Religious Revelations and the Historian

As I wrote about earlier, I have also been trying to write about the series of events that led Limoux to his revelations and the revelations themselves. Briefly, he tried to fast for forty days and forty nights like Jesus, but had to give up after ten days. On his return (and after eating), he had a revelation which he declared was the source of all his beliefs (God had "placed it in his heart"). Once again, the text is laconic, but there are many things "around" the text that can be ascertained with a high degree of certainty. On-site research (amusingly conducted among the old men and hunters at the Pouss'Café in Saint-Paul-de-Fenouillet) has allowed me to identify the cave in which he fasted, for instance. Thanks to the Medieval Calendar Calculator, I can figure out when Ash Wednesday was that year and thus make an educated guess about the weather (keeping in mind the Julian/Gregorian problem, of course). Though the town itself has changed, the area near the cave is undeveloped. If I wanted to, I could retrace Limoux's steps from his cave back to town. It is possible to research the effects of prolonged fasting on the human body (and also on the human mind). But how does one tell the story of a religious revelation?

There are models, of course. Caroline Walker Bynum, for instance. Barbara Newman and Richard Kieckhefer. There are many others. I need to go back and reread their work and think about it. In the case of Limoux, I believe that the "revelations" he received were part of an actual psychiatric condition, and are composed at least in part of fragments of things he had known or seen before. The content of the revelation is the stuff of his deposition and much of my work so far has been in teasing out the threads of his thought. That part is easy (well...). But at the center of all of this, and its drama, is the moment of revelation itself. How to write about what I think could be characterized as a psychotic break? I can't get inside his head, of course, but I have the gist of what he told the bishop, and it's juicy stuff. And the rationality (of his irrationality) is in that moment of revelation.

Now this is putting me in an awkward situation. I have always told my students, for instance, that it is not productive to ask if Joan of Arc was schizophrenic. I have bristled at scholars who have dismissed my beloved Na Prous Boneta as psychotic. So why am I arguing for thinking about Limoux's revelations as psychotic delusions and/or hallucinations? My rationale, I think, is that I am not dismissing Limoux, but instead using the content of his delusions to understand him, his past, and the world around him. Nor do I wish to dismiss the genuinely religious character of his revelations (though he himself actually describes them as intellectual and philosophical). He believed these things passionately enough to go to the stake rather than deny them.

I've always been intrigued by the idea that Hildegard of Bingen suffered from migraines. I first encountered this in Oliver Sack's The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat, but eventually I tracked down some other studies that make the claim. This migraine aura site summarizes some of the debate. I think the evidence, mostly from the paintings, is pretty compelling -- but I don't think that suggesting this "takes away" from Hildegard's originality or genuine spirituality. Limoux is similar. His mind may have cracked and lost touch with reality, but it is what his mind made of that that interests me.

I am reminded of something a student said once. When I asked what the class thought of the deposition of Na Prous Boneta (who claims to have given birth to the Holy Spirit, among other things), this student said "I believe her." The rest of the class turned to her in astonishment, and then she clarified: "I believe that she believed what she told them." And with that I heartily agreed: she believed what she told them. What do I think of Limoux? I believe him. "Diagnosing" him does nothing for him, but I think it could be productive for me, as the writer telling his story. Just as I can better tell the story of Limoux's cave by finding it and knowing things about its distance from the town and its surroundings, I think learning about other psychotic breaks can help me to describe what happened to him. That's why I was asking for books about psychotic breaks the other day on Facebook (I'm still looking, btw).

I don't think I'm being hypocritical -- am I?



Article on Hildegard and the migraine theory:

Podoll K, Robinson D. The migrainous nature of the visions of Hildegard of Bingen. Neurol Psychiat Brain Res 2002; 10: 95-100.