Mediatrix of All Graces: The Shrine Madonna and the Marian Gaze

Abstract

The Shrine Madonna is a unique form of cult statuary within the wider Madonna and Child tradition, linked to broader Marian iconography. Building on previous scholarship, this article focuses on the visual relationship between the Virgin and the worshiper, giving primacy to the Shrine Madonna’s gaze. Analyzing three key examples: the Boubon, Rhineland, and Morlaix, Shrine Madonnas reveal how these objects function as mediators of sacred presence, theology, and compassion. Theoretical frameworks surrounding gaze theory and medieval concepts of vision and visuality buttress a discussion of three distinct gazes—direct, mutual, and averted—that facilitate a compassionate response and establish divine hierarchy. This work argues for a shift from viewing Shrine Madonnas as static devotional objects toward recognizing their dynamic role in mediating affective spiritual exchange. Shrine Madonnas are active subjects who command theological space and engage viewers through a reciprocal gaze that alters perception. Rather than passively being observed, they watch back, reflecting and redirecting the viewer’s desire, thereby implicating and transforming them.

1. Shrine Madonnas

The Shrine Madonna comprises a distinctive variation in cult statuary within the broader Madonna and Child typology, connecting it to a larger tradition of Marian iconography. Manufactured all over Europe, there are dozens of extant examples. Particularly popular in many European traditions, Shrine Madonnas emerged as innovative devotional sculptures, initially appearing in the eleventh century and reaching their peak of production in the fourteenth century. The Virgin Mary was very popular during the Gothic period, when her cult experienced a significant rise (1200–1400). Shrine Madonnas are devotional sculptures of the Virgin Mary, often holding the infant Jesus. Unlike traditional cult statues, however, they typically open, revealing hidden compartments, iconographic content, and narrative scenes inside. They are frequently referred to as Vièrge ouvrante, which translates to “opening Madonna.” Among other names and translations, these kinetic statues are also termed Triptych Virgins, Shrine Madonna, Schreinmadonna, Virgen Abridera. These variations are primarily descriptive. For instance, the German phrase Schreinmadonna (Virgin reliquary) reflects the belief that these sculptures housed relics or the consecrated Host, although this is difficult to substantiate. Even when the object did not contain the Eucharist, it expressed access to God through the Incarnation and the subsequent ingestion of the Host by the penitent (Brisman 2014b). Like the French Vièrge ouvrante, the Spanish phrase Virgen Abridera translates to “opening Virgin” or the “Virgin who opens,” referencing the performative and often programmatic aspect of these Marian devotionals, but fails to describe variations in interior narrative content. These phrases are frequently imperfect, as Shrine Madonnas resist strict taxonomy within traditional Marian visual culture.1 For our purposes, I will refer to specific shrines according to their ecclesiastical house or place of origin, and in such a case that provenance has not been established, I will use the designation by which they have commonly been cataloged.

Like many cult images, the Virgin Mary stares at the viewer as if to invite a connection with her; she is one of the most gazed upon women in Christendom. Previous discourse has centered on audience perception, the act of looking, and the semiotics of viewership. However, scholarship has overlooked the Virgin’s gaze and the inherent operations of a Shrine Madonna’s visual exchange—that is, she gazes as she is gazed upon. I suggest a positional pivot to examine the shift from audience to object perception. This essay aims to understand the reciprocal and affective gaze by exploring the collective relationship between the viewer and the Shrine Madonna, with the goal of provoking a compassionate response and establishing a divine hierarchy. My material focus will center on the Boubon Shrine Madonna (ca. 1200–1225), the Rhineland Shrine Madonna (ca. 1300), and Morlaix Shrine Madonnas (ca. 1390), illustrating three distinct gaze types: direct, mutual, and averted (Figure 1, Figure 2 and Figure 3).

Modest in scale, Shrine Madonnas typically range in height from three to four feet, although some reach nearly life-sized proportions. There are a number of exquisite ivory pieces; however, Shrine Madonnas are typically made of wood, which is then embellished with gold leaf or other gilding and polychromed, reflecting a divine nobility.2 Frequently modeled as a seated Maestà or a Madonna stans, a Christ Child is often presented in her lap, though this is not always the case.3 Shrine Madonnas usually participate in the typological tradition that associates the Virgin Mary with the Throne of Solomon. Within this expository framework, Mary is presented as the Sedes Sapientiae—the Seat of Wisdom—who, in turn, becomes the living throne for the incarnate.4 Shrine Madonnas have been the subject of sustained scholarly inquiry. Early literature prioritized formal analysis, provenance, iconographic interpretation, authenticity, and textual accounts of their origins. Although they may initially present as conventional cult statues, closer examination often reveals a vertical seam along the figure of Mary, indicating its concealed, transformative function (though a whole-body seam is not always the case; some only partially open—i.e., the Virgen Abridera from Bergara discussed at the end of this essay). This is what truly sets the Shrine Madonna apart from other Marian devotionals: the kinetic performance of her body—“opening”—revealing an interior. Like a tabernacle or tower reliquary, when undone, the Virgin’s anatomy is rearranged and opened. Our knowledge about how these early tabernacles were used within their church settings is limited. Likely opened during a feast day or used during private devotion, the opening movement symbolizes the unfolding of God’s plan and the potential for an intimate encounter between the believer and the divine.5 She unfolds like a winged altarpiece, unveiling imagery in splendid variety, including passion-themed compositions depicting the crucified adult Christ alongside symbols of the Passion, Trinitarian imagery presenting the complete Holy Trinity—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and narrative triptychs illustrating episodes from the lives of the Virgin Mary, Jesus, and other related stories.6 Trinitarian vierges embody the fullness of the Godhead, reflecting a doctrinal conception of the Virgin Mary as a portal breached solely by the Holy Spirit. Several extant examples are damaged, with either unattached or missing components, leaving many scholars to determine whether these were intentional choices, casualties of iconoclasm, or the result of later restorations and additions. The Trinity within the Rhineland Madonna Shrine (ca. 1300) is currently incomplete. Of the original Trinitarian figures, only God the Father endures. Christ and the dove, symbolizing the Holy Spirit, the second and third persons of the Trinity, are now missing.

