You’ve probably seen them on a postcard or a random "dark academia" Pinterest board. Those swirling, psychedelic mandalas that look like they belong on a 1960s rock poster rather than a 12th-century manuscript. They are the illuminations of Hildegard of Bingen, and honestly, they are some of the weirdest, most beautiful things to ever come out of the Middle Ages.
Most people assume medieval art is just stiff figures with gold leaf and no perspective. Hildegard breaks that. She wasn't just a nun; she was a polymath, a composer, a scientist, and a visionary who claimed she saw "The Living Light" from the time she was a toddler. These images weren't just decorations. They were her attempt to map the entire universe, from the way a baby forms in the womb to the literal end of time.
It’s intense stuff.
🔗 Read more: Rosa Parks: When Did She Die and What Was Her Life Really Like After Alabama?
What the Illuminations of Hildegard of Bingen Really Represent
When we talk about these artworks, we're usually looking at the Scivias (Know the Ways). This was Hildegard’s first major work, completed around 1151. It’s a beast of a book. It contains 35 visions, and while Hildegard didn't physically hold the paintbrush herself—she had assistants and scribes for that—every single detail was dictated by her specific experiences.
The illuminations of Hildegard of Bingen serve as a visual bridge. She believed that humans were "microcosms." Basically, we are tiny versions of the universe. If the stars move, we feel it. If the earth is dry, our spirits are dry. You see this clearly in her "Universal Man" illumination. It’s a man standing in the center of cosmic circles, veins connected to the winds and the planets. It predates Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man by centuries, yet it’s arguably much more complex because it’s trying to explain why we exist, not just how we're proportioned.
Some modern neurologists, like the late Oliver Sacks, famously suggested that Hildegard’s visions were actually the result of severe migraines. He pointed to the "scintillating scotoma"—those jagged, flickering light patterns migraine sufferers see—as the source of the radiating circles and "stars" in her art.
Whether it was a medical condition or a divine gift doesn't really change the impact. Even if it was a migraine, the way she synthesized that physical pain into a coherent theological system is nothing short of genius. She took "brain noise" and turned it into the most sophisticated cosmological map of her era.
💡 You might also like: Shampoo morado para canas: Por qué tu pelo se ve amarillo y cómo arreglarlo de una vez
The Problem with the Rupertsberg Manuscript
There is a huge tragedy in this story that most casual fans don't know. The original Scivias manuscript, known as the Rupertsberg Codex, disappeared in 1945. It was being kept in a bank vault in Dresden for safety during World War II, and after the city was bombed, it simply vanished. Most scholars think it was looted or destroyed.
What we look at today are mostly "facsimiles"—highly accurate copies. In the 1920s, a group of nuns at Eibingen Abbey painstakingly hand-copied the entire thing. They used the same medieval techniques, the same pigments, and the same gold leaf. If those nuns hadn't spent years recreating her work, the illuminations of Hildegard of Bingen would be lost to history. We’d have her words, sure, but the "cosmic egg" and the "choirs of angels" would be gone.
Decoding the Weirdest Symbols
If you look closely at the illuminations of Hildegard of Bingen, you’ll notice things that don't make sense at first glance. There’s a lot of fire. A lot of eyeballs. A lot of strange, personified virtues.
- The Cosmic Egg: This is her vision of the universe. It isn't a perfect circle. It’s an oval, representing life and potential. Inside, there are layers of fire, air, and water. It shows a world that is "moist" and alive.
- Viriditas: This is a word she basically invented. It means "greening power." You see it in the lush greens of her illuminations. She believed God’s energy was a literal green force that kept things growing. If you’re depressed, you lack viriditas. If the plants are dying, they lack viriditas.
- The Iron-Colored Mountain: In the very first vision of Scivias, she sees a massive, iron-colored mountain with a figure seated on it. This represents the strength of God's kingdom. It’s cold, hard, and immovable.
The colors she chose weren't random. Blue meant the holy, red meant the spirit or blood, and gold was the presence of the divine. She used these colors to guide the viewer's eye through a narrative that was often too complex for words alone.
Why She Was Allowed to Be This Radical
You have to remember, this was the 1100s. Women weren't exactly encouraged to write books about the nature of God, let alone draw cosmic maps. Hildegard was smart. She played the "weak woman" card when she had to, claiming she was just an "unlearned" vessel for God’s message.
But she also went straight to the top. She wrote to Pope Eugenius III and St. Bernard of Clairvaux. She got their stamp of approval. Once the Pope said, "Yeah, these visions are legit," she was untouchable. She could criticize kings and bishops—which she did, loudly—and keep producing her radical illuminations of Hildegard of Bingen.
She was a rebel within the system.
A Modern Take on Medieval Science
Hildegard was obsessed with how the body worked. In her other books, Causae et Curae (Causes and Cures), she talks about everything from the humors to how to treat a "heavy head" with rosewater. While those books aren't as heavily illustrated as Scivias, the philosophy is the same.
The illuminations of Hildegard of Bingen often show the "four elements" interacting with the human soul. She believed that when we are out of balance with nature, we get sick. It’s basically the 12th-century version of holistic medicine. She saw no difference between a prayer and a herb; both were tools to restore viriditas.
How to Engage With Her Work Today
If you want to actually "use" Hildegard's insights rather than just looking at them, you have to slow down. Her art wasn't meant to be scrolled past. It was meant for Lectio Divina—meditative reading and looking.
- Don't look for realism. These are maps of the soul, not anatomical drawings. The distorted proportions are intentional. They emphasize the importance of the spirit over the flesh.
- Follow the light. In almost every illumination, there is a source of light, usually at the top or center. Trace how that light "flows" down into the figures at the bottom. It shows her belief in a top-down, connected universe.
- Notice the borders. Hildegard’s borders are often active parts of the image. They aren't just frames; they are boundaries between the seen and the unseen worlds.
The illuminations of Hildegard of Bingen remind us that the "Dark Ages" weren't actually dark. They were vibrant, colorful, and deeply concerned with our place in the cosmos. Hildegard saw a world where everything—stars, plants, people, and God—was woven together in a single, glowing tapestry.
In a world that feels increasingly fragmented and digital, there’s something deeply grounding about her 900-year-old "glitch art." It’s a reminder that we aren't just consumers or workers; we are, as she put it, "living sparks" of a much larger fire.
Actionable Steps for Exploring Hildegard
- Visit a library or museum database: Look for high-resolution scans of the Scivias facsimiles. Digital collections like the British Library or the St. Hildegard Abbey website often have these available.
- Listen while you look: Hildegard was also a composer. Play her chant O vis aeternitatis while looking at the "Universal Man" illumination. She designed them to be experienced together.
- Focus on 'Viriditas': Spend time in nature and try to see the "greening power" Hildegard described. It’s a simple mindfulness exercise that bridges medieval philosophy with modern stress reduction.
- Study the mandalas: If you are into art therapy or meditation, try sketching your own version of her "Choirs of Angels." It’s a geometric challenge that forces you to think about symmetry and layers in a way that is surprisingly calming.
Hildegard's work is finished, but our interpretation of it isn't. Every time someone looks at her visions, they find a new way to connect the dots between the physical and the spiritual. She didn't write for her own time; she wrote for anyone who felt a bit lost in the vastness of the universe.