The Embodied Icon Paper

To understand Byzantine culture, one must understand Byzantine liturgy; to

understand liturgy, one must understand the clergy; to understand the clergy means to

grapple with their vestments. Warrant T. Woodfin’s The Embodied Icon is precisely that

grappling. Published in 2012, it is the most recent and up to date history of Byzantine

vestments. He concentrates his research between the 9th and 15th centuries, including

both the Macedonian period and the Komnenian Dynasty. Woodfin views the embroidered

garb on its own terms; instead of leaving tunics and stoles to rest unused on frames and

hangers in museums, he elevates the importance of the liturgy in which they were worn.

The Embodied Icon is the most conclusive analysis of Byzantine vestments written in the

last few decades. In this essay I will summarize Woodfin’s monograph, present two

counters that both challenge his argument while also illuminating his findings, and

conclude discussing how a medieval perspective is helped by his work.

Jennifer Ball, writing a review of The Embodied Icon, summarizes Woodfin’s

argument as follows, “embroidered liturgical vestments need to be understood within the

larger system of Byzantine dress that controlled secular, especially imperial and court

dress; perhaps more significantly, he also argues that these textiles fall within the

Byzantine world view which saw everything on earth as a reflection of the heavenly

sphere.”1 The Embodied Icon is broken up into two parts, the first being a description of the

vestments used in their respective offices, the iconography that develops, and an exegesis

of the liturgy emphasizing the role the vestments play. The second draws parallels between

imperial court garments and additions made by clergy, as well as the corresponding roles

the imperial court and the clergy play in the Heavenly court.

1 Jennifer Ball, Review of The Embodied Icon, Bryn Mawr Classical Review, 2012. http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2012/2012-11-10.html

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Woodfin starts with a detailed analysis of the actual vestments. Stoles, cloaks, tunics,

all have their own role, function, and symbolism, and Woodfin provides a concise

description as well as evolution of these pieces. It’s important to gain familiarity with the

vestments used in the Byzantine liturgy. Deacons, priests, and bishops have specific

garments that distinguish them, and all share common pieces that unite the clergy. The

outfits build on one another, similar to the growth in responsibility that deacons, then

priests, and finally bishops have in the church.

Deacons have the most basic form of vestments. The foundation is the sticharion, the

plain, long-sleeved tunic worn during the liturgy. This item is worn by all of the offices and

ranks of the clergy, but is most prominently seen on deacons because there are fewer

additions to cover it. The primary piece of the deacon’s uniform was the orarion, the stole

worn over one shoulder. It was used in the liturgy to bless objects or intone chants, and it

paralleled the movement of the wings of angels.

Priests built upon what deacons wore. They wore the sticharion, but instead wore

their own type of stole, the epitrachelion. The main difference is that the epitrachelion was

worn over both shoulders, emphasizing the double burden priests bear for themselves and

for the church. The primacy of this piece is hard to overstate; priests could swear upon

their epitrachelion rather than on the Gospels themselves. In addition, priests wore the

phelmion, a full outer garment that was laid over both the strachelion and epitrachelion

during the liturgy.

The most elaborate of the vestments were reserved for bishops. Since bishops were

still priests, they wore the sticharion, epitrachelion, and phlemion. During most parts of the

Divine Liturgy, bishops were an omophorion. A broad outer stole made of wool to represent

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sheep on Christ’s shoulders, the omophorion was taken off during Gospel readings and

Eucharist – more perfect representations of Christ. Tucked into the bishop’s girdle was the

last piece of the clergy’s vestments, decorative panel of cloth called the epigonation.

Some modern art historians still rely on the idea that all of Byzantium prided itself

on its unchanging nature in all spheres of life. . Woodfin whole-heartedly opposes this view

and shows the evolution of the vestments over time. The first major change is the rise of

the polystaurion phelonion. Polystuairon are the many-crossed outer garments seen in

Byzantine artwork. The shift occurs in the 12th century, and the garments were originally

for major patriarchs. Interestingly enough, the vast majority of all of these pieces were kept

free of figural embroidery before this period. Despite the Second Council of Nicea’s

encouragement to make icons “on sacred vessels and vestments”, no surviving evidence

survives that this was done since the beginning of iconoclasm until the 12th century.

Liturgical cuffs called epimanikia were added first to bishops, then priests, and even

deacons by the mid 14th century. Sakkos, dark tunics worn over the rest of bishop garb,

were also added later. These were some of the first and primary vestments that were

embroidered with icons. Stoles and outer garments like the sakkos were embroidered with

the stereotypical images seen in churches.