The Rhineland Madonna, for instance, is carved from oak, polychromed, and gilded, initially shrouded with a linen covering. It was created during the height of the Virgin’s cult, when Marian devotional materiality proliferated throughout Europe. With an elongated, thin, and graceful figure, the Rhineland Madonna is stylistically archetypal of the Gothic style. Initially housed in the Collegiate Church of Le Mur on the heights of Morlaix, it now resides in the transept of the church of Saint-Mattieu. The statue was a gift from the Brotherhood of Weavers and is now part of the Metropolitan Museum’s collection.7 The workmanship of the paintings and the details of the statue suggest an influence from the Cologne region of Germany. Cologne, Limoges, and the Rhine Valley were known for their enamel work and the production of high-quality devotional objects. Highly valued by both the clergy and nobility, these objects were closely tied to piety, status, and the human relationship with God. A nun from a convent in Cologne might have owned the Shrine Madonna, which is not without precedence.8 In the later Middle Ages, there was a discernible shift in patronage towards private devotion and materiality. The ecclesiastical stewardship exercised by nuns was particularly significant during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries (Kessler 2019; Hamburger 1998; Taylor and Smith 1997). As carriers of “divine energy,” a force that can be experienced not only in public liturgical settings but also in private devotional practices, a believer could engage deeply with a sacred image in solitude, awakening its spiritual power through inner devotion.9

The Rhineland Madonna’s interior reveals a Throne of Mercy (God holding Christ on the Cross) flanked by six narrative scenes from the Life of Mary and Jesus Christ symmetrically arranged on the open arm panels of Mary’s body. Though the Rhineland Madonna is a Trinitarium vierge, the central Trinity is incomplete. Likely a victim of Jean Gerson’s (1363–1429) condemnation of inappropriate and misrepresentation of the Godhead enfleshed in the Virgin’s Womb.10 The remaining holes on the T-shaped cross and God’s torso indicate where Christ on the Cross and the dove of the Holy Spirit would have been initially attached. In addition to being a Trinitarium vierge, the Morlaix Shrine Madonna (ca. 1390–1400) exemplifies the Maria lactans model, which sustains the theme of cooperative intercession. The composition places the familiar pair in a straightforward, direct pose. While closed, the feeding Christ Child is perched in the Virgin’s lap, looking adoringly at his mother as if in gratitude for her nurturing flesh. In direct contrast, Mary’s gaze is lowered and appears distant. Positioned along the spectrum of an averted gaze, her eyes gently focus downward. She is remote and utterly contained in a delimited space and action.11 The dissociation reconfigures the Virgin’s body as a symbolic throne, thus modeling her as Sedes Sapientiae. There is a consensus that Vierges ouvrantes are affective devotionals, illustrating the Virgin’s role as a divine vessel. The Boubon Shrine Madonna (ca. 1200–1225) is an ivory example from the priory of Boubon, near Limoges. Sometimes referred to as the Vierge de Boubon, she is constructed of ivory and silver hooks and hinges. Ivory, valued for its refined appearance and incorruptible nature, was closely associated with chastity, making it an especially fitting material for evoking the Virgin Mary’s immaculate purity.12 Parts of her face, Christ’s face, and an interior angel have been restored. The contrived aging on the Virgin’s face from restoration complicated questions of authenticity that were raised in the 1970s (Holbert 1997). Currently housed in the Walters Art Museum, the authenticity of the Boubon Madonna was argued and verified in the 1990s by Kelly Holbert. In her brilliant article “The Vindication of a Controversial Early Thirteenth-Century ‘Vierge Ouvrante’ in the Walters Art Gallery,” she discusses the stylistic and scientific evidence in support of the tabernacle’s authenticity. Further, she clarifies the object’s date of construction, situating it in the early thirteenth century. The Boubon Madonna exemplifies the Passion typology within the genre of vierges ouvrantes.13 According to the Walters’ archives, the piece was acquired by the museum in 1931 from the Henry Walters estate.14 The corporeal body of the Virgin is nearly entirely erased when opened. Revealing architectonic features, a not-so-subtle allusion to Virgen ecclesia, lobed cells house miniature narratives in the Life of Christ.15 These intimate spaces create a focal point for each moment, allowing the viewer’s gaze to undulate intermittently or progressively. When closed, the viewer encounters an enthroned Virgin with an apocalyptic Christ upon her lap. Jesus appears older and bearded, as in the Last Judgment, representing the beginning and the end.16 Gazing at the viewer, the stoic pair stares directly outside of their space as if to impart some great wisdom to the penitent.

Thanks to the efforts of Irene González Hernando, Barbara Newman, Elina Gertsman, Kelly Holbert, Melissa Katz, and other esteemed peers, there is a more significant understanding of Shrine Madonnas and their social and devotional functions.17 This more recent discourse has centered on the act of looking and audience perception, mining meaning through viewership. In 2009, Melissa Katz unpacked the agency of the viewer’s gaze and their visual access to the Virgin’s interior narratives. She interprets the Shrine Madonnas as presenting Mary’s body as a threshold, a doorway aligned with the architectural metaphor of the frequent representation of Madonna and Child as trumeaux of Gothic cathedrals, “from their perch bisecting a doubled doorway, trumeau figures oversee our passage from the secular world into the interior church sanctuary. Here, as in the Vierge ouvrante, the body of the Virgin acts as mediator in the liminal transition from secular to sacred.” (Katz 2009) Assessing the viewer’s encounter, Katz explains the Shrine Madonna as a figure of hidden revelations, accessible yet obscured by semiotic ‘doors.” (Katz 2009, p. 195) She devised the term corporeal erasure when describing the paradox of the simultaneity of the Virgin’s bodily presence and erasure. Katz asserts that the voyeuristic gaze into the feminine interior is intrusive and dehumanizing (Katz 2009, p. 215).

Elina Gertsman offers an alternate perspective in her stunning book Worlds Within: Opening the Medieval Shrine Madonna, where she explores different aspects of these statues and their historical contexts. She begins by discussing the controversies surrounding these objects and the objections raised by Catholic theologians, such as Jean Gerson. Drawing on previous scholarship from the past few decades as a foundation, she introduces new methodologies, including the examination of medical and obstetric imagery and perspectives. She approaches the Morlaix Shrine Madonna (Morlaix Vièrge), for instance, with performance theory, linking it to themes and structures found in courtly poetry and vernacular theater. She asserted that the alignment of access to the Virgin’s interior is a performance and enactment of the Christ Child’s birth, where the operating priest serves as the midwife and the audience acts as witnesses.18 Gertsman argues that “the birth is enacted, not depicted”—that the Shrine Madonna does not merely suggest the Nativity but actively stages it, again and again, through the priest’s ritual handling.19 She also draws on other prominent Christian materiality, including winged altarpieces, reliquaries, and furniture, to interrelate Shrine Madonnas into a broader material discourse.

