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Rinnakkaistallenteet Filosofinen tiedekunta
2020
Setting Forth Hymns as Images:
Byzantine Canon Poetry as Spiritual Ekphrasis
Father Damaskinos (Olkinuora) of Xenophontos
Karjalan teologinen seura
Artikkelit tieteellisissä kokoomateoksissa
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setting fortH HYMns as iMages: bYzantine Canon PoetrY as sPiritual eKPHrasis
Fa t h e r Da m a s k i n o s ( Ol k i n u o ra ) o f Xe n o p h o n t o s
Introduction
In the Byzantine world, the inextricable bond between word and image was self-evident.1 John of Damascus, the eighth-century poet, homilist, theologian, philosopher and the most important contributor towards a Byzantine theology of the image, defends the use of sacred images in the liturgical life of the church by arguing:
we proclaim Him also by our senses on all sides, and we sanctify the noblest sense, which is that of sight. The image is a memorial, just what words are to a listening ear. What a book is to the literate, that an image is to the illiterate. The image speaks to the sight as words to the ear; it brings us understanding.2
John is by no means the first one to promote such ideas: being a meticulous collector of florilegia, he employs the fourth-century author, Basil of Caesarea, among others, as his source. While John argues that images’ functions are similar to those of texts, Basil takes the opposite tack: in his homily on the forty martyrs of Sebaste he describes how he aims to
show to all, as if in a picture, the prowess of these men. For the brave deeds of war often supply subjects for both speech writers and painters.
Speech writers embellish them with their words, painters depict them on their panels, and both have led many on to acts of bravery. For what spoken narrative presents through hearing, this silent painting shows through imitation.3
1 It is worth noting that this parallel between words and images, and most explicitly between poetry and images, was drawn much earlier in antiquity. Plato describes the similarity of pictures and words in terms of imitation in his dialogue Cratylus (430e, 431c); approaching the field of hymnography, Plutarch, the predecessor of the Neoplatonist movement, describes poetry as painting that speaks and painting as silent poetry (De Gloria Atheniensium, III: 436). The most quoted formula comes from the Latin world, from Horace’s Ars Poetica (361): ‘ut pictura poesis’ (‘as is painting, so is poetry’).
2 John of Damascus, Apologia against Those Who Decry Holy Images, I: 19.
3 Basil the Great, Oratio 19.2 (PG 31, 508C–509A). The English translation is a quote from Maguire 1981, 9.
It is a well-known fact in the broader field of Byzantine studies that rhetoric was the guiding principle of all artistic creation in the Eastern Roman empire – to borrow the words of Henry Maguire, ‘there have been few cultures in which the influence of rhetoric has been as pervasive as in the Byzantine empire during the Middle Ages.’4 Indeed, as the main content of the present paper is to explore interrelations between texts and images, one is happy to note that Byzantine images and the linkages between them, literature and eloquence have received much attention in recent scholarship. Maguire, in his ground-breaking monograph
‘Art and Eloquence in Byzantium’, published in 1981, pointed out the rhetorical dimensions of images, especially the use of the rhetoric devices of description, antithesis (juxtaposition), hyperbole (exaggeration), and lament. One of Maguire’s main concerns is the transmission between these two genres: how literate were the painters, and was the rhetorical influence they received direct, subconscious, or perhaps dictated by someone else? After Maguire’s opening, there have been numerous studies on the rhetoric of images.5
The present contribution takes up a contrary pursuit: our aim is to initially examine these interrelations the other way around, even though the influence of texts on images is also discussed.6 The brevity of the paper shall allow us to consider only briefly the various visual dimensions of Byzantine literature. Therefore, we shall focus our discussion on hymnography, sung liturgical poetry, which was the most widely spread form of Byzantine theological literature available to both the literate and illiterate. The same hymns, especially after the compilation of liturgical books to their present form from the late first millennium onwards, were (and are still) sung in Orthodox churches around the (post-)Byzantine Orthodox world:
they are accessible to all believers, and, judging from the style of their language, are more understandable to an uneducated person than the sometimes grammatically more complex sermons.7
After an initial introduction to the rhetorical device called ekphrasis, we shall provide some brief thoughts concerning visual abstraction in the form of spiritual experience and visions – the world of theoria (contemplation) and the spiritual senses. This methodological reflection shall be followed by examples drawn from the repertoire of canon poetry. In the concluding remarks we shall see some guidelines for further scholarship on this topic.
