Visual Threats and Visual Efficacy: Ideas of Image Reception in the Arguments of Lucas Tudense about the Changes in the Crucifixion (c.1230)

Abstract

In this paper, I examine the ideas regarding image reception that can be extracted from the De altera uita, a theological treatise written by the Iberian bishop Lucas de Tui in ca. 1230. In this book, he devotes one chapter to rejecting the changes that were taking place at the time in the image of the Crucifixion, especially concerning the variation in the number of nails and the shape of the cross. I will show that this text provides illuminating references regarding image reception, mainly through Lucas’s concerns about the visual misleading of the faithful and their devotional responses to artworks. By examining this work, which I will set against the theological and devotional background of its time, I will argue that this treatise reflects the importance of sight within the religious experience of late-medieval Europe.

1. Introduction

When studying art from the past, we come across certain phases of history that critics have been accustomed to calling “transitional”. These peculiar liminal contexts are mainly characterised by major changes in all the spheres of society that are accompanied by a series of variations in the artistic domain, resulting in the coexistence of old and new customs. One of these moments of transition will be the focus of this paper: the thirteenth century, a context in which old visual patterns were sharing spaces with new visual models that emerged from a changing social and spiritual reality. The object of study will be the central image of Christianity: Christ on the Cross, an image that in the thirteenth century was undergoing a series of variations that came to culminate in the following centuries with the generalisation of the suffering Christ, which emphasised his humanity and violent death on the cross. These renewed images were promoted by the Church itself in response to the new spiritual and devotional needs that arose in a context of increasing participation of laypeople within religious life and the rise of religious diversity.

An important—and fascinating—part of these “transitional” histories, that is often hidden, are the debates between the promoters and detractors of the new visual trends, especially relevant when these debates are taking place within the Church itself. In a context such as late-medieval Europe, in which the display and visualisation of sacred iconographies had a crucial role in mediating between the faithful and the divine, as well as serving as a focus for meditation and the consequent internalisation of religious stories, introducing innovations and variations in images could be particularly controversial, and even for some people a dangerous threat.1

This paper aims to examine how visual innovations were received in the thirteenth century and to study the role given to sight and perception as a means to internalise passion imagery. The starting point of the investigation will be the thirteenth-century De altera uita fideique controuersiis aduersus Albigensium errores (henceforth DAV), an anti-heretical theological treatise written by the Iberian Bishop Lucas de Tui (d. 1249) in ca. 1230.2 In this book, Lucas devotes a chapter to arguing against the innovations in the depiction of the crucified Christ, particularly against the change in the number of nails, from four to three: Contra illos qui dicunt, tres tantum clauos fuisse fixos in manibus et pedibus Saluatoris (Book II, Chapter XI).3 Sources such as this one are rare, making this text an exceptional piece of evidence for our understanding of the resistances that visual innovations encounter within the Church.4 In addition to showing his repudiation of certain visual novelties, Lucas also refers in this chapter—albeit in a perhaps more veiled way—to the new arguments that were being posited by other theologians regarding the functions of images, as well as to the crucial role of sight and visuality within the religious experience.

2. Contra Illos Qui Dicunt …

In order to provide a comprehensive understanding of the context and reasons that led Lucas Tudense to write a whole chapter of his book about the changes in the crucifixion iconography, it is necessary to sketch an overview of what was happening at the time with regard to the image of the crucified Christ.

