Can Crystals Point to the Creator? Hildegard of Bingen's Surprising Answer (Part 2)
If someone handed you an emerald and told you it could strengthen the body, calm the mind, and offer protection against unseen spiritual influences, what would your first reaction be? Would you picture a modern crystal shop, New Age meditation circles, or social media influencers discussing vibrations and energy fields? You likely would NOT imagine a twelfth-century Benedictine abbess whose writings were carefully preserved by the Catholic Church and who was later declared one of the first four women Doctors of the Church. Yet that is exactly where we find ourselves.
Last week, we met Hildegard of Bingen, the remarkable woman who spent nearly nine decades walking, as she described it, with one foot in the visible world and the other in a reality illuminated by the Living Light. From childhood, she experienced visions unlike ordinary dreams, receiving profound insights while fully awake and convinced that the Divine presence sustained all of creation. We explored her fragile childhood, her formation under the anchoress Jutta, her extraordinary influence in a world where women rarely held public authority, and her conviction that the universe itself was alive with what she called viriditas, the greening power of the Creator flowing through every living thing.
If that worldview sounds unfamiliar to modern Christian ears, what comes next may be even more surprising. Hildegard did not believe the natural world was merely beautiful. She believed it was purposeful. Every herb, every stream, every melody, and every stone reflected something of the Creator's wisdom. More than that, she believed these created things could participate in healing and protection when used in harmony with Divine order. To her, the visible world and the unseen world were never truly separate. They touched each other constantly, and creation itself often served as the meeting place.
That perspective raises an uncomfortable question for both skeptics and believers alike. If the Creator embedded physical properties within plants that become medicines, could He also have imbued other parts of creation with purposes extending beyond what we currently understand? Hildegard answered that question with a confident yes, although not in the way many people today might expect.
Crystals in Hildegard's World
Of everything Hildegard wrote about the natural world, perhaps nothing surprises modern readers more than her extensive discussion of gemstones. Mention crystals in almost any conversation today, and people tend to fall into one of two camps. Some immediately think of New Age spirituality, energy healing, metaphysical practices, or, quite possibly, if you were raised a Protestant Evangelical, the demonic. Others dismiss the entire subject as superstition or pseudoscience without giving it another thought.
Hildegard belonged to neither camp. For her, gemstones were neither magical talismans nor meaningless rocks. They were part of creation itself, formed by the same Creator who fashioned mountains, rivers, stars, and humanity. Like every other aspect of the natural world, they reflected something of Divine order. Their beauty was not accidental. Their physical properties were not random. Their usefulness, she believed, revealed yet another way the Creator had woven purpose into the fabric of the universe.
This distinction is essential because it is often misunderstood. Hildegard never taught that crystals possessed independent supernatural power. She never suggested that a stone could manipulate the spirit realm through its own inherent energy, nor did she encourage people to seek hidden powers apart from the Creator. Ancient Christianity has consistently warned against attempting to manipulate unseen spiritual intelligences through objects, rituals, charms, or magical techniques. Hildegard remained firmly within that tradition.
At the same time, she was equally convinced that dismissing the natural world as spiritually irrelevant ignored the testimony of creation itself. Her writings in Physica reveal a woman who carefully observed gemstones and believed they possessed real properties that could contribute to healing when used wisely and prayerfully. Sometimes she recommended wearing a particular stone against the skin. Other times, she advised placing it in the mouth, washing it in water before drinking from it, or simply carrying it while praying. To modern readers, these instructions may sound unusual, yet within Hildegard's worldview, they were entirely consistent. Matter and spirit were never isolated from one another because both originated from the same Divine Source. And, the worldview she expressed remained entirely orthodox, and neither her writings on natural medicine nor her visionary experiences placed her outside the Church's teaching. Hildegard was never considered fringe or in danger of her standing in the Catholic church.
