Category Archives: Indignation

Review: ‘As Kingfishers Catch Fire’, a small anthology of Gerard Manley Hopkins

As kingfishers catch fire (Penguin Little Black Classics #2)As kingfishers catch fire by Gerard Manley Hopkins
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I have to confess that I find a certain amount of Hopkins’ poetry incomprehensible. Nonetheless, there is a certain beauty to it, even though it is not my cup of tea. This is why I give the book only 3 stars: I acknowledge its artistic merit, simultaneously admitting my own lack of deep appreciation for Hopkins’ work.

That said, some of the imagery is lovely and striking. And his use of language for oral effects — that is, assonance and alliteration — works well. Some of his techniques are things I toy with in my secret pastime writing poetry — disjunction, piling up of adjectives, what-have-you. These sentence fragments. He also has a tendency to write run-on sentences and he makes liberal use of
enjambment.

I am especially fond of ‘Spring’. The descriptions of the created order from his journals were also pleasant and striking. My wife likes to say that creation is God’s first temple, and Gerard Manley Hopkins, S.J., has captured the essence of that statement.

What resounded in me here was the poetry of despair. Not that I am, myself, a person in much despair or who has plumbed the depths of human misery. But consider the life of a Jesuit who felt such darkness yet remained faithful to the end.

This brings me to the fact that some of the 1-star reviews cite how ‘religious’ the poetry is as a reason they didn’t like it. All I have to say is if you find this particular selection of Gerard Manley Hopkins too religious, you have had little contact with religious poetry, and will probably shrink in revulsion from Donne, Herbert, Milton, and even a certain amount of Blake and Christina Rossetti, not to mention a huge quantity of medieval English verse (setting aside continental vernaculars, Latin, and Greek). There is, perhaps, a spiritual/religious sense or feeling to the poetry of Hopkins, but beyond references to Christ, Saviour, God, the Virgin, nothing of dogma or doctrine.

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Immigration and the Fall of Rome

There was a recent Twitterstorm involving a UKIP backer millionaire by the name of Arron Banks, Dame Averil Cameron, and Prof. Mary Beard, OBE (full details on Buzzfeed). The Tweet that started it said:

True the Roman Empire was effectively destroyed by immigration.

Dame Averil Cameron — author of the excellent and recently-updated The Mediterranean World in Late Antiquity AD 395-700 the first edition of which, alongside her volume The Later Roman Empire, was my Late Antique textbook in undergrad — weighed in against Banks, soon joined by Mary Beard. Cameron tweets:

Since when has this been true? Terribly out of date idea, what has he been reading?

Of course, the answer to Dame Averil’s question is that he studied Roman history in school. Which is all fine and good, but doesn’t necessarily give you the knowledge and chops to hold your own against the likes of Cameron and Beard.

Finally, before I get to my own thoughts, a Tweet from Banks:

yes sacking Rome nothing to do with the down fall ( eyes to sky )

Not a contemporary picture of the sack of Rome

Not a contemporary picture of the sack of Rome

Let’s take the sack of Rome as our starting point. I’m wondering which sack of Rome Banks has in mind — or if perhaps he has in mind both the sack of 410 by Alaric and the Goths or 455 by Geiseric and the Vandals. This is a good starting point for addressing the idea that the (western) Roman Empire fell because of ‘immigration’, I think.

First: Does sacking Rome lead to the fall of the Empire?

Short answer: No.

Medium answer: Still no. The western Roman Empire is still intact for decades after the first sack and well entrenched in her problems by the second.

For people who argue that ‘immigration’ caused the Fall of the Roman Empire, what the sacks of Rome really are is emblematic — the psychological shock that struck hearts from Orosius in Spain to Augustine in Africa to Jerome in Palestine. And, of course, they were wrought by immigrant barbarians.

Let us, for the moment, concede that the barbarian migrations are the cause of the Fall of the Western Roman Empire. Certainly, anyone must concede that the new kingdoms to arise in former western provinces under the rule of Vandals, Suevi, Visigoths, Franks, Anglo-Saxons, and Ostrogoths, are founded by persons of non-Roman culture and from non-Roman nations (usually Germanic and from across the Rhine-Danube frontier). And certainly these peoples in their Voelkerwanderung had something to do with the loss of imperium by the Roman West.

