Byzantine Civilization 326–565 AD

Labor and Wealth

The Byzantine economy was a modernized mixture of private investment, state management, and nationalized industries. Peasant landownership was still the dominant feature of the agricultural economy under Justinian, but estates were expanding and many peasants gradually fell into dependence on great landowners due to drought or flood, competition or inadequacy, heavy taxation, or war. Mineral resources belonged to the state, but extraction was mostly carried out by private organizations that leased the mines from the government. The mines of Greece had been exhausted, but the old and new mines of Thrace, Pontus, and the Balkans were exploited. Most industrial workers were “free” — meaning their only compulsion to work was their dread of starvation. Direct slavery played a very minor role outside domestic service and the textile industry; but in Syria, and perhaps in Egypt and North Africa, compulsory labor for the maintenance of major irrigation canals was usual under the state. The government manufactured most of the goods needed by the army, civil administration, and court in its own factories.

Around 552, some Nestorian monks from Central Asia interested Justinian in their proposal to provide an independent source of silk. If we recall the many wars Greece and Rome fought with Iran for control of the trade routes to China and India, and remember the name “Silk Road” that led to the northern routes to the Far East, as well as the name Serica (the land of silk) that the Romans gave to China, and the name Serindia given to the region between China and India, we will understand why Justinian eagerly accepted the proposal. The monks returned to Central Asia and brought back a quantity of silkworm eggs, and perhaps a few mulberry seedlings. A small silk industry already existed in Greece, but it relied on wild silkworms that fed on oak leaves, ash, or cypress. In this period silk production, especially in Syria and Greece, became an important industry; it developed so much in the Peloponnese that the new name Morea — meaning the land of the mulberry tree (Morus alba) — was given to that peninsula.

In Constantinople the weaving of certain silk fabrics and the production of purple dyes was a state monopoly and was carried out in workshops located in or near the imperial palace. The use of silk and colored fabrics was permitted only to high-ranking government officials, and the most expensive ones were reserved for members of the imperial family. When private craftsmen secretly and illegally produced similar fabrics and sold them to ordinary people, Justinian broke this “black market” by removing many restrictions on the use of luxurious silk and colored fabrics; he flooded the shops with state fabrics at prices that private producers could not compete with; and when competition ended, the government raised prices. Following Diocletian’s policy, Justinian tried to establish state control over all prices and wages. After the plague of 542 the number of workers decreased, wages rose, and prices soared. Justinian, like the English Parliament in 1351 after the plague of 1348, tried to help employers and consumers by issuing an edict on prices and wages:

We have learned that after the recent heavenly plague, craftsmen, farmers, and sailors are exceedingly greedy and demand prices and wages that are two or three times higher than before. ... We forbid all these persons from demanding wages or prices higher than before. We also prohibit building contractors, farmers, and others from paying wages higher than the usual previous rates.

We have no information on the effect of this edict.

From the time of Constantine to the end of Justinian’s reign, internal and foreign trade flourished in the Byzantine Empire. Roman roads and bridges were constantly repaired, and the creative lust for profit created a merchant fleet that connected the capital with dozens of ports in the East and West. From the fifth to the fifteenth century, Constantinople remained the greatest market and shipping center in the world. Alexandria, which had maintained this supremacy since the third century BC, was now surpassed in trade by Antioch. Syria prospered through trade and industry; Syria lay between Iran and Constantinople, and between Constantinople and Egypt; its merchants were bold and resourceful; and only the active and energetic Greeks could compete with them in the extent of transactions and the application of resourceful methods. Their expansion throughout the empire was a factor in the orientalization of customs and arts that characterized the Byzantine Empire.

Since the old Syrian trade route to Central Asia passed through hostile Iran, Justinian tried to find a new trade route by establishing friendly relations with the Himyarites of southwestern Arabia and the kings of Ethiopia, who controlled the southern gates of the Red Sea. Byzantine merchant ships sailed from these straits and the Indian Ocean toward the ports of India; but Iranian domination of those ports imposed as many additional costs on this trade as passage through the old routes. Since Justinian saw no benefit from this route either, he encouraged the establishment of ports on the Black Sea coast; merchandise went from these ports to Colchis, and from there by caravan to Sogdia, where Chinese and European merchants could conduct their transactions without Iranian interference or inspection. The increasing traffic on this northern route brought Serindia to the zenith of its medieval wealth and art. Meanwhile, Greek trade still held its former markets in the West.

This active economy relied on the empire’s circulating currency, whose stability caused it to be accepted throughout the world. Constantine had struck a new coin to replace Caesar’s aureus; this solidus or “bezant” contained 4.55 grams of gold and was worth about 5.83 dollars in U.S. currency in 1946. The decline of the solidus in metal content and economic value to the worthless “sou” illustrates the rise in prices and the depreciation of money throughout history, and shows that thrift is a virtue that, like other virtues, must be practiced with discernment and judgment. Banking was now highly advanced. The economic prosperity of the Byzantine Empire at the beginning of Justinian’s reign can be seen from the interest rate he stabilized: four percent on loans to peasants, six percent on secured private loans, eight percent on commercial loans, and twelve percent on maritime investments. At that time nowhere else in the world was the interest rate so low.