Alternatively, Elisabeth Andersen examined Marian tabernacles, examining the curatorial practice of exhibiting Shrine Madonnas in a closed position (Andersen 2020). Suggesting that the exterior motifs, imagery, and embellishments could provide a deeper understanding of the opening Madonna’s function and development, Andersen also compares Shrine Madonnas to other tabernacle constructions that sheltered other saints to distinguish aesthetic markers for relic differences. She seamlessly aligns the modern museum spectator with the medieval devotee, utilizing aesthetic clues that assist contemporary scholars in understanding the partial remains of Marian and other tabernacles. Notably, Andersen addresses the exterior paintings, which are infrequently found on the exterior wings, and feature figural traces of the apostles and evangelists, as well as the kinetic function and ecclesiastical contexts for opening and closing tabernacles. In a 2023 publication, I focused on Shrine Madonnas. The Morlaix and Rhineland Shrine Madonnas, for example, were among those I discussed (Scherff 2023). Examining these Marian objects through the social dimensions of religious technology, I unpacked the intercessory iconography of the Maria Lactans and the concept of double intercession. I concluded that Shrine Madonnas played a vital role in ritual as a spiritual object that facilitated interactions between the viewer and the divine. Using the actor–network theory as a framework, I examined the role of these objects within a broader spiritual and devotional context. When opened and gazed upon, Shrine Madonnas act as signals, transmitting a sacred presence that allows Mary’s essence to connect with the earthly realm. This focus on audience perception and the viewer’s gaze is crucial, considering that the tradition of vision and gazing is central to the Medieval spiritual experience.

In this essay, I draw on Andersen and focus predominantly on the exterior gaze of the virgin; however, as Shrine Madonnas are a kinetic tabernacle with movable wings, the interior is indivisible from historical reading and interpretation. My point here is not to challenge previous scholarship and my peers’ significant contribution to the subject; rather, it is to understand the relationship between the viewer and the viewed. Medieval people saw things differently from modern viewers.20 Martin Jay describes the Medieval concepts of vision and visuality in opposition to modern vision. Where modern vision is tethered to the sensory organ, the Medieval visual process was participatory, characterized by the “intertwining of viewer and viewed.” (Jay 1994) Sight had to be learned and guided. Theophilus Presbyter (ca. 12th century) described sight not just as a sensory or natural function but as an educational and spiritual discipline (Gearhart 2017). This process must be cultivated through moral training and technical understanding. Art elicited emotions and stirred the soul to devotion. Many of the thematic elements observed in this devotional art closely align with the longstanding Franciscan veneration of the Virgin Mary with a particular emphasis on the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception. Although Theophilus’s work came about a generation or two earlier than the Franciscans, their philosophical and theological themes converge in the idea that art serves to instruct, elevate the mind, and stir emotions, bringing people closer to Christ and glorifying God.21 The propagation of Marian devotional imagery in Iberian and Franco-German traditions was largely facilitated by Franciscan patronage, beginning in the early thirteenth century (the Iberian Peninsula in 1213, France in 1217, and Germany by 1221), coinciding with the establishment of Franciscan communities in these regions. The Shrine Madonna’s devotional function and visual emphasis reflect key Franciscan spiritual values, particularly the contemplative gaze centered on the Incarnation and the humanity of Christ.22

In this context, Shrine Madonnas, with their concealed interior imagery and interactive structure, served as a potent instrument of visual storytelling and meditative practice.23 Often situated on monastic altars and employed in private devotion, these sculptures were likely commissioned by religious institutions, such as Franciscan monasteries, or by affluent lay patrons closely associated with the order. Although extant evidence regarding the precise patronage of Shrine Madonnas remains limited, available data strongly suggests a significant connection to Franciscan networks. In some cases, direct affiliations with mendicant communities can be discerned. The provenance of the earliest known Shrine Madonna in Spain provides a more definitive example. Around 1228, the Poor Clares—the Second Order of Saint Francis—established a monastery in Allariz, Spain (Galicia). This community maintained the Real Monasterio de Santa Clara de Allariz, which housed a Shrine Madonna, known as the Virgen Abridera de Allariz (Galicia, Spain; late 1200s) (Ramirez 2016). This case provides more unmistakable evidence of Franciscan patronage and the devotional use of such imagery within a mendicant context. The provenances of the three Shrine Madonnas that I have introduced at the focus of my discussion align with the theological content and the order’s emphasis on the contemplative gaze, suggesting the likelihood of Franciscan patronage and influence.

2. Vision, Visuality, and the Gaze

The depths of gaze theory are endless as scholars navigate the increasing methods of looking and being looked at. Lacan posited that the gaze was both individual and collective, forging a relationship (Lacan 1973). Addressing this relationship of being the object of the viewer’s gaze, Lacan explains, “je ne vois que d’un point, mais dans mon existence je suis regardé de partout.”24 The gaze is a crucial element in vision, differentiating it from its passive and biological functions of seeing, as well as the complex interaction between the subject and the object of the gaze. For Lacan, elision plays a vital role in understanding the relationship between vision and the real—“ça montre,” “it shows”—as it imparts or reveals information to the viewer.25 The gaze is not simply the act of looking; it is a force that shapes the subject. The gaze is polymorphous and multivalent, relaying an array of ideas simultaneously. It is critical to remember that an essential aspect of the gaze is that “someone or something else is always looking back.” (Burke 2000) Art critic John Berger notably popularized the concept of the gaze in his seminal 1972 text, Ways of Seeing. This was subsequently expanded upon by feminist film theorist Laura Mulvey in her influential 1975 essay, “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.”26 Mulvey denotes the power relations inherent in visual representation, particularly emphasizing how women are frequently portrayed as passive subjects to be observed, thereby reinforcing gendered hierarchies and fetishizing the female form. The addition of the heterosexual, queer, and female gaze in recent history demonstrates that the gaze, much like gender, is a construct of social, cultural, and political control (Caviness 2001).

It is essential to be aware of the significant differences between the modern experience and the medieval era. Janet Soskice astutely described the discrepancy due to the growing museumification of religious art: “Indeed, our experience of painting [and other devotional art] comes not from dimly lit churches and their place in the liturgy but from books of reproductions and art galleries where we may see whole rooms full of Madonnas and Childs—more like refugee camps for women and babies than the original context of veneration in which they were painted.27 While modern theory codified the concept of the gaze, themes of looking and being looked at are entirely significant within the medieval purview. During the late Middle Ages, a notable tension emerged between a growing interest in material devotion and iconoclasm, sparking both curiosity and unrest surrounding the act of looking. Mulvey’s feminist film theories on the gaze have been an indispensable framework for art historians and visual studies scholars seeking to deepen their understanding of visual culture, resulting in innovative and intermittently controversial scholarship (Lindquist 2012). In The Medieval Art of Love: Objects and Subjects of Desire, Michael Camille utilizes Mulvey’s framework for his discussion of the sociopolitical operations of the female viewer to achieve an empowered gaze in a heavily patriarchal society. Through affective viewing, he posits that potent imagery could be utilized to transcend social constructs of gender identity and access the divine.28 Most importantly, I believe that he effectively demonstrates that gender in the Middle Ages resists what we think of as traditional gender binaries. In Visualizing Women in the Middle Ages, Madeline Caviness also engages with critical film theory and the concept of the “male gaze.” (Caviness 2001) She determines that this construct of feminist criticisms is a helpful method for understanding visual modes of medieval patriarchalism, while still acknowledging that there were, in fact, many visual modes that proliferated in the Middle Ages. The subject is rather immense due to the varying medieval attitudes of the gaze—the desirous, gendered, devotional, political, and divine gaze, as well as all the variations in between.29