Can Byzantine hymnography be ekphrastic?
The concerns Maguire presented regarding the level of rhetorical training among painters do not apply in our case: we most certainly know that the Byzantine hymnographers, at least the authors we know by name, were highly educated men. Therefore, they must have been keenly aware of the rhetorical device of ekphrasis, an observation key to our investigations. The term has a long history:
in the rhetorical tradition of ancient Greece, especially from the Second Sophistic
4 Maguire 1981, 3.
5 See, for example, Barber & Papaioannou 2017, a collection of papers on Michael Psellos’ theory of art and literature; Olkinuora 2015, 203–270, for an ‘intermedial’ approach to Byzantine hymnography; and James 2007 for a collection of papers on the interrelations of these two art genres.
6 Especially Ruth Webb has worked recently on this notion in rhetoric: see, for example, Webb 2009 for a seminal introduction to the device of ekphrasis.
7 Valiavitcharska (2007, 143) asserts that homilies would have been understood by the majority thanks to their exposure to hymns; Taft (2006, 85–86), on the other hand, speculates that the sermons would have been more difficult for the laity to understand. What is clear, however, is that hymns were more easily approachable.
onwards, ekphrasis was considered to be a verbal representation of a visual work of art.8 The Byzantine theological tradition continued to produce ekphrastic texts, the most famous example being Photios the Great’s sermon on the inauguration of the New Church, built for the Great Palace of the emperor Basil I. in 880.9
It is important to note that we should not restrict the understanding of the notion of ekphrasis to mere verbal representations of visual art: as Webb points out, this narrow understanding of ekphrasis has been dominant in the modern age, and it gives no heed to the multi-faceted semantics of the notion in antiquity.10 Indeed, in recent scholarship the notion of ekphrasis has been brought back from a simple representation of a ‘graphic’ work of art into its broader meaning. Two decades ago, Claus Clüver offered a new definition for ekphrasis as being ‘the verbal representation of a real or fictitious text composed in a non-verbal sign system’.11 In the same spirit, Webb underlines that
for the ancient rhetoricians the impact of ekphrasis is visual; it is a translation of the perceptible which mimics the effect of perception, making the listener seem to see - - what is imitated in ekphrasis and enargeia is not reality, but the perception of reality. The word does not seek to represent, but to have an effect in the audience’s mind that mimics the act of seeing.12
So, the ‘work of art’ could be something other than a sculpture or painting: a dance, a procession, an event – even a spiritual vision. It is therefore noteworthy how Clüver points out that the non-verbal text, the object of ekphrasis, may be real or fictitious.
In order to point out fictitious non-verbal presentations, the term ‘notional ekphrasis’
is sometimes used. It was proposed by John Hollander in order to describe imaginary or lost works of art,13 but could be used even of mental processes, like dreams and thoughts. Claire Barbetti, in her recent study, discusses Western medieval religious literature and the accounts of mystical dreams and visions as ekphrasis. As she notes, regarding the ekphrastic descriptions of mystical experiences,
the mystical vision text is clearly a genre possessing its own history and rules of composition but she also seems to represent an experience by the mystic of a mystical event, an immediate consciousness of Other, union with the Divine.
But a series of questions arises:
Is she [the mystical vision text] one or the other? Is she a representation of a mediated visual representation/composition – and therefore ekphrastic – or is she the words as they are immediately given to the mystic author? Where does she come from?14
8 For an excellent overview of the historical contexts of ekphrasis and its treatment in modern scholarship, see Webb 2009, 13–38. See also Maguire 1981, 22–52.
9 Photios, Oratio 10, In dedicatione novae basilicae, PG 102, 564–573.
10 Webb 2009, 36–38.
11 Clüver 1997, 26.
12 Webb 2009, 38.
13 Hollander (1988) makes a distinction between notional and actual ekphrasis, the former referring to fictional works of art, descriptions of which can only be found in written form, while the latter refers to literary texts that actually are written on existing artworks.