The senatorial aristocracy, through landownership, and great merchants, through extensive speculation in which profit was proportionate to risk, acquired such wealth and luxurious living as had previously been the lot of only a few people in Rome. The nobles of the Eastern Empire had better taste than the Roman aristocrats in the time of Cicero and Juvenal; they did not choke themselves by devouring rare foods, divorce was less common among them, and they showed considerable loyalty and diligence in serving the country. The extravagance of this class was mainly in wearing decorated garments, robes with fur trim and dazzling colors, and silk robes whose dyeing was expensive and which had threads of gold woven into them and were decorated with scenes from nature or historical events. Some of them were “moving wall paintings”; the robe of one senator depicted the entire story of Christ’s life. Beneath this golden crust of society were: the middle class groaning under taxation, government officials limping along, a mixed collection of troublesome monks, and a motley crowd of lower classes suffering from high prices and content with meager wages.

The sexual and commercial morality of Byzantine civilization did not differ greatly from the morality of civilizations at a similar stage of economic growth. John Chrysostom condemned dancing as an exciting amusement, but the people of Constantinople continued to dance. The Church refused to baptize actors, yet lascivious pantomimes continued to be performed on Byzantine stages; in any case people had to escape the boredom of monotony and uniformity in life. Procopius’s Secret History, which is never reliable, says that in his time “almost all women were corrupt.” Much study and research was done on contraceptives; Oribasius, the distinguished physician of the fourth century, devoted a chapter in his medical collection to these drugs; another medical writer named Aetius, in the sixth century, recommended the use of vinegar or salt water, or abstinence from intercourse at the beginning and end of the menstrual period. Justinian and Theodora tried to reduce prostitution by exiling procurers and brothel-keepers from Constantinople, but the result was temporary and passing. In general the status of women was high; never before had women been so free by law and custom or so influential in government.

Science and Philosophy: 364–565

In this apparently religious society, what was the fate of education, knowledge, literature, science, and philosophy?

Elementary education was still in the hands of private teachers, who received fees from parents according to the number of pupils and the term of study. Higher education, until the time of Theodosius II, was carried out both by independent tutors and by professors who received their salaries from the municipality or the state. Libanius complained that the professors’ salaries were so low that they longed to go to the baker from hunger, but refrained for fear that he would demand payment. Nevertheless, we hear descriptions of teachers like Eumenius who received 600,000 sesterces (about $30,000?) a year; in this profession as in others the best and worst had large incomes, while the rest had little. To promote paganism, Julian ordered that university teachers should first be examined by the state and then appointed to their posts. Theodosius II, for reasons opposite to Julian’s, made teaching without a state license a crime; these licenses were soon restricted to those who conformed to orthodoxy.

The great universities of the East were in Alexandria, Athens, Constantinople, and Antioch, with specialization respectively in medicine, philosophy, literature, and rhetoric. Oribasius of Pergamum (c. 325–403), physician to Julian, compiled a medical encyclopedia in seventy “books.” Aetius of Amida, court physician during Justinian’s reign, produced a similar encyclopedia that included the finest ancient analyses of diseases of the eye, ear, nose, mouth, and teeth; it had interesting chapters on goiter and rabies; and it explained various surgical methods, from tonsillectomy to hemorrhoidectomy. Alexander of Tralles was the most original among these medical writers; he named various intestinal parasites, described digestive disorders precisely, and explained the diagnosis and treatment of lung diseases with unprecedented accuracy. His textbook on the pathology and treatment of internal diseases was translated into Syriac, Arabic, Hebrew, and Latin, and gained influence in the Christian world second only to that of Hippocrates, Galen, and Soranus. According to Augustine, the dissection of living humans was common in the fifth century.

Superstition entered the realm of medicine daily. Many physicians accepted astrology, and some prescribed different treatments according to the configuration of the stars. For example, Aetius recommended for the prevention of pregnancy that a woman should hang a child’s tooth near her anus; and Marcellus, in his treatise On Medicine (395), surpassed the new technique by emphasizing the healing power of carrying a rabbit’s foot. Mules were better off than humans; the most scientific work of the time was a book by Flavius Vegetius (383–450) entitled Instructions on Veterinary Science; this book was almost the founder of veterinary science and was considered a standard work until the Renaissance.

Chemistry and alchemy advanced side by side, and Alexandria was their center. Alchemists were often sincere researchers; they were more careful than other ancient scholars in applying experimental methods. It was through this care that they advanced the chemistry of metals and alloys, and we cannot say with certainty that the future will not justify their aims. Astronomy also had a noble basis; it was almost universally accepted that the stars, sun, and moon influenced earthly events. But charlatans built towers of magic, divination, and deceptive incantations on these foundations. Horoscopes were more common in medieval cities than in today’s New York or Paris. Saint Augustine speaks of two friends who carefully examined the configuration of the stars at the birth of their pets. Many of the astrological and alchemical superstitions of the Arabs are part of the Greek heritage of Islam.