Visuality was understood as a more spiritual concept. Vision and the act of viewing or gazing were one of the chief concerns for many clergy and theologians. Sermons frequently emphasized the primacy of sight (Lentes 2006). In the thirteenth century, an unknown preacher in Paris concluded his Good Friday sermon by gesturing toward a crucifix, directing the congregation to look at Christ: “Oh true Christian, look, look how he has his head leaning down to kiss you, his arms extended to embrace you!”30 The lives of the saints reveal that disciplined piety is often rewarded with spiritual vision (Areford 2013). Hildegard of Bingen (1098–1179) and Saint Elizabeth of Hungary (1207–1231) are among others who have reported visions and mystical experiences.31

Additionally, the visual revelation of the transubstantiation or ocular communion was often considered more important than its actual consumption in the late Middle Ages.32 Receiving the sacrament via the Eucharistic gaze was the standard for laity most of the liturgical year, save the Paschal Vigil (Adams 2007). Representations of the Mass of St. Gregory in print and other media gained popularity during the late medieval period.33 The primary function of the Mass of St Gregory was to visualize the Passion, reinforcing the suffering of Christ. These representations across Christendom underscore the importance of ocular devotion, as seen in the depictions of clergy witnessing the miracle.34

In his Canticles (1225), St Francis (ca. 1181–1226) praises the goodness and beauty of God and creation. Through visions, St Francis transcended physical sight, gaining a deeper understanding of God’s love and presence.35 St Francis’s emphasis on seeing and vision led later Franciscans, philosophers, and theologians to contemplate and further develop the concepts of optics and vision. The Franciscans Robert Grosseteste (ca. 1168–1253), Roger Bacon (ca. 1214–1292), and Bonaventure (1221–1274) are among the influential writers on optics in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.36 Bacon disseminated his optical theories, as well as those of the father of modern optics, Ibn al-Haytham (ca. 965–1040)—Alhazen in the Latin West. Alhazen rejected the earlier Greek extramission theory and instead merged the emission theory championed by Euclid and Ptolemy with the emission–intromission theory initially argued by Aristotle and advanced by Plato and Galen (Lindberg 1976).

Although the Franciscan students of optics developed their distinct models of vision, particularly concerning the role of light in creation and epistemology, they collectively emphasized the significance of light and vision in both the physical and spiritual domains. Together, their work exemplifies a broader Franciscan tradition that embraced the study of nature and human perception to deepen one’s relationship with God. Epistemological shifts in the primacy and efficacy of vision in the Middle Ages led to a discourse between external perception and the internalization of visual experience. Visuality in the later Middle Ages bridged the gap between art and science. The adoption of Aristotelian theories of intromission and the integration of Arabic optics led to a greater focus on the image itself rather than on the act of seeing. Herbert Kessler posits that Intromission gradually gained acceptance during the second half of the thirteenth century because its mathematical framework could be aligned with the physiological process of sight and the psychological aspects of perception and cognition—mingling science and art. The development of vision theory transformed early experiments into a new form of art (Kessler 2019). The second half of the thirteenth century witnessed a shift in preference from the competing extramission model of vision to the intromission model. This change impacted how affective vision and response were conceived. Intromission suggests that perception is dictated by where the eye receives visual stimuli (a specie—described as a miniature replica or likeness of the object) emanating from the object viewed by the subject.37 Intromission emphasized the effects of objects while extramission emphasized the activity or agency of the viewer; therefore, the eye can both act and be acted upon. Grosseteste and Bacon were both heavily influenced by various models of vision, eventually synthesizing a combined visual model that asserted that vision was both active and passive (Pinkus 2012). Bacon described sight as a superior sense, affirming that sight had an affective component, given that an object would have a significant impact on the viewer’s feelings and behavior (Lacan 1973). Therefore, a type or resemblance of the object is transferred to the sense organ, causing a change in affect, which the intellect (brain) then interprets to acquire knowledge.

The late medieval affective relationship was understood as sensations and experiences that shape one’s identity and behavior and precede emotion.38 Sight was viewed as the primary tool for mental conversion, referring to the transformation in the subject’s cognitive orientation—shifting not just their beliefs but the structure and mode of their thinking itself. It is the kind of turning that reconfigures how one perceives reality and values, often as a precursor or complement to moral and spiritual conversion (Ledda 2003). Original sin had tainted corporeal sight, so that the divine could no longer be perceived directly, as Adam and Eve had experienced in the Garden of Eden (Seiler 2007; Kessler 2019). Art’s ability to channel contemplation from the object before the eyes to its spiritual counterpart became increasingly important during the Middle Ages. Spiritual sight could reveal divine mysteries. In his writings, which circulated during the Middle Ages, Pope Gregory (590–604) recognized art’s power to stir the emotions and channel them away from the physical object toward the divine. “When you see the picture, you are inflamed in your soul with love of him whose image you wish to see.”39 The affective gaze elicited specific emotional responses from the viewer and encouraged them to engage with the religious narrative or devotional image on a more personal level. We are affected and shaped through the process of seeing; affect, therefore, is a part of the soul and is reliant on one’s ability to feel and perceive feelings in others. Camille notes that, “faculties we now consider to be psychological, such as dreams, were often considered in the Middle Ages in physiological terms. Manifestations that for us are purely physiological in nature, such as the reception of images in the eye, were and are received like seed; self-knowledge, like a thought of as involving the ‘soul.’”40 What we call empathy today would have been seen as compassion in a medieval context (Flanigan 2020a). In the Legenda Maior (The Legend of Saint Francis, 1260–1263), Bonaventure described how Saint Francis’s compassion and devotion to the Crucified Christ resulted in his mirror-like corporeal reflection, expressed through visible wounds, the stigmata, which correlated to Francis’s own body.41 For Francis, emotions stirred by images and directed toward God sparked the unification of the flesh with the soul.42 Therefore, Francis’s compassion for what he saw affected his soul. The unseen then manifested outwardly as the gaze was affective, participatory, and transformative.

