The history of medicine is filled with remedies that, viewed through a modern lens, seem perplexing, misguided or downright macabre. Among these is "mumia" – a medicinal substance derived from mummified human remains.
From the 12th to the 17th century, physicians across Europe prescribed powdered mummy as a cure-all for ailments ranging from internal bleeding and broken bones to epilepsy and melancholia.
Once regarded as a potent elixir infused with the life force of the ancients, mumia was a staple in apothecaries, sought after by the wealthy and recommended by the learned. Yet, as medical knowledge evolved, so too did attitudes toward this unusual remedy, and by the 18th century, it had largely faded into obscurity.
The belief in mumia's healing power was deeply rooted in prevailing medical theories of the time. One such theory was the doctrine of signatures, which held that natural substances resembled the ailments they were meant to cure.
Mummified flesh, preserved for centuries, seemed an obvious candidate for treating decay, wounds, and internal deterioration.
Another influential idea was vitalism, the notion that life force could be transferred from one body to another, particularly from a preserved human to a living patient.
Adding to this was the European fascination with the medical traditions of the Islamic world. Arabic physicians such as Avicenna had described the therapeutic use of bitumen – a naturally occurring tar-like substance also called mūmiyā – that had medicinal applications in wound healing.
When these texts were translated into Latin, European scholars mistakenly conflated mūmiyā with Egyptian mummies, assuming that the embalmed dead were imbued with similar restorative properties.
The result was a booming trade in ground-up human remains, with mummies sourced from Egyptian tombs, grave robbers and even local execution sites.
Mumia was prescribed for an astonishing array of conditions. Physicians believed it could speed up healing, prevent infection, and even cure epilepsy. Ingested in powdered form or mixed into tinctures, it was recommended for internal bleeding, strokes, and tuberculosis. Some suggested it could ward off melancholy or restore youthful vitality, making it a popular remedy among the European elite.
Apothecaries stocked mummy powder alongside other human-derived medicines such as powdered skull (cranium humanum) and distilled human fat (axungia hominis).
The more ancient the remains, the more potent they were thought to be. However, as the demand for mumia outstripped the supply of genuine Egyptian mummies, opportunistic traders turned to more recent corpses – some even resorting to robbing the gallows to meet the market's needs.
Eventual decline
Despite its widespread use, mumia was not without its detractors. By the 16th century, some physicians began to question both its efficacy and its ethical implications. The Swiss physician Paracelsus (1493–1541) argued that only fresh human remains – not ancient, embalmed flesh – had medicinal value, while others dismissed the practice as nothing more than superstition.
The growing emphasis on empirical science in the 17th and 18th centuries further eroded faith in mumia. As anatomy and pathology advanced, the idea that centuries-old preserved tissue could heal the living seemed increasingly implausible. At the same time, public attitudes toward human remains began to shift.
The rise of Egyptology and archaeological interest in mummies reframed them as historical artefacts rather than medical commodities, making their consumption distasteful even to those who had once sworn by their healing properties.
By the early 18th century, mumia had largely disappeared from medical practice, relegated to the annals of history as an example of medicine's sometimes gruesome past.
Mumia's decline serves as a reminder of how medical knowledge evolves, shedding once-revered treatments in favour of evidence-based approaches. Yet, while medicinal cannibalism may seem shocking today, the pursuit of miraculous cures continues. From stem cell therapies to longevity supplements, the desire to harness the essence of life itself persists – albeit with more scientific rigour.
Looking back at the use of mummified medicine, we are reminded that the boundary between science and superstition is not always as clear as we might like to believe.
Michelle Spear, Professor of Anatomy, University of Bristol
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.