In Western Europe, from the second half of the twelfth century, the iconography of Christ on the cross experienced a range of significant changes which defined a new type of representation that can be understood as divergent from its precedents. The embodiment of the higher attention given at the time to Christ’s humanity over his divinity led to a move from the triumphant depictions that characterised the previous centuries towards more suffering representations, which define the late-medieval period (Thoby 1959; Schiller [1966] 1972; Derbes 1996; Viladesau 2006). Amongst these changes was the turn to the depiction of the dead Christ, an emphasis on suffering, the introduction of a series of new motifs such as the crown of thorns, and the shift from four to three nails.5 Consequently, this new type presents a dead and bloody Christ hanging from the cross with his legs and feet crossed and nailed with a single nail (Figure 1). In many cases, images even go so far as to carve or exaggerate the wounds to make them more visible, representing large pools of blood or individualising each drop. In addition to these visual changes that focus the attention on the human and suffering Christ, other strategies aimed at bringing the spiritual reality closer to the viewers started to be employed, including the use of paintings or sculptures within liturgical dramatizations, some of them even with devices to simulate the bleeding of the side wound. The late-medieval centuries also saw the development of devotions specifically centred on fragmentary elements from the Passion of Christ, such as the devotion to the wounds or the Arma Christi, which found their corresponding artistic evolution with the isolation of these elements in the visual realm (Figure 2).6

Thus, during the last two centuries of the Middle Ages, these innovative typologies of crucifixes tended to emphasise Christ’s suffering and death, finding the new religious sentiment its corresponding visual manifestation in the popularisation of images that showed a more accessible incarnated God. An excellent example of this reality is the fourteenth-century crucifix known as crucifixus dolorosus (de Francovich 1938; Franco Mata 2002; Kalina 2003), a type of image that triggered, through its visual features, an empathetic response in the faithful. In this sense, the beholders’ engagement with the representations of their dead God would be, during the late Middle Ages, quite different from the responses that the majestic and triumphal depictions might have provoked during the previous centuries (Figure 3, Figure 4 and Figure 5).

This visual reality has its counterpart in the devotional literature of the period, which also focused on the humanity of Christ, in line with the theological trends of the time.7 Admittedly, the development of this accessible God and its visual and textual materialisation has been related to the creation and growth of the Mendicant orders, which monopolised most of the devotional trends of the time (Derbes 1996). The new devotional literature produced in the thirteenth century shows the use of a significant emotional vocabulary that emphasises aspects such as suffering, pain, tears, wounds, or blood (Bestul 1996, pp. 43–56; Mazzon 2018). These texts usually provide highly detailed descriptions of the violence endured by Christ during his Passion, exhorting the beholders to imagine themselves within the scenes and to accompany Christ in his suffering, thus finding the promotion of a highly visual kind of meditation achieved through mental images experienced with the internal, or spiritual, senses even within the textual production. Such emotionally charged allusions to the Passion can be found in thirteenth-century texts such as St Francis’ Office of the Passion, St Bonaventure’s Officium de Passion Domini or De perfectione vitae ad sorores, Pseudo-Beda’s De meditatione passionis Christi per septem diei horas libellus, or a little later in the well-known Meditationes Vitae Nostri Domini Jesu Christi attributed to Johannes de Caulibus (mid-fourteenth century) (Newman 2005; Karnes 2007; Flora 2009; McNamer 2009).

The new crucifix model became widespread from the middle of the thirteenth century onwards, replacing the previous type, with a period in which both models coexisted and were indifferently adopted.8 Regarding the nails—which is the central focus of Lucas de Tui’s refutation—, the variation in their number is primarily the consequence of the total lack of references to them in the Bible, being theorised later by the Church Fathers (Pickering 1980, p. 12).9 The introduction of the three nails in the Crucifixion did not cause any broader discussion at first, since this issue had little importance before the thirteenth century (Binski 2004, pp. 221–23). Until then, representations of the crucified Christ showed several methods employed to fasten the body of Christ to the cross. In some crucifixes the hands are nailed, but the feet are not, either because they appear to be completely free or because they are tied rather than nailed (Figure 6);10 other cases can be found with the feet displayed parallel but nailed with a single nail with a merely functional purpose; and, finally, there are cases in which the feet were not even nailed at all (Munns 2016, p. 172).11 However, innovations in sacred art are complex, especially when it comes to the central dogma of the Christian faith, so it does not come as a surprise that this issue later became problematic. Therefore, in the thirteenth century, the number of nails, along with other innovations, became a central point of debate, becoming notably important after Pope Innocent III refuted the belief in the three nails (Munns 2016, p. 173), which likely led Lucas Tudense to compose his work (Binski 2004, pp. 221–23).12

