2D Presentations of Disability in History

Erin Fountain is an M.A. Medieval Studies student at Lincoln. She discovered the case of Götz von Berlichingen, and the interesting story of his life following a misfired canon on the battlefield during assessment research for the “Chivalry in Medieval Europe” module. This post is a discussion of the importance of looking at history through a disability lens, and realising that history was not that different from the modern world.

Ralph Weir, Senior Lecturer, Lincoln School of Humanities and Heritage

When talking to people about my degree interests, one of the most common questions I hear revolves around disability studies. More specifically, the most common question I hear is: why? Since starting my bachelor’s degree in 2020 through to my master’s degree this year, I am constantly bombarded with the dreaded ‘why’. Why are disability studies relevant? Why are you trying to read the medieval world through a disability lens? What does this achieve?

My understanding of disability studies has been formed by my specific degree specialties in literature and history. Both history and literature are guilty of presenting a problematic view of disability as either something to fear or something to pity and see as motivational for ‘surviving’. In literature, this is perpetuated by modern presentations of the medieval and renaissance periods in High and Epic Fantasies like George R.R. Martin’s Game of Thrones, Rebecca Yarros’ Fourth Wing and Sarah J. Maas’ Throne of Glass in which disabled characters are marginalised, infantilised and even literally removed from the narrative frame in which they existed.¹ All three of these well-known, and extraordinarily popular examples of the fantasy genre fall victim to this pitfall and have created in the minds of consumers that to be disabled is to be pitied. Disability becomes, as many reviewers of Fourth Wing mention, nothing more than something to be overcome and ignored halfway through the novel.² Even classic children’s stories such as J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan are guilty of this, presenting physical disabilities and mental illnesses as plot points designed to Other the villain from the hero. Historical narratives are no better. My switch from a literature-based bachelor’s to a history master’s was one where I hoped to see narratives of disability presented in new ways. However, when researching the Leper King for a module assessment, I realised just how often disabled historical figures were erased and ignored by chroniclers. This often extended to the world stage, where those who did not fit the ableist narrative were forcibly removed, demonised and again infantilised to further their specific agenda.

In my last project, I looked at how important challenging the modern fear of disability is to understand non-disabled privilege and the issues surrounding a refusal to challenge these perspectives. This project aims to move this discussion into the historical sphere and analyse the damage that can be done through the removal and absence of disabled historical figures by modern scholars and popular culture.

Like any project that touches such a broad topic, there is so much I could potentially talk about. To focus my interests, and thus the project, I have chosen to analyse the historical evidence of prosthetics and their uses in the medieval period. I will also focus specifically on the geographical area of Europe, using the 16^th-century example of the German knight Götz von Berlichingen and the discovery of an unnamed 6^th-century man in Hemmeburg, Austria with evidence of a prosthetic leg to sketch out the beginning of a study on prosthetics and their impact on medieval society. Upon beginning my research, I realised that the term ‘prosthetic’ could be used to describe both practical and cosmetic replacements of limbs. Therefore, the term ‘prosthetic’ will be used to discuss a replacement that ‘must withstand bodily forces so that it does not snap or crack with use’.³

Figure 1: Ältere Eiserne Hand des Ritters Götz von Berlichingen, um 1510, Museum der Burg Jagsthausen. Glasnegativ von Wilhelm Kratt (1887–1968). Wikipedia (Public Domain)

During my research for a module on chivalry, I stumbled upon the intriguing figure of Götz von Berlichingen. Von Berlichingen was a 16^th-century German knight who following an accident involving a misfired siege weapon faced life as an upper limb amputee.⁴ Although the exact details of the incident remain unknown, stories claiming that his arm was either blown clean off by a misfired cannon or sliced off when a cannonball hit his sword began circulating widely.⁵ Regardless of the actual events that caused the amputation, von Berlichingen continued to embark on a lucrative military career spanning decades⁶ as well as engaging in land piracy, extortion and kidnapping,⁷ all whilst dealing with a significant injury to his dominant arm.⁸

Based on archaeological evidence of the first and second prosthesis’ used by von Berlichingen, it can be argued that the prostheses used were both passive prosthetics with varying degrees of practicality. I decided to look at images and mechanical diagrams of the two variations of von Berlichingen’s iron hand and analysed the usefulness of these prostheses.

The first prosthetic hand (see Figure 1) is the more simplistic of the two designs used by von Berlichingen in his career. This prosthetic was designed to be capable of wielding a sword and was made of a series of hinges designed to allow the prosthesis to grasp and use the sword. Furthermore, research shows that the hinge mechanism employed by the prosthesis was simplistic, moving the fingers in groups of two, with the left finger block automatically moving the thumb in the opposite direction.⁹ This prosthetic relied on a spring locked mechanism to maintain the position of the hand, and worked by external manipulation, likely by von Berlichingen himself, to be useful on the battlefield. This type of passive prosthetic is described as a group one prosthetic¹⁰ due to its reliance on springs rather than modern active elements such as body-powered or electrical means.