Hans Belting’s notion of Blickwechsel, a “change of gaze or shifting perspective,” offers a productive framework for understanding medieval modes of devotional looking, particularly as they relate to compassion. Belting uses the term to describe a methodological oscillation between different visual regimes, notably the scientific, geometric optics of the Islamic world (as theorized by Alhazen) and the perspectival, emotionally charged imagery of the Christian West (Belting 2011). This conceptual lens proves especially illuminating when applied to the visual culture of medieval Christianity, which was built on a model of vision highly influenced by Arabic optical theory.

Medieval devotional practices often required viewers to engage in a form of interior Blickwechsel, shifting their focus between the external image and an internal response of emotional identification and spiritual reflection (McNamer 2010). This visual–emotional circuit mirrors the alternation Belting identifies between vision as scientific perception and vision as a cultural, theological act. The Christian viewer was not merely a spectator but a participant in the image’s meaning, expected to “suffer with”—compassio—the sacred figures through imaginative and affective alignment (Kessler 2019). Such looking was designed to move the viewer toward conversion, imitation, and ultimately, union with the divine.

The Christian community is called to bear witness to the miraculous as scripture beseeches them to bear witness to divine performativity. Like the shepherds who, after seeing the baby lying in the manger, spread the good news of the newly born Messiah (Luke 2:8–16), the Magi who, upon seeing the celestial sign, traveled to Bethlehem to see the Christ Child (Matthew 2:1–12), or the Apostle John, Mary Magdalene, and the Virgin witnessing the Crucifixion, seeing heightens the immediacy of the divine. The Dominican theologian Johannes Tauler (1300–1361) used visual language in his sermons and meditations. He remarks:

You [Mary] stand face to face with the cross, gazing up at the fruit of life, so that through the violence of your own sufferings you are able to share in the gaining of man’s redemption, just as man was lost by Eve looking up at the forbidden tree, inflaming her desire for its fruit of death…43

Tauler observes that by looking, God’s grace is imparted to the Virgin. If I may quote the seventeenth-century adage, “seeing is believing.” For Thomas the Apostle, he could not trust the news of Christ’s Resurrection without seeing. “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.” (John 2:24–25) Saint Augustine’s significant tripartite model of vision abstracts from Thomas’s embodiment of vision, transmuting the corporeal into the spiritual and then the intellectual. Augustine encloses the tactile within the visual, associating sight with a kind of touch.44 Therefore, vision is an intercessory medium, an ocular touch that impresses into the subject.45 This process is called the “optics of compassion,” where visually perceiving someone else’s emotions triggers a compassionate response cognitively in the viewer (Flanigan 2020a). The gaze directed towards an image was considered a powerful religious act, forging an affective response where the viewer believed they were literally transformed by what they saw.

Many works of art were designed to engage both sight and touch—objects that could be carried, handled, or manipulated invited a multisensory experience that emphasized tactile as well as visual interaction (Kessler 2019; Biernoff 2002; Sadler 2018). Gothic era Madonna shrines were often opened on feast days to reveal interior devotional imagery during key liturgical celebrations, including Trinity Sunday and the Nativity of the Virgin. Given its subject, the Boubon Shrine Madonna may have been open from the feast of the Holy Trinity (between May and June) to the feast of the Nativity of the Virgin in early September. Modeling extramission theory, Augustine portrays the physical and spiritual senses working together: literal touch affirms what is seen, and inner spiritual touch accompanies purified sight toward God. The added sensory attributes of Shrine Madonnas amplified the devotional experience.46 Consequently, touch left its mark as a symptom of devotion, renewing the penitent’s connection with the divine, thereby purifying the body of any blemish (Kessler 2019).

3. The Boubon Madonna and the Direct Gaze

Evolving hagiographies from different authors are not only a gauge for shifting theological, political, and cultural piety over time but also emphasize the corporeality of the saint (Weiss 2006). That is, a saint’s body often functioned as a significant part of their identity, entwined with their martyrdom, miracles, relic collection, and, in the case of the Virgin Mary, her body as the vessel of Christ. Although beings of exceptional holiness, unlike their Savior, saints were born as human beings, achieving divinity only after death. The penitent often accessed the divine by mediating the experience of their own physiology. Christian materiality frequently played this affective role, eliciting compassion from the viewer. The Boubon Madonna models the Virgin as a monumental figure, seated in majesty. Arranged frontally—en face, she gazes stoically at the viewer. Jean Paris suggests that a “direct visual mode” renders the figure as a contemplative figure, connoting difference and divinity.47 The medieval artist harnessed the direct gaze, inferring spatiotemporal difference; the Virgin gazes from heaven within a space completely unrelated to our own (Burke 2000). The Boubon Madonna is described by Kelly Holbert as composed in a frontal, hieratic pose with blank, expressionless eyes (Holbert 1997). The Virgin’s frontalism depicts “an immobile, passive, or constrained person who is withdrawn from action.” (Schapiro 1973) This immobility further accentuates a figure’s divergence from the living, breathing world. For Lacan, the gaze originates from the object, not the subject. Modeling the intromission theory of vision, similar to that of Roger Bacon, in which a species or likeness emanates from the object, Lacan conceives the gaze as a separate object (objet petit a) that the subject perceives as looking back at them (Lacan 1973, 1998a). The direct gaze then grammatically reads as first-person, a direct interaction between “I,” the figure itself, and the implied “you,” the external viewer.48 Ronald Bogue describes this utility of the gaze as “a generalized power function, one that passes through the eyes but extends its effects into the face, the body, and the surrounding world.” (Bogue 2014) Except, the eyes of the subject and objects never meet because “[y]ou never look at me from the place from which I see you.” (Lacan 1998b) The viewer then has the uncanny feeling that the Boubon Madonna gazes from a different location, separate from their own. The gaze emanating from the Boubon Madonna suggests difference, where the Virgin is a personified threshold between two worlds.

Additionally, Mary’s direct gaze appears to be free from the social constraints of gendered etiquette; her gaze is a permutation of compassion and maternal power (Stanbury 1991). Although the averted gaze was a virtuous behavior for lay women, a notable tension emerged in the Late Middle Ages, where the gaze was reserved for most “perfect female saints.” (Caviness 2001) Sarah Stanbury observes how Mary’s gaze becomes more commanding in devotional art and literature. Particularly when she gazes upon the dead body of Christ, the gaze emphasizes her role as an intercessor (Stanbury 1991). This model is rooted in scripture, foreshadowed in 1 Kings. Bathshe′ba, the mother of King Solomon, urges her son to heed her request:

“There is one small favor I would ask of you,” she [Bathshe′ba] said. “Do not refuse me.” “Ask it, my mother,” the king said to her, “for I will not refuse you.”