One of the first things that struck me while reading Hildegard's descriptions is how practical they are. She rarely writes as though gemstones were exotic objects reserved for royalty or scholars. Instead, she approaches them much as an experienced herbalist might discuss medicinal plants. Here is a stone. Here are its characteristics. Here is how it may assist the body. Here is how it may strengthen the spirit. The tone is remarkably matter-of-fact, almost clinical at times, which makes her writings all the more fascinating.
Among the many gemstones Hildegard discussed were sapphire, emerald, amethyst, chrysoprase, agate, jasper, onyx, topaz, beryl, rock crystal, sardonyx, and chalcedony. Some of these stones remain popular among crystal enthusiasts today, while others have become less familiar outside collectors and jewelers. Yet as I worked through her writings, I was repeatedly struck by how often her observations echo conversations still taking place nearly nine centuries later. That does not necessarily mean the conclusions are identical. The language certainly is not. But the parallels deserve thoughtful consideration.
Rock crystal particularly fascinated Hildegard. Transparent and seemingly pure, it became for her a symbol of clarity, cleansing, and strengthening both body and soul. She sometimes recommended cooling the crystal in water before using it for physical healing. Whether you interpret these instructions through the lens of medieval medicine or symbolic theology, the imagery is unmistakable. Crystal represented transparency before the Creator, the clearing away of confusion, and the restoration of harmony.
Today, many crystal practitioners describe clear quartz in remarkably similar language. They frequently associate it with clarity, amplification, purification, and focus. Contemporary metaphysical traditions often describe quartz as generating or amplifying subtle energies, whereas Hildegard consistently located the source of all healing in the Creator rather than in the stone itself. The similarity in language is genuinely intriguing, even though the underlying explanations differ.
Emerald occupied an equally important place in Hildegard's writings. She associated its vibrant green color with vitality, flourishing, and renewal, themes that appear repeatedly throughout her theology of viriditas. To Hildegard, green was never merely a color. It symbolized life itself, the continual outpouring of Divine vitality sustaining creation from moment to moment. Thus, she recommended carrying or wearing an emerald against the body, teaching that it could strengthen both body and spirit, help a person remain steadfast against harmful influences, and support the soul in maintaining harmony and alignment with the Creator and Divine order. It is hardly surprising, then, that emeralds eventually became connected with restoration and health. Modern crystal literature often associates emerald with emotional healing, growth, compassion, and renewal. Once again, the vocabulary overlaps in striking ways.
Among Hildegard's most-discussed gemstones was the sapphire, a stone she associated with wisdom, clear perception, and the illuminating light of the Creator. In the Middle Ages, sapphires were associated with the blue vault of the heavens. In Physica, she recommends placing the sapphire in the mouth for a time before applying it to the eyes, believing that its Creator-given properties could help soothe inflammation and improve vision. Beyond its physical use, the sapphire became a powerful symbol of spiritual sight, reminding believers to look beyond appearances and discern the deeper realities of the unseen world. One could assume that she viewed it as a stone that helped one see beyond the surface of the physical world without losing sight of the Creator, to see beyond the veil, in other words. Like every remedy Hildegard prescribed, the sapphire was never thought to possess power in itself. Instead, it reflected the Divine wisdom woven into creation, pointing the mind and heart toward truth rather than illusion.
One of Hildegard's most intriguing sapphire prescriptions concerns not physical illness, but unhealthy human attachment. In Physica, she advises that if a woman is being pursued by a man whose affection has become obsessive or disordered, a sapphire should first be warmed in the mouth and then gently touched to her skin while prayers are offered to the Creator. To modern readers, the remedy may sound almost like a medieval spiritual cleansing. Yet it beautifully illustrates Hildegard's conviction that emotional, physical, and spiritual disturbances are often intertwined, and that healing requires bringing all three back into harmony with Divine order.