14 Barbetti 2011, 83.
Barbetti’s questions were directed to the medieval Western world, but the same aporiae should be asked by a scholar of Byzantine hymnography – an interrogation that has thus far not taken place in scholarship. One could begin from answering that ekphrasis was an essential rhetorical tool through the progymnasmata (rhetorical exercises) that formed an essential part of the Greek rhetorical curriculum, and also in the Byzantine education system.15 Moreover, for the Byzantines, the world was not only a visual and a sensual one, but also a world also full of invisible powers:
angels, demons, and, of course, the immanent and transcendent God. Even though this ontological framework for sensorial aesthetics poses certain difficulties to the contemporary, ‘objective’ scholar, disregarding this aspect of Byzantine culture would not be justified if one wishes to examine how the Byzantines saw the process of creating literature.
Therefore, visuality and the act of seeing involve many dimensions, both aesthetic and metaphysical. One could, however, criticise the idea of hymnography as being a mystical genre. I would not draw such clear-cut lines between mystical and non-mystical texts in Byzantium: it is characteristic for Christian theology to base its foundation on the spiritual experience of the author.16 In addition to physical sight, spiritual visions were not uncommon; but the highest state of spiritual development, especially in Middle Byzantine spirituality, was an apophatic silence, a state of theoria (literally ‘seeing’), where all sensual and mental images cease and the believer spiritually beholds God, as far as it is possible for men. Physical senses were transformed into spiritual senses.17 Thus, as we will see through concrete examples below, Byzantine theological literature was understood to be influenced not only by human reason, but by spiritual powers, visions, and divine revelation. This is also a form of ekphrasis. As James Francis puts it, in such spiritual gaze
God [or] Christ - - is so far beyond and above the viewer that they exist on a different plane, yet they are connected to the viewer. The viewer is subject to them, but they allow themselves to be seen. - - Seeing and being seen, in this instance, are the respective roles in a power relationship that binds both viewer and viewed into one manifestation of civil and cosmic order, parts of a transcending whole.18
But neither conveying theoria nor writing an ekphrasis are activities that only concern the creation of a text: they also require an audience, a fact that is too often forgotten. In her thought-provoking book, Carol Harrison explores the sense of hearing in early Christian thought. As she plausibly notes, the Platonic idea of learning through hearing as a process of imprinting an image in the minds of the hearers was embraced by early Christian theology. According to Harrison, the oral delivery and aural reception of the Christian message was instrumental in building up an inner world of images, constructed by the memory, which effectively created literate early Christian listeners.19
15 See Webb 2009, 39–60.
16 This is a main tenet of many contemporary Orthodox theologians, as well; see, for example, Louth 2013, where he emphasizes spiritual experience as the utmost authority in defining the true faith in the patristic period.
17 See Gavrilyuk & Coakley 2011; despite the title that claims the book deals with Western Christianity, the essays on Eastern fathers, such as Origen, Gregory of Nyssa, Pseudo-Dionysios and Maximos the Confessor, are an excellent introduction to this field.
18 Francis 2003, 590.
19 Harrison 2013, 62.
According to the patristic mind-set, man is created in the image of God; by perceiving images of the created world, we behold God’s artistry and goodness, and become participants in God’s energies. Since man has fallen from his likeness of God, the senses and the images imprinted on the soul through them are essential on the way back towards the original, pure image of God in man.20
What we have here, shortly put, is a multi-faceted methodology of ekphrasis, extending from exclusively physical sensory perception to the patristic ideal of creating an imprint of an image in the soul, elevating the believer into communion with God. Returning to our original theme, if we now adapt this ekphrastic terminology to the context of Byzantine hymnography, we could assume that it works on the following levels of ekphrasis:
1) The poet draws influence from iconography. Here, one can see the most concrete form of ekphrasis, where a poem becomes a description of a painting; perhaps not an individual work of art, but a collection of impressions the poet has synthesized from a lifetime of perceiving iconography.
2) The poet draws influence from the liturgical practices and church spaces of his time. Here, one can see an ekphrasis that expands from actual artwork to other visual elements in a liturgical context.
3) The poet draws influence from his own spiritual theoria, inner sight, or visions. Here, one can see a mystical form of notional ekphrasis, based on personal spiritual experiences.