(1 Kings 2:20)

Enthroned in the Virgin’s lap, the Christ Child models his mother’s direct and authoritative gaze, assuming the “full measure of kingly power.” (Bloch 2011) In many ways, he is comparable to the Virgin in Majesty, staring stoically without feeling. However, in juxtaposition to his static mother, he engages with the viewer.49 The young Jesus is depicted as Christ Pantocrator, blessing the viewer with an outward gesture. This visual motif conveys to the viewer a sense of the all-powerful and all-knowing because He is all-seeing (Bloch 2011). The direct gaze relays the omniscience of Christ. The iconographic allusions to the old and new covenants within the flanking lobes of the quatrefoil reinforce the absoluteness of Christ’s authority. Rather than conveying difference, the chalice and tablets of Moses on either side of Jesus build continuity.

Upon opening, the Boubon Madonna’s corporality is erased, revealing the depths of her soul’s sorrows, wherein the Virgin assumes the role of a corporeal tabernacle for the mysteries of Redemption. The kinetic and, therefore, physical changes to the Virgin’s articulated body convey this shift, as they reveal inner truths. The kinetic duality of open and closed parallels the duality of Mary’s Joys and Sorrows within her sculptural form. The viewer is confronted with a series of intricately carved reliefs arranged hierarchically along the central axis and across the interior wings. The left wing narrates scenes from the Passion: Christ before Pilate, the Flagellation, the Carrying of the Cross, and a representation of Mark the Evangelist. The right wing mirrors this arrangement with post-Resurrection imagery, including the Ascension, the Three Marys at the Tomb, Noli me tangere, and Saint Luke depicted in the act of writing. Central to the open torso is the Crucifixion, flanked by the Virgin and Saint John the Evangelist, with angels in a state of mourning. Simultaneously, a miniature Entombment below includes the Evangelists Matthew and John. St. Bonaventure’s meditations often highlight the intimate participation in Christ’s suffering. In his Lignum vitae (1260), he retells the Gospel story of Simeon’s prophecy, alluding to Mary’s heart being pierced with a sword of sorrow—an allegory of intense suffering. (Luke 2:33–35), writing to produce a compassionate response.

His most sweet mother, as the sword pierced the depths of your heart, when with devoted eyes he looked upon you standing before him and spoke to you these loving words: ‘Woman, behold your son,” in order to console in its trials your soul, which he knew had been more deeply pierced by a sword of compassion than if you had suffered in your own body.

(Cousins 1978)

While Mary gave birth to Christ without physical pain, she later experienced the full intensity of that suffering at the foot of the Cross. There, her anguish was understood as a second childbirth—an expression of her profound compassion and co-participation in her son’s suffering.50 These kinds of visual representations model Bacon’s affective vision, whereby the common pain that Mary and Christ suffered during the Passion emanates from the Shrine Madonna’s interior narrative, causing an almost imperceptible sensation of pain (Flanigan 2020a). Mary’s emotions, her grief, and love come from within (just as Christ lived within her); therefore, they are articulated from within the object. Emanating her sorrows, she reciprocates a compassionate gaze, acknowledging the grief and torment of others. Mary’s gaze is then an expression of her motherly love and compassion for humanity.

But not all is despair; a subtle glimmer of joy is revealed to the viewer. As if it were always on the Virgin’s mind, a Christ in Majesty is nestled inside her head. Enthroned and flanked by attending angels, this vision establishes a vertical axis of divine revelation. Beneath this core, the base features a Nativity scene embedded in the plinth, visually grounding the Passion narrative in Christ’s Incarnation. Through both the Nativity and the revealed Crucifixion, the metaphorical and physical Incarnation of Christ is conveyed through the Virgin’s vision. Standing under the Crucified Christ, Mary gently holds her cheek—a gesture of comfort and healing. At the foot of the cross, she is the model of compassion (Kessler 2019). The Virgin Mary’s gaze is presented as a spectacle, inviting the viewer to co-experience her grief. Mary is not the subject of our gaze, but a viewer herself. As the Medieval viewer shares in the Virgin’s sorrows, she also witnesses the grievous moments in her life, thereby further forging an affective relationship of communal lamentation.

4. The Rhineland Madonna and the Mutual Gaze

In the Rhineland Shrine Madonna, the Virgin reorients her gaze by directing her attention to the Christ Child, who is seated on her knee. Within a two-dimensional medium, we might interpret her pose as a reciprocal three-quarter gaze of a mutual exchange between mother and son. Turning towards each other, their crossing gazes again communicate an entirely different space from that of the subject.51 Paris asserts that this alternate space “belongs only to the shared gaze.” (Paris 1965) The three-quarter gaze also allows for a more naturalistic and intimate reading of the divine pair’s relationship, which is both engaging and dynamic. As the interior Annunciation and Nativity scenes metaphorically suggest, Mary offers her body to God’s will, reinforcing the Incarnation themes seen in the Boubon Madonna.

Through the compositional motif of the Maria lactans, the Rhineland Madonna is portrayed as the Mediatrix of all graces. Rooted in the Latin term mediatrix, meaning “woman mediator” or “go-between,” this imagery underscores Mary’s theological role as Co-Redemptrix, participating in the process of redemption. This visually strengthens her position as a conduit of God’s grace. By engaging with His Mother, the Christ Child reaffirms her role as an intercessor, for her body was the very channel by which “God was Incarnate of the Virgin.”52 The gaze supports the practice of affective devotion, emanating a canonical truth: as Christ was the medium of man’s salvation, the Virgin was the very medium through which He was delivered into the earthly realm. Interestingly, the subject of the Virgin’s gaze is ambiguous. The infant Jesus looks to her in gratitude, but her eyes seem to trail unfocused and inward. The intimate inward orientation of the gaze has also been interpreted within the framework of a nuptial paradigm, wherein their mutual regard is suggestive of the allegorical relationship between bridegroom and bride.53 The gaze then also operates as a visual expression of affective meditation or an imaginative visualization. This is a key practice of affective vision and devotion, where a subject imagines religious scenes, imprinting and reinforcing complex theology onto themselves. Madeline H. Caviness observes that the medieval act of staring and being stared at was not primarily of a sexual or erotic nature, but rather one of power vs. politics (Caviness 2001). Within a medieval context, Mary’s gaze commanded regard for her rank as Queen of Heaven and maintained and acknowledged power dynamics (Soskice 2013). Affective meditations had “serious, practical work to do: to teach their readers, through iterative affective performance how to feel” (McNamer 2010) and what to know.

4.1. Turning Left

As has been established, the Virgin figure from the Rhineland Madonna Shrine turns her head to the left. Her gesture could relate to her original or intended context. However, in many cases, we are unaware of the initial ensemble of Shrine Madonnas, including the Rhineland Madonna. However, many other Gothic Marian sculptures follow a similar arrangement of a Virgin and Child, where Mary gently supports the Christ child on her left knee. The Virgin and Child (ca. 1260–1280) from the thirteenth century, as well as The Folding Shrine with Virgin and Child (ca. 1325), are two extant examples (Figure 4 and Figure 5).

