The Notion of Performance in the Liturgical Commentaries of Symeon of Thessalonica

Liturgists, especially those dealing with Byzantine liturgy, have often had a problematic relationship with the notion of performance, even though performance theorists have always seen rituals and performance as inextricably connected. Among liturgists, “performance” is often juxtaposed with “prayer,” and being party to a performance (perhaps mainly for pastoral reasons) is seen as a negative phenomenon. This has also resulted, specifically among Orthodox theologians, in a distrust towards Byzantine liturgical commentaries, that are seen, in the way they interpret the performative aspects of liturgy, as an unnecessary “extra” layer overlayed on the “true” meaning of the liturgy. In many cases, these readings were influenced by pastoral concerns in the changing world of the previous century—especially in traditionally Orthodox countries such as Russia where the church had to escape to other countries, resulting in distorted approaches to the meaning of liturgy—and had little to do with what could be called a “historically informed” understanding of the liturgy. In spite of the popularity these commentaries once clearly enjoyed (by virtue of their copious presence in the manuscript tradition), most of them still lack critical editions and have very little in term of exhaustive scholarly treatment.

In other words, we are dealing with two problems—one being the notion of performance, and the second being the study of liturgical commentaries—and their points of intersection and overlap have recently been examined from different point of view. Andrew White’s monograph on performance and Byzantine liturgy provided a starting point for discussion, emphasizing liturgy as a rhetorical act. [1] A philosophical and phenomenological approach from a more modern point of view is represented, for instance, by the important monographs of Terence Cuneo and Christina Gschwandtner [2] —their great contribution has been a reevaluation of the notion of mimesis in the context of Christian worship, a particularly important topic when one examines Byzantine liturgical commentaries. Most of those, such as the highly influential commentary attributed to the eighth-century patriarch of Constantinople, Germanos, and the fourteenth-century commentary by Nicholas Cabasilas, present the liturgy as a mimesis of Christ’s life: each hymn sung by the choirs, each movement and gesture of the celebrants, as well as the different locations used within the church space, are understood to represent places, actions, and moments during Christ’s life on earth, His life’s prehistory and the eschatological reality of the Christian faith.

It is exactly this mimetic aspect of liturgy that many twenthieth-century Orthodox liturgists have come to distance themselves from, but quite unjustifiably so. Both Cuneo and Gschwandtner see it as an essential part in understanding liturgy: Cuneo prefers the term “re-enactment” versus “mimesis,” whereas Gschwandtner calls liturgy both mimetic and transformative and does not see these as contrary phenomena. Such “participatory mimesis” is worked up by Cuneo into something he calls an “immersion model.” We are all performers in liturgy, and it is a strong mimetic experience, and this mimesis is true, if we understand mimesis in its correct sense as the Byzantines certainly did. According to liturgical commentaries, mimesis is true and genuine, and effects actual participation in the divine. [3] As Andreas Andreopoulos also has plausibly argued, the contrast made between the performativity of a Greek theatric tragedy and the Byzantine divine liturgy is not always justified: despite all the differences between these two “genres” of performance, Byzantine liturgy can well be examined through an Aristotelian lens as a divine drama. [4]

In earlier studies, I have also wrestled with this matter, concentrating on different liturgical genres, including liturgical commentaries preceding Symeon of Thessalonica, and their relation to performance. [5] As I argued in those papers, White’s view on liturgy as being a primarily rhetorical act is an inadequate response to its deep character, especially given the way the Byzantine liturgical commentaries present it, in that they are primarily concerned with liturgy’s nonverbal elements. Since the commentaries authored by the last Byzantine commentator of the divine liturgy, archbishop Symeon of Thessalonica (ca. 1381–1429), have not yet been examined in the light of the notion of performance, the present paper provides a brief contribution on the matter: brief, because many of his performative readings of liturgies are in fact inspired by earlier commentaries, and there is little that is unique to him. However, as we shall see during the course of this paper, even this small examination is needed for the reappraisal of the symbolic understanding of liturgy.