But is an army under the command of a man who calls himself a king really a group of ‘immigrants’? Whether Late Antique ethnicity is almost purely performance, as argued by Guy Halsall in Barbarian Migrations and the Roman West, or whether there is something deeper to it, I agree with Halsall that these groups are primarily military, not national — even if Peter Heather is right in his counter-argument that Alaric’s Goths are direct, biological descendants of the Goths who killed the Emperor Valens at the Battle of Adrianople in 378.

All of them come to Roman territory seeking fame and fortune — within the existing structures of the Roman polity. They do not actually turn up wanting to conquer Rome, dismember her empire, or seize all her land. These things ultimately happen because of the failure of the Roman government to negotiate with them successfully and give them their rights.

The Roman Empire had met barbarians before. She had met barbarian warlords, kings, and warbands. And they had even settled on Roman land. The Roman Empire could deal with immigration; it was an incredibly diverse place, and people from one end of the Empire could travel to the other and maintain their home traditions. Thus we see shrines to Jupiter Dolichenus on Hadrian’s Wall, for example, let alone the Anatolian worship of the Persian god Mithras everywhere from Musselburgh in Edinburgh to Dura Europos in Syria.

The Roman world in Late Antiquity included speakers of Latin, Greek, Syriac, Coptic (the latest form of the Egyptian language), Arabic, Armenian, Gaulish, and no doubt Gothic. It had a flexible system of culture and economy; this is one of the great hallmarks of the Romans, was it not? Roman culture is never ‘pure’ — it starts off a little bit Italic, a little bit Latin, a little bit Etruscan, a little bit Greek. It shifts and reshapes itself everywhere its legions, its proconsul, its Praetorian Prefects, go. There is no great cultural monolith of ‘the Romans’.

And its borders are always porous. As David Breeze (who wrote the book on Hadrian’s Wall) argues, Hadrian’s Wall is not to keep the Caledonians out but simply to monitor traffic between Britannia and Caledonia. When the Picti do finally band together in 367, yes, it serves a purpose (but it also gets overrun). Similarly, people cross the Rhine and Danube. The Romans had bridges over them! Sure, our main image of the Rhine frontier is the one in Ammianus, of Julian burning down the homes of the Alamanni. But that’s not ‘normal life’. The desert peoples of North Africa were also part of this Roman system — indeed, some of the Berbers in the post-Roman period saw themselves as the continuators of Roman culture. In the East, it was  not the ‘immigrant’ groups like the ‘Saracens’ (as our sources call them) or Arabs who cause the real problems, but the acutal military endeavours of the Sassanian Persian Empire — another political force with a real army.

If we concede that barbarians cause the Fall of the Roman Empire, it’s not because they are ‘immigrants’. It is because they are highly organised groups of soldiers whom the Roman officials are unable, and often unwilling, to appease or treat humanely. And sometimes, they are actually invaders who come to conquer Roman land and settle it for themselves.

Armies and immigrants are not the same thing.

And it is not immigration that led to Roman military failures against the barbarians, either. That was due to poor planning, bad weather, civil war, sheer exhaustion, and so forth. Not immigrants.

Thus, ultimately, even if we want to put the weight for the Fall of Rome on the barbarians, to unproblematically call them ‘immigrants’ is to completely miss the mark in determining who they were and what they were doing when they entered Roman territory.

(But then, I’m a foreigner, aren’t I? So I, an immigrant, would say this.)

The danger of the “Byzantine”

I’ve already commented on this blog about the pitfalls of the word Byzantine, especially in relation to the mosaic art of Late Antique and Early Mediaeval Rome. I stand by that perspective. Indeed, after a conference I was at earlier this year, I am even more deeply entrenched in my anti-Byzantine position.

One of the many difficulties besetting the use of this word is its strong association with Greek and the Eastern Mediterranean (indeed, I think of Byzantine as Greek mediaeval, or mediaeval Greek, personally). This is combined with the fact that, despite the great cultural and political ruptures of the seventh century, historians of ‘Byzantium’ and the ‘Byzantine’ Empire like to start their story with Constantine or something like that (in which case we are far enough back in time to be clearly in the Late Roman East).