There were a few important depictions found on vestments of all types. Relative to

the iconostasis and frescoes found in churches which had a wide spectrum of images, the

iconography on vestments was fairly conservative. The first was the Feast Cycle. Found

mainly on a sakkos, the succession of images followed the key events from Jesus’ life.

Appendix A features the Major sakkos of Photios, circa 1414-1417. It bears the entire 12-

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episode cycle on the front and back. Favorite scenes include the Crucifixion, the Ascension

of Christ, the Dormition of the Virgin, and so on.

The second image seen on numerous garments is the Great Deesis. Meaning

intercession, the Great Deesis conventionally depicts Christ between the Virgin Mary and

John the Baptist. There are a number of different interpretations for this image.

Traditionally used for intercession for the patron or viewer of the icon, it also attests to the

doctrine of the Incarnation, as Mary the mother of Christ and John prepare the way for

Christ.

The major works Woodfin focuses on are Eucharistic. One example is the

Annunciation found on epimanikia (Appendix B). While the annunciation was imaged in

different ways, the usual solution was to separate Gabriel from the Virgin, one on each cuff.

This scene is often used on opposite sides of a sanctuary arch, where the space in between

is where the Incarnation occurs during the Divine Liturgy – the Eucharist. Similarly, this

occurs in between the cuffs when the priest or bishop performs the Eucharistic mystery. As

the priest consecrates the elements, they become the representation and presence of

Christ, incarnated in his hands according to the liturgy. Woodfin writes, “[the embroidery]

moves the symbolism to the personal level of the celebrant and his power to consecrate the

Eucharist.”2

The symbolism in these moving images is important because of their role in the

liturgy. The Divine Liturgy is not allegorical, but rather a reenactment of the life, death,

resurrection, and ascension of Christ. When the laity venerate according to the Feast Cycle,

they are moving through the life of Christ. On two-dimensional forms of the Feast Cycle,

2 Warren T. Woodfin, The Embodied Icon (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), 101.

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the events play out in a more or less logical order, according to the timeline of when they

happened.

This is not true with the vestments that depicted the Feast Cycle. Events were not

portrayed by occurrence, but rather more thematically. The annunciation and ascension

might be on the same side of a sakkos, for example, rather than reading each side like a

single page. Woodfin calls the exegesis of vestments in this regard a “second level” of

interpretation.3 He is quick to note that not all of the laity would “read” in this way.4 The

clergy, however, could be counted on to understand this method of interpretation because

of their involvement in the major events of the liturgy. He writes, “For those versed in this

symbolic mode of thought, the mystagogy of the liturgy would make the celebrant’s

sacramental role as minister in the place of Christ concretely visible… By means of these

embroidered images, priests and bishops made themselves into living representations of

Christ as they reenacted his Incarnation, Sacrifice, and Resurrection.”5

In part two of his book, Woodfin then relates the dress of the imperial court to the

members of the clergy, specifically bishops and patriarchs. In the 10th century, garments

that the emperor wore were symbolic of the emperor’s role as the image of Christ on earth.

His officials were considered to be types of apostles, following their emperor. But 400 years

later, the confident association of the imperial court to representation of Christ dropped

drastically, with descriptions of the colors and pieces of dress holding imperial virtues

instead of Christ’s authority.

3 Ibid., 128

4 Ibid.

5 Ibid., 129

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The clergy borrowed varied forms of headdress from the imperial court in their

major addition over time. While the multiple terms for headdress keep historians from

nailing down a precise moment when mitre were worn, Woodfin argues that their use was

to determine rank among bishops. Members of the imperial court had used headgear in

that way for centuries, and as the number of patriarchs grew in Constantinople, so did the

need to determine their rank.

The artwork of the Late Byzantine period depicting the differences between

imperial court members and ecclesial offices amidst the heavenly realm completes

Woodfin’s analysis. He points out that while the emperor is Christ’s representation on

Earth, in heaven he is often depicted as a deacon. However, the bishops are associated with

Christ because their representation of Christ in the Divine Liturgy and their role in

consecrating the Eucharist. As a reality that those living during the late Byzantine period

experienced, the heavenly court established a firmer sense of who held power in the

relations between the secular, religious, and heavenly kingdoms.