The most interesting scientific personality of that age is Hypatia, the mathematician and pagan philosopher. Her father Theon is the last man whose name is recorded as a professor in the Museum of Alexandria; he wrote a commentary on Ptolemy’s greatest mathematical work, the Mathematical Arrangement or Almagest, and acknowledged his daughter’s participation in that work. Suidas says that Hypatia wrote commentaries on the works of Diophantus, Ptolemy’s Canon of Astronomy, and Apollonius of Perga’s Conics. None of her works has survived. She turned from mathematics to philosophy, based her philosophical system on the theories of Plato and Plotinus, and (according to Socrates the Christian historian) “far surpassed the philosophers of her time.” After her appointment to the chair of philosophy in the Museum of Alexandria, she attracted many scholars from distant places to her presence. Some students fell in love with her, but she apparently never married. Suidas wants us to believe that Hypatia married but remained a virgin. Suidas also tells another story that may have been fabricated by Hypatia’s enemies; according to this account, when a young man persistently bothered her, she impatiently lifted her dress and said: “What you love is this symbol of impure generation, not a beautiful thing.” She was so devoted to philosophy that she would stop in the streets and markets to answer those who asked her about the problems of Platonic and Aristotelian philosophy. Socrates says: “Her self-control and ease of manner, which came from the refinement and cultivation of her mind, were such that she frequently appeared before the great men of the city without losing that pure and majestic demeanor for which she was famous and which had won her the respect and admiration of all.”

But this admiration was not truly universal. The Christians of Alexandria naturally looked askance at her, for she was not only a seductive unbeliever but also had an intimate friendship with Orestes, the pagan prefect of the city. When Cyril, the patriarch of Alexandria, sent his monk followers to expel the Jews from Alexandria, Orestes sent an annoying neutral report of the incident to Theodosius II. Some monks stoned the prefect, and he arrested the ringleader of the rioters and tortured him until he died (415). Cyril’s supporters accused Hypatia of being the main instigator of Orestes; they said she was the only obstacle to reconciliation between the prefect and the patriarch. One day a group of fanatics, led by one of the minor officials of Cyril’s staff, dragged Hypatia from her carriage, took her to the church, stripped her, beat her to death with bricks, tore her body to pieces, and burned the pieces with savage joy (415). Socrates says: “Such an inhuman act brought the greatest disgrace not only upon Cyril but upon the entire church of Alexandria.” Nevertheless, no one was punished; Emperor Theodosius II only restricted the freedom of monks to appear in public places (September 416) and barred pagans from holding public office (December 416). Cyril’s victory was complete.

The pagan philosophy professors, after Hypatia’s death, found security in migrating to Athens; in Athens non-Christian teaching was relatively free and caused no harm. Student life there was still full of cheer and vigor, and students enjoyed many of the comforting facilities of higher education — forming brotherhoods, wearing distinctive clothing, creating disturbances, and arranging entertainment programs. The Stoic and Epicurean schools had disappeared, but Platonic philosophy under the leadership of Themistius, Priscus, and Proclus was passing through a brilliant period of decline. Themistius (d. 380), with his commentaries on Aristotle’s works, influenced Ibn Rushd and other medieval thinkers. Priscus was for a time a friend and adviser of Julian; he was arrested by Valens and Valentinian I on the charge that he had caused their fever by sorcery; after his release he returned to Athens and taught philosophy there until his death at the age of ninety (395). Proclus (410–485), like a true Platonist, turned to philosophy through mathematics. With scholarly patience and care, he gathered all the ideas of Greek philosophy into one system and gave it a scientific appearance. But he also paid attention to the mystical tendency of Neoplatonism; he thought that by fasting and purifying the soul one could commune with supernatural beings. When Justinian closed the schools of Athens in 529, these schools had lost their vital force. Their work was limited to repeating and repeating the theories of ancient masters; crushed under the weight of their own heritage, they had become stifled; their only deviation from that heritage was a tendency toward a kind of mysticism borrowed from the unorthodox atmosphere of Christianity. Justinian closed the schools of rhetoric teachers as well as philosophers, confiscated their property, and barred pagans from teaching. Greek philosophy, after eleven centuries of history, had come to an end.

The transition from philosophy to religion, from Plato to Christ, is clearly evident in several strange Greek writings. Medieval thinkers confidently attributed all these writings to Dionysius the Areopagite — one of the Athenians who had accepted Paul’s teachings. These writings are mainly four: “On the Celestial Hierarchy,” “On the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy,” “On the Divine Names,” and “On Mystical Theology.” We do not know when, where, or by whom these books were written; their contents show that they came into existence between the fourth and sixth centuries; and we only know that few books have influenced Christian theology to such an extent. Johannes Scotus Eriugena (John Eriugena) translated one of them and accepted its contents in full; Albertus Magnus (the Great) and Thomas Aquinas cherished them; hundreds of Christian mystics — as well as Jewish and Muslim ones — drew material from them; and the prevalent art and theology of the Middle Ages accepted them as an infallible guide to celestial beings and hierarchies. Their general purpose was to combine Neoplatonic doctrine with Christian cosmology. God, although imperceptible and outside the circle of sensibles, is hidden in all things and is the source and substance of their life. Between God and man there are three triads of supernatural beings: seraphim, cherubim, and thrones; dominions, virtues, and powers; and principalities, archangels, and angels (the reader will remember how Dante gathered these nine groups around God’s throne, and how Milton introduced some of their names into one resounding verse). In these books, creation takes place through emanation: everything flows from God through this intermediary celestial hierarchy; and then these nine celestial hierarchies, in a reverse flow, return man and all creatures to God.