Why are these two things problems?

Justinian.

I haven’t dealt with him in my ‘Discover Late Antiquity‘ series yet — not properly. Nevertheless, Justinian reconquers North Africa, a bit of Spain, and Italy. His (re)conquest of Italy ran from 536 to 554. As a result, the heartland of the Roman West was reunited with the Roman East. This increases the cross-cultural exchange between East and West — traditional Italian artwork of Late Antiquity thus maintains ties with the traditional Hellenic artwork of Late Antiquity (that is, the ‘Byzantine’). Eastern craftsmen can make their way West within a united empire.

Let me now circle back to how the Hellenic, eastern-focussed use of this word and its application to art can cause problems.

In 553, the Cathedral Basilica of the Assumption of St Mary — the Basilica Eufrasiana — was rebuilt in Porec, Croatia. As Wikipedia will tell you, this basilica ‘is an excellent example of early Byzantine architecture’. Having observed lovely photos of this basilica, it strikes me as an excellent example of early Christian architecture. Indeed, a basilica of similar style to its comrades in Rome:

Photo by Wikimedia user JoJan

Photo by Wikimedia user JoJan

Central apse, by Wikimedia user JoJan

Central apse, by Wikimedia user JoJan

Nevertheless, Wikipedia is not the only source that will tell you that the Basilica Eufrasiana is ‘Byzantine’. At the aforementioned conference, one of the papers discussed the basilica’s images of female saints — all well and good. Indeed, given the fact that the Istrian Peninsula was part of the Byzantine world, I’d even be willing to grant limited use of the word Byzantine to the artistic style.

However, from being used of the art, this word began to applied to the cultural context and worldview of the people who commissioned it and used the basilica. And this simply will not do. Istria is not Greek. Istria was not Greek. The cultural worldview of the sixth-century, Late Antique people of Istria was not Byzantine.

Female Martyrs on triumphal arch, photo by Wikimedia user JoJan

Female Martyrs on triumphal arch, photo by Wikimedia user JoJan

The reason this is a problem is because the presenter kept on finding Greek sources to corroborate her interpretation of the mosaics and the artistic scheme of the basilica. However, one glance at those same mosaics will show the viewer quite a lot of Latin — because that is the language of the Late Antique Istrians.

Ecclesiastically, in fact, the Istrian Peninsula was under the archiepiscopal oversight of the Bishop of Aquileia. And, along with that bishop and some others, was among the places that, around this time, entered into schism with the Bishop of Rome over the Three Chapters (on which I’ve blogged here). Therefore, Greek canon law is not germane to any discussion of how Istrians viewed women; Latin canon law, however, is. As are the writings of the ecclesiastics of Aquileia. Nonetheless, the paper to which I am referring continually resorted to Greek, ‘Byzantine’ sources.

I can only guess that the reason was because of the overuse of this word to refer to all Late Antique art of a certain style, and a confusion between politics (yes, this was then part of the Eastern Roman Empire) and culture (but it was not, therefore, Greek).

Byzantine is a word that can be very useful. But I find that the earlier it is applied, or the farther West it journeys, the more it simply confuses matters.

Languages of Late Antiquity

A job was recently posted advertising a ‘Professional Specialist in Languages of Late Antiquity.‘ Being a Latinist and Late Roman Historian, I took a look at it. It seems that Latin and Classical Greek are not languages of Late Antiquity:

Mastery of Syriac is a prerequisite, and facility in one or more of the other languages of late antiquity, especially Coptic, Ethiopic, Armenian, or classical Arabic, is also expected.

Now, I have nothing against Syriac specialists, especially the likes of Sebastian Brock or my friend Crystal Lubinsky. And I even spent a few sessions with Crystal studying Coptic. Moreover, I appreciate the expanded world of Late Antiquity that takes note of the cultural, politcal, and economic influences between the Graeco-Roman Mediterranean world and its neighbours, or between Greek and Latin culture and the local cultures it co-exists alongside.

There is a non-Greek/Latin-speaking world within the Roman Empire, most notably with Coptic in Egypt and Syriac in Syria-Mesopotamia, but undoubtedly some Armenians and Arabic-speakers in the Eastern mix as well. And, of course, the world beyond the frontiers is mostly non-classical (but there is a Hellenic Asian world out there, too!).