Figure 2: Christian von Mechel - Christian von Mechel: Die eiserne Hand des tapfern deutschen Ritters Götz von Berlichingen. Berlin 1815. Nachgedruckt, Wikipedia (Public Domain) — Figure 2: Christian von Mechel – Christian von Mechel: Die eiserne Hand des tapfern deutschen Ritters Götz von Berlichingen. Berlin 1815. Nachgedruckt, Wikipedia (Public Domain)

The second prosthetic hand is of a significantly better quality than the first. In a 19^th-century diagram of the hand (see Figure 2), we see a more complex system designed to imitate the missing appendage in both practical and aesthetic way. Unlike the first prosthesis, this diagram presents the second as looking more lifelike, with articulations in places knuckles would be. This likely allowed for more individual movements, and as such likely allowed von Berlichingen to add nuance to the use of his prosthesis. Furthermore, this 19^th-century diagram of a 16^th-century prosthesis reveals something fascinating; this prosthesis was highly advanced for the time in which it was created. The diagram shows that the prosthesis relied on spring-loaded mechanisms like the first prosthesis, but with an allowance for not only the fingers to be moved by also by allowing the wrist to be angled by about 15° to increase the number of actions the prosthesis could practically achieve. This marvel of technology is a feat of engineering, not just in the 16^th-century but even by modern standards of medical research.

Before Götz von Berlichingen, I had been working under the mistaken understanding that the use of prosthetics, particularly prosthetics with nuance, was a relatively recent phenomenon. However, this discovery drove me to consider how far back the history of prostheses went in the medieval context, specifically how common prostheses were and how these prostheses were made. In doing this, I discovered a paper published in 2016 analysing the remains of an early-medieval leg prosthesis from an unnamed 6^th-century man buried in a cemetery in Hemmaberg, Austria. It is important to note that this individual was likely a member of high status in the local area of Hemmaberg, notably shown by the burial items and closeness of his burial place to the 6^th-century church.¹¹

To summarise the article, a variety of tests were performed by archaeologists, which unearthed a range of health problems the man would have suffered from in his lifetime including osteoarthritis, rotator cuff disease, inter-vertebral disc disease (IVD) and evidence of ossification, or the formation of bone¹² late in life.¹³ Unlike von Berlichingen, the exact circumstances surrounding the amputation were unknown, but the list of diseases faced by this 6^th-century man would have made living with a prosthetic limb difficult. However, despite facing an amputation prior to the 17^th-century amputation strategies, archaeologists discovered this man definitively lived for several weeks, and perhaps even years, after the initial amputation occurred.¹⁴ This discovery was fascinating to me, as I had worked again under a misunderstood assumption that in this period an amputation meant death, and that the idea of prosthetics was pretty much non-existent.

The actual prosthetic itself is also fascinating to look at. Unlike von Berlichingen’s iron hand complete with all it’s nuance of use, this 6^th-century prosthetic is more akin to his first iron hand in it’s simplicity of use. The prosthesis itself is difficult to discern, as the prosthesis would likely have been made with a mix of metal and natural components such as wood or leather to work.¹⁵ Furthermore, the presence of a metal cuff (see Figure 3) shows how this prosthetic would have been fitted to the body of the user, and thus how it may have functioned in this individuals day to day life. This prosthetic is believed to have been more than an aesthetic fix, as altered strain on a joint following a traumatic injury that changes balance, stability, orientation and pressure distribution may have actually been the cause of this individuals osteoarthritis, suggesting this prosthetic, like von Berlichingen’s, was actually usable and not simply cosmetic.¹⁶

As a field, disability studies offers a glimpse behind the historical propaganda furthered in historical records and literary texts to understand how individuals with disabilities lived. Rather than allow these people to fade into obscurity, disability studies provides a platform with which to discuss, analyse and reimagine life in the past, not as a perfect system where injury would be a literal death sentence, but as people not that dissimilar to us. The case of both Götz von Berlichingen in the 16^th-century and the more recently discovered 6^th-century man in Hemmesburg and the prostheses they both used throughout their life showed me a side to the early and late medieval periods I had not considered. Rather than being shunned, both these examples show the human desire to live, overcome and adapt to their situation, regardless of the circumstances that brought them there.

Humanities & Heritage

February 11th, 2025

2D Presentations of Disability in History

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