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Why should intellectual historians care about the history of medicine? As someone who admires and draws frequently on intellectual history but is mostly an outsider to the field, I asked myself this question after accepting the invitation to review two books related to medical history for Modern Intellectual History. To make the question manageable, I decided to investigate how much the history of medicine had cropped up in the pages of MIH since it began publishing in 2004. Three terms fundamental to the history of medicine went into the MIH search engine: "medicine," "physician," and "disease." "Medicine" yielded seven hits, "physician" three, and "disease" one. Curious to see in what context "medicine" appeared, I clicked on the seven hits and discovered three book reviews, two articles that made mention of medicine only incidentally, and two articles that connected medicine to the history of subjectivity. Because seven hits seemed low and the subjectivity result intrigued me, I went back to the search engine with a more specific set of terms. "Psychology" yielded sixteen hits, "psychoanalysis" fourteen, and "psychiatry" one. These results, of course, only tell us about the publishing record of MIH and not necessarily about the research interests that intellectual historians might have in the history of medicine. Still, they do suggest that the piece of medical history most useful to intellectual historians concerns the mind/brain sciences—that is, those sciences most likely to engage minds, selves, identities, the individual, and related constructs of interiority. Apparently less interesting is work from other vibrant research areas in medical history: diseases (e.g. cholera, cancer, plague), hospitals, medical education, medical practice, medical technology, medical sciences (e.g. physiology, nutrition, biochemistry), and the body, to name just a few. Intellectual historians, it seems, hold a strong but quite selective interest in medicine right now.

Summary
This article investigates the early history of the best-selling German health manual The Wife as Family Physician, written by Dr Anna Fischer-Dückelmann in 1901. The manual built on an older tradition of medical enlightenment, yet broke with its conventions by discussing sexuality openly, emphasising self-help, and mixing the professional knowledge of physicians with the practical knowledge of irregular healers. The result was an 'embodied health epistemology' for women and proved so successful that it went through six major German editions by century's end and appeared almost immediately in translation in 13 other languages. After tracing the manual's roots in hygienic discourse, the article explores Fischer-Dückelmann's distinctive approach to bodily knowledge and then discusses the underlying forces that turned it so quickly into a mass-market success, both at home and abroad. The Wife as Family Physician is a case study in making and moving modern health epistemologies.

Where does occultism fit on the map of modernity? Frank Miller Turner proposed an intriguing answer in his 1974 study Between Science and Religion: The Reaction to Scientific Naturalism in Late Victorian England. The book examined the lives and struggles of six Victorian men: the philosophers Henry Sidgwick and James Ward, the scientists Alfred Russel Wallace and George John Romanes, and the writers Frederic W. H. Myers and Samuel Butler. Of the six, three cultivated a serious and sustained interest in the occult. Sidgwick and Myers engaged in psychical research, while Wallace immersed himself in phrenology and spiritualism. Raised as Christians, all of them came to find Christian belief inadequate. Yet the scientific naturalism that might have provided an alternative pole for their allegiance, that was the alternative pole of allegiance for much of their generation, failed to entice them. All had ethical qualms about its refusal to comment on God's existence or on life after death. All, too, wondered about the soul and bemoaned the reluctance of scientists to investigate the immaterial and subjective aspects of human nature. Caught between the Christianity of their upbringing and the scientific naturalism of their adulthood, Turner argued, these men "came to dwell between the science that beckoned them and the religion they had forsaken."

Eager to move on after the divisiveSonderwegdebates of the 1980s, historians of modern Germany have been busily elaborating a new central narrative around the notion of biopolitics. Aimed at producing a more powerful and productive society by regulating, optimizing, and even exterminating specific human populations, biopolitics has encompassed everything from housing reform, anti-smoking campaigns, and child vaccination programs to pro- and anti-natalist tax policies, national census taking, and the science of industrial hygiene. Identified by Michel Foucault and others as a general feature of all Western modernities, biopolitics has been a particularly fruitful concept for German historians, who have used it to trace the evolution of racial hygiene—the Nazi variant of eugenics and Germany's most infamous application of biopolitical principles—from a politically diverse group of Wilhelmine and Weimar social reformers. The very normality of these reformers, given the international context, has in turn allowed scholars to avoid labeling German modernity as deviant while at the same time framing the murderous dynamic of the Nazi years as a potential latent in modernity more generally. As Edward Ross Dickinson put it in an excellent review article recently, Germany has emerged from this reevaluation "not as a nation having trouble modernizing, but as a nation of troubling modernity."