Hildegard also wrote about amethyst, recommending it as a stone associated with cleansing and restoration. In Physica, she describes moistening the stone with one's breath and then gently rubbing it over areas of the face affected by blemishes or skin eruptions, believing that the Creator had endowed the gemstone with properties that could support physical healing. Beyond its medicinal use, amethyst also became a quiet reminder of inner clarity, self-control, and spiritual vigilance, encouraging the wearer to remain steadfast amid temptation and the unseen influences that ancient Christianity believed continually surrounded humanity. As with all of Hildegard's remedies, the stone itself was never the source of healing or protection. Rather, it served as one more instrument through which the Creator's wisdom could be reflected in the natural world.
Jasper, another stone mentioned repeatedly in Scripture, represented endurance and steadfastness. Hildegard understood perseverance as both a physical and spiritual virtue. Human beings inevitably encounter suffering, illness, disappointment, and temptation. Jasper reminded her that genuine strength is often quiet rather than dramatic, growing steadily through faithful endurance rather than spectacular displays of power.
Agate, onyx, topaz, chrysoprase, and beryl each receive their own observations within Physica, often combining practical recommendations with symbolic meaning. Some are connected with calming particular ailments. Others are associated with courage, emotional stability, protection, or restoring equilibrium after illness. Although modern readers naturally wish for controlled clinical studies supporting every claim, it is important to remember that Hildegard lived centuries before modern scientific methodology emerged. She was recording observations drawn from inherited medical traditions, personal experience, and her insights illuminated through Divine revelation.
For me, the most fascinating aspect of all this is not whether every recommendation proves medically effective. It is the worldview behind them. Hildegard assumed that physical healing and spiritual healing often moved together. And, interestingly, modern science is beginning to recognize that body, mind, and emotional well-being are deeply interconnected, an observation that resonates with Hildegard's holistic understanding of the human person. Physicians, psychologists, and researchers are increasingly understanding that chronic illness cannot always be understood by examining organs in isolation. Emotional trauma affects immune function. Chronic stress alters hormones. Social isolation influences recovery. Hope, purpose, beauty, community, and compassion all measurably influence health.
While Hildegard knew nothing of cortisol levels or neurotransmitters, she instinctively approached healing as something involving the entire human person - body, mind, and soul. Creation itself participated in that healing because creation had never ceased bearing the imprint of its Creator.
This is precisely where many modern conversations about crystals, as well as many other natural substances, become unnecessarily polarized. Some Christians reject any discussion of crystals simply because contemporary metaphysical movements have embraced them. Others enthusiastically adopt crystal practices without considering whether the underlying spiritual assumptions align with historic Christianity. Hildegard offers a third way, one rooted firmly in ancient Christian thought while remaining profoundly attentive to the natural world. She neither feared creation nor worshipped it. She respected it. She studied it. She thanked the Creator for it. That posture deserves renewed attention.
Could certain materials within creation possess properties that influence us in ways modern science has not yet fully understood? History repeatedly reminds us that what is today's impossibility may become tomorrow's accepted science. Magnetism, electricity, microbes, radio waves, and quantum physics would all have seemed magical to earlier generations.
Ancient Christianity leaves room for mystery while insisting that every mystery ultimately remains subject to the Creator rather than to human manipulation. That point may be Hildegard's greatest contribution to today's conversations about crystals. She reminds us that the real question is not whether a stone is beautiful, useful, or even capable of participating in healing. The real question is not whether the material world can participate in Divine work. The real question is where that work originates and to whom it ultimately points.
For Hildegard, the answer never changed. Every good gift, whether found in a mountain stream, a flowering herb, a brilliant sapphire, or a simple piece of clear crystal, ultimately pointed beyond itself toward the One who fashioned both the visible world and the unseen realms that surround it.
Protection in an Unseen World
If Hildegard believed the natural world reflected the Creator's wisdom, she also believed something equally important that many modern readers overlook. She believed humanity lived in the midst of an invisible conflict and that we needed the knowledge to wield all the tools the Creator had provided us to be victorious.
To Hildegard, the unseen world was not an abstract theological idea or a poetic metaphor. It was as real as the forests surrounding her convent, the rivers flowing through the Rhine Valley, or the medicinal herbs growing in the monastery gardens. Every day unfolded within a much larger reality populated by Divine beings, human souls, and fallen spiritual intelligences, all interacting in ways that were usually hidden from ordinary perception.