Literature: 364–565

In 425 Theodosius II, or his regents, reorganized higher education in Constantinople and officially founded a university with thirty-one teachers: one for philosophy, two for law, twenty-eight for grammar and rhetoric in Latin and Greek. The last two subjects included the literature of both languages, and the large number of teachers hired to teach them indicates an extraordinary attachment to literature. One of these professors, Priscian, around 526 compiled a large book on Latin and Greek “grammar” that became one of the most famous textbooks of the Middle Ages. The Eastern Church apparently had no objection at that time to copying classical pagan books; a few saints protested, but the school of Constantinople, with complete fidelity, transmitted the ancient masterpieces through copying, and despite the rising price of parchment, the publication of books was still abundant. Around 450, an anonymous person named Musaeus composed his famous poem entitled “Hero and Leander.” In this poem he describes how Leander, by swimming across the Hellespont, surpassed Byron in reaching his beloved Hero, how he drowned as a result of this effort, and how when Hero found his body at the foot of her tower, she jumped headfirst from a high and steep cliff into the water to seek death beside her dead love in the waves.

It was these Christian nobles of the Byzantine court who, to complete the “Greek Anthology,” composed amorous verses in the style of ancient poems and chose pagan gods as their subjects. Here is a fragment from the poems of Agathias (c. 550) that is a charming song and perhaps helped Ben Jonson create a masterpiece:

I do not like wine, but if you can make a sad man happy,
drink the first sip slowly,
then if you give me the cup, I will take it.
And since your lip has touched it, I drink for your sake,
I wipe sorrow from the soul, and no longer am I harsh or sour,
and I do not flee from that delightful cup.
For it transfers your kiss to me,
and tells me the secret of the joy it has taken from you.

The most important literary works of this age came from historians. Eunapius of Sardis compiled a volume of “World History” from 270 to 400 that has now been lost; the hero of this history is Justinian, and it also contains twenty-three unreliable and verbose biographies of later sophists and Neoplatonists. Socrates, an orthodox Christian of Constantinople, wrote a book called “Church History” covering 309 to 439; this history, as can be seen from the story we quoted from it about Hypatia, is relatively accurate and generally impartial; but this Socrates filled his writing with superstitions, legends, and miracles and speaks so much about himself that it seems he found it difficult to distinguish between himself and the world. He ends his book with a strange argument for reconciliation between the sects; he thinks that if peace is established, historians will have nothing to write about, and that crowd of “disaster-makers” will cease their activity.” Sozomen also wrote a “Church History” that took most of its material from Socrates’ book. Sozomen was a newly converted Palestinian Christian and, like his model, was a lawyer and lived in the capital; his book also shows that the study of law did not cause any weakening in belief in superstitions. Zosimus of Constantinople around 475 compiled the book “History of the Roman Empire”; he was a pagan, but in credulity and nonsense he was little behind his Christian rivals. Around 525 Dionysius Exiguus (Dennis the Short) proposed a new method of dating events from the supposed year of Christ’s birth. This proposal was not accepted by the Latin Church until the tenth century, and the Byzantines continued to count their historical years from the beginning of the world’s creation until the end of the empire. If we realize what things the youth of our civilization knew that we no longer know, we will despair of ourselves.

The only great historian of that time was Procopius. He was born in Caesarea in Palestine (490), studied law, came to Constantinople, and was appointed secretary and legal adviser to Belisarius. He accompanied that general in the wars of Syria, Africa, and Italy, and returned with him to the capital. In 550 he published the books of the Wars. Since he knew more than anyone else about the virtues of Belisarius and the stinginess of Justinian, he made that general the hero of his books and overshadowed the emperor with him. The book was welcomed by the people and met with silence from the emperor. Procopius then wrote the Secret History, but kept it so successfully from publication that in 554 he was commissioned by Justinian to write a description of the buildings constructed during his reign. Procopius compiled the book Buildings in 560, and in it he praised the emperor so much that Justinian himself might have interpreted his work as lack of sincerity or mockery. The Secret History was not offered to the world until after Justinian’s death and perhaps Procopius’s own death. This book, like all the gossip we make about neighbors, is sweet and readable; but there is an unpleasant aspect in its attacks on persons who can no longer defend themselves. A historian who twists his pen to prove a theory can certainly also present facts as contrary to reality.

Procopius sometimes erred in subjects outside the circle of his own experience and observations; sometimes he followed the custom and philosophy of Herodotus and sometimes imitated the speeches and prolixities of Thucydides; he shared in the superstition of his age, and by writing about bad omens, good omens, miracles, and dreams he deprived his material of charm and luster; but wherever he wrote from his own observations, his description was very reliable; he was a master of writing; the connection and arrangement of his material is logical, his description is attractive. His Greek is clear and direct, and almost possesses classical purity.