The fact that Lucas devoted a whole chapter of his treatise to discussing the new variations in the Crucifixion is evidence of the importance this issue had, not just to him but almost certainly reflecting a broader concern. In fact, he starts the chapter by claiming that “since there is discussion among many about the number of nails that were sunk into the Lord’s body”, referencing a wider debate that was taking place in this context of “transition”.13 In this chapter, Lucas defends the idea that Christ was crucified with four nails and attacks those who claim there were only three and those who depict the Crucifixion according to this belief.14 In addition, Lucas also refers to another change that was taking place: the use of different shapes for the cross, going specifically “against those who say that the Lord’s cross had only three arms”.15 This issue is also addressed in Chapter XI when referring to the Volto Santo of Lucca—believed to be an authentic depiction of Christ on the cross carved by Nicodemus—as proof of the number of nails and the actual shape of the cross. Besides, Lucas also devotes Chapter X (Book II) to arguing about De forma crucis Christi, theorising that the cross had four arms and referring to the several parts that compose it: stipes, patibulum, suppedaneum and titulus.16

Scholars have widely highlighted the clear interest that Lucas had in the use and reception of art, with three aspects regarding his understanding of images that have been studied so far in the scholarly literature: (1) the type of veneration that can be rendered to religious artworks (Gilbert 1985; Boto Varela 2009); (2) his censorship of certain iconographic solutions (Gilbert 1985; Moralejo Álvarez 1994; Binski 2003; Carreño López 2019; Henriet 2020); and (3) his argument about the functions of sacred images (Gilbert 1985; Moralejo Álvarez 1994; Henriet 2020). These two last issues will be the centre of my argument since they constitute crucial evidence to approach the role of sight and visual perception in the rationale of this Iberian bishop.

3. Visual Threats

Lucas composed DAV as a statement rejecting heresy, showing his concerns about the alleged existence of Cathars in León, from where he would have written this book.17 In his treatise, the Tudense associates the origin of the abovementioned innovations in the Crucifixion with this spiritual divergency.18 Previous literature on this subject has underlined how Lucas shows in his works a great concern about how the heretics and the painters can create blasphemous images (Gilbert 1985).19 Throughout Lucas’s works, the author reflects on his fear of the visual misleading of the faithful and how they can be confused by looking at representations that deviate from the norm. This last idea is evident in Lucas’s explanation of how the Albigensians used artworks to shake the authority of the Church, asserting that they would recur to images to try to mislead the faithful, fundamentally by introducing new features in the depictions and hence leading to the veneration of false symbols (Gilbert 1985, p. 128): “Another means used by heretics to deceive the people are paintings… They paint most distorted pictures of the saints. As a mockery and insult to the Cross they represent the crucified Christ with one foot above the other and pierced by one nail” (Camille 1989, p. 211).20

However, the Albigensians would not have been the creators of the three-nailed crucifix; in fact, there are earlier references to the three nails tradition, demonstrating that it was known across Europe before the twelfth century and the rise of Catharism (Cames 1966, p. 189; Munns 2016, p. 175). Most likely, Lucas blaming them was his way of condemning the innovations in this iconography by connecting the new crucifix with a heterodox movement that was a threat and a grave concern to the Church. Thus, Lucas uses this connection as a strategy to increase the sense of danger associated with these depictions. Schapiro already stated, when dealing with this rejection of the three nails as Albigensian, that it was “much like those who criticise Expressionist painting as Kulturbolschewismus [Cultural Bolshevism]” (Schapiro 1939, p. 331), a term used in Nazi Germany to attack modern artistic manifestations, which were considered to be revolutionary divergences that went against traditional authority.