If you've been following this blog for very long, that idea sounds familiar. One of the themes we've returned to repeatedly is that ancient Judaism and the earliest Christians understood reality as layered. The physical world was never considered the whole story. Scripture repeatedly pulls back the curtain to reveal another dimension where angels appear unexpectedly, prophetic dreams alter the course of history, unseen battles influence earthly events, and spiritual beings cross the boundary between realms. From Genesis to Revelation, Scripture consistently presents humanity as existing within a cosmos far larger than what our five senses ordinarily perceive.
Hildegard embraced that worldview fully. Unlike many modern discussions of the paranormal, however, she never approached the unseen world with casual curiosity. She did not seek extraordinary experiences for their own sake, nor did she encourage others to pursue them. Her writings reveal a woman who viewed the spirit realm with profound respect, deep humility, and considerable caution. She understood that the same dimensions that could reveal extraordinary beauty could also conceal deception. That distinction deserves our attention.
Modern paranormal culture often encourages investigation. Ancient Christianity encouraged discernment. Those two approaches are not necessarily incompatible, but they begin from very different assumptions. Hildegard believed that not every vision came from the Divine, nor did every voice speak truth. In other words, not every supernatural encounter was to be welcomed.
This was not uniquely her opinion. It reflects a consistent thread running through both Orthodox and Catholic Christian traditions from the earliest centuries of Christianity. The Desert Fathers, many of whom intentionally sought solitude in the Egyptian wilderness during the third and fourth centuries, repeatedly warned that deceptive spiritual intelligences could imitate visions, mimic voices, and masquerade as beings of light. Their advice was strikingly practical. Never assume that an extraordinary experience is genuine simply because it is dramatic. Test it. Examine its fruits. Measure it against Scripture. Observe whether it leads toward humility, compassion, truth, and reverence for the Creator, or toward pride, confusion, fear, obsession, and self-exaltation. Nearly nine centuries later, Hildegard offered remarkably similar counsel. That may be one reason her writings still feel so relevant.
Spend enough time listening to experienced paranormal investigators and a surprisingly familiar pattern begins to emerge. Many will tell you that arrogance is one of the greatest dangers in the field. Those who approach allegedly haunted locations merely seeking thrills, attempting to provoke unseen entities, or assuming complete control over every situation often report experiences that become increasingly disturbing. Whether one accepts every paranormal investigation as authentic is beside the point. The consistency of these warnings across independent investigators is noteworthy.
Many experienced researchers describe something else as well. They speak of preparation. Some pray before entering locations associated with unusual activity. Others avoid provoking entities altogether. Many refuse to investigate while intoxicated or emotionally unstable. Quite a few describe maintaining a deep respect for whatever realities they may encounter, recognizing that curiosity alone is not sufficient protection. Some paranormal teams include persons of faith on their investigations - priests, exorcists, or pastors.
Interestingly, Hildegard would likely have understood that instinct. Her own preparation looked very different, yet the underlying principle was remarkably similar. Rather than relying upon equipment or techniques, Hildegard emphasized cultivating a life aligned with the Creator. Prayer, humility, acts of compassion, sacred music, fasting, contemplation, confession of sin, and participation in the sacramental life all strengthened the soul by drawing a person into deeper communion with Divine reality.
For Hildegard, spiritual protection did not begin with objects. It began with orientation. The question was never, "What crystal do I carry?" The deeper question was, "With whom am I allied?" That perspective profoundly shaped Hildegard's view of the material world. She recommended herbs, blessed water, sacred music, relics, prayer, gemstones, and numerous elements drawn from creation, yet she consistently pointed beyond every object toward the Creator. None of these things functioned as magical charms. None forced spiritual beings to obey human commands. None operated through hidden techniques capable of manipulating unseen realities. Instead, they served as reminders, participants, and signs of Divine order.