The last point, as we have seen, proves the most difficult to ‘verify’, but it is most certainly present. It would be less complicated if we had contemporary accounts of hymnographers describing their own experiences, but we do possess extensive descriptions in Byzantine sermons on the invocation of the Spirit to inspire the preacher, as well as the preacher being a mystagogue who initiates his audience into his own spiritual vision. Moreover, hymnographers and Orthodox theolo- gians in our time have described their own spiritual experiences as a part of their artistic creation.21
20 The Byzantine memory culture was based on the imprints sensory perception left on the soul. For a more detailed investigation, see Papalexandrou 2010.
21 Gerasimos Mikragiannites (1905–1991) describes his own process of creating hymns: ‘The hymnographer has to be isolated, turned into himself, praying with a secret heart. The divine light comes through these, and the grace of the Lord overshadows the hymnographer, who becomes divinely inspired. Then, the mind pours forth purely the meanings [of the text] like a spring, and the hand does not have time to write down all the things the heart produces. So, the created hymns are truly divine products that fill souls with joy.’ (Επετηρίς Αθωνιάδος Σχολής 1966, 76–77). In the same spirit, Pavel Florensky (1996, 67) suggests that patristic literature was a result of a spiritual vision. For him, theoria is ‘this understanding of iconpainting as a way of attaining super-sensible perception, a way followed by both the great icon- painters and those who supervised the iconpainting process. - - The Church has always known [the Holy Fathers] to be the true iconpainters. - - They create the art because they are the ones who contemplate the persons and events that the icon must depict.
How could someone create an icon which who does not have continuously before him – who has never even glimpsed – the icon’s prototype?’
And where does this all lead? We have seen that the aim of ekphrasis is to create a vivid image in the mind of the audience. The hearer receives, through hearing the sung hymn, a mental image that leaves an imprint on his soul. He might merge his mental images to all the visual elements he perceives in the church space.
He partakes of the interpretation of artworks by the poet; simultaneously, he is drawn to the poet’s spiritual vision. In this last point, it is important to remember that ekphrasis in its liturgical use is closely connected to the idea of enargia (vivid presence created by the orator); through the ekphrastic expressions, the believers participate in the presence of God and his saints. This, in its turn, can lead to visual representations based on this text, a field that was in the focus of Maguire’s study. Ekphrasis, therefore, works in two directions that can sometimes merge into an overlapping process.
A Preliminary Analysis: Canon Poetry
The ekphrastic process described above is my own synthesis, but arguments to support it can be found from the repertoire of Byzantine hymnography: it is time to provide concrete examples. While the kontakia have been of great interest to scholars recently, I have chosen to concentrate on a less analysed genre of poetry, namely the canon, which is still in use in churches that follow the Byzantine rite (unlike the kontakion, which is used only in its truncated form after the sixth ode of the canon in Matins). Canons are extensive sung poems, divided usually into eight or nine sets or canticles of multiple stanzas, each of the sets basing on a biblical ode.22 Canon poetry flourished during the Middle Byzantine period, especially between the eighth and ninth centuries, and it has been characterized as being more meditative and repetitive than the rather dramatic kontakia.23
The history of the canon, in many ways, requires extensive reconsideration.
Earlier scholarship suggested that the genre was invented in eighth-century Palestine, but recent studies have revealed that poetic forms anticipating the canon existed as early as in the fourth or fifth century.24 Of more interest for us today is the character of the canon: the definition of canon as meditative and repetitive, or ‘mere prayer’ seems to me insufficient, and it requires further nuance. I hope to argue convincingly that canons can also be effective ekphrastic poems, with examples that show the use of dialogue, hymns constructed as revelatory travels, and visually effective narratives.
22 For the outdated but still only extensive English introduction to canon poetry, see Wellesz 1961, 168–215.
23 See, for example, Grosdidier de Matons 1980/1981, 40, who juxtaposes the didactic and persuasive language of the kontakia with the canons that are ‘mere prayer’, and Louth 2005, 206, who describes the dominance of canon poetry in later liturgical tradition as ‘a transition from poetry as proclamation to poetry as meditation’.