Was he a Christian? Apparently yes; nevertheless, there is in him a reflection of the pagan religion of those who were his models in historiography, and his writing has a color of Stoic fatalism and Platonic skepticism. He speaks thus about fortune:

Fortune has a perverse nature and an unpredictable will. But in my opinion these things have never been comprehensible to man and never will be. Nevertheless, these subjects are always discussed and different opinions are expressed about them ... because each of us seeks consolation for his ignorance ... In my opinion it is foolish to investigate the nature of God. ... I myself will observe a cautious silence on these matters, and my only opinion is that the ancient and respectable beliefs cannot be invalidated.

Byzantine Art: 326–565

The Transition from the Pagan Age

The outstanding achievements of Byzantine civilization were government administration and decorative art: a state and country that lasted eleven centuries, and a Santa Sophia that still stands.

Until the time of Justinian, pagan art had come to an end and half of its works had been damaged or destroyed. The plunder of the barbarians, the looting of the empire, and the damage inflicted by the faithful brought about a process of decay and neglect that continued until Petrarch struggled in the fourteenth century to preserve their remnants. One factor in the destruction of these works was the common belief that the gods of paganism were devils and their temples were houses of demons; in any case it was felt that the materials of the ruins would be better used in building Christian churches or houses. The pagans themselves often participated in this plunder. Several Christian emperors, especially Honorius and Theodosius II, made great efforts to preserve ancient buildings, and enlightened clergy also protected the Parthenon, the Temple of Theseus, the Pantheon, and several other buildings by converting them into Christian temples.

Christianity at first regarded art as a support for paganism, idolatry, and moral corruption; these nude figures were incompatible with the sanctity of virginity and celibacy. When the body was considered an instrument of the devil, and monks were regarded as the ideal beings replacing heroes, attention to bodily limbs was removed from the world of art, and as a result sculpture and painting became the art of reconstructing expressionless faces and shapeless garments. But when Christianity triumphed and large basilicas were needed to accommodate the growing congregations, local and national artistic traditions re-emerged and architectural art rose from the ruins. Moreover, these vast buildings necessarily required decorations; worshippers needed statues of Christ and Mary to stimulate their imagination, and images that would recount the story of Christ’s crucifixion for the common and illiterate people. Thus sculpture, mosaic-making, and painting were revived.

In Rome, the new art did not differ greatly from the old. The solidity of construction, simplicity of form, and columnar basilica styles were transferred from paganism to Christianity. Near Nero’s Circus, on the Vatican Hill, Constantine’s architects had built the first church of St. Peter measuring 115 meters long and 65 meters wide; this church remained the great temple of Latin Christianity for twelve centuries, until Bramante destroyed it and built a larger church of the same name on its site that still stands.

The church that Constantine built in the name of San Paolo Fuori le Mura (Paul the Apostle Beyond the Walls), at the site of that apostle’s martyrdom, was rebuilt with the same dimensions — 60 by 120 meters — by order of Valentinian II and Theodosius I. This church was destroyed by fire in 1832 but was rebuilt in its original form in 1854–1870. The perfect proportion of its parts and the grandeur of its columns have made it one of the most magnificent works of man. Santa Costanza, built by order of Constantine as the mausoleum of his sister Constantia, remains essentially as it was built in 326–330. San Giovanni in Laterano, Santa Maria in Trastevere, and San Lorenzo Fuori le Mura were rebuilt within a century after Constantine began them and have since been repaired several times. The design of Santa Maria Maggiore in 432 was adapted from a pagan temple, and its hall, apart from its Renaissance decorations, remains essentially in its original form.

From that time until now the basilica design has been a desirable and suitable design for Christian churches; because its low cost, its splendid simplicity, and its highly logical construction and great strength have made it acceptable and desirable in every generation. But the basilica design did not change and evolve so easily. European architects were always seeking new designs for these churches, and they found these designs in the East — even in Spalato, the advanced base of the East in the Adriatic. There, on the Dalmatian coast, Diocletian in the early fourth century had given his artists complete freedom to gain the necessary experience in building a palace for his retirement period, and they brought about a revolution in European architectural art. The arched vaults of this building were raised directly, without the intermediary of an entablature, from the capitals; thus in one stroke the Byzantine, Romanesque, and Gothic styles took root. In this palace, instead of figured friezes, a strange ornament of broken and chevron lines was used that was unfamiliar to eyes accustomed to classical works, but was popular in Eastern architecture for a long time. Spalato was the first sign that Europe was going not only to be subjugated by Eastern religion but, at least in the Byzantine world, to come under the influence of Eastern art.