The Virgin often tilts her head to the right in Lamentation imagery like the devotional Vesperbild (Pietà). Outside of biblical narrative, Vesperbild imagery is described as an iconographic moment before the Entombment. A polychromed Vesperbild from Germany (ca. 1375–1400) and a limestone sculpture from Bohemia (ca. 1400) are extant examples of this mournful scene (Figure 6 and Figure 7). Often small in scale, Mary is seen to ruminate on the corpus Christi defunctum—the dead body of Christ. Sts. Bonaventure, Bridget of Sweden, and Bernardino of Siena notably imagined Mary’s thoughts as she held her Jesus. Scholars have suggested that this subtle gesture not only counterbalances the composition but also symbolizes the Resurrection. Debra Brehmer asserts that it likewise represents Mary’s acceptance of God’s will of her son’s sacrifice and her subsequent grief.54 Within the visual motif of a Madonna and Child, the Virgin’s left hand symbolizes her nurturing role. In the Rhineland Madonna, Mary gently supports the infant Jesus with her left hand as he sits upon her left knee.

On the other hand, the Last Judgment scenes emphasize the negative connotations of the left, where the blessed are to the right and the damned to the left of Jesus. Left-handed was bad-handed and often paired with “perpetrators of violence.” (Couzin 2021) If left is “bad,” then why would the Rhineland Madonna motion to the left? This gesture is not emblematic of vice, but the realization of an iconographic visual tradition. Mary’s gaze is discontinuous with the viewer. She motions towards a leftward vision, to a future or a promise. One such promise is the deadly fate of her son. The Rhineland Madonna, however, looks to the left as a visual antithesis to a Vesperbild. Turning away from corporeal mortality, she reorients her gaze towards her young son and eternal life.

4.2. The Right Side

Verity Platt reminds us of the complexities of seeing and being seen. After Lacan’s paradigm of viewing, Platt notes the dynamic tension between the viewer and image in that “we view the supposed object of our desire is distorted by the very fact that we desire it; the ‘real’ object is concealed by the desired, fantasized image we project onto it.” (Platt 2002) By this, the viewer may extrapolate an entirely divergent context from their own, underlining “the relationship between naturalistic and religious modes of viewing.” (Platt 2002).

Upon opening the statue, the infant Jesus is removed from the scene, revealing a divine vision. The binary gazes of the Virgin’s inward three-quarter pose and God the Father’s direct gaze reinforce the interior as a transcendence from the earthly. Additionally, the kinetic action alters the viewer’s perception of time. Time is compressed in cinematic precision, and the Christ child is now presented decades later in an iconographic Crucifixion held by the Almighty. Alluding to the Incarnation and the theological concept of the Trinity further complicates the timeline. The unfolding flesh of a Shrine Madonna collapses the time–space continuum, representing Mary’s body as a locus of all time and space different from the subject’s location. Entirely outside of a concrete time and space, the Rhineland Madonna’s leftward gaze undergoes a striking shift in affective meaning. Rather than the real, Mary contemplates a spiritual time and place. She gazes to her left at an unfolding vision or divine entity. In traditional narrative and iconic representations, such as a Deësis, the Virgin Mary is often observed on the right side of Jesus. The three-quarter gaze applied in the Rhineland Madonna creates a parallel space with the viewer. The Virgin is visually excluded but spatially present, once again altering the viewer’s role to that of a witness, serving as a testament to the scene before them. Within this context, Mary is enthroned alongside Christ in Majesty. From the viewer’s perspective, Mary alludes to her son’s illusory presence to her left. This compositional mode is recognizable in both two- and three-dimensional media, including the well-known Last Judgment Tympanum over the portal of the Cathedral of Saint Lazare, Autun (ca. 1130–1146), the apse mosaic The Glorification of the Virgin in Santa Maria in Trastevere, Rome (ca. 1140–1143), and Giotto di Bondone’s celebrated Scrovegni Last Judgment fresco, Padua (1306). This arrangement emphasizes Mary’s position as a queen and a figure of honor and power. This is rooted in scripture and Jewish tradition, where the queen is placed to the right of the king. I again reference a passage from 1 Kings:

Then Bathshe′ba went to King Solomon, to speak to him for Adoni′jah, the king stood up to meet her and paid her homage; then he sat on his throne, and was provided for the king’s mother, who sat to his right.

(1 Kings 2:19)

Facilitating God’s grace, this teleological arrangement was then cemented as a visual archetype of the Virgin in heaven. Mary turns away from suffering, death, and sorrow towards glory, majesty, and favor. In total, she is the chosen intercessory regina sponsa on the right side of God. The visual modes in the Rhineland Madonna serve as mechanisms for a contemplative gaze and devotional transmission.55 They supplement affective meditation by relaying a temporal trajectory of differentiated space to the subject’s sense organ, thereby initiating a change in affect. Through this transformation, teleological knowledge is imparted. The image becomes a site through which divine presence is mediated—its efficacy contingent upon the gaze, which functions as a vehicle for spiritual refinement. Original sin corrupted human sight so that the divine could no longer be perceived directly (Kessler 2019). As the sacred image is received through visual apprehension, it purifies the soul and facilitates interior movement toward the divine. Sensorial imagery transmits spiritual information, which the soul receives and recognizes as significant. That information is not merely perceived; it is inscribed on the soul of the subject. The process is pedagogical. Affective meditations and devotional practices had “serious, practical work to do: to teach their readers, through iterative affective performance, how to feel” (McNamer 2010) and, by extension, what to know.

5. The Morlaix Madonna and the Averted Gaze

Like the Boubon Madonna, the Morlaix Shrine Madonna is arranged en face; however, her eyes are averted, cast down as if she were viewing from a great height. Medieval and later premodern representations of saints were frequently rendered with a downward gaze in prayer and reflection, or with the upturned eye glancing upward in adoration of the saint or savior (King 1998). This passive, downturned gaze is contemplative, signaling a sense of compassion or submission. Divine persons, like Saint Lucy, are sometimes depicted with a downward gaze or even with their eyes removed, referencing specific stories or legends associated with their martyrdom. This gaze has also been interpreted through a gendered lens as a gesture of humility and obedience, seen as a passive model of demure femininity (Brown 2019).

