Ten years ago, Johannes Wienand published the stimulating edited volume Contested Monarchy: Integrating the Roman Empire in the Fourth Century AD. It is an embarrassment of riches, ably reviewed by Jan Drijvers. At that time, it could still be said that “an overall study on the emperor in the late Roman empire is lacking.”[1]
The volume under review, whose title may be translated as Ceremonial and Rulership in Late Antiquity: Ritual and the Imperial Court in Constantinople, is not precisely what Drijvers was asking for, which was in effect a late antique counterpart to Fergus Millar’s 1977 landmark study, The Emperor in the Roman World. But it can be compared to it in ambition, learning, and usefulness. Those who have in mind Keith Hopkins’ (in)famous takedown of Millar in the Journal of Roman Studies may rest easy, however;[2] Rollinger’s work presents few, if any, of the defects highlighted in that bellicose review.
Rollinger’s theme in this book is not emperorship as such, but rather how eastern emperors, who from the late-fourth century permanently resided in Constantinople, created an elaborate courtly ceremonial to communicate their power, and thus to create it through acceptance by its audience.
The book is organized in eight parts and subdivided into twenty-four chapters. It begins with an exemplary introduction. The first part, Legimität und Akzeptanz, goes from Weber to Kaldellis, passing through Egon Flaig and Paul Veyne, with nary a word wasted, and at the same time without simplifying its subject. He then proceeds to tackle the question of court ceremonial directly: it is not (only) “representational” but constructive and generative. This builds on Alföldi’s study of “monarchische Repräsentation”, which put to rest Orientalist – really, racist – views regarding the majesty of late Roman ceremonial.[3] Here the influence of Clifford Geertz is profound: Rollinger follows the great anthropologist in defining “ritual” as political narratives that people tell themselves “about their place in the order of things, a narrative ordering of the world” (Rollinger, 38. The quote comes from Geertz’s celebrated 1972 article on Balinese cockfighting).[4] It also historicizes “ceremonial”: instead of an ahistorical Idealtyp, it argues that we must see Roman ceremonial as a historical construction, which had reasons for developing as it did.
The second part establishes the fundamental spaces of imperial ceremonial in Constantinople. Rollinger argues forcefully for the existence of, and the importance of studying, an “imperial court” (a study that is absent in both Millar and Jones) staffed by a service aristocracy and guards. He then delineates both the dramatis personae of imperial ceremonial (including the praepositus sacri cubiculi, who was always a eunuch) and its locus: the Great Palace of Constantinople, whose history receives a fine chapter. Rollinger correctly points out then that the reason why the emperors decided to remain, almost immovably so, in Constantinople—in stark contrast to the late third and fourth centuries—has yet to be definitively understood.
The following parts of the book are more topical. The third focuses on palatial ceremonial. In an important chapter, Rollinger tackles the thorny question of the adoratio purpurae. He is certainly correct in emphasizing Diocletian’s imposition of this ritual. In the past, enthused or overawed petitioners to the Augustus could spontaneously assume an obsequious, even subservient, stance, but in the later empire this was required. One can compare Diocletian’s empire to the old Chinese empires. In the latter, it was generally required that petitioners leave their sandals and swords to (eunuch) court officials, and that they prostrate themselves before their sovereign. It was an assertion (and creation) of authority with which later Roman emperors would have been familiar. Rollinger also deals at length with the ways in which the court dealt with promotions—utilizing, with great effect, both John the Lydian and Peter the Patrician’s fragments—with how and when the emperor dined and feasted—the importance here of Kommensalität for the cultivation of an aura of rulership can hardly be overstated, as here the emperor had the opportunity to show his face at its most friendly—and with the complex diplomatic ceremonial of the court. But the prize gem of this third part is Chapter 9, where Rollinger explains the function of palatial ceremonial. Why all of this, he asks? Because the practice of obedience and of ritual internalizes both. The proskynesis ceremony both represents submission and produces it.
In the fourth part, Rollinger studies the dynastic elements of ceremonial. At first, we are confronted with imperial marriages, a rather difficult task, given the paucity of the sources. The usual source for such matters, Constantine VII’s De Ceremoniis, deals only with eighth-century ceremonial or later. Rollinger establishes that, for a long time, the “pagan” elements of marriage still prevailed, much to the displeasure of the Church Fathers. It is only at the end the sixth century, during the reign of Maurice, that we can glimpse the patriarch participating in the ceremony.[5] The following chapter, on births and baptisms, suffers from the same paucity of sources, to which is added the astounding fact that between the birth of Theodosius II in 401 and the birth of Heraclius Constantine in 612 only two male children were born to the purple, a circumstance that limits the utility of this chapter, making it the weakest of the book. On births, for example, even as perceptive a historian as Rollinger is reduced to utilizing the De Ceremoniis’ relevant section of later ritual, pointing out that “maybe,” “perhaps,” or sometimes “almost certainly” such-and-such a practice had been established earlier. But even if few imperial children were born, all emperors must die, and the following chapter on funeral ceremonial is among the book’s most successful. It is almost twice as large as the two previous chapters combined, thanks to an abundance of sources. Thus, for example, we can learn that there was no funeral oration for Constantine I in 337, a stark contrast to the situation under Theodosius I in 395, wherein the combative Ambrose gave a speech before the emperor’s embalmed body made the voyage from Italy to Constantinople.
