Seeing the Invisible in History

Many of us are now familiar with the disability sign that reads: “Not all disabilities are visible.” As an historian, this sign has particular resonance for me. Disabilities are rarely visible in historical sources. However, the hidden quality should not deceive us. In fact, many people who make it into our history books are there because of the deep spiritual formation they received as they struggled with ongoing illness.

For this reason, I have spent the last few years studying the life of first-wave feminist philosopher and Christian political activist Josephine Butler (1828–1906). Butler is known for her work to raise awareness of the plight of destitute women and children caught in the Victorian sex trade. She also worked to establish legal protection for minors against sexual violence. Indeed, historians agree that Butler was one of the key forces behind the cultural movement that led to equal constitutional rights for women and men in Britain.

She is a significant historical figure. Yet what the history books rarely reveal is her lifelong battle with major depressive illness. Hidden in her diaries, letters, and recollections, we find evidence of recurring “darkness of mind and soul.” Nevertheless, we also find a deep connection between her illness and an intimate relationship with Christ.

The Darkness That Shaped Her Faith

The first episode of “darkness” marked Josephine’s adolescent years. Later, a second crept into her life as a young mother in Oxford. Her health deteriorated in 1854 after the birth of her second son. In a letter to her niece, she wrote that she was “scarcely able to walk about my house.”

Her main symptoms were chills and fever, but beneath these lay a deep and complex depression. Josephine’s husband, George, was so concerned that he emptied the family coffers to take her to see the Queen’s physician, Sir James Clark.

After some time, and with a move from Oxford to Cheltenham, the darkness lifted. However, it returned in full force for a third time in 1864–65. This episode overwhelmed her following a profound trauma.

From Grief to Compassionate Action

In August 1864, George and Josephine returned from an outing when their four children rushed from the nursery to say goodnight. In the excitement, their youngest daughter, Eva, toppled over the bannisters and fell forty feet onto the tiled hallway below. For six hours, the family watched her die.

Butler described the following year as a “long drought in my soul.” She often felt too overwhelmed by sorrow to leave the house or attend church. Historian Jane Jordan later suggested that this period of grief involved symptoms we would now call catatonic trauma.

Yet even in this dark time, Josephine’s journal reveals a renewal of faith. She described a new ability to pray for others—what she called a “spirit of vicarious suffering” and “the grace of perpetual intercession.”

“When so weak, I often feel as if my heart were breaking – not with misery but with its heavy burden of desire and love and sorrow. Then I just have to put my hand in Christ’s and ask Him to put His hand on my heart and keep it quiet.”

In time, Josephine saw this season of darkness as the catalyst for her work among women on society’s margins.

Finding Strength in Shared Suffering

When the family moved to Liverpool in 1866, Josephine began visiting destitute women in the Brownlow workhouse. Many worked in a cold cellar separating rope fibres for ship caulking in exchange for bread and shelter. These were the women Butler sought out as friends.

“I became possessed with an irresistible desire to go forth and find some pain keener than my own, to meet with people more unhappy than myself…. I had no plan beyond that; my sole wish was to plunge into the heart of some human misery and say (as I then knew I could) to afflicted people, I understand, I too have suffered.”

Through shared suffering, Josephine built relationships with women from different backgrounds. Common pain overcame barriers and created spiritual friendships that later grew into political action. In this way, Josephine’s vulnerability became her greatest strength as a leader.

A Friendship Across Centuries

Even though she loved her calling, Josephine was not immune to further depression. In 1875, after intense work, her health again declined. She could not sleep or eat. Eventually, opiates became necessary to calm her body and mind. During this period, she found comfort in the lives of the saints—especially the fourteenth-century mystic St Catherine of Siena.

In Catherine, Josephine saw a woman of remarkable courage and prophetic leadership, yet also one marked by illness. In 1878, Josephine wrote a biography of St Catherine. The way she described the saint’s suffering is revealing:

“And now we are to follow her through a period of suffering of a nature seldom experienced except by persons of fine and nervous constitutions, possessing great strength of affection and spiritual aspiration.”

At a time when “lunacy” was still a common label for mental illness, Josephine chose different language. She connected what we would now call mental illness to spiritual sensitivity—the same quality that made Catherine a prophetic leader in her day.

Grace Transformed Through Darkness

Across time, Josephine found a friend. Both women were extraordinary changemakers who led out of deep affection and spiritual longing. Ultimately, as they held tightly to Christ in the darkness, even disability itself became a source of creative transformation.

“Even the darkness of disability itself became a source of creative transformation.”