Queerness in the Middle Ages: Faith, Sexuality and Art
Research Essay by Jet Reynolds
Research Essay by Jet Reynolds
The Middle Ages was a period in European history that spanned (approximately) from the 5th century, after the collapse of Roman civilization, till sometime in the 15th century where Renaissance scholars and artists would deem the medieval period ‘The Dark Ages’. A new ‘revival of culture’ quickly sought to separate the Renaissance man from the medieval one, following ancient Greek and Roman ideals, ensuring to distance themselves from a period they considered to be full of darkness and ignorance, lacking ‘proper’ art or culture.
Whilst the term ‘Dark Ages’ is commonly debated amongst historians, it is certainly a period in which our modern information and understanding is lacking in, which does make analysis occasionally difficult. Whilst it is noted when speculation occurs, a lot of history is speculative in itself, particularly during periods when little information was recorded or kept. This does however, leave room for contemporary analysis which is what this essay aims to achieve by looking at evidence for queerness in the Middle Ages.
Many people believe that queerness is a new concept, something that is modern or contemporary and certainly not medieval. This essay will use the term ‘queer’ as an umbrella term for anything that may have been considered ‘out of the norm’ during the medieval period in regards to sexuality and gender. Since terms like ‘homosexual’ or ‘heterosexual’ did not exist during this time, using the term queer as all encompassing, positions us to be able to objectively view medieval lives, stories and artwork through a contemporary lens, without the limitations of cultural restrictions of the time. This is known as ‘queer theory’ and it will be used extensively throughout this essay.
Friendship, Love or one in the Same?
Before we delve into the queerness present throughout medieval art, we must understand the societal background that these pieces (see Figs 1-5) were painted upon, taking into consideration cultural norms, deviances and teachings of the church.
The Middle Ages was a period in which any form of sexual non-conformity was ridiculed, punished, and considered sodomy. These attitudes mean that most queer relationships were concealed, making it difficult to explore any notable queer figures from this period. So what was accepted, and how can this inform our interpretation of queer medieval art?
The term ‘sodomy’ is considered, at least in a contemporary context, to be an act between two men. However, medieval sodomy was defined as any sexual act outside the norm, regardless of gender. The societal order was that sex was something a man did to a woman in order to create children, everything else was a sin in the eyes of God, and therefore, the eyes of the church. This emphasises the point of queer theory, as ‘queer’ being used as a position against the normative. Looking into attitudes throughout the period we are able to gain a deeper understanding into the level of societal normativity the visual elements, themes and characters in an artwork may hold, and then analysing these against contemporary queerness.
During the year 1049, the Italian monk, Peter Damian wrote to the new pope, Pope Leo IX in which he took a strong stance against the sin of sodomy and urged the pope to take action, particularly in regard to the clergy and men’s behaviour.
This attitude extended to not only behaviour, but also appearance. Alain De Lille (1128-1202) criticized men who favoured “womanish adornments”, styling their hair, shaving off beards and wearing tight tunics and shoes.
Until the mid-twelfth century, closeness between men was performed and seen without awkwardness or embarrassment, but soon emerged a growing need to emphasize that this connection was spiritual rather than erotic. This attitude was only heightened throughout the middle ages, reaching its peak during the Reformation of the 16th century. (Harvey, 2021).
Nonetheless, a handful of medieval norms would be considered today as overtly ‘queer’ practices. Richard I of England shared a bed with Phillip II of France, which would, in a contemporary sense, be considered proof of a sexual relationship. Historians have been speculating on the sexuality of Richard the Lionheart since 1948 (Wikipedia, 2025).. However, Professor John Gillingham told the Radio Times;
"The idea stems from an official record announcing that, as a symbol of unity between the two countries, the kings of France and England had slept the night in the same bed -
It was an accepted political act, nothing sexual about it; just two politicians literally getting into bed together, a bit like a modern-day photo opportunity." (Ghostarchive, 2022).
Whilst we can understand that political intimacy was used by high-status men to equate peace, alliance or favour, applying queer theory and examining these practices through a contemporary lens, it is impossible to ignore the homoerotic undertones prevalent.
Unfortunately we arrive at another issue, the issue of not only the bias of medieval people during the period, but also the bias of historians. They may be more inclined to draw more heteronormative conclusions from historical records, events and art due to preconceived perceptions around queer practices and identity, particularly surrounding the false notion that queerness did in fact not exist before the modern era. Whilst there is irrefutable evidence that queer people did exist, the attitudes of the time allowed little of it to prevail through history.