Lucas’s text can be understood as an example of the rejection of a particular clerical orthodoxy against visual updates, as they were aware of the power that images commanded. Moreover, for them, symbols and images had to be recognisable to properly function, hence being under strict regulation and careful control, avoiding changes that could lead to idolatry (Camille 1989, pp. 211–24; Binski 2003, p. 348). Lucas’s work shows a constant concern about the visual perception and the reception of images, which are understood as a means to internalise precepts and dogmas by the faithful. The bishop himself states that the purpose of his writing is “to spread the knowledge … among the faithful”, an issue mentioned several times in his work. In this regard, Bynum stresses that during the late-medieval period, it was precisely the materialisation of piety and devotion that created problems and debates both outside and within the Church, since “Holy matter was (…) both radical threat and radical opportunity” (Bynum 2011, p. 20). Thus, it is not surprising that in these centuries of visual and material outbursts, along with the promoters of the new objects and visual trends we can find some individuals who ardently opposed them.

For the Tudense the crucifix was not the only problematic (and threatening) representation; there are three iconographic formulas that he censured: (1) the already-mentioned the three-nailed crucifix; (2) the profile representation of the Virgin “with only one eye”; and (3) the anthropomorphic Trinity. In this latter case, when talking about the anthropomorphic representation of the Holy Trinity, he claims that this portrayal “will compel simple people to believe in three Gods of a single will” (Gilbert 1985, p. 136) (Figure 7).21 Thus, as previously argued, Lucas recognises the power of images, their role in visual access to the understanding of dogmas, and how their misuse can be harmful. However, he is also aware of how changing the representation of a central symbol such as the crucifix can be dangerous. He understands how religious images are visual referents to theological thoughts, not just products but also active agents in the discourse, playing an effective role in the exploration of theological ideas, as well as an active part as instruments of salvation (McGinn 2006).

However, changes in images existed because the institutional Church accepted them, despite figures such as Lucas who openly opposed the assimilation of the new models. In fact, several innovations in medieval visual culture have been understood as clerical reactions against heretical or divergent movements. For instance, the promotion of the historical representation of the Crucifixion in the Quinisext Council of Constantinople (692), which established that Christ’s sacrifice should be represented not symbolically (e.g., the Mystical Lamb) but through his human form, has been understood as a reaction against the development of Monophysitism in Byzantium, which downplayed the human nature of Christ. Later, at the end of the eighth century, the image of the dead Christ on the cross started to be developed in environments where conceptualizations established by the Schools of Metz and Rheims were adopted, a novelty that has been linked to the conflict provoked by the Adoptionist movement, which denied Christ’s divine nature. Thus, following these theories, the Crucifixion, and the visual emphasis on Christ’s humanity through his death on the cross, were used as responses against the movements that rejected Christian orthodox belief. This image became the place of convergence of the different positions within the controversies over the definition of the natures of Christ (Schiller [1966] 1972, pp. 96–98; Belting [1990] 2009, p. 162). In the case of the Albigensians, Prehn (1968, pp. 1–3, 17–36) proposed precisely that the changes that were taking place in sacred art at the time, which established a more direct relationship with the faithful, were a means used to argue against the heretical doctrines of the Cathars.22

The visual innovations that were taking place during the thirteenth century would have been promoted by the Church itself so that its messages were adapted to the systemic changes in society, updating sacred art to meet the new spiritual and devotional needs. In fact, Lucas refers to the renewal of visual dynamics to avoid boredom (“nouitate in consuetudinibus succedente, fastidium releuetur”) (see footnote 32). In this regard, preachers of this period were highly concerned with indifference, which they found as dangerous as heresy (Lipton 2005, p. 1199).23 Bearing this in mind, Lucas’s text may reflect a division within the Church regarding both the appearance and the functions of images. In this way, the text would not capture a polarity between Albigensians and ecclesiastical authority, but rather differences within the institution itself with sides promoting and following different aesthetic paths. In this respect, Gilbert (1985, p. 148) already referred to a similar dichotomy when dealing with Lucas’s text, dividing them into “the strict and the mainstream church”. If so, Lucas would be identifying the innovations as heretical to defend the orthodox side in the face of this possible debate within the Church. The institutional Church would need to control the modifications on religious imagery—especially when it comes to its central iconographies—since deviation from visual orthodoxy would imply the Church’s loss of hegemony over the visual access to the sacred (Camille 1989, p. 211). In fact, Lucas insists on his defence of tradition throughout the whole chapter devoted to the number of nails, in a spirited defence of the papacy and the immutable traditions of the Roman Church.