But Greek and Latin are languages of Late Antiquity as well. The fourth century sees what Peter Brown calls a ‘second golden age’ of Latin literature, for example. And Latin remains the administrative language of the Roman Empire for a long time. The great Late Antique hymns of Romanos the Melodist were composed in Greek. And even if we go for a ‘long Late Antiquity’, John of Damascus, living under the Caliphate in Damascus in the 700s, wrote in Greek. Greek and Latin are major languages of Late Antiquity.

Furthermore, the East is not the only place one can go hunting for non-classical ‘languages of Late Antiquity’. What of Gothic, not only beyond the Roman Empire, but within? We have Gothic Bibles, lectionaries, liturgical texts. Some people think one of our purple codices, a Latin Bible with a Gothic gloss, was the property of Theoderic. Gothic is as much a language of Late Antiquity as the languages of the East. And, frankly, Ethiopic literature really gets going around the same time as Anglo-Saxon (although our earliest texts in Ge’ez are older), so … how many worms can come out of this can?

In the end, what this job actually wants is a professional specialist in Afro-Semitic and Near Eastern languages and literatures in Late Antiquity. Which is totally fine, and well worth their time. But it’s much more specific than a professional specialist in languages of Late Antiquity and admits more clearly of the diversity of the Late Antique world, from Syriac, Coptic, and Greek in the East to Gothic, Anglo-Saxon, and Latin in the West.

Discover Late Antiquity: Sixth-century religion

Our little tour through Late Antiquity reached the end of the 400s a few weeks ago — just in time for the Vice Chancellor of Queen’s University, Belfast, to declare on May 31:

Society doesn’t need a 21-year-old who is a sixth century historian.

What, we all wonder, does society need?

a 21-year-old who really understands how to analyse things, understands the tenets of leadership and contributing to society, who is a thinker and someone who has the potential to help society drive forward

That is to say — someone with the skills gained by almost any humanities degree. Like sixth-century history. I should have written this blog post the moment I read Charles West’s excellent piece on the subject at History Today, but I didn’t. Because work.

First, if you’ve missed the rest of this little journey, I’ve made a Discover Late Antiquity page, so you can go there to catch up on what you’ve been missing! As usual, I’m starting our discussion with religion, literature, etc. For a quick glimpse of sixth-century manuscripts, don’t forget my last post! Now that I’m done the preamble, let’s begin with religion.

Sixth-century Religion

Sixth-century mosaic of Christ, Santi Cosma e Damiano, Rome

Sixth-century mosaic of Christ, Santi Cosma e Damiano, Rome

The sixth-century saw the realisation in the Eastern Mediterranean and Near East of the final schism between Mono/Miaphysite Christians and the Chalcedonians. At the turn of the century, the emperor in Constantinople, Anastasius I, was sponsoring a document called the Henotikon that had appeased some of the Miaphysites, but in 518 Justin and then his nephew Justinian (r. 527-565) supported the Chalcedonian cause. Although some of Justinian’s actions tried to appease the Miaphysites, others only exacerbated the problem, with the result that Jacob Baradaeus began consecrating a parallel episcopal hierarchy in the Levant, Syria, and Asia Minor — this today is the Syrian Orthodox Church. At the same time, the forerunners of the Miaphysite Coptic Orthodox Christians were active in Egypt, harbouring folks like Severus of Antioch (one of the greatest theological minds of the age) when their Miaphysite beliefs clashed with imperial policy.

Part of Justinian’s appeasement tactics was the condemnation of the ‘Three Chapters’. The Three Chapters were the person and writings of Theodore of Mopsuestia; the letter of Ibas of Edessa to Mari the Persian; and certain writings of Theodoret of Cyrrhus. Because Ibas and Theodoret were reckoned orthodox by the Council of Chalcedon in 451, many — especially in the western Mediterranean — felt that the condemnation of the Three Chapters was a sly repudiation of Chalcedon. For why that is not necessarily the case, read this post.

The condemnation of the Three Chapters culminated in the Second Council of Constantinople of 553, now regarded as the Fifth Ecumenical Council by Eastern Orthodox, Roman Catholic, and Protestant Christians. Pope Vigilius was there, and after some tergiversations agreed to the condemnation. A schism erupted between Rome and northern Italy, called the Istrian Schism, and lasted until Pope Sergius I in the 600s.