That difference cannot be overstated. One approach seeks to control the spirit realm. The other seeks to live faithfully within it. Throughout history, nearly every magical tradition has attempted, in one form or another, to obtain knowledge or power by directing spiritual forces toward human purposes. Ancient incantations, ritual formulas, magical papyri, talismans, ceremonial invocations, and countless forms of folk magic often shared a common goal. The practitioner hoped to influence unseen beings to gain protection, healing, prosperity, secret knowledge, revenge, or power.
Ancient Judaism and historic Christianity moved in the opposite direction. Rather than attempting to command spiritual intelligences, they emphasized surrender to the Creator, trusting that genuine spiritual authority flowed from alignment with Divine will rather than from mastering hidden techniques. This distinction appears repeatedly throughout Scripture. Miracles occur, but they are never presented as products of secret formulas. Healing happens, but not because someone has learned to manipulate cosmic forces. Protection exists, but it ultimately rests in a relationship with the Creator rather than confidence in ritual itself.
That does not mean physical objects lack significance, far from it. Throughout both the Old and New Testaments, the Creator repeatedly works through material things. Moses lifts a bronze serpent in the wilderness, and at the Creator’s command, the plague stops. Elijah's cloak touches the water, and the Jordan River parts. Church elders anoint the sick with oil, and they are healed. Cloths or aprons touched by St. Paul become instruments through which healing occurs over great distances. The hem of Christ's garment becomes the point of contact through which a suffering woman is healed. Matter matters because the Creator chooses to work through it.
This understanding reaches its fullest expression in the Incarnation itself. Ancient Christianity teaches that the Creator did not remain distant from the material universe but entered it personally in the person of Jesus Christ. By taking on a real human body, eating, touching, speaking, suffering, dying, and rising again, the Creator forever affirmed that matter is capable of bearing Divine presence without becoming Divine itself. That conviction echoes throughout both Orthodox and Catholic Christianity. Water becomes the means of baptism. Oil is used in healing and anointing. Bread and wine become the Eucharist. Even the relics of holy men and women have long been honored, not because bone, cloth, or stone possess magical power, but because they bear witness to lives profoundly transformed by the Creator's presence. Hildegard's understanding of gemstones fits naturally within this larger worldview. Creation was never something to be worshipped, feared, or manipulated. It was something through which the Creator could choose to work.
For Hildegard, creation never competed with the Creator. It revealed Him. This is why Hildegard speaks so powerfully into today's paranormal conversations. Many people exploring unexplained experiences feel caught between two extremes. On one side are voices insisting that every paranormal event must be dismissed as imagination, coincidence, psychological projection, or demonic activity. On the other hand, voices are willing to embrace almost any unexplained phenomenon without asking difficult questions about its origin.
Hildegard offers neither skepticism nor gullibility. She offers discernment. She assumes extraordinary experiences can be genuine while simultaneously insisting they must be tested carefully. She acknowledges the existence of unseen intelligences while refusing to romanticize them. She recognizes that creation participates in spiritual realities without suggesting human beings possess the right to manipulate those realities however they choose.
To me, that feels remarkably balanced. This ancient framework could provide a healthier lens through which to examine many modern paranormal reports. Rather than asking only whether an experience is "real," perhaps we should also ask what kind of reality we are encountering. Does it produce peace or confusion? Humility or pride? Compassion or obsession? Does it orient someone more deeply toward truth, beauty, and the Creator, or does it become an end in itself? Ancient Christianity consistently regarded those questions as more important than the phenomenon alone.
That perspective may be one of Hildegard's greatest gifts to our own century. She reminds us that the unseen world is not merely fascinating; it is consequential. The goal was never to accumulate extraordinary experiences. The goal was to become the kind of person capable of recognizing the difference between light that illuminates and light that merely dazzles. In an age captivated by the paranormal, that may be wiser counsel than ever.
Join me next time as we wrap up our look at Hildegard. In Part 3, we will look at her music, how sound impacts the natural world, and talk a little about why Hildegard matters so much in our modern world.
Grace and light to you all.