The Byzantine Artist

That very beautiful and brilliant art known as Byzantine art — where did it come from to Constantinople? This is a question that archaeologists, almost with the intensity and fervor of Christian soldiers, have argued over, and the result has on the whole been a victory for the East. As Syria and Asia Minor grew stronger in industry and Rome grew weaker from barbarian attacks, that Hellenistic wave that Alexander the Great had brought over Asia returned toward Europe. From Sasanian Iran, from Nestorian Syria, and from Coptic Egypt, Eastern arts entered Byzantium and reached Italy and even Gaul; Greek art based on the natural representation of objects gave way to an Eastern art based on symbolic decoration. The East preferred color to line, arched and domed vaults to beamed ceilings, lavish ornament to dry simplicity, and silk garments to shapeless togas. Just as Diocletian and Constantine had adopted the forms of Iranian kingship, the art of Constantinople increasingly turned its gaze away from the barbarized West and increasingly directed its gaze toward Asia Minor, Armenia, Iran, Syria, and Egypt. Perhaps the victories of the Iranian armies during the reigns of Shapur II and Khosrow Anushirvan accelerated the transfer of Eastern artistic motives and forms to the West. Edessa and Nisibis in this period were progressive centers of Mesopotamian culture that had blended Iranian, Armenian, Cappadocian, and Syrian elements, and transmitted these elements through the mediation of merchants, monks, and craftsmen to Antioch, Alexandria, Ephesus, Constantinople, and finally to Ravenna and Rome. The old styles — Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian — no longer had meaning in the world of arched vaults, barrel vaults, and domes.

Byzantine art, which had thus come into being, devoted itself to spreading the teachings of Christianity and displaying the glory of the country’s government. This art depicted on garments and tapestries and mosaics and wall paintings the story of Christ’s life, Mary’s sorrows, and the account of an apostle or martyr buried in that church. Or it entered the court, decorated the ruler’s palace, adorned his official garments with symbolic or historical signs, dazzled his subjects with brilliant retinues, and ended its work by depicting Christ and Mary as emperor and empress. The patrons that the Byzantine artist could choose were few and therefore the range of subject and style selection was also limited; what to do or how to do it was determined for him by the king or the patriarch. Byzantine artists worked as a social body and therefore fewer names of these artists remain in history. The Byzantine artist created miraculous works, elevated and lowered people with his brilliant creativity; but his art, because it was in the service of a despotic sultan and an unchanging belief, remained confined in form and fell into narrowness and stagnation.

The Byzantine artist had abundant materials at hand: marble quarries in Proconnesus, Attica, Italy; columns and capitals from pagan temples that could be plundered — wherever those temples still remained; and bricks made from the local dry soil. He usually worked with brick and mortar; this method was suitable for the curved forms that the Eastern style imposed on him. He often contented himself with a cruciform plan — a basilica intersected by a transept and extending to the apse and minaret. Sometimes he turned the long arm of the cross into an octagon, as in the churches of Saints Sergius and Bacchus in Constantinople, or San Vitale in Ravenna. But his outstanding skill, in which none of the artists before or after him could match him, was in building a circular dome over an octagonal base. His favorite means for this was a pendentive; that is, he first built an arch or semicircle of brick on each side of the octagon, built a spherical triangle of brick facing upward and inward between each semicircle, and built a dome on the circle formed by their union. The spherical triangles were the pendentives in question that “hung” from the edge of the dome to the top of the octagon. Architecturally, this circle took the shape of a square; after that the basilica style almost disappeared in the East.

In the decoration of the interior of the building, the Byzantine architect used the skills of several arts to the utmost. He used sculpture less; as much as he paid attention to the abstract beauty of symbolic forms, he was not concerned with displaying the bodies of women and men. Nevertheless, Byzantine sculptors were capable, patient, and talented artists. They carved the “Theodosian” column by combining Ionic “ears” with Corinthian-style leaves, and to make the reliefs fuller and more intricate, they carved many animal and plant figures on this column, which was a complex collection of various combinations. Since the column created in this way was not suitable for supporting a wall or arch, they placed a “pulvino” capital between the column and the arch wall, which was square and wide at the top and round and narrow at the base; and later in time they also decorated this capital with floral reliefs. In this case too, as in the domed square, Iran prevailed over Greece. But later painters were commissioned to adorn the walls with instructive or terrifying images; and mosaicists set cubes of colored stone or glass on floors or walls, or on the altar, or in the triangles between arches, or wherever an empty space confronted the Eastern eye. Jewelers set gems on garments, altars, columns, and walls; woodcarvers carved pulpits and altar railings; weavers provided tapestries and church carpets and covered the altar and pulpit with embroidered and silk fabrics. Never before had any art achieved such richness in coloring, such delicacy in symbolism, such perfection in decoration, and such harmony that soothed the mind and stimulated the soul.

Santa Sophia

Until the time of Justinian the integration of Greek, Roman, Eastern, and Christian elements in Byzantine art had not been completed. The Nika Revolt gave Justinian the opportunity to rebuild his capital like another Nero. In the intoxication of a moment of freedom, the mob burned the Senate building, the Baths of Zeuxippus, the porticoes of the Augusteum, one wing of the imperial palace, and the church of Santa Sophia, which was the seat of the patriarch. Justinian could have rebuilt these buildings on their previous designs within a year or two; but instead he decided to spend more time, money, and manpower and make his capital more beautiful than Rome and build a church that would have more splendor than any other building on earth. Thus he began one of the most ambitious building programs in history: fortresses, palaces, monasteries, churches, porticoes, and gates were erected throughout the empire. In Constantinople he rebuilt the Senate building with white marble and the Baths of Zeuxippus with colored marble; he built a portico and promenade in the Augusteum, and brought fresh water to the city from a new aqueduct that rivaled the best in Italy. He made his palace an embodiment of splendor and luxury: its floors and walls were of marble; its ceiling, with mosaic designs, depicted the victories of his reign and showed senators “in celebration and joy, bestowing honors and almost divine respects on the emperor.” Across the Bosporus, near Chalcedon, he also built the summer palace of Hieron for Theodora and her court. This palace had its own harbor, square, church, and several baths.

