Fourteen people ruled the Byzantine Empire between the years 976 and 1078, and the Byzantine historian Michael Psellus, in his Chronographia, provides a thorough totting-up of all their merits and flaws. Psellus’ classical education makes him a well-informed commentator, and one senses the spirit of the great Greco-Roman biographer Plutarch in the way Psellus provides commentary on the characters of various Byzantine leaders throughout the book that he called the Chronographia.
Psellus, a philosopher and theologian as well as an historian, was a courtier in the courts of several different Byzantine emperors, and therefore he had abundant opportunities to observe and evaluate their character traits and their approach to rulership. He saw how far Byzantium had drifted from its roots in the Eastern Roman Empire that Constantine the Great had established in the 4th century A.D., and he advocated that his medieval state take up anew lost traditions of classical learning. When he refers, throughout the Chronographia< to the Byzantines as “the Romans,” Psellus may be engaging in more than a bit of wishful thinking.
In case you were wondering who were the “Fourteen Byzantine Rulers” who give a title to this Penguin Classics translation of the Chronographia, here they are:
1. Basil II Bulgaroctonos, 976-1025.
2. Constantine VIII, 1025-28.
3. Romanus III Argyrus, 1028-34.
4. Michael IV Paphlagon, 1034-41.
5. Michael V Calaphates, 1041-42.
6. Zoe and Theodora, 1042.
7. Constantine IX Monomachus, 1042-55.
8. Theodora, 1055-56.
9. Michael VI Stratioticus, 1056-57.
10. Isaac Comnenus, 1057-59.
11. Constantine X Ducas, 1059-67.
12. Eudocia, 1067.
13. Romanus IV Diogenes, 1068-71.
14. Michael VII Parapinaces, 1071-78.
I can’t help observing a couple of things about all these Byzantine rulers. One is that, with a couple of exceptions, their reigns were generally rather short – a reflection, perhaps, of the political instability that was so often a feature of Byzantine life. The other is that, for all that many of these rulers no doubt worried about their place in history, and may have considered themselves immortal like the Caesars of centuries before, I had never even heard of most of them, with the sole exception of Isaac Comnenus. It is a telling indicator of the vanity of human wishes.
In considering the way in which all of these rulers governed Byzantium, Psellus makes a point to acknowledge that Byzantium as a state was anything but easy to rule. Late in the Chronographia, he provides eloquent testimony on the bloated nature of the bureaucratic state that was Byzantium: “We can liken it to a monstrous body, a body with a multitude of heads, an ugly bull-neck, hands so many that they were beyond counting, and just as many feet; its entrails were festering and diseased, in some parts swollen, in others wasting away, here afflicted with dropsy, there diminishing with consumption” (p. 306).
Depicting Byzantium as if it were a many-headed monster from classical mythology, Psellus makes clear his feeling that it would have been difficult for anyone to govern the Byzantine state well.
To this day, people who would have trouble distinguishing Constantinople from Chesapeake City refer to any state or organization with an excessively elaborate bureaucracy as “Byzantine” – and rightly so. The elaborate list of civil and ecclesiastical officers included curopalates (major-domo of the palace), eparch (“father of the city” or mayor of Constantinople), logothete (chancellor), magister (high court official), nomophylax (head of the Faculty of Law at the University of Constantinople), orphanotrophus (supervisor of the Constantinople orphanage), parakoimomenus (lord chamberlain), protospatharius (commander of the imperial bodyguard), and protovestiarius (curator of the emperor’s wardrobe).
Confused yet? The one thing that is most important to remember is that a great many of these titled people, at any given time, thought that they could do a much better job as emperor than whoever was actually sitting on the throne at Constantinople.