So is “the embodied icon” an apt description of the interplay between embroidered

vestments and the Divine Liturgy? Woodfin himself finds some shortfalls in his own

description. The layering of garments on priests and bishops made it difficult to discern

what scene or image was being worn. It was also rare for the laity to see the vestments of

the deacon or the priest in an effort to venerate them. Either they were kept in special

locations away from the public, or worn and in use. Both priests and deacons vested

outside of the main nave, where the laity couldn’t see. Bishops followed suit up until the

late 14th century, when bishops were vested at the beginning of the liturgy in the nave

itself. Woodfin writes that, “images on vestments functioned very differently from icons

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displayed for public contemplation and veneration…. It would hardly have been possible to

directly venerate such images, as the canons of Nicaea II prescribed, but they could

function as a sort of amuletic protection to the priest in the exercise of his ministry.”6

Whether these vestments are actually icons depends primarily on what the

definition of icon is. In Crossing the Visible, Jean-Luc Marion presents a counter blast of

sorts that addresses how vestments might not actually be considered icons. Most

definitions center the discussion on the relationship between the image and the prototype,

especially surrounding the definition given by Nicaea II. Marion identifies two traits of an

icon: it deserves, even demands, veneration, and it also manifests a trace of the holiness of

the Holy.7 Woodfin’s description of the use of vestments fails the first requirement of an

icon because of the vestments’ inability to be venerated properly. The vestments’ figures

cannot be venerated during the Divine Liturgy according to practice, and are not accessible

to laity at any other time.

Another issue Marion might raise concerning vestments lies in the role of icons.

Marion describes it this way, “The icon, by refusing the role of being merely a mimetic

image, reaches the person of the other… the invisible Holy One.”8 Icons are a pathway to the

invisible, recognizing, but not resembling, the Holy. As Woodfin described the interaction of

bishops and their embroidered vestments, he focused on the representation of Christ in the

liturgy. Marion would argue that these images are merely mimetic or imitational, not

iconographic despite the depictions of stereotypical icons.

6 Ibid., 90.

7 Jean-Luc Marion, Crossing the Visible trans. James K. A. Smith (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2004)

8 Ibid., 78.

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Woodfin confirms this shift in thinking of vestments in his last chapter titled the

vesture and the unseen world. During the 15th century, epitrachelion and other vestments

showed Christ not in traditional garb, but dressed as a patriarch. Emphasis grew in the Late

Byzantine period to view Christ as the Great High Priest, but this hardened the categories of

how to view Christ. Earlier Byzantine icons would have Christ depicted in a singular style,

with similar hair and details, but inscribe different attributes to meditate on. But when

Christ is dressed like a patriarch, the lines between the patriarch and Christ blur, and the

multiplicity of ways to adore Christ are lessened.

A more friendly perspective comes from Bissera V. Pentcheva, An art historian

similarly focused on Byzantine sources, she highlights what icons do in her article, “The

Performative Icon”. She writes that Byzantine icons have “a legacy of tactile visuality,

sensually experienced.”9 While Marion elevates the position of icon theology and the

movement from icon to prototype, Pentcheva restores a vision of the iconographic

experience, one that brings together the image, the prayers, and the senses. She

distinguishes between sight, which emphasizes materiality, and taste, which provides

“divine access.”10 For Woodfin, this might mean that the sight of the icons on vestments

might be secondary to the icon of the priest or bishop wearing them. He is seen performing

liturgical actions, doing what is symbolized in the surrounding frescoes. When dispensing

the elements of Eucharist, the icon-priest is bringing taste to the laity, a divine moment that

is the climax of the liturgy. In this regard, priests in their vestments could be the best

fulfillment of an “embodied icon”.

9 Bissera V. Pencheva, “The Performative Icon”, The Art Bulletin 88, no. 4 (2006): 632

10 Ibid.

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Taking vestments off museum racks and placing them back into Byzantine liturgy is

the most important contribution Woodfin makes in The Embodied Icon. His clearly

articulated argument showing the changes in vesture over time is a welcome turn from the

“unchanging Byzantium” presented in some accounts. Woodfin allows the mindset of

Byzantine clergy and laity to guide his focus, analyzing both the symbolism and high level

interpretation church offices would be familiar with as well as the main modes of

understanding accessible to all. The Embodied Icon finds a comfortable niche in between

the theological and philosophical moorings of Marion and the experiential emphases of

Pentcheva, a welcome addition to the world of art history.

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Bibliography

Ball, Jennifer. Review of The Embodied Icon. Bryn Mawr Classical Review. (November, 10, 2012). http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2012/2012-11-10.html

Marion, Jean-Luc. The Crossing of the Visible. Translated by James K. A. Smith. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2004.

Pentcheva, Bissera V. “The Performative Icon”. The Art Bulletin 88, no. 4 (2006): 631-655.

Woodfin, Warren T. The Embodied Icon. New York: Oxford University Press, 2012.

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Appendix A

Major Sakkos of Photios, front, c. 1414-1417. The Kremlin. Retrieved from http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Large_sakkos_of_photius.jpg

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Appendix B

Epimanikia with the Annunciation, 1704, Victoria and Albert Museum.

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