4. Visual Efficacy

In DAV, Lucas also includes a brief treatise on the purpose of figurative decoration in churches (Book II, Chapters XX–XXI). He proposes four functions that would justify the presence of images: the defence of the faithful (fidelium defensionem), teaching (doctrinam), encouragement of good examples (imitationem), and decoration (decorem).24 These four arguments are a derivation of the justifications for the use of sacred art that were established by Pope Gregory the Great (d. 604), to which Lucas himself directly refers in Book II, Chapter XXI (Boto Varela 2009, p. 42; Henriet 2020, p. 67).25

Throughout the Middle Ages, the justifications for the presence of artworks in churches derived fundamentally from the argumentation defined by Gregory the Great in his correspondence with bishop Serenus of Marseilles and the anchorite Secundinus (d. 600).26 In these letters, Gregory justifies the use of images because they are effective tools through which sacred stories are visually transmitted, since through their visualisation they could be fixed in the memory of people. His main suggestion was that images were the “Bible for the illiterate”, understanding that images would be a suitable medium of communication to transmit the message to those who could not read.27 These assertions marked the attitude towards images for most of the Middle Ages, finding a continuity in later authors. Even when this argumentation is later supplemented with new purposes, Gregory’s initial assertion will continue to hold (Duggan 2005).

During the thirteenth century, these proposals were implemented with a new function rarely found in earlier authors: the arousal of devotion and the generation of empathetic responses on the beholders. This new purpose for images emerged in a context when ecclesiastics showed a growing interest in the devotees’ engagement, acknowledging the crucial role that sight could have. These new formulations regarding the use of sacred art show a more affective theory of visual practice along with a renewed functionality of objects as the focus of meditation and personal devotion (Camille 1989, p. 206). Parallel to this was the development of the mendicant orders, which grew to be the greatest advocates of bringing religion closer to the people, playing a decisive part in this visual renovation. They radically changed the dynamics of previous monastic life in favour of direct contact with the urban reality, where they carried out their famous mass preachings (Derbes 1996; Cannon 2013).

Following two of the greatest theologians of this century, the Franciscan Bonaventure (d. 1274) and the Dominican Thomas Aquinas (d. 1274), images had three primary purposes: to instruct the unlettered, to fix in the memory the examples of the saints and the mysteries of the Incarnation, and to stimulate the feeling of devotion. Regarding this latter aspect, Bonaventure, in his commentary on Peter Lombard’s Sentences, asserts that religious images “are introduced also by the lulling of the feelings [affectus tarditatem], that is, so that those who are not stimulated to devotion [excitantur ad devotionem] by the things Christ did for us when they hear of them [aure percipient], may be excited when they notice the same things in statues and pictures [figuris et picturis], as if they were made present to the eyes of the body [praesentia oculis corporeis cernunt]. Our feeling is more excited by the things we see than by the things we hear [excitatur affectus noster per ea quae videt, quam per ea quae audit] (…) for things that are only heard fade away more easily than those that are seen”.28 For his part, Thomas Aquinas, also starting from the Sentences of Peter Lombard, states that images are used “to excite the feeling of devotion [excitandum devotionis affectum], which are more effectively aroused by things seen than by things heard [visis efficacius incitatur quam ex auditis]”.29 In these passages, both Bonaventure and Thomas Aquinas refer—as other contemporaries would do—to the idea that a person is more successfully moved through sight than through hearing, an idea with a long history that already appeared in Horace’s Ars poetica (c.19 BCE). In fact, both in Antiquity and during the Middle Ages, the senses were ranked in a hierarchy where sight and hearing were the higher and more intellectual senses (Bagnoli 2016; Beaven 2020, p. 155). These arguments confirm the potential of sight to create an impact on the viewers and by doing so to fix concepts in their memory (Hahn 2006), a new function of visual reception that can be easily connected with the images that were being developed at the time.30