Forty days after the Nika Revolt subsided, Justinian began building the new church of Santa Sophia — this church was not dedicated to any saint of that name, but was dedicated to Hagia Sophia (Holy Wisdom, or the Creative Word, or God Himself). He summoned Anthemius of Tralles and Isidorus of Miletus, who were the most famous architects of their time, to design the work and supervise it. These two set aside the common basilica form and designed a plan whose center was a vast dome that rested not on walls but on massive buttresses and was strengthened on the sides by two semi-domes. Ten thousand workers were hired to build this church, and 320,000 pounds of gold (134,000,000 dollars) were spent, and the treasury was completely emptied for this work. The governors were instructed to send the finest remnants of ancient buildings to this new place of worship; several types of marble in different colors were imported from several regions; gold, silver, ivory, and precious stones were sent from all parts of the empire for the decoration of the church. Justinian himself actively participated in the design and construction, and (according to his contemptuous admirer) had a significant share in solving technical problems. Every day he appeared at the work site in a white linen robe, with a staff in his hand and a handkerchief on his head, and encouraged the workers to do their work with competence and on time. The building was completed in five years and ten months, and on December 26, 537, the emperor and Patriarch Menas, accompanied by a splendid retinue of attendants, set out to inaugurate that magnificent church. Justinian walked alone toward the pulpit and, with his hands raised in prayer, cried out: “Thanks be to God who has deemed me worthy to accomplish such a great work! O Solomon, I have surpassed you!”

The ground plan of the church was a Greek cross 76 meters long and 69 meters wide; both ends of the building were covered with a small dome; the central dome was raised over a square formed by the intersection of the arms or transepts of the cross (30 meters by 30 meters); the apex of the dome was 55 meters from the ground; its diameter was 30 meters (10 meters less than the diameter of the Pantheon dome in Rome). The Pantheon dome was a single piece of poured concrete; the Santa Sophia dome was made of brick and consisted of thirty matching panels, which of course, with this arrangement, was weaker than the Pantheon dome. The advantage of the Santa Sophia dome was not in its size, but in its support and buttressing: unlike the Pantheon dome, this dome did not rest on a circular foundation but on pendentives and arches placed between a circular drum and a square base; this architectural problem had never been solved so well before. Procopius describes this dome as: “a work admirable and astonishing … that does not seem to rest on the arches beneath it, but rather appears to be suspended from the height of heaven by a golden chain.”

The interior of the church was a collection of radiant decoration. Colored marbles — white, green, red, yellow, purple, gold — made the floor, walls, and columns of the two stories look like a flower garden. Carefully carved stones covered the columns, arches, triangles between arches, wall inscriptions, and cornices with reliefs of leaves, thorns, and tendrils. Mosaic tiles, unparalleled in size and beauty, were installed on the walls and vaults. Forty silver chandeliers, hanging from the dome’s rim, helped illuminate the church as much as the same number of windows. The sense of spaciousness, which came from the grandeur of the nave and long aisles and the columnless space under the central dome that the viewer felt; the metal latticework of the silver railing in front of the chancel and the iron railing of the upper gallery; the pulpit decorated with ivory, silver, and precious stones; the silver throne of the patriarch; the silver and gold curtain hanging above the altar and decorated with the image of the emperor and empress receiving blessing from Christ and Mary; the golden altar made of rare marbles and containing sacred silver and gold vessels; and in short all these abundant decorations together could have entitled Justinian to surpass the boast of the Mongol kings, who claimed to build like giants and finish like jewelers.

Santa Sophia was both the beginning and the culmination of the Byzantine style. People everywhere spoke of it as the “Great Church,” and even the skeptical Procopius speaks of it with awe-inspiring respect. “When a person enters this building for worship, he feels that the great structure is not the product of human power. … The soul, which soars to heaven in this church, imagines that God is near here, and rejoices in this distinguished house of His.”

After the Turks conquered Constantinople in 1453, they covered the mosaics of Santa Sophia with plaster, because the images depicted on them were considered signs of idolatry; but in recent years the Turkish government has allowed agents, on behalf of the Byzantine Institute of America, to remove the plaster from these unparalleled examples of mosaic art. The Turkish conquerors almost compensated for covering the mosaic images by building four beautiful minarets that perfectly harmonized with the dome’s design.