This means we must analyse each piece of art by taking into account these attitudes and digging deeper into the themes and feelings a piece may provoke.
Surprisingly, Richard I of England was not the only English king to be accused of relations with other men. King Edward II was born in 1284, and as the young prince moved into his teenage years, he struck up a close relationship with Piers Gaveston, the son of one of Edward I’s household knights. After an argument between the king and his son, Gavestone was banished to France. The prince adorned him with lavish gifts, and rode with him to Dover. Whilst it is difficult to speculate on the true nature of their relationship, a chronicler at the time quotes:
'upon looking on him [Gaveston] the son of the king immediately felt such love for him that he entered into a covenant of constancy, and bound himself with him before all other mortals with a bond of indissoluble love, firmly drawn up and fastened with a knot.'. (English Heritage, n.d).
As soon as Edward II became king, his first action was to return Gaveston to his side, and anoint him as the Earl of Cornwall. Gaveston’s unusually close relationship with the king led to strife between Edward and his subjects, leading to Gaveston’s execution in 1312. This left Edward distraught and grief-stricken. Later, in 1318, Edward took a liking to another man, Hugh Dispenser the Younger, showering him with honour and titles. This led to him meeting the same fate as Gaveston in 1326. Edward II’s short reign and quick downfall is often considered to be a disastrous period in English history, mainly caused by his favouritism and rumours around male lovers. It is impossible for us to know the truth of Edward II’s sexuality, however, with a plethora of evidence and modern interpretation, we can begin to draw conclusions upon the homoerotic nature of his personal relationships.
An example of what some interpret to be a medieval norm, was a tomb shared by two men, They had died within two days of each other in the late 14th century and buried facing each other, visors of their helmets kissing, and their shields impaled (a heraldic practice in which two coats of arms are combined in one shield to denote a union (Wikipedia, 2025), a practice most often performed by husband and wife. The Westminster Abbey Chronicle, a 1391 entry reaffirms this closeness:
“It was also on October 17, that in a village near Constantinople in Greece the life of Sir John Clanvowe, a distinguished knight, came to its close, causing to his companion on the march, Sir William Neville, for whom his love was no less than for himself, such inconsolable sorrow that he never took food again and two days afterward breathed his last, greatly mourned, in the same village. These two knights were men of high repute among the English, gentlemen of mettle and descended from illustrious families." (Bray, 2006).
Whilst caution around speculating on the nature of medieval relationships is necessary, the love and devotion on display could be considered inherently queer, at least from a contemporary standpoint. The dichotomy between the church allowing such a burial and our modern interpretations is diversive. Nonetheless, one can’t help but question if the relationship was truly a queer one, why would the church have allowed it? Perhaps they only saw the sworn brotherhood between the men as a close friendship, however it is hard to deny the clear homoeroticism it evokes. Is that our modern interpretation overshadowing a close, platonic bond? Or do our contemporary views allow us to dig deeper, and see something others at the time could not?
We can see a similar example in this 15th century memorial brass of two women, Elizabeth Etchingham and Agnes Oxenbridge, found in Sussex parish church (see Fig 1). The pair were from local families, and most likely knew each other in childhood. The usual expectation from women in this period and area was to marry at a young age, with only around 5% staying single, often becoming nuns or remaining with their families. We know that neither of these women were married, and it is possible that the two lived in the same household. (Bennett, 2011).
The brasswork itself contains clues into the true nature of their relationship as well. Not only were paired memorials often dedicated to married couples, the arrangements of the figures is one that is used to represent a marriage-like bond, an intimate scene of the two women gazing at each other. Their flowing dresses suggest movement towards each other and the size difference between the two is a somber nod towards their age difference in death. It is also of note that we can assume Agnes asked to be buried with her, rather than in her family mausoleum, which suggests a close and intimate relationship with one another. We can again, interpret this relationship as a queer one. Instances of these relationships between women from the medieval period are even scarcer than those between men. Comparatively to men who had sex with men, women who had sex with women did not exist as a legal category in medieval Europe. However, this did not stop people from knowing that these relations were sodomy, and punishment, usually execution, was still given to those accused of such deviant behaviour. (Harvey, 2021).