However, Lucas does not refer to this idea when presenting his arguments about sacred art, not including any reference to devotion or the empathetic agency of images, even if he is writing just a couple of decades before those other theologians just mentioned. Lucas’s proposal may be considered more conservative or traditional, anchored in the precepts seen in authors from the previous centuries, possibly derived from a perspective that sees the appeal to the senses as too close to idolatry (Camille 1989, p. 206). Nevertheless, even if he maintains this traditional position when presenting image functions in De imaginibus (Book II, Chapter XX), he comes near to his contemporaries in other parts of his book.

Firstly, he states that “therefore we should worship sacred images as the holy scriptures, because when they are contemplated, they stimulate holy devotion and teach the doctrine of salvation to believers”.31 Moreover, when speaking of images of the saints, he asserts that “these images should be made with subtle fitting, so that they represent the beauty of honesty to the beholder and inspire the devotion of piety [deuotionem excitant pietatis]”.32 These quotes demonstrate that Lucas recognised the image’s ability to impact the beholders and arouse their devotion, but he only does so when speaking about other sacred depictions (e.g., saints), but not about those of Christ.

If we circle back to Chapter XI, when he talks about the recent changes taking place in the Crucifixion, Lucas alludes to the risks of using visual art to arouse devotion when it comes to the figuration of Christ. This author states that, at the time, there were people who considered that sacred images could be changed to increase devotion by visually presenting depictions of the Passion of Christ that showed a greater intensity of His suffering. For him, those other people “want the customs of the church to be changed so that the devotion of the people be aroused [populi deuotio excitetur] before the greater bitterness of the Passion of Christ [maiori acerbitate passionis], and, after the renewal of the customs, boredom may be avoided”.33 Lucas refers in this passage—as he did in the other ones mentioned above—to the new function given to artworks during the late Middle Ages: the stimulation of devotion, but he does so by rejecting it for the figurations of Christ.

Thus, when discussing the variations in the Crucifixion iconography, this Iberian bishop recognises the power of images to affect the faithful and generate an empathetic response in them. He does so by alluding to specific solutions that visually convey a higher sense of pain and suffering, hence recognising the introduction of innovations in the visual production with an expressive purpose that intentionally sought to achieve a greater impact on viewers. It is clear that he rejected the visual and stylistic modification of sacred images for these purposes, as he was aware that changing the image of a central symbol, such as the crucifix, to seek a greater impact on the viewer could be dangerous. However, this proves that the appearance of an object might impact the beholder’s response in different ways, in the case of late-medieval sacred art, triggering an empathetic response and affecting the viewers more effectively, that is to say, creating a higher emotional bond between them and the image they gazed at.

There are other medieval accounts that indicate how the new Crucifixion type would have been received, showing how its emphasis on the suffering body of Christ could discomfort some unaccustomed viewers. In this respect, the thirteenth-century Meditation from the Belgian charterhouse of Diest, signals the intensity of the visual responses that could be felt before a crucifix, showing that devotees could still be shocked and distressed by the appearance of the portrayal of the dying Jesus (Lipton 2005, pp. 1185–86). In a similar way, in thirteenth-century Italy, the Franciscan tertiary Angela of Foligno (1248–1309) was so strongly affected when gazing at Passion imagery that in her Memorial it is recorded that she even became physically ill: “whenever I saw the Passion of Christ depicted in art, I could not beat it; a fever would overtake me and I would become sick” (Lunghi 2000, pp. 13–38; Warr 2007, p. 218). As happens with Lucas, the intensified pathos on the Passion imagery could lead to an unsettling feeling on the faithful, reflecting on the effectivity of the new images. These episodes are proof of the somatic responses that the visual perception of an artwork could trigger in viewers, and how the act of looking was already associated in the Middle Ages with physical effects on the devotee in a complex interaction between visuality and image (Warr 2007, p. 226).34