In the fifth part, Rollinger studies how an emperor was created and how he was crowned. The word “coronation” is loaded differently east and west of the Rhine, and so Rollinger expends a great deal of effort to dispel the notion of a “crowning ceremony” for the Roman emperor, which may sound more germane to Teutonic scholars. A cursory JSTOR search found but twenty-seven mentions of “coronation” in the Journal of Roman Studies, most of them comparing other societies’ coronation protocols to Rome’s lack of one. Having dispelled the chimera, Rollinger unfortunately refers to the placing of a torc or a diadem on the head of the newly raised emperor as Torqueskrönung. Should the word Krönung perhaps be excised from scholarly vocabulary, in whatever form, in relation to Rome?
Alongside the raising of the new emperor on a shield, the presentation of the torc—first attested in a rather improvised manner at Julian’s promotion to Augustus (Amm. Marc., 20.4.17-18)—became a regular symbol of the army’s approval of its new master, perhaps from the time of Leo I but certainly from Anastasius I. In contrast, the meaning of the pearl diadem that new emperors received is much more obscure, and we are really left with, at best, educated guesses. Rollinger adroitly dismisses an easy division between “military” and “civilian” aspects of the accession process. The minute description of the accession ritual is followed by a chronological chapter, wherein the changes in that ritual (for example, the presence of the patriarch of Constantinople) are described at satisfactory length. The section concludes with a delightful chapter on why the later Roman empire required such an elaborate ceremonial: “In the [accession] ceremony… the empire or emperorship became an event, an act; the ceremony was the πολιτεία ἔμψυχος” (p. 455) is a particularly felicitous sentence.
The sixth part concerns the emperor in motion, which is a perhaps paradoxical concern, given the fact most of the rulers covered by Rollinger were much less active than their late third- and fourth-century forebearers: from Arcadius onwards eastern Roman emperors rarely moved beyond a day’s distance from Constantinople. Less active, however, does not mean immobile: the emperors were extremely active within the urban context of Constantinople, leading processions or participating in the translation of relics. A brief chapter presents a vivid portrait of the spectacle of such a procession, and the following one deals with the logistics of the emperor’s movements inside the city. Rollinger finishes the chapter with a parallel that is as unnecessary as it is entertaining: the ostentatious inspection of public granaries by distressed emperors, particularly Justinian. They are reminiscent of the modern staged visits by North Korean rulers.
The seventh part of the book deals with that great institution of Constantinople, the hippodrome. Here public ceremonial was at its peak. A brief review of the bibliography of the circus factions[6] is followed by a description of the dialogue between the emperor and his people, which took the form of acclamations in the hippodrome. Rollinger draws an interesting parallel between the presentation of panegyrics to the ruler and public acclamations; in the latter case, obviously, the logistics of the performance were much more difficult, requiring a vital and constant behind-the-scenes dialogue between the imperial court and the circus factions and their supporters. However, the anonymity provided by these acclamations could provide cover for more forceful requests. A panegyrist who criticized the emperor’s administration or staff would quickly find himself in great difficulty, one imagines, but the acclamations in the hippodrome could directly attack someone such as Kalopodius, Anastasius I’s cubicularius.
The last part of the work is its conclusion, where Rollinger reinforces the historicity of imperial ceremonial, pointing out its polysemiotisch nature. Here Rollinger (and we) must go beyond the sources. Certainly, proskynesis may have been regarded as more or less humiliating (or necessary) by those who performed it, but the performance itself filled an important function. Even the most resentful of senators who performed it was given the privilege of participating in it.
To sum up, this work is a masterful synthesis, which now stands as the most up-to-date study on later Roman ceremonial. Rollinger moves from the big questions of his topic to the most obscure minutiae of the sources with the same facility. Even the most exacting of specialists will approve of his treatment of the sources, while Rollinger’s methodological and general chapters on the legitimation of the emperorship can be read with much profit by all Roman historians, late or otherwise. The introduction and Chapter 16 are especially recommended.
It is also a pleasure to note the high level of Rollinger’s scholarship, evident in the bibliography, which incorporates Italian and Spanish scholarship. One tentatively wonders, however, if research from Latin America could not be present as well. One misses, for example, Victoria Casamiquela Gerhold’s article “El emperador cristiano y la ciudad pagana: la relación legendaria entre Constantino I y Bizancio” (Anales de Filologia Clásica, vol. 2, 33, 2020). The bibliography, much like the curriculum, will not decolonize itself motu proprio.
But what this lengthy book truly lacks is an index of modern scholars. It is fascinating to see how Rollinger uses his bibliography in practice (the aforementioned Geertz and Alföldi come to mind), but I found that I could only effectively do so with the electronic version of the book. The topical and source material indexes that do exist, however, are extremely useful. What foibles there are, however, are smal. Rollinger is to be commended for this wonderful book, and a translation to the English koiné should be expected to appear as soon as possible, if there is any justice in the academic world.
Notes
[1] BMCR 2015.11.34.
[2] “Rules of Evidence,” JRS 68 (1978): 178-186.
[3] Die monarchische Repräsentation im römischen Kaiserreiche (WBG, 1970).
[4] “Deep play: Notes on the Balinese cockfight.” Daedalus (1972): 1-37..
[5] On p. 316, Rollinger dates this ceremony to the fifth century, in a typo. It is comforting to know that even the best historians make mistakes!
[6] It is unfortunate that most western languages lack a comparable word to the Portuguese torcida, which describes both modern sports fans and the Roman Blues and Greens in a neutral manner.