Whilst major crackdowns on ‘sodomy’ were common amongst men, queer women managed to go largely unnoticed. This was mainly due to women being considered second class citizens and their wants and needs treated merely as an afterthought. They were spoken for and actively suppressed by the male-dominated society of the middle ages (British Literature Wiki, 2015). Women were seen as passive, so any female-female sexual prosecutions were divided - one of the women being viewed as the ‘active ‘male’ and the other as the ‘passive female,’ often getting away with a less serious offence than their counterpart (Harvey, 2021).
An early example of this is from Bologna in 1295. Bertolina, nicknamed Guercia, was accused in the Bolognese civic court of sodomy with other women. This case is unusual, in the sense that Guercia did not attempt to conceal her sexual relations with women. It was supposedly well-known gossip that she was a public sodomite, and she was only brought into court after an anonymous accuser. During the case, one of the accusers claimed:
“She is a public and well known magician and diviner, deceiving the men and women of the city of Bologna, extorting money from them, saying that she was able to make people greatly and entirely love her, and make others hate, in the manner of a magician and idolator.” (Lansing, 2005, pp. 109-122).
When the judge sent for Guerica, she could not be found. Regardless, she was sentenced to banishment. A common accusation against women who were perceived as different was magic or witchcraft. Another point which can give us a deeper understanding into medieval queer women, is that previously, no other legal accusations against sodomy between women in Europe had been found before the 15th century (Lansing, 2005). This is an important reminder of the fact that there are archives and records which have still not been found or studied, especially not by historians without a hetronormative bias. Perhaps this justifies the speculation into interpersonal relationships and individual sexualities, looking just under the surface to see that which others previously could not.
Religious Art
To analyse the queerness in medieval art is to examine ways in which gender and sexuality are presented through images of desire, regardless of whether that desire is romantic or otherwise. An example of this is spiritual desire, a longing for Christ which was prevalent throughout the heavily Christian Europe of the middle ages. This sense of desire can be found across religious art from the time period, an utter surrenderance of oneself to God. This art would not have been viewed as queer at the time, but through a modern lens, we can draw parallels and connect to the themes of the artwork. Terms such as heterosexual or homosexual would not have been used, so the term queer is useful when describing the themes of the art due to its capacity to operate against the presumed assumption of modern heterosexuality (Holcomb & Thebaut, 2025). The term queer is also expansive in the sense that it encompasses a range of identities, sexual practices and kinds of relationships.
This painting was commissioned for an unnamed monk’s cell at the Carthusian monastery of Champol, painted by Jean De Beaumetz, a 14th century artist (see Fig.2).The artwork depicts a Carthusian monk, fallen to his knees upon witnessing the crucifixion of Jesus alongside Mary, who has collapsed in grief, and John the Evangelist behind. This piece is dynamic, depicting the monk alongside the biblical figures, a shared space between saints and mortals, perhaps to portray the monks' closeness and intimacy with God.
The viewer's eye is drawn to Christ's wound, and then down the body, following the pouring of blood. The light, delicate fabric of the lion-cloth suggests vulnerability rather than providing cover. The image harnesses themes of sensuality, and again, to that idea of complete desire. The monk has fallen towards Christ’s body in a display of grief and devotion, his eyes following the same path as the viewer. Though this may not have been intentional, this painting or others like it were still noticed by monks in later centuries. At a monastery near Basel, Switzerland, another Carthusian wrote warning against looking at images of naked Christ, and the impure thoughts they could arouse (Hamburger, 2006).
He points out that images like this one direct the eye to Christ’s loins in a way that not only tempts women, but also men, even those sworn to monastic life. This text was written on the eve of Reformation, (a major theological movement in Western Christianity in 16th-century Europe that posed a religious and political challenge to the papacy and the authority of the Catholic Church hierarchy.) during a time where people became more suspicious of images (Wikipedia, 2019).
The outcry around these artworks of Christ suggests an understanding, or at least, a noticeable feeling around the sensuality of God. How linked was sexual desire and the desire for Christ? Those sworn to a celibate lifestyle may have deeply repressed any sexual feelings, being only allowed to express desire and devotion within the limited walls of faith. The bible teaches that your love for God is above all else; love for others, sexual desire and earthly pleasures. In that regard, who can you desire more than Christ? I believe many people of the medieval period projected their own needs and wants upon the image of God, as those feelings would not have been permitted elsewhere. This could be a reason why depictions of Christ at the time feel so intrinsically linked with sexuality and queerness.
This is prevalent throughout religious art of the middle ages. Another example is this image of Christ’s side wound, completely engulfed by this piercing image of the wound, gashed and gaping, the black abyss possibly providing a strong point of spiritual meditation (see Fig 3).The painting is odd to modern viewers, as the wound greatly resembles a vulva. However, medieval artists and viewers also noted the resemblance. Medieval writers often encouraged Christian devotees to imagine probing the wound to find refuge in Christ’s side as if it were a womb. Some even compared his suffering to the pains of birth. A representation of this in Bonne’s private prayer book is how she compared her and Christ’s suffering, with shared susceptibility to penetration, pain and parturition. A man’s wound comparable to a woman’s vagina draws upon themes of gender flexibility and devotional sexuality, enhancing the image as a worship device, accessible and connected to by both genders at the time. Beneath the image also lies a beast-like creature beneath the skirts of a veiled woman who appears purposefully straddled over it, a clear hint towards the more sexual nature of this particular depiction of Christ’s wound (Holcomb & Thebaut, 2025).
This demonstrates medieval artist’s willingness to explore themes of sexuality and gender within religious art than historians may have initially thought. Although regulations around sex and marriage were becoming increasingly more restrictive between the 13th and 15th centuries, works of art still continued to hold onto these themes. Perhaps the timeline is more complex, or perhaps the creativity and imagination of these artists managed to prevail against rising norms of the medieval period.
Fig 3. Jean Le Noir (c.1340), The wound of Christ from the prayer book of Bonne of Luxembourg, Opaque watercolour, silver gold and iron gall ink on parchment.
Fig 3. Jean Le Noir (c.1340), The wound of Christ from the prayer book of Bonne of Luxembourg, Opaque watercolour, silver gold and iron gall ink on parchment.
Nowhere is the desire for Christ more prevalent than in the depictions of the relationship between Jesus and his disciple John, the apostle whom the Bible claims Jesus loved most. (John 19:26–27, New International Version) This oak sculpture from the 1300s depicts the pair in a gentle embrace, right hands conjoined, similar to the standard pose of marriage. Jesus takes on an alluring and caring role, tenderly holding John as he rests his head close to Jesus, eyes closed in spiritual love and tranquility. The sculptor of this work made a point to emphasise the intimacy and tenderness, themes which undoubtedly were captured
The emotional and physical intimacy between the two was not something that was uncommonly depicted in art and stories. According to popular legend, Saint John was the unnamed bridegroom at the wedding at Cana, (where the miracle of Jesus turning water into wine was performed) subsequently leaving his earthly to-be bride, and instead entering a spiritual marriage with Jesus. It is also of interest to note that despite medieval pastoral leaders condemning same-sex relations and marriage, many extolled this nuptial union and the intimate bond between the two (Holcomb & Thebaut, 2025).
Binaries and transgenderism in medieval spaces
Gender expectations and rules were extremely rigid throughout the medieval period, which does make it easier for us to recognise anything that may have been considered ‘out of the norm’ in regards to gender and sex.
In December of 1394, an individual was arrested for performing acts of sodomy in a public toilet. One John Rykener, or better known as Eleanor, (whilst the original article uses exclusively masculine pronouns, I will use neutral pronouns as we can not truly know the individual’s preferences) was committing an act of prostitution with a man whilst wearing female clothing and subsequently apprehended. They admitted that two prostitutes had initiated them into the trade, as well as showing them how to dress. We can also assume that Eleanor may have come under the category of what we consider to be bisexual, as they had sex with both men and women, presenting as John whilst having sex with women, and Eleanor whilst having sex with men. This also invokes ideas of a gender fluidity, a fluctuation between the two, an idea that many would assume is only contemporary. Interestingly, there was no formal legal proceeding against them, despite the fact that prostitution was a crime, but the bigger concern was perhaps gender transgression. Conceivably, they may have not condemned as a sodomite due to the fact they presented as a woman whilst having sex with men. However, legal proceedings were never found so this fact is unclear (Karras & Boyd, 1996).
Another case which could be viewed through a gender-queer lens, is that of Katherina Hetzeldorfer (I will, again, be using neutral pronouns for the previously stated reasons). They were in a relationship with a woman for two years (whom they had initially claimed to be their sister, only to later confess to her being their lover), and were also accused of making sexual advances upon multiple other women. One of these women claimed that Katherina ‘tried to seduce her and to have her manly will with her.’(Puff, 2000). Another admitted she had sex with Katherina on three occasions, however both women claimed to have fallen victims of Katherina’s hoax, as they looked, dressed and behaved like a man, even during intercourse. Both of these women were given a surprisingly light sentence of banishment 10 miles out of the city, so we can assume that authorities believed their claims of being tricked. Whilst a specific crime is never named for Katherina, it is clear their diversion from sex and gender norms was enough for authorities to be concerned, and they were sentenced to death by drowning.
In this example, we see that the women who played a more ‘passive’ role were seen as far less sinful than those in an ‘active’ role, as it was considered to be usurping a role reserved for males.
Surprisingly, more than thirty medieval saints displayed some form of gender fluctuation, and this is particularly common with those born with female bodies presenting as male (Holcomb & Thebaut, 2025). It was often understood as a form of spiritual ascent, which, from a hierarchical medieval standpoint is not surprising. Transfeminine saints are far less frequent for this reason, as a man becoming a woman would be considered bodily debasement (Betancourt, 2021).
The saint's transformation was not an act of God, but of their own will. He joins the monastery with his father, where he cuts his hair into a tonsure and lives out the remainder of his life as a man. It is only after his death that the other monks see his female-sexed body (Archive.org. 2026).
This painting depicts a fascinating moment in the story. Marinos, (identified by the golden halo) is falsely accused and convicted of raping and impregnating a local woman. He stays silent, despite knowing that outing himself could prove his innocence. He was thrown out of the monastery, an action which was bitterly regretted after his death, as Marinos being female rendered it impossible for him to impregnate anyone. This suggests a genuine attachment to his own masculinity, and can certainly be read as an act of someone who identifies themselves as man. On the right of the painting, we see Marinos again, on his deathbed surrounded by his fellow monks. It is of note that the artist depicts the saint wholly as a man, suggesting that the artist is understanding of Marinos’s desire to be viewed as a man. Saint Marinos’s story is one that undoubtedly contains heavy transgender themes, and in a contemporary context, he would be considered widely as transmasculine. Although in other examples we have explored how any form of gender deviance was considered sinful, this story presents an individual who is revered as a saint, despite the overt transgenderism on display. Perhaps the saintly nature of Marinos was the reason his story was acceptable, as is with most forms of deviance in the Middle Ages. Maybe this is another reason we find such strong queer themes in the divine and faith-centered sections of medieval history. How can something be sinful if it is holy?
It is certainly interesting to note that queerness seemed to be largely accepted if it was under the guise of divinity. We can gather from this that religion provided a safe and acceptable way of exploring ideas such as sexuality and gender through art and stories. The unwavering devotion to Christ that was prevalent throughout medieval Europe could be viewed as a way of experiencing this sort of spiritual intercourse with all things holy. Perhaps the repression of sexual desires were projected onto God, creating something which certainly feels inherently queer as noted through the essay, particularly expressed through various artworks. It would be outwardly false to claim that no queer or lgbtq+ people existed in the medieval period, or at least, what us contemporaries would view as queer. Whilst we can speculate and analyse what medieval people were thinking and feeling, in reality, the full truth will always remain unclear. We do not know. But what we do know is sexuality, desire and love is something that will always be intrinsically part of the human experience, and perhaps that is all the evidence we need for pre-modern queerness to have existed.
List of Images
Fig 1. Harvey, K, (2022) Brass of Elizabeth Etchingham and Agnes Oxenbridge , [image] London, Reaktion Books, p.137
Fig 2. Holcomb, M. and Thebaut, N. (2025) Jean de Beaumetz, Crucifixion scene with a Carthusian monk [image] New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art. p.21
Fig 3. Holcomb, M. and Thebaut, N. (2025) Jean Le Noir, The wound of Christ from the prayer book of Bonne of Luxembourg, [image] New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art. p.12
Fig 4. Holcomb, M. and Thebaut, N. (2025) Christ and Saint John the Evangelist [image] New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art. p.100
Fig 5. Holcomb, M. and Thebaut, N. (2025) Judgement of Saint Marinos, Death of Saint Marinos, [image] New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art. p.37
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