24 See Frøyshov 2013.
Visual dialogues
First of all, there are canons that do not stylistically differ much from the drama of the kontakia: such is the case for the canon of the Annunciation that is composed in the form of a dialogue between the Virgin Mary and the archangel Gabriel.
Actually, this poem consists of two successive canons, the first extending from the first to the seventh ode, and the second being a diodion, a canon consisting of only two odes, eighth and ninth – attributions of authorship vary depending on the source.25 This use of dialogue in the form of rhetorical ethopoeia26 is one of the most striking and daring features of Byzantine liturgical texts: the author invents a dialogue not related in biblical narratives and, thus, shows his authority in interpreting the biblical narrative according to its true meaning.27 From an ekphrastic point of view, the ethopoeia creates a vivid image of a discussion between the two persons. And, not surprisingly, the iconographic tradition of the feast includes a shift from Mary’s hesitance to accept Gabriel’s message to her consent to carry Christ in her womb (illustration 1).
25 Many printed Menaia attribute the first part to Theophanes and the latter to John, but at least two manuscripts mention Kosmas (instead of John) as the author of the last diodion; Sinait. gr. 607 (9th-10th century, f. 97r) and Paris. gr. 1563 (12th century, f. 102v).
26 Ethopoeia refers to the ancient rhetorical method of the orator putting himself in the place of another and using his or her voice, but also vividly expressing his or her feelings and emotions.
27 For insightful explorations on the use of dialogues in Byzantine hymns and sermons, see Cunningham 2003 and 2018. The different functions she gives to the use of dialogue are, among others, entertaining the audience, creating a sense of the presence of the personae of the narrative, and showing authority of the author to interpret the spiritual meaning of a given narrative.
Illustration 1: The Akathistos series (early 16th century).
Holy Monastery of Xenophontos, Mount Athos, Greece.
[The Angel:]
O Virgin, thou dost seek to know from me the manner of thy conceiving, but this is beyond all interpretation. The Holy Spirit shall overshadow thee in His creative power and shall make this come to pass.
[The Theotokos:]
My mother Eve, accepting the suggestion of the serpent, was banished from divine delight: and therefore I fear thy strange salutation, for I take heed lest I slip.
- -
‘O holy Virgin,’ replied the Angel, ‘thou speakest to me of the customary manner whereby mortal men are born. But I tell thee the birth of the true God. Beyond words and understanding, in ways that He alone knows, He shall take flesh of thee.
- -
Thou doest appear to me to speak the truth’, answered the Virgin. ‘For thou has come as an angel messenger, bringing joy to all. Since, then, I am purified in soul and body by the Spirit, be it unto me according to thy word: may God dwell in me.28
As has been argued elsewhere, the dialogue of the canon of the Annunciation acts as a model for other canons, such as two canons of the feast of the Entrance of the Mother of God in the temple of Jerusalem, with similar references in the pictorial tradition of the feast.29 But there are also other interesting cases of ethopoeia, apart from these feasts of the Theotokos that are based on the same model, a particularly interesting one being a canon to the Mother of God attributed to the ninth- century hymnographer Theodore the Studite, preserved in some collections of Marian canons titled ‘Theotokarion’. The poem presents, as far as I am aware, a unique structure. In each canticle of this poem, there are four stanzas: in the first one, a sinner supplicates the Virgin, asking for forgiveness. In the second stanza, Mary intercedes to her Son on the sinner’s behalf, while in the third stanza Christ answers His mother. In the fourth and final stanza, Mary instructs the sinner to repent in order to acquire salvation:
The sinner to the Theotokos:
Thou vessel of the uncontainable nature, intercede to Christ, O pure one, that he would deliver me from unquenchable fire and show me a communicant of His Kingdom.
The Theotokos to Christ:
O Son and Word, receive my supplication and save from hell this servant, who cries to me from the depths of his soul, and make him worthy of Thine Kingdom.
28 Third and eighth odes; The Festal Menaion 1969, 450, 456–457.
29 Monk Damaskinos (Olkinuora) 2017.
Christ to the Theotokos:
Thou, O Mother, knowest that I am the source of mercy and that I am merciful to sinners who, at every hour, sin against me, the Master: but this one greatly embitters me with shameful vices.