Some late medieval handbooks described a woman’s gaze as transgressive, erotic, and dangerous, using the passage Ecclesiasticus 26:9 as a scriptural foundation that prescribes a direct gaze as “bad” behavior. “A loose woman betrays herself by her bold look; you can tell her by her glance” (Book of Sirach, Ecclesiasticus 26:9). In Visualizing Women, Caviness points out that some allegorical literature underscored the male subject’s fear of the female gaze at the voracious desire to seek out his most “private parts.” (Caviness 2001, p. 21) Additionally, representations of women mirrored the opposing paradigms of Eve and Mary—contrasting symbols of destruction and salvation—thereby reducing the medieval models of gendered behavior into two categories: “good girls” and “bad girls.” Caviness emphasizes that this binary was highly problematic for “real” women because the cult of Mary placed the Virgin in a state of extreme perfection, making it almost impossible for women to reach such an ideal, potentially depriving them of salvation (Caviness 2001, p. 3). Furthermore, Caviness argues that the “most gazed upon Woman of the Middle Ages” further reinforced the female body as subject to the gaze (Caviness 2001, p. 2).

However, I do not share Caviness’ sentiment. Remembering that icon is not passive (just as compassion is not passive), Mary was exempt from the evaluative gaze, commanding the worshiper’s regard (Soskice 2013, p. 35). Additionally, through her maternal mode, Mary reclaims feminine authority that was lost by her predecessor, Eve. By looking, the Virgin emanates maternal and regal power, transcending gender. Furthermore, the genders of the Virgin and Godhead are frequently gender-neutral or gender fluid, challenging the binary gender constructs that we often look for.56 The trinitarian interior of the Morlaix Madonna presents an image of religious belief and cohabitation—male and female within a single form.57 The averted gaze further contrasts with the direct gaze of God the Father represented interiorly. I do not read this as a disparity of power, but rather a semiotic juxtaposition of secular/sacred, mother/father, humanity/divinity.

In the miraculous case of the Virgin of San Blas de Buriñondo in Bergara (second half of the fourteenth century), Mary’s benevolent authority flowed through the divine image (Figure 8 and Figure 9). Although this Shrine Madonna is not part of my original triad of extant gazes, I would like to conclude this essay with this brief example of how affective devotional practices have proven their transformative potency. The Bergara Shrine Madonna is a well-preserved example of Trinitarian iconography, yet paradoxically, it exhibits a most unusual configuration and expression of a Shrine Madonna. Like the Boubon Madonna, the Bergara Madonna manifests the Virgin’s presence and authority through a direct gaze. Styled as a Regina Caeli, her hands are raised in a bodily attitude of prayer. Denoting her role as the mother of Jesus Christ, the Incarnate Son of God, her most unusual characteristic is a pregnant belly, more like a model for the Visitation rather than a Sedes Sapientiae. This feature elucidates the liminal space between the Old and New Covenants. The Bergara Madonna is often paired with a movable Christ who mirrors his mother’s posture. Thought to be a later addition, its current display on her lap is believed to reinforce the interior iconography (González Hernando 2006). Once the abdomen panel is removed, the verisimilitude of the naturalistic body is ruptured. The viewer encounters a divine womb whose physiology has been scooped away and replaced with a miniature Godhead. The protection of pregnant women, successful deliveries, and blessings of fertility have been attributed to Shrine Madonnas, including the Bergara Madonna. By appropriating the gaze, the viewer is marshaled into an intimate relationship with motherhood. A testimony recorded by Imanol Sorondo recounts how pregnant women have historically come before the Bergara Madonna, offering white flowers during veneration.58 Though this is not an isolated incident, the iconography and unusual composition of the Virgin’s body are directly attributed to the miracle (González Hernando 2006). Jacqueline Musacchio describes this sympathetic process as “imaginative conception.” (Musacchio 1999a) The desire to regulate one’s reproductive power, health, and safety was paramount in an era of gynecological nescience. Thus, the production of protective objects was a highly desirable commodity for the maternal imagination (Musacchio 1999a). Operating on the assumption that “what you look at you make,” (Musacchio 1999b) these types of visual aids were intended to be internalized by the mother to support fertility and the development of both mother and child. “The imagination when desirous enough for something could effect a change in matter.” (Blavatsky 1877) Cultivating appropriate domestic environments for affective wellbeing encouraged women to identify with and model maternal scenes (Musacchio 1999b). Pregnant women were especially receptive to the intromission of images, according to this belief, as what they saw could influence their unborn children. This maternal mediative process is called “sympathetic magic,” which highlights the power of maternal imagination (Musacchio 1999b). For instance, there are two cases in a sermon by Jacobus de Voragine (d. 1298) where pregnant mothers gazed upon portraits of men in their homes so desirously that their likeness was imprinted on the fetus, thereby overriding the physiological imprint of the biological father’s likeness.59 Rooted in the long understanding of medieval vision and the power of the affective gaze, to see was to become like what was seen. Therefore, to look upon the Bergara Madonna was to become like her. Perhaps then, the later addition of the miniature Christ is an offering to the Bergara Madonna in appreciation of the many successful deliveries.

To behold the Shrine Madonna was to have a direct encounter with the divine, which managed the viewer’s body. The Virgin’s gaze here is a gift, a projection of God’s grace imprinted in the penitent. Her gaze is responsible for spiritual intercession, physiological protection, fertility, and the sanctification of reproductive flesh. This sacramental vision recurs across the Shrine Madonna tradition. These figures attract the devout and are affective, participatory, and morally transformative. Their kinetic bodies and mingled gazes mediate divine truths to the soul. They present theological drama through visual logic, integrating the Incarnation, Passion, and eschatological promises into a unified devotional act. The gaze becomes central to this operation. It is not merely expressive, but generative—a spiritual medium by which grace, presence, and identity are communicated. Medieval Christians understood the eye not simply as a physical organ, but as a site of ethical and spiritual labor. As evidenced in this inquiry, the Marian gaze shifts from maternal to nuptial to sovereign, encoding multiple indexes of divine authority. These are not passive women submitting to the gaze but subjects commanding theological space who behold and are beheld in ways that alter the viewer. Her gaze mirrors our desire, as Lacan would suggest, and redirects it. The viewer does not simply watch; they are watched and implicated. As Saint Paul writes, we see now in part—but through her gaze, and within her sacred body, we glimpse the whole.60 We become what we see, as it becomes part of us.

From this point, several questions arise regarding the cultural formation of vision and its influence on devotional practices. If, as Hans Belting suggests, vision is influenced by metaphysical commitments rather than being a neutral act, how might Christian models of ocular devotion—especially those based on compassion and affective meditation—differ from or align with Islamic theories of perception, such as those informed by Alhazen? Might there be analogous forms of “ocular touch” or “affective seeing” in other religious or spiritual traditions—Jewish, Islamic, or Orthodox Christian—that similarly engage the body? And if so, how are they differently framed? These questions open new pathways for rethinking the visual culture of medieval devotion within a broader, cross-cultural frame.