I mentioned Plutarch earlier in this reviews, because I detected strong echoes of Plutarch’s Parallel Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans in the swift, economical way in which Psellus set forth the personalities and characters of the various emperors, as when he says that Basill II “was more of a villain in wartime, more of an emperor in time of peace” (pp. 46-47), or states how Constantine VIII “neglected the affairs of his Empire while he devoted himself to his chequers and dice, for so ardent was he in the pursuit of gaming, and so enraptured by it, that even when ambassadors were waiting to attend on him he would disregard them if he was in the middle of a game” (pp. 57-58). Citizens of many modern nations may see, in Psellus’ portraits, foreshadowings of the characters of different leaders of their own countries.
I was particularly struck by Psellus’ description of Michael V: “He had an extraordinary flair for concealing ‘the fire beneath the ashes’ – that is to say, he hid an evil disposition under a kindly exterior….He showed no consideration for benefactors, no gratitude to anyone for friendship or solicitude or devotion on his behalf. But his powers of dissimulation were such that he could hide all that” (p. 102). When one combines that description of Michael’s moral nature with Psellus’ account of how “the emperor’s body was swollen, and nobody could fail to notice the hydropsy from which he was suffering” (p. 104), the picture that emerges is certainly a negative one. If Michael became “a pattern of piety after his accession” (p. 105), as Psellus claims, with many high-profile demonstrations of his devotion to the Christian faith, then his actions may have reflected anxiety about the state of his body and soul, or awareness that he had a public-image problem, or all of the above.
I also took particular interest in Psellus’ description of Constantine IX: “Constantine had no very clear conception of the nature of monarchy. He failed to realize that it entailed responsibility for the well-being of his subjects, and that an emperor must always watch over the administration of his realm and ensure its development on sound lines” (p. 179). In Psellus’ reading, it seems to be for that reason that Constantine IX faced, during his reign, not one but two major rebellions – one led by the general George Maniaces in 1042, and another conducted by the emperor’s own nephew Leo Tornicius in 1047.
Psellus describes Tornicius as a man who “reeked of Macedonian arrogance”, and whose “mind was perpetually open to revolutionary ideas” (pp. 204-05). When Constantine’s illness seemed to create a power vacuum, Tornicius declared Constantine dead, was acclaimed emperor by the army, and besieged Constantinople itself – and then hesitated and lost, when he was at the gates of the city and victory seemed within his grasp.
Tornicius paid a high price for his attempt at seizing the throne, as the victorious Constantine condemned his treasonous nephew “to blinding on the spot. At that the pretender emitted a cry of anguish and basely lamented his fate” (p. 218). Blinding – sometimes accompanied by transportation for life to a monastery – seems to have been a common fate for Byzantines who gambled and lost in one game-of-thrones or another. Indeed, with monasteries providing one of the few forms of refuge from the constant dangers of political life in Byzantium, it is not surprising that Psellus himself, at one point, retired from public life and went to live as a monk.
Of Isaac Comnenus, Psellus writes that “In matters other than the civil administration, he advanced the welfare of his Empire by gradual progress, and had he followed the same policy in the non-military sphere also, by purging the state of its rotten elements, two things would have happened: he himself would have earned undying honour, and the body politic would not have been brought to utter ruin.” Unfortunately, we are told, “Isaac wanted to revolutionize everything. He was eager to lose no time in cutting out the dead wood which had long been accumulating in the Roman Empire.” Ultimately, Psellus informs us, “the task was beyond him, and in consequence he lacked faith in his own success” (p. 306).
This passage is characteristic of much of the Chronographia; one gets the sense that Psellus wants to be fair and broad-minded, and, at the same time, that the author can’t help pointing out how the character flaws of various emperors kept them from restoring Byzantium to its 6th-century glory days of the emperor Justinian. The Chronographia ends quite suddenly, and no one knows why – but it’s clear throughout that Michael Psellus loves his dysfunctional country. One is glad, for Psellus’ sake, that the Byzantine Empire struggled on for another four centuries after his death, so that Psellus never had to witness the fall of Constantinople and the end of Byzantium. No doubt he thought much about the possibility of such an unhappy ending – and perhaps he hoped that, by setting down the flaws and failings of all these Byzantine emperors, he might encourage some future emperor to do better.