Among its multiple definitions for “byzantine,” Merriam-Webster lists “of, relating to, or characterized by a devious and usually surreptitious manner of operation.” Anyone familiar with the monarchy of Byzantium should find the definition understandable: most of the men and women who helmed the empire fell victim to “devious” and “surreptitious” plots—often hatched by those closest and dearest to them.
Consider John V Palaiologos, whose reign lasted from 1341 to 1391. His rule, begun at age eight, isn’t impressive merely for its sheer length, but also for what it endured. John lost his throne no fewer than three times, first being sidelined by his guardian, then imprisoned by his son, and later exiled by his grandson. That he outlived three generations of usurpers to reclaim the throne each time is all the more extraordinary.
The troubled John is only one of the many fascinating subjects in Kevin Lygo’s new book The Emperors of Byzantium. Lygo, an executive at Britain’s ITV (a competitor to the BBC), is a well-established editor of books on historical topics from Buddhist sculpture to Islamic calligraphy.
The Emperors of Byzantium proves to be an informed and accessible survey of the men and women who ruled the empire over its 1,100 years. Lygo divides his book dynastically, starting with the Constantinians in the fourth century A.D. and concluding with the Palaiologans in the fifteenth. He further divides sections into short biographies of each emperor, quoting contemporary accounts to support efficient summaries of the personalities, policies, and key events that defined each reign.
Even those with remedial knowledge of Byzantium know the monolithic figures of Constantine I The Great and Justinian I The Great. It’s no surprise that these two occupy a large amount of space—Constantine founded the empire in the fourth century, while Justinian led it to its territorial apex in the sixth. Thankfully, the book isn’t all Constantine and Justinian. Lygo dedicates much of his study to the diverse figures who composed the vast remainder of Byzantium’s sovereigns.
The word diverse is key. Emperors included soldiers and philosophers, monks and jurists, illiterate provincials and urban socialites. Most were men, and several (Lygo discusses four of them) were women. A number of emperors had surprising occupations outside governance: Nikephoros I was an economist, Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus was a painter, and Theodore II Lascaris was a Philhellenic scholar. Some bore amusing epithets like “Leo the Butcher” and “Michael the Stammerer.”
Perhaps George R. R. Martin would have done better looking to the Byzantines rather than the Plantagenets as inspiration for his tales of cutthroat royalty. Irene, empress from 797 to 802, seized power through a coup d’état against her only son—and was beatified as a saint thereafter. Basil I was an illiterate horse-whisperer and wrestler who thanked his monarch patron by stabbing the man in his sleep and taking the throne. Those are heinous acts, but neither regicide comes close to Constantine I: the founding emperor of Byzantium and champion of Christianity ordered the killing of his first son, second wife, a father-in-law, two brothers-in-law, and a nephew. Even modern tyrants have a hard time surpassing that highly personal standard.
But Lygo’s conclusions are seldom black-and-white. Irene may have deposed (and allegedly killed) her own son, but she reaffirmed traditional Orthodoxy in her empire at a time when Iconoclastic ideology threatened it. Basil I may have been a regicide, but his dynasty ushered in an economic, military, and cultural renaissance that brought the empire to its zenith. Little needs to be said about the tremendous impact Constantine I had on history.
Diverse as the emperors were, there were common matters that absorbed them—chief among them religion. Byzantium is an empire of faith, for better or worse. Faith inspired emperors to commission magnificent cathedrals, preserve shrines in the Holy Land, and make amends for past wrongs. Yet faith also fueled constant theological discord that haunted the empire from its foundation to its demise. For much of Byzantium’s history, the emperor ruled not only as the head of the state but also the de facto controller of the church. He was a figurative shepherd whose duty was to guide his flock along the proper path toward salvation. It comes as no surprise that many emperors undertook this role too passionately at times, resorting to harsh measures to coerce subjects to the “correct” path.
The Byzantine public took umbrage with the religious impositions of their emperors, and this attitude manifested in revolts, secession attempts, and assassinations. Leo III the Isaurian, infamous for his ban on religious icons in 726, received condemnation from both the pope in Rome and the patriarch in Byzantium. Though Leo could dismiss his patriarch at will, the pope, who lay beyond his reach, opted to tear much of Italy away from the Byzantine sphere of power.
Ecumenical councils, regional synods, and imperial decrees could not reconcile sectarian debates, the most impassioned of which sought to define the spiritual essence behind, within, or transmitted through Jesus Christ. Emperors alternated between passivity and persecution toward a host of denominations, including Arians, Dyothelites, and Monophysites. In the most grievous instances, emperors initiated wholesale purges of unlawful worshippers. Today we would consider these state-sponsored pogroms as acts of genocide, but emperors considered such brutality as a necessary measure to purify the realm spiritually.
Given its stated goal of being a reader’s “first encounter with the world of the Byzantines,” The Emperors of Byzantium is an excellent survey of the men and women who led this most fascinating of medieval states. The empire may be long expired, but Lygo’s book is keeping interest growing.