My analysis on Symeon’s liturgical commentaries is based on his two works relating to the liturgy, namely Explanation of the Divine Temple (Ἑρμηνεία περὶ τοῦ θείου ναοῦ) and On the Sacred Liturgy (Περὶ τῆς ἱερᾶς λειτουργίας). [6] Symeon was a liturgical commentator who described divine offices with much detail, with the aim of preserving the liturgical tradition as he had experienced it. Therefore, thanks to his meticulous approach, his descriptions and interpretations of liturgy have been used as an important sources for reconstructing the history of Late Byzantine liturgy.

The two commentaries that are dealt with in this paper, both describing the Byzantine eucharistic liturgy together with theological aspects connected with it and the building in which it is celebrated, have generally been read as polemical attacks against the Latin Church and the Armenians, but some attention has also been given to Symeon’s idea of mystagogy. Symeon’s understanding of the liturgy has also been called “iconic.” Steven Hawkes-Teeples notes that “understanding the liturgy for Symeon means understanding each of the separate, disparate moments that compose it.” [7] However, what he fails to note here is that, even though Symeon is not quite explicit in articulating this, he does also have a more all-encompassing understanding of the liturgy as well. René Bornert, who finds less fault with Symeon’s style than Hawkes-Teeples, refers to Symeon’s method of allegorical interpretation as “Alexandrian symbolism.” [8]

On the other hand, most commentators criticize Symeon for being disjointed and symbolically overloaded, but this attitude seems to be often dictated by personal preferences than actually trying to understand what Symeon is saying: Hawkes-Teeples refers to a nonsymbolic interpretation of the four walls of the church by Armenian Archbishop Tiran Nersoyan as “delightful common sense,” which is a very telling expression. [9]

Moreover, according to Hawkes-Teeples, Symeon’s idea of “liturgical participation is reduced to memorizing and recalling associations from a catalogue of analogies.” [10] It is true that Symeon is perhaps not a particularly creative theologian, and many of his interpretative ideas are based on earlier sources—Pseudo-Dionysius, Maximus, and others. [11] What is surprising in these dissections of his commentaries, however, is that the discussion of the congregation’s role in relation to his liturgical descriptions has been neglected, and so I reckon a performative reading of his texts, even if a brief one, is still needed. I offer here a few important observations, with some reflections on earlier commentaries that I have dealt with elsewhere.

An important initial step in our analysis must be an examination of the performative vocabulary used by the liturgical commentators. In the tradition of Byzantine liturgical commentaries, liturgy has been called “mystagogy” (i.e. a performance of divine mysteries), and the verbs and nouns related to the celebration of the eucharistic office are based on the root verb τελέω, denoting performance, fulfilment, or accomplishment. As I have noted elsewhere, the Byzantine tradition sees a fundamental difference between liturgical performance in the Liturgy of Hours, where no eucharist is celebrated, as opposed to the performance of Divine Liturgy, where performance is perceived more Christologically, and it is strongly connected with the presence of Christ among the congregation, through His body and blood. [12]

Symeon follows this tradition and sees liturgical performance fundamentally as enacted salvation history. In his introductory words to On the Sacred Liturgy, he provides a motive for focusing so much on the details of the liturgy:

In other words, it is quite unjustified to claim Symeon’s iconic reading of the liturgy to be a mere “catalogue of memorized associations”—instead, the ritual is “activated” through its performance, and the ultimate understanding of the ritual is by embodying its true meaning in one’s spiritual life. This is exactly what Cuneo and Gschwandtner, too, emphasized with their explanation of “full immersion” or mimesis in a liturgical context.

Since the liturgy, both through its recited prayers and the enacted movements, is a commemoration of the ineffable salvation history, Symeon sees it as necessary that the liturgical performance also include symbolic movements and other performative elements that elevate the faithful to participate in the divine radiance:

Because the comprehension of divine mysteries depends on the spiritual capacities of the person in question, Symeon brings his reader’s attention to the role of hierarchy and how these different levels of hierarchy perform the liturgy. Who is performing, who is the audience, and how do the dynamics between these groups change? It is this matter we must turn our attention to.