It must be considered that Lucas, and the other above-mentioned theologians, wrote in a context when so-called affective piety was being developed.35 This renewed form of piety promoted meditation on and mental re-enactment of Christ’s torments, for which a variety of objects were often employed as triggers during these Passion meditations. In fact, during the late Middle Ages the widespread meditative practices that encouraged the mental re-enactment of sacred events—as can be seen in the large devotional literature of the time—prompted the proliferation of Passion imagery intended for this purpose, as a means to internalise the events. Images were crucial tools during the first stages of these meditations, since through the trigger of empathetic reactions on the viewers they would imprint on their memory the images that they could then visualise in their mind (Murat 2022 forthcoming).

Lucas also refers in his text (Book II, Chapter XX) to how sensorial inputs would move the inner senses towards the divine realm. He asserts—almost certainly influenced by Abbot Suger’s ideas on Church decoration—that: “for the house of God ought to shine with various ornaments, so that its exterior beauty (…) raises their mind [of the devotees] to the seeking of heavenly beauty by representing the beauty of the heavenly land”.36 He then claims that “the outward beauty of the house, while it soothes the eyes from the outside, sometimes draws the inner self to the Lord”.37 Lucas—and his contemporaries—show the distinction between corporeal and spiritual vision, and how things perceived with the eyes of the body could be transferred to the eyes of the mind, in a progression from corporeal to spiritual vision. Medieval theologians—such as Augustine, Pseudo-Dionysius, Suger, Hugh of Saint-Victor, Thomas Aquinas, Bonaventure, among others—maintained that visual perception has an initiatory role in the process of internalising ideas, ascending from sight, through imagination, to finally reach the intellect or understanding (Biernoff 2002; Warr 2007, pp. 218–19; Williamson 2013, pp. 21–31). This process, that starts from a sensory stimulus triggered by the physical and visual perception of objects, would lead the devotee through a series of successive stages of abstraction that seeks the final interiorisation of knowledge. Thus, knowledge would originate in a sensory input, which the intellect then digests through cognitive processes which involve abstraction and imagination (Murat 2022 forthcoming).38

5. Conclusions

Society was changing rapidly in Western Europe during the first half of the thirteenth century, with the development of new devotional practices and visual trends. This paper has investigated the reaction of clerical orthodoxy to the innovations that were taking place within the visual realm during this liminal period, focusing specifically on the image of the Crucifixion, and by doing so it has shown how variations in iconography were noted and commented upon. By examining the conservative claims regarding religious figurations that the Iberian bishop Lucas Tudense displays in his anti-heretical treatise De altera uita, it has reflected on the complex relationship between devotion and images within late-medieval spirituality. In fact, reactions to and interactions with religious images were not always well received by the ecclesiastical authorities, and sometimes changes in their aesthetic were perceived as dangerous visual threats that could have a negative effect on the viewers, especially within the context of the religious controversies of the 13th century.

The debates which erupted regarding changes to sacred art during this century emphasise the central role that sight and visuality had within the religious experience. Sculptures, paintings, miniatures, and other kinds of visual materialisations, all were valid and crucial tools to access the divine, mediating the relationship between the faithful and God. Sacred art and its visualization, especially during the late-medieval centuries, was also expected to have an empathetic impact on the viewers in order to stimulate their devotion. Sight, therefore, had a central role within the religious life of people, with sensory stimuli at the basis of a complex cognitive process that would fixate imagery within the faithful’s minds.