On another side of the Chalcedonian debate were those Christians who rejected both the Miaphysite position and the Council, traditionally termed ‘Nestorian‘ in English. This group of Christians founded what is today known as The Church of the East. They flourished in the Persian Empire and beyond, possibly as far as Tibet in the 500s. Chalcedonians did not flourish in the Persian Empire because their support of a form of Christianity aligned with the Roman Empire was perceived as dangerous; many of them were taking refuge in what is now Georgia; the Georgian Orthodox Church is still part of the Eastern Orthodox Church with its own pre-Russian tradition.

Amongst the monasteries of the Judaean desert there also arose the Second Origenist Controversy, surrounding some of Origen’s teachings in On First Principles but more importantly the teachings of the fourth-century mystic Evagrius of Pontus. This controversy resulted in a condemnation of Origenism in a series of anathemas often wrongly attributed to the Council of Constantinople of 553.

In the Eastern Empire, the sixth century is also the century of spiritual leaders Barsanuphius and John (whom I love), their disciple Dorotheos of Gaza, and Simeon Stylites the Younger. St Sabas/Savvas of Judaea died this century. Romanos the Melodist, early Byzantine liturgical poet par excellence, lived in the 500s as well. We cannot forget Cosmas Indicopleustes, an Alexandrian Nestorian who wrote an amazing description of the world and his travels in Arabia and India; of greater philosophical precision is the Miaphysite Alexandrian philosopher John Philoponus.

Besides getting thoroughly embroiled in the argument over the reception of Chalcedon, the West saw what may be termed the ‘Arian Controversy 2.0’. The newly emergent kingdoms of the West were largely ruled by ‘Arian’ or ‘Semi-Arian’ rulers (today’s usage would say ‘Homoian’), and they would debate with the Nicene-Catholic populations — Theoderic the Great in Italy, the Vandals of North Africa, and the Visigoths of Spain were Homoian/Arians. Theoderic treated the Nicene-Catholics of Italy well and with respect; the Vandals made their lives a living hell in Africa, as we read in Victor of Vita’s (d. 535) History of the Vandal Persecutions. The Franks were Catholic, which sets them apart; their king Clovis I, on the eve of the century in 496, was baptised into the Catholic form of Christianity by Remigius, Bishop of Reims, under the influence of his wife Clotilda.

However, as Gregory of Tours in the History of the Franks (c. 590) makes clear, the ‘Catholic’ Franks were generally as impious and unholy as the pagans and Arians; they, too, looted churches and such and lived riotously unvirtuous lives. It’s worth keeping in mind when we begin to imagine Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages as special eras of great religious fervour.

In 586, Reccared, King of Spain converted to Catholicism. That’s a big deal.

St Benedict (480-547) is kind of a big deal, too. His Rule, written for his small community of 12 monks at Monte Cassino, would become the standard of western monasticism in the centuries to come. He drew upon the preceding tradition, like John Cassian of the 400s and the early sixth-century Rule of the Master.

Cassiodorus (485-585) also founded a monastery after his career in the public service under King Theoderic; he wrote all about it in his Institutions of Divine and Secular Learning. His other religious writings include a commentary on the Psalms and some other exegetical pieces; he also wrote a Christian philosophical treatise ‘On the Soul.’

The philosopher-poet Boethius (480-524), besides his translations of Aristotelian works and his famous Consolation of Philosophy, wrote theological treatises ‘On the Trinity,’ ‘Against Eutyches and Nestorius,’ ‘Whether Father, Son and Holy Spirit are Substantially Predicated of the Divinity,’ and ‘On the Catholic Faith,’ amongst others.

So as not to be too much more long-winded, other important western religious figures of the century include: Caesarius of Arles, Ennodius of Pavia, Avitus of Vienne, Brigid of Kildare, Brendan the Navigator, Columba (missionary to Highland Scotland), Kentigern/Mungo (missionary to the Glasgow region), Columbanus (Irish monastic founder in France and Italy), and Pope Gregory the Great (pope, 590-604) who closes the century; I’ll save him for the 600s. None of this brings out questions of canon law and liturgy, of course, but there’s just no room!!