In a dramatic performance, one can decipher the roles of authors, performers, personae, and audience. When applied to liturgy, these roles are partly blurred, since there are several audiences: priests—being images of heavenly being (and, thus, representing personae)—are performing before the faithful, who are an audience, but they both together perform for an invisible audience who is God. On the other hand, God, as the Creator of the universe and the true celebrant of the mystery of the body and blood of Christ, is a performer Himself, and the ones praying are beholding His beauty, thus being His “audience.” The notion of liturgical mimesis, therefore, is particularly important when it comes to the different “performers” of the liturgy and how performance should transform them: the performance enacts the divine grace through “imitating” Christ and being a part of Christ’s body, which is the Church. This can also be seen in the Byzantine monastic foundation documents that describe the participation of monastics in divine worship as a transformative experience. [15]

Symeon, like many others, takes up the mimetic relationship between the performers of the service—the various ranks of clergy and laity—and the heavenly realms, following the Pseudo-Dionysian understanding of ecclesiastical hierarchy being an image of the heavenly hierarchy of angels. [16] In his description of these ranks, however, Symeon helpfully provides the hermeneutical key to understanding this relationship:

In this passage we see a twofold understanding of mimesis, and it is one which is to be found throughout Symeon’s works, but perhaps not expressed in such an articulated way as here. I would call these a didactic mimesis, and a participatory mimesis, the latter of them corresponding to Cuneo’s “immersion model.” In the quoted passage, the priest is an angel of the Lord didactically: in other words, he performs similar tasks and, therefore, resembles an angel. The “criteria,” if we can use such a term here, for such a mimesis, are in essence identical to those of an elevating allegory and typology, but here exist in a rather concrete way: there is actual, sensible resemblance between the two.

A participatory mimesis, on the other hand, is based on the priestly ordination and the divine energies that work through the celebrant while he is performing the liturgy. This process could be called ontological performativity while the celebrant is performing the role of the priest. The participatory nature of Symeon’s symbolisms is also apparent from his selection of verbs to express the relationship between the liturgical symbol and its archetype: εἰκονίζει, (παρα)δηλοῖ, ἐκτυποῖ, σημαίνει, μιμεῖται, διδάσκει, φανεροῖ, ἐμφαίνει. The theological weight of these terms has clearly been neglected in scholarship regarding Symeon, as for him the liturgical symbols are not mere allusions or reminders, but icons, mimesis, and revelation.

If this true participation is the essence of liturgy, its performativity then means provoking a change in the external reality. Symeon, like many commentators before him, connects this idea with ecclesiastical hierarchy, beginning with the clergy: the different ranks of clergy have the ability, as participators in divine grace, to cause changes in their lower ranks and the faithful. He relies on the Pseudo-Dionysian tradition of hierarchy, as I pointed out above, when he states:

What about the role of the other performers—chanters and the laity? The chanters, representing the choir of prophets, [19] have a sacramental role, being a part of the lower clergy. They repeat hymns that are initiated by the priests and transmitted by the deacons:

Through the chanters, the laity is also seen as a link in this chain. Since they do not have a sacramental consecration, unlike the clergy to which even the chanters belong, their attachment to the hierarchy of liturgical performance depends on their ability and willingness to believe in a correct way:

Here, Symeon draws on the Pseudo-Dionysian idea of deification as a process of hymnody, and the clergy being the ones who transmit these hymns—that, in turn, should be internally sung—by the faithful. [22] In other words, the faithful are both the audience of the hymns that have their origin in the altar (symbolizing the Kingdom), but they must also turn themselves to embodying these hymns, and join the singers, as Symeon puts it, transforming them into performers.

As for the laity, Symeon also describes the exhortation during the Small Entrance, “Wisdom, Stand!” to testify “to the Resurrection through deeds and words” (δι´ ἔργων καὶ λόγων μαρτυρῶν τὴν Ἀνάστασιν). [23] In other words, the congregation becomes activated as an audience that listens carefully, and in their own bodily behavior denotes the Resurrection, while concurrently making their spiritual ascent towards the mysteries that are presented in liturgy—that is, they imitate Christ. This is then followed by the Ascension, expressed in the movement of the procession from the nave to the sanctuary, with the gospel and the bishop embodying Christ, and the deacons embodying the angels that were seen carrying Christ back to heaven.

