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Virgin Martyrs & the spiritual life of women in Medieval Scotland

An exploration of the life of women in medieval Scotland, a world very different from our own, but one in which questions of morality, salvation, and the roles of women were every bit as pressing as they are today. In this world, for women in particular, the path to heaven was neither easy nor straightforward. But it was deeply shaped by the Church, and by the powerful stories it told – especially the stories of the Virgin Mary and the virgin martyrs.

These stories had real-world implications. They weren’t just distant fables – they influenced everything from personal behaviour to public devotion, from private prayer to the building of churches. And in no city was this influence more visible than in Glasgow the religious heart of the west, home to St Mungo’s Cathedral, and a community deeply immersed in devotional practice.

How did these stories of chastity, suffering, and strength shaped the spiritual expectations for women, especially in Glasgow and the surrounding areas, in their quest to move more swiftly through the fires of purgatory to the joy of heaven?

Salvation, Sin and the Female Body

In the late medieval Church, it was widely believed that most souls – before entering the eternal bliss of heaven – had to endure a period in purgatory, a transitional realm of purification through suffering. This doctrine, formally codified by the Catholic Church in the 13th century and reaffirmed in subsequent councils, shaped not only theological discourse but also everyday religious practice. Purgatory was envisioned as a place where the soul, stained by venial sins, was cleansed by fire and pain – a spiritual crucible that refined the soul for its final ascent to God.

The key to a shorter stay in purgatory? Spiritual worthiness. This worthiness was not merely a matter of belief, but of embodied virtue – acts of piety, moral discipline, and sacramental participation. For women, however, the path to spiritual worthiness was fraught with unique challenges. Their virtue was measured especially through chastity, humility, and devotion to Christ – qualities that were not only difficult to maintain in a patriarchal society but were also complicated by prevailing ideas about female nature.

These ideas were deeply rooted in Aristotelian biology, which posited women as biologically and morally inferior to men. According to this framework, women were colder, wetter, and less rational – more susceptible to the temptations of the flesh. Christian theology, layered atop this biological essentialism, cast women as spiritual descendants of Eve, the archetype of temptation and disobedience. As such, women were seen as inherently linked to weakness, sensuality, and moral danger

This suspicion of the female body permeated literature and religious commentary. The Scottish poet, William Dunbar, in his bawdy and satirical ‘The Twa Mariit Wemen and the Wedo’, portrayed women as cunning and lustful, driven by bodily desire and social manipulation. Similarly, Sir David Lindsay lamented in his writings that pilgrimage – a supposedly holy act – had become a pretext for sexual transgression, turning many a ‘guid wife’ into a ‘hure.’ Such portrayals reinforced the notion that the female body was not only vulnerable to sin but a conduit for it.

In this climate of moral scrutiny, women were offered spiritual role models who had triumphed over the temptations of the flesh. Chief among them was the Virgin Mary, whose perpetual virginity and obedience to God made her the ultimate symbol of purity and divine favour. Alongside her stood the virgin martyrs -figures like St. Agnes, St. Lucy, and St. Catherine – who resisted sexual coercion, preserved their chastity, and offered their bodies to God through martyrdom. These women were celebrated not only for their faith but for their physical suffering, which mirrored the purgatorial trials believed to cleanse the soul.

Such models served a dual purpose: they inspired piety and reinforced the Church’s ideal of female virtue as self-denial and bodily control. In a world where the body was suspect – specially the female body – these saints offered a vision of holiness that transcended flesh through suffering, sacrifice, and unwavering devotion.

The Virgin Martyrs as Role Models

Who were these women? a revered category of female saints in Christian tradition. Their stories were not just tales of suffering, but spiritual dramas that offered models of resistance, purity, and divine strength.

St Katherine of Alexandria – A princess and scholar from Roman Egypt, Katherine was famed for her intellect and eloquence. She debated pagan philosophers and converted many to Christianity before being martyred around age 18. Her symbol, the breaking wheel, reflects her torture, and she became a patron of scholars, girls, and philosophers.

St Margaret of Antioch – Margaret was said to have been swallowed by a dragon (a symbol of the devil) and miraculously escaped unharmed. Her legend emphasized triumph over evil and bodily integrity. She was especially popular among pregnant women, who prayed to her for safe childbirth.

St Agnes – A Roman girl of about 12 or 13, Agnes refused marriage and was martyred for her faith. Her name means

‘pure’ or ‘chaste’ and she became a symbol of innocence and spiritual strength. Her story was often told to young girls as a model of unwavering devotion.

St Barbara – Imprisoned in a tower by her pagan father, Barbara secretly converted to Christianity. When discovered, she endured brutal torture and was eventually beheaded by her own father – who was then struck by lightning. She became the patron saint of artillerymen and miners, symbolizing explosive divine justice.

St Lucy – Blinded and tortured for her faith, Lucy’s name means

‘light’ and she became a symbol of spiritual illumination. Her feast day, close to the winter solstice, was celebrated with candles and processions, especially in Northern European traditions.