Who needs humanities, anyway, right? (Accountants?)

What’s a university for? What’s an education for?

A lot of people, including politicians and high muck-a-mucks at universities, seem to think that universities are career-training centres. They seem to think that education is a purely utilitarian beast that is all about gaining job skills that will contribute to something called a ‘healthy economy’.

So, really, why should … say … accountants study humanities?

Humanities — the liberal arts — you know, the foundations of knowledge and critical thinking that lie at the root of our civilisation and help give us the tools necessary to live wisely.

Again — why should an accountant study humanities?

This is a good question.

Certainly, the accountants I know are very glad for their mathematical training.

One of them also has a degree in geography. I don’t know if he’s glad for that degree, but I do know he’s glad for the wide knowledge he has acquired in his personal time while not studying for his certification to be a chartered accountant.

Here’s a fun fact for you:

Thomas Bulfinch was an accountant.

Thomas Bulfinch, if you’re unlucky enough never to have encountered him, was a mid-19th-century mythologist. Or mythographer? He realised that if people are going to understand and appreciate any English or American literature, they have to know Classical mythology and its referents. Whereas my approach to this is telling everyone to read The Iliad, Bulfinch wrote his own guide and retelling of Classical, Greek/Roman mythology, including selections from the poets themselves. He did this utilising his own knowledge of the Latin and Greek languages.

Because, you know, he lived from 1796 to 1867. That’s how educated people rolled back then.

He also proceeded to produce The Age of Chivalry and Legends of Charlemagne to round off the American reader’s education in the mythologies that sit at the root of Anglophone literature. I recently read Legends of Charlemagne, and it was magnificent.

In his spare time, this accountant wrote his own retellings of Classical and mediaeval myths and legends, drawing from the sources in the original languages. Which, as a Harvard grad, he knew.

Here’s another fun fact for you:

Charles Lamb (Elia) was an accountant.

Yes, the writer of Essays of Elia, who collaborated with his sister to write the children’s retellings of stories from Shakespeare, was an accountant with the East India Company. Here was a man who wrote some stunningly beautiful prose, who produced finely crafted art.

Who sat on a stool at a desk as a clerk most of the day.

Both Bulfinch and Lamb were well-educated men. Both wrote remarkable prose. Both knew ancient languages. Both worked as accountants.

The nineteenth century knew that education was not simply a matter of skills acquisition for career development. Education is about grooming the mind and the person, training in thought and beauty and knowledge to live wisely and do what you love, whether that’s at work or at leisure, and do what you love very well.

In today’s world, I fear that we have too strong a division between the ‘artists’ and the ‘accountants’, and this is to the detriment of the ‘artists’ and ‘accountants’ both.

We need to rethink education. I hope I can be involved in that as I enter the academic job market.

Roman — not Byzantine

Although this title looks the sort of thing you’d expect from continuist Byzantinists, I’m actually arguing about Rome in what follows — that early mediaeval art in Rome is not Byzantine.

Apsis_mosaic_San_ClementeWhen I first visited San Clemente in 2014, there was a group of people looking at the magnificent apsidal mosaic. One of them remarked, ‘This is Byzantine’, in as natural a way as possible. I recommend you click on that image to the left to get a taste of San Clemente’s apsidal mosaic. It is a remarkable piece of craftsmanship, and I would never speak ill of it. People in the Middle Ages were great workers of beauty, and Roman mosaics are among those works of beauty.

But I was annoyed at the person saying that San Clemente’s mosaic was Byzantine. For one thing, it was built c. 1099-1125. I don’t think it’s very precise to call Roman art in the twelfth century ‘Byzantine’ — the papacy was already into its schism with the East, and the city was largely a papal city, although the Normans sacked it in 1084 due to papal-imperial politics, including the destruction of the fourth-century San Clemente, leading to the creation of the new one. The emperor in these politics was not in Constantinople but in the Holy Roman Empire. Crusading zeal aside, the outlook of Rome in this period was decidedly western.

Nonetheless, I can imagine someone saying that the current mosaic is a replacement of the fourth- (or ninth-?) century mosaic lost in the fire of 1084. And surely that mosaic would count as Byzantine. Therefore, this mosaic is an imitation Byzantine mosaic.