The Theotokos to the sinner:
Thou hast embittered my Son with many transgressions and shameful misdeeds. Therefore His compassion has turned into irritation and rage towards you.30
The poem creates a strong image of the Virgin as intercessor, hastening from the sinner to the more transcendent character of Christ. The intercessory role of Mary is prominent in most standard types of the Byzantine Marian icon, an image that is also conveyed through this ekphrastic canon: in these images, Mary shows Christ, the source of salvation, to all the spectators of the icon, but she, being the dominant figure of the image, is the one the viewer first approaches. The poem, then, is an ekphrasis of the faithful’s prayer to the Virgin to intercede to her Son.
Apocalyptic journeys
One of the most important canon poets, Andrew of Crete, who was active in the early eighth century, wrote the most monumental canon ever composed in the history of the genre, and aptly named the ‘Great Canon’. In this penitential poem, the narrator voice of the poet becomes a guide to the sinful soul in his journey throughout the biblical narrative.31 In many ways, the Great Canon follows the tradition of apocalyptic literature, of which Dante’s ‘Divina commedia’ is the most famous example and, indeed, has been described as an ekphrastic work.32 In the Great Canon, the soul is shown examples of repentance or lack of repentance from the creation of the world, following salvation history throughout the Old Testament up to the work of Christ. The author presents narrative images, but then elevates them to the level of tropology (moral allegory):
O wretched soul, do as the woman with an issue of blood: run quickly, grasp the hem of the garment of Christ; so shalt thou be healed of thine afflictions and hear Him say, ‘Thy faith has saved thee.’33
Interestingly enough, in the Great Canon, Andrew describes the action of wri- ting a holy scripture as an ekphrastic process. The seventh canticle describes how prophet David composed Psalm 50 (LXX):
David once composed a hymn, setting forth, as in an image, the action he had done; and he condemned it, crying: ‘Have mercy upon me, for against Thee only have I sinned, O God of all. Do Thou cleanse me.’34
30 Θεοτοκάριον 2006, 5–6. The English translation is by the author of this paper.
31 This poem has received much scholarly attention, most recently by Derek Krueger (2014, 130–163), who discusses the penitential scriptural imagery of the Great Canon, and Olkinuora 2017, who discusses its ascetical aspects.
32 See Barbetti 2011, 29–30.
33 Fifth ode; The Lenten Triodion 1978, 396.
34 Seventh ode; The Lenten Triodion 1978, 403.
So, the hymnographer, in this case, creates an ekphrasis of an ekphrasis, with the purpose of offering a moral model of repentance for his audience. The quoted stanza is a poetic image of another poetic image of David’s sinful deed, with a paraphrase of his psalm. But as we noted above, this is not only a mental image meant to be imprinted in the believer’s mind: it is to restore in him or her a ‘divine’
ekphrasis, the image of God in him. Again, according to the Great Canon, I have discoloured with the passions the first beauty of the image, O Saviour. But seek me, as once Thou hast sought the lost coin, and find me.35 Even though the Great Canon includes a continuous narrative, it is difficult to characterize it as a narrative canon; during its 250 stanzas, one can easily get lost in the story, especially since the shifts between separate biblical narratives are not always smooth. Indeed, in most cases, it seems that canons like to present an ensemble of mental images to the believer instead of a dramatic story. This is the case even in most canons that include dialogues or other forms of ethopoeia; even the canon of the Annunciation, examined above, is actually a compilation of two different narratives: in the eighth ode, the process of persuasion between Gabriel and Mary begins anew.
Pictorial narratives
Nevertheless, there are some canons that include a strong narrative structure that finds its parallels in visual depictions of the feast. Such is the case with a non- standard canon for the feast of the Entrance of the Virgin into the temple.36 The feast commemorates the dedication of the Mother of God as a three-year-old child in the temple of Jerusalem by her parents, Joachim and Anna. She is guided into the temple by a procession of virgins, received by the high-priest Zacharias, and, finally, she enters the ‘Holy of Holies’, where it was forbidden even for almost all men to enter. The eight canticles of the canon include a progression from the gates of the temple to the sanctuary.
