transition from manuscript to print in terms of the accuracy (or otherwise) of the illustrations that were used. Some had evidently been drawn from observation, and these allow for accurate modern identification. Others have been copied, often repeatedly, until the resulting illustration bears very little resemblance to the original plant. (Chapter 6.1, by Martyn Denney.) It was very common for printers to re-use woodcut blocks for different texts, so the same images appear repeatedly over quite a long period of time.

Gerard’s Herball, first edition. Photograph by Claire Smith.

I’m looking forward to reading that chapter in full, and understanding more about the scientific difficulties that were inherent in the study of botany during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.