But what about the “dramatic structure” of the liturgy? Are Symeon’s detractors correct in stating that his approach is disjointed? I do not find that view completely justified. For Symeon, the whole mystagogy of the Divine Liturgy, preceding the consecration of the gifts, is a reenactment, or anamnesis, of salvation history—Christ’s incarnation, death, resurrection, ascension, descent of the Holy Spirit, and Christ’s second coming—in movements and deeds, and this is then repeated verbally in the anamnesis of salvation history in the anaphora.

To put it in other words, those who criticize Symeon for this probably lack the correct hermeneutical key. There is one uniting principle, without which the narrative indeed might seem disjointed. As Andreopoulos has aptly commented on the “historical narrative” approach that Symeon (among other commentators) represents, it must not be seen as a theatrical “mystery play,” like any historical drama, but as a meeting-point of historical and transhistorical times. It is useful to quote a lengthy passage to articulate Andreopoulos’s argument:

In this light, as Symeon himself notes, the structure of the liturgy with its seemingly obscure details and words must be manifested in detail to perform the liturgy. If Christ’s incarnation is the uniting principle of liturgy (as it is), then earlier scholars of Symeon have not given enough weight to the performative role of bishop as the image of Christ, or the other clergy as being the uniting principle of liturgical performance. In other words, reading Symeon’s commentary as a text might make it seem disjointed, but when perceived as an actual commentary on a particular performance, the reality of a bishop and his clergy performing this act is a fundamental factor in perceiving the commentary’s message.

For instance, in describing the preparatory rite of the prothesis, Symeon describes the priest’s actions:

What is essential to note here is that, in the rite of prothesis that takes place in the sanctuary, there is no other audience than the priest himself. Here we must reiterate the notion of performance as enactment that we already saw above. But if liturgical performance is also supposed to transform its audience, how can we justify such an “exclusive” performance? Of course, liturgy is also performed before God, perhaps its most important audience (even though invisible). But does such a hidden performance have something to give to the faithful, as well?

Here we inevitably arrive to the question of the exclusivity in the divine liturgy and the role of the faithful in its celebration. Above, we saw how the purpose of liturgical performance is to lead the faithful to take part in the divine hymnody that sanctifies and transforms them. But how is this compatible with the Byzantine practice of “hiding” parts of the liturgy from the faithful’s perception? In other words: who is the liturgy performed before, if it is not heard or seen by the faithful? One must remember, however, that in the theatrical world of the Greek antiquity, many important events took place “off-stage,” without the audience actually hearing or seeing them, only hearing descriptions of them. If this resulted in a dramatic katharsis, why would a spiritual katharsis not be possible in a liturgical setting through the same process of visual exclusivity? [26]

Liturgical exclusivity, according to Symeon, is a result of the ontological hierarchy of creation and is manifested gradually: it applies to different ranks of the members of the body of Christ, but also to organization of liturgical life itself. Gradual exclusivity happens in the church building “by means of the chancel screen, or the pillars, [and] it represents the difference between sensible and spiritual realities” (διὰ δὲ τῶν κιγκλίδων, ἤτοι τῶν διαστύλων, τὴν διαφορὰν [ἐκτυποῖ] τῶν αἰσθητῶν πρὸς τὰ νοητά). [27] This “exclusivity,” if we can call it that, can be also an image of communal spiritual ascent. According to Symeon, this is depicted in monasteries through the practice, followed even today in Athonite monasteries, of reciting a part of the office in the narthex instead of the nave, barring entrance to the church proper with a curtain across the royal entrance. [28]

One must admit, however, that there is a tendency in later Byzantine liturgical commentaries to build up allegorical readings of practical instructions in the liturgy. It is problematic to consider these additions to be negative per se as they might very well have an influential pastoral effect. Symeon follows a long tradition of describing how the hindrance of vision is a symbol of a spiritual immersion into the invisible, spiritual realms, in which one must close his or her senses. For instance, Symeon explains why the Holy Doors of the icon screen are closed for the consecration of the holy gifts: the doors are closed “because it is not for all to see the mysteries, but only for those engaged in the priestly action” (ὅτι οὐ τοῖς πᾶσιν ὁρᾶσθαι ἄξιον τὰ μυστήρια, ἀλλὰ μόνοις τοῖς τῆς ἱερωσύνης ἐνεργοῖς). [29] Similarly, a moment before this, after the Great Entrance, the holy gifts are covered for the following reason:

Maximos the Confessor, eight centuries before Symeon, in his Mystagogy (a source that Symeon explicitly points out in his oeuvre), [31] gives a more nuanced interpretation of the doors separating the church space from the faithful. Since the altar area is a spatial allegory for the Kingdom, the doors, according to Maximos, are a visual echo of the “terrible judgment and the entrance of those who are worthy into the spiritual world, that is, into the nuptial chamber of Christ, as well as the complete extinction in our senses of deceptive activity” (ἡ δὲ – – γινομένη κλεῖσις τῶν θυρῶν τῆς ἁγίας τοῦ θεοῦ ἐκκλησίας, τήν τε τῶν ὑλικῶν δηλοῖ πάροδον καὶ τὴν γενησομένην, μετὰ τὸν φοβερὸν ἐκεῖνον ἀφορισμὸν καὶ τὴν φοβερωτέραν ψῆφον, εἰς τὸν νοητὸν κόσμον ἥτοι τὸν νυμφῶνα τοῦ Χριστοῦ τῶν ἀξίων εἴσοδον καὶ τὴν ἐν ταῖς αἰσθήσεσι τῆς κατὰ τὴν ἀπάτην ἐνεργείας τελείαν ἀποβολήν). [32] Likewise, in the fourteenth century, Nicholas Cabasilas explicitly interprets the phrase “The doors, the doors” before the recitation of the Creed to signify the shuttering of the bodily senses and the opening of the doors of the spiritual senses. [33]

When one reads Symeon’s above quotation in the light of these earlier sources, it becomes clear that “exclusivity” is not an act of “concealing” imposed by the higher levels within the hierarchy, but actually a spiritual image of how true participation in the performance depends on each participant’s spiritual enlightenment. The visual aspects of exclusion are there to remind us that we, as faithful, have not yet reached the fullness of divine revelation and union by beholding Christ. The hesychast theology of beholding the uncreated light, promoted in the 14th century, especially by Gregory Palamas, the archbishop of Thessalonica (and, therefore, Symeon’s predecessor), must also have acted as an important inspiration to Symeon’s emphasis on the visual exclusivity of liturgy: one is to “see liturgy,” if you will, through spiritual senses.

This very brief paper has cast some light on Symeon of Thessalonica’s idea of performativity in his commentaries on the Divine Liturgy, reviewing some of the past scholarship on the matter. It is not important to reiterate here our general observations on the notion of performativity in liturgy or liturgical commentaries in a broader sense, but only to note that the idea of Symeon’s commentaries being a “biased” collection of “random” symbolism is not justified and does not express what he actually thought of liturgy.

Symeon was, indeed, the last Byzantine commentator of the Divine Liturgy, and it can well be said his legacy continues even today in some contemporary liturgical commentaries that, in the same spirit, present “catalogues of symbols” (to paraphrase Hawkes-Steeples’s characterization of Symeon’s commentaries). [34] Being an Athonite monk myself, I have noted that the allegorical or symbolic reading of the liturgy seems to have gained more popularity on the Holy Mountain than in the parish churches of the outside world. Perhaps this is due to the fact that the whole idea of theoria experienced in liturgical life through liturgical performance is a lived reality, not a theoretical (sic!) or abstract notion. The Pseudo-Dionysian idea of the priest or hierarch transmitting divine grace to the lower levels of hierarchies fits well in the Athonite context, where the monastic hierarchy and obedience to the higher levels of hierarchy is of primary importance. Therefore, it seems to me that the anti-symbolic or anti-allegorical tendencies in modern liturgical scholarship, which often try to downgrade the importance of symbols and the participatory realism their performance induces, are based on an anti-hierarchical view of the church. This might, in some instances, have its pastoral place in the modern world, but it does not do justice to the Byzantine idea of divine worship.