When comparing the canon with the standard depiction of Mary’s Entrance, one can see that the image includes a processional character. Perhaps the most famous composition is in the Protaton Church of Mount Athos, painted by the renowned iconographer Manuel Panselenos in the fourteenth century (illustration 2). The image actually combines three events in one scene: Mary is depicted thrice in the same composition, with a movement from the entrance of the temple and her parents until the high steps of the Holy of Holies. But, as suggested above, the visual experience of the Byzantines was also informed by their liturgical tradition. Panselenos’ painting is an excellent example of this process. He depicts the temple of Jerusalem not as it was in past times, but as a Byzantine church. It also seems that the hymnographer has used liturgical processions of his own time as inspiration for the poem. This is enhanced by the way the processions of the narratives are merged into the liturgical processions present in the church space and the celebrants of the forefeast to the hosts of virgins and mothers in the temple of Jerusalem:
35 Second ode; The Lenten Triodion 1978, 382.
36 There are two editions of this text that is not included in the printed Menaia; the one discussed here is Olkinuora 2015, 281–287, based on Sinait. gr. 570, ff. 70r–71v. An overall narrative description of this canon can be found in Olkinuora 2015, 223.
Today the choirs of virgins,
having prepared their noetic lamps, hasten brightly ahead.
Rejoicing, they adorn in advance the entrances of the temple of God and proclaim the divine coming of the most pure one.
- -
In anticipation of your coming,
today the choirs of lamp-bearers brightly prepare both visible lamps
and noetic lamps of the logoi, crying out:
all the works of Lord, praise the Lord with hymns and exalt Him unto all ages.37
37 Third and eighth odes; Olkinuora 2015, 282 and 286.
Illustration 2: The Entrance by Manuel Panselenos (14th century).
Protaton Church, Mount Athos, Greece.
In the case of the Entrance, the canon repertoire of the feast most probably preceded this movie-like presentation of Mary, at least as far as we can judge from surviving images. So, the hymnographer’s ekphrasis is not based on the iconography of the feast, but on the apocryphal and homiletic tradition regarding the events of the Entrance. Instead, the icon is a pictorial ekphrasis of the literary tradition. Because of the inextricable connection between all liturgical art forms in the Byzantine church, images and words form a circular effect where it is difficult to say which first influenced the other. Maybe answering such a question is, in the end, unnecessary: what is noteworthy, as we previously noted, is that the whole Byzantine mind-set was based on the idea of images, be they concrete, mental, or spiritual, and these images were translated from one semiotic system to another.
Conclusion
To conclude, all four canons discussed above present different forms of ekphrasis.
In the canon of the Annunciation, the poem is an extended version of the biblical narrative, a re-worked ekphrasis that aims at providing a more vivid and well- argued account of the discussion between Gabriel and Mary. But we also saw that this canon found its pictorial parallels in iconography, where the change of the Virgin’s attitude is also depicted; so, the ekphrastic link between image and word can be seen as both notional and realistic. Such was the case also in the canon of the forefeast of the Entrance, where the narrative of the poem is found clearly in the icon of the feast. The icons in both cases represent a later tradition than the hymns, so these particular images must have been inspired by the poems and not the contrary: we cannot exclude, however, the influence of older images on the poet’s imagination.
The two other cases, the canon of the ‘trialogue’ between the Theotokos, Christ and the sinner, and the Great Canon by Andrew of Crete, present different forms of ekphrasis, not having roots explicitly in visual images. Instead, the former exposes an imaginative discussion, but which also draws influence from the standard depiction of Mary. The Great Canon forms an ekphrasis of an imaginative journey of the soul through salvation history, with the poet as his guide, providing images of numerous biblical narratives: one cannot explicitly connect it to any existing iconography, so it remains purely on the level of notional ekphrasis – it brings forth a visual journey in the minds of the audience.
Obviously, a more detailed description of the use of ekphrasis in the repertoire of Byzantine hymnography remains yet to be written, but it is a task we hope to pursuit in coming years. What is clear after our investigation, however, is that studying Byzantine hymnography as ekphrasis is fruitful and offers new insights into its pictorial dimensions. Visual influences are coupled with spiritual visions. Approaching this repertoire from such a viewpoint requires methods from inter-art studies, coupled with ideas of Byzantine spirituality, so that it can penetrate the conventional boundaries of sensual perception, spiritual experience, and divine revelation.
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