I guess here’s where I get properly controversial, since there are mediaevalists and art historians who would argue for the use of the word Byzantine in relation to early mediaeval Roman art. Nonetheless, two days ago I visited Santa Prassede with Rosamond McKitterick, and she argues strongly for the Romanness of Santa Prassede’s mosaics. So I’m in good company. Here are a few of my photos of Santa Prassede’s mosaics to give you the flavour:

First of all, I can see immediately why we want to call early mediaeval Roman art Byzantine. Just look at it! And then, just look at Byzantine art, like the famous Christ Pantokrator from Ayia Sophia:

Jesus-Christ-from-Hagia-SophiaThat one from 1261, of course, is much more naturalistic than these ninth-century mosaics. What people usually have in mind is more the sixth-century apsidal mosaic at St Catherine’s in Sinai:

transfiguration-st-catherines-monasteryOr the sixth-century mosaics at Ravenna:

Pendentive_(San_Vitale_in_Ravenna)There is certainly a visual continuity running across these sixth-century mosaics from the edges of the ‘Byzantine’/Justinianic world into the Roman mosaics of the ninth century sponsored by Pope Paschal I. However, this same visual continuity also strikes the heart of sixth-century Rome, as Santi Cosma e Damiano, at the edge of the Roman Forum and built by Felix IV c. 524, as seen in my photos below:

Rome in 524 is living under the rule of Ostrogothic king Theoderic. They are only newly reunited ecclesially with Constantinople. Is it really accurate to say that this kind of art is ‘Byzantine’ in this case? Indeed, is it not visually united with the fifth-century mosaics of Santa Maria Maggiore?

IMG_1613 IMG_1606Finally, why don’t we step back and see the visual continuity that runs from the Constantinian age and the Mausoleo di ‘Santa’ Costanza? (My photo)

IMG_1569This is Roman-style Late Antique and Early Mediaeval art, and it exists in mosaic and fresco, although mosaics are more durable. I have given examples from the fifth and sixth centuries as well as the ninth (see also the apsidal mosaics at Santa Cecilia in Trastevere, also commissioned by Paschal I), but I could have added the late sixth (San Lorenzo fuori le Mura, c. 580) and seventh as well (Sant’Agnese fuori le Mura and San Teodoro for mosaics and the remnants of the diaconia in the curia, now in Cripta Balbi, for frescoes). I do not know my eight-century Roman churches at all — apologies there.

Christian Roman art and architecture are habitually traditionalist. Their style remains Late Antique and persists with a certain degree of Classicism in architecture combined with a visual abstraction that we consider ‘Byzantine’ while northern Europe and Spain go through Romanesque and Gothic. This ‘Byzantine’ style of Roman art, indeed, continues well beyond definitively traceable Byzantine cultural influence in Rome, such as this 14th-century mosaic at Santa Maria sopra Minerva, Rome’s only Gothic church (my blurry photo; apologies):

IMG_1504

Or what about the Dormition of the Virgin, a thirteenth-century mosaic in Santa Maria Maggiore? (My pic.)

IMG_1609None of this is to say that ‘Byzantine’ forces were never at work in Rome during the Middle Ages. Eastern Christian influences were certainly present in Rome after the Fall of the Western Roman Empire, such as through ongoing contacts with the Emperor in Constantinople, especially after Justinian’s Reconquest, and then through the arrival of eastern clerics. In the seventh century, many ‘Greek’ (that is, Greek-speaking) clerics came to Rome, such as the circle of St Maximus the Confessor. The Roman liturgy adapted some Greek/Eastern liturgical practices to her own use, and the papacy may even have taken on some Greek bureaucratic ideals. St Gregory the Great, in fact, even spent time in Constantinople before becoming Bishop of Rome! So, yes, there is cultural exchange. But it also goes both ways — Gregory the Great’s Pastoral Care is very popular in Eastern Christianity, for example.

All this to say — since words matter, we should be precise. Early mediaeval art in Rome is not Byzantine. It stands in its own strong Roman tradition, a tradition that persists in mosaics, at least, up to the High Middle Ages, and also has ties with its sister art in the Easter Mediterranean (‘Byzantine’ art).