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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