From Constantinople to Ravenna

Santa Sophia was Justinian’s greatest achievement, which lasted longer than his conquests and laws. But Procopius describes twenty-four other churches that were built or rebuilt by him, and says: “If you see each of them alone you will think that the emperor built only that one and spent all the time of his reign on that single work.” Until Justinian’s death this “madness” of building prevailed throughout the empire; and that sixth century, which marks the beginning of the Dark Ages in the West, was in the East one of the most brilliant periods in the history of architecture. In Ephesus, Antioch, Gaza, Jerusalem, Alexandria, Thessalonica, Ravenna, and Rome, and from Kerch in the Crimean Peninsula to Sfax in Africa, hundreds of churches celebrated the victory of Christianity over paganism and the triumph of the Eastern-Byzantine style over the Roman-Greek style. External columns, architraves, triangular pediments, and friezes gave way to barrel vaults, groin vaults, and domes. Syria in the fourth, fifth, and sixth centuries had a true renaissance; its schools in Antioch, Beirut, Edessa, and Nisibis produced many orators, jurists, historians, and heretics for the world; its artists excelled their peers in mosaic-making, textile weaving, and decorative arts; its architects built dozens of churches, and its sculptors decorated them with abundant reliefs.

Alexandria was the only city in the empire that never ceased to progress. Its founder had chosen its location in such a way that almost the entire Mediterranean world was forced to use its ports and promote its trade; none of its ancient or medieval architectural works have survived, but its scattered remains of metalwork, ivory carving, and wood carving, as well as its portrait art, represent a people who were rich in art as well as in sensuality and fanaticism. Coptic architecture, which had begun with the Roman basilica, became predominantly Eastern during Justinian’s reign.

The architectural splendor of Ravenna began shortly after Honorius made that city the capital of the Western Empire (404). Ravenna prospered during the long regency of Galla Placidia, and its close relations with Constantinople blended Eastern artists and styles with Italian architects and methods. The usual Eastern plan, which consisted of a dome placed with pendentives on the base of the transept of a cruciform church, first appeared in 450 in Ravenna in the mausoleum that was the tomb of Placidia; inside it one can still see the famous mosaic image of Christ in the form of the “Good Shepherd.” In 458 Bishop Neon added a series of mosaics to the domed baptistery of the Ursiana Basilica that included the faces of the apostles. Around 500 AD, Theodoric built a great church for Saint Apollinaris — the Arian follower and famous founder of the Christian community in Ravenna. In this church, on the world-famous mosaics, white-robed saints are depicted with a dry dignity that represents the Byzantine style.

The conquest of Ravenna by Belisarius advanced the victory of Byzantine art in Italy. The church of San Vitale was completed in 547 under the supervision of Justinian and Theodora, who financed its decoration and adorned it with their dignified faces. All indications show that the mosaic images of the emperor and empress are true in every respect and their owners should be praised for the courage they showed in transmitting them to future generations. The figures of these two rulers and the clergy and eunuchs depicted in this building are rigid and angular; their dry frontality is a return to pre-classical forms; the image of women’s garments on the mosaics is a kind of victory in the mosaic art, but lacks the joyful boldness of the image depicting a religious procession in the Parthenon or the image of women or senators on the Altar of Peace of Augustus, and is also devoid of the grace and delicacy of the images depicted on the portals of the two churches of Chartres or Reims.

Two years after the opening of the church of San Vitale, the bishop of Ravenna consecrated the church of Sant’Apollinare in Classe, which was another church for the city’s patron saint. This church was located in the maritime suburb of the city, which was once the base of the Roman fleet. The construction of this church was based on the plan of the old Roman basilica; but in its composite capitals, with the design of acanthus leaves that have a non-classical twist, as if an Eastern breeze had blown over them, the traces of Byzantine art can be seen. Long rows of complete columns, colored mosaics (belonging to the seventh century) under the arches and triangles between the columnar arches, plaster panels in the choir place, and a jewel-encrusted cross on a field of star mosaics in the chancel make this church one of the prominent places of worship in the Italian peninsula, which is almost an art hall.

Byzantine Arts

Architecture was the masterpiece of the Byzantine artist, but around or inside it there were several other arts whose value is unforgettable. He paid little attention to sculpture; the spirit of the time preferred color to line; nevertheless, Procopius praises the sculptors of his time — probably relief sculptors — as equals of Phidias and Praxiteles; and some tombs of the fourth, fifth, and sixth centuries have human images that are carved with Hellenic elegance and confused with a collection of Asian decorations. Ivory carving was a popular art among the Byzantines; Byzantine artists used ivory in diptychs and triptychs, book covers, inlays, perfume boxes, figurines, carved objects, and dozens of other decorations; in this art, Hellenistic techniques did not decline, and only the figures of gods and heroes were transformed into images of Christ and saints. The ivory chair of Bishop Maximianus in the Ursiana Basilica in Ravenna (c. 550) is a great success in a minor art.

While experiments with oil colors were being carried out in the Far East in the sixth century, Byzantine painting remained faithful to the usual Greek methods: the use of tempera colors on wooden panels and sail and linen fabrics; fresco painting, in which colors mixed with lime were applied to moist plaster surfaces; and painting with gelatinous colors and egg white applied to a panel or dry plaster. Byzantine painting knew how to represent distance and depth, but usually relieved itself of the difficulties of landscapes and perspectives by filling the background with images of buildings and curtains