St Agatha – was tortured by having her breasts cut off – a horrifying act that became a symbol of her resistance to sexual violence and her spiritual integrity. She is often invoked by women suffering from breast cancer or other illnesses.

These saints embodied a counter-cultural ideal in a patriarchal world:

• Virginity = Holiness: Their refusal to marry or submit to male authority was framed not as rebellion, but as divine allegiance.
• Suffering = Salvation: Their physical torment was not just endured – it was transformed into spiritual power.
• Women = Spiritually Strong: Despite medieval views of women as morally weak or easily tempted, these saints were portrayed as fortresses of faith.

In medieval Scotland – and especially in Glasgow, where devotional culture was vibrant – these saints were visually and emotionally present:

Books like the Prayer Book of Robert Blacadder, , were lavishly illustrated, including images of virgin martyrs.

• church Art: Their images adorned altarpieces, stained glass, and sculptures. Worshippers saw them daily.
• Liturgy & Drama: Their stories were told in sermons, sung in hymns and even acted out in religious plays.
• Relics & Shrines: Some churches claimed relics or dedicated chapels to these saints, making them tangible intercessors.

Their relatability was key. These were not distant, abstract figures – they were young women, often close in age to the girls who prayed to them. Their suffering was visceral, their courage inspiring, and their presence in sacred spaces made them feel intimately close.

Devotion in Practice

Devotion to virgin martyrs in medieval Scotland was far from abstract – it was a vivid, tangible force that shaped the spiritual landscape and daily rhythms of religious life. These women saints, celebrated for their unwavering chastity and courage in the face of brutal persecution, were not distant figures confined to scripture or legend. They were present in the architecture, rituals and emotional lives of the faithful.

Glasgow Cathedral stood as a beacon of this devotion. Pilgrims and parishioners alike were drawn to the sacred space by the belief that it housed a relic of St Katherine’s tomb – a connection to the divine made physical. The oil said to flow from her tomb** was treasured for its healing properties, a sacred balm for the sick and suffering. This relic transformed St Katherine from a distant martyr into a living intercessor, especially revered by women who saw in her a mirror of spiritual strength, resilience, and sanctity.

Across the central belt of Scotland, the cult of virgin martyrs inspired acts of generosity and reverence. Devotees offered vestments, candles, painted images, and monetary gifts to altars dedicated to saints like St Katherine, St Lucy, and St Agnes. These offerings were not mere tokens – they were expressions of hope, gratitude, and a desire for divine protection.

Processions brought their images into the streets, turning the high street of Glasgow into a stage depicting sacred drama. Sculptures and carvings, often haunting in their detail, depicted the martyrs with their instruments of torture: St Apollonia clutching her extracted teeth, St Agatha bearing her severed breasts, and St Katherine beside her spiked wheel. These visual cues were not only reminders of suffering but also of triumph – symbols of spiritual victory over bodily torment.

            The visual culture of devotion was central to how medieval Scots engaged with their faith. Churches were filled with painted panels, embroidered banners, and illuminated manuscripts that told the stories of these holy women. Even though the iconoclasm of the Reformation swept away much of this material culture, we know from surviving church inventories, wills, and liturgical texts that such imagery once saturated sacred spaces – including Glasgow’s own cathedral.

Manuscripts like the Aberdeen Breviary preserved their feast days and legends, ensuring that the memory of these martyrs endured even as their physical representations were destroyed. Their cults offered not just spiritual guidance but a counter-narrative to prevailing ideas about female weakness, presenting virgin martyrs as paragons of moral fortitude and divine favour.

Literature and Storytelling

But it wasn’t only in churches. The stories of virgin martyrs circulated widely in vernacular literature, such as the Scottish Legends of the Saints, based on Jacobus de Voragine’s Golden Legend. Copies of these texts were held by clergy in Glasgow, and by St Mungo’s Cathedral itself.

The virgin martyrs were cast as spiritual warriors. St Margaret of Antioch, for example, wrestled the devil in her prison cell, slammed her foot on his neck, and emerged victorious – her virginity intact, her soul unshaken. The devil, ashamed of being defeated by a woman, cried out, ‘Godis maydine dere’.

These stories used vivid contrasts: light and dark, purity and filth, divine love versus carnal lust. They provided women with tools to fight temptation, and to see sexual purity as not only spiritual, but heroic.

Glasgow’s Role and the Central Belt

While many dedications to virgin martyrs were found in the east – Perth, Leith, and St Andrews – the west was not devoid of devotion. Glasgow Cathedral, as a major ecclesiastical centre, functioned as a hub of both devotional activity and clerical education, shaping religious life across the region. Its influence extended beyond liturgical practice into the realm of spiritual formation, where clergy were not only trained in theology but also steeped in the cults of sanctity that defined medieval piety.

Clergy from Glasgow actively possessed, copied, and circulated hagiographies of virgin martyrs – texts that celebrated the lives of women who had chosen death over the loss of chastity, and who were revered as paragons of spiritual strength. These narratives, often read aloud during feast days or embedded in sermons, served as moral exemplars and theological touchstones for both clerics and laypeople. They reinforced ideals of purity, sacrifice, and divine favour, and were instrumental in shaping the religious imagination of the community.

Women in the west, like their sisters in the east, participated fully in this devotional culture. They gave offerings to saintly altars, lit candles in honour of virgin saints, and undertook pilgrimages to local shrines – acts of piety that reflected both personal devotion and communal identity. These practices were not merely symbolic; they were embedded in the rhythms of daily life and often tied to hopes for healing, protection, or intercession.

            The visual representations within St Mungo’s and its associated chapels – although now lost to time – once echoed the messages of virgin purity and divine favour. Frescoes, stained glass, and sculptural elements likely depicted scenes from the lives of saints such as Catherine, Margaret, or Agnes, reinforcing their spiritual authority and inviting contemplation. These images would have served as silent sermons, communicating theological truths to a largely illiterate population and offering models of sanctity to emulate.

            Glasgow’s laypeople, particularly its women, were encouraged to imitate these martyrs – not only in their spiritual aspirations but in their daily conduct. Through gifts of wax, cloth, and coin, they honoured the saints and sought to align their lives with the virtues of chastity, humility, and unwavering faith. In a society where female sanctity was often measured by virginity and submission to divine will, these women found in the virgin martyrs both a mirror and a map: a reflection of their own struggles and a guide toward spiritual elevation.

Virginity, Widowhood, and Marriage

In medieval Scotland, women’s spiritual lives were shaped by a hierarchy of ideals that reflected both religious doctrine and societal expectations. There were three main spiritual options: At the top stood virginity, revered as the purest state and closely associated with saintly virtue. Virgin martyrs like St Katherine were held up as paragons of moral strength and divine favour, their stories inspiring generations of women to pursue lives untouched by carnal ties. Literature reinforced this ideal: in The Thre Prestis of Peblis, a burgess’ daughter famously rejects a king’s advances, citing St Katherine’s example – a bold act of spiritual defiance wrapped in poetic allegory.

The second tier of spiritual virtue was chaste widowhood. Women who had fulfilled their marital duties and then renounced further sexual relations were seen as pious and dignified. Catherine Sinclair, for instance, embraced widowhood and used her wealth to fund religious foundations, transforming personal loss into public devotion. Widows often held a unique social position – free from male guardianship yet still respectable – allowing them to act as patrons, benefactors, and even spiritual leaders within their communities.

The third, more modest option was sexual purity within marriage. While not as exalted as virginity or widowhood, it was still considered a valid path to spiritual merit. Some women chose to abstain from sex after childbirth or later in life, viewing marital celibacy as a way to deepen their religious commitment. This decision, though lauded by the Church, may have been met with mixed feelings by their husbands – who, one imagines, had rather different expectations of conjugal life.

            These ideals weren’t just preached from pulpits; they were embedded in the cultural imagination. In ‘The Dreme of Schir David Lyndesay’, virgins are honoured in heaven, second only to the Virgin Mary herself – a celestial hierarchy that mirrored earthly aspirations. Such texts served both as moral instruction and spiritual aspiration, guiding women toward lives of sanctity and self-denial.

            Yet beneath these ideals lay a complex reality. Women like Jonet Carnis of Dalkeith, who declared her intent to become a nun, were navigating not just spiritual callings but also social constraints. The choice to enter a convent, remain celibate, or embrace widowhood was often shaped by family pressures, economic necessity, and limited legal autonomy. In a patriarchal society where women’s voices were often muted, spiritual purity became both a refuge and a form of resistance – a way to claim moral authority in a world that rarely granted them power.

Challenges and Realities

But the Church knew that most women would no* remain virgins for life. Human nature and social expectation ensured that most would marry. The stories of the virgin martyrs were thus aspirational – but also instructive and relatable.

Even those who failed could repent, perform acts of mercy, and pursue chastity within their means. Even a sinful woman could become a saint through repentance. The message was clear: sexual purity was a path to salvation  and the virgin martyrs were the blazing torches lighting that path.

The Emotional Power of Devotion

Perhaps the most poignant example of this emotional power is found in Robert Henryson’s allegorical poem ‘The Bludy Serk.’

A princess, held captive in a dark dungeon by a lion (representing the devil), is rescued by a noble knight (Jesus), who is mortally wounded in the fight. She keeps his bloody shirt – the ‘bludy serk’ – as a relic of his sacrifice and a symbol of her chastity and devotion. The poem deeply moved readers and listeners, especially women. It echoed the message found in churches across Glasgow: love for Jesus must replace love for men. His sacrifice demands their purity.

Conclusion

To conclude: the stories of the virgin martyrs in late medieval Scotland were not just about suffering – they were about power. They offered women a way to reclaim agency in a society that often deemed them weak. Through St Margaret, St Katherine, and St Agnes, Scottish women were given permission – more, encouragement – to reject the demands of men, and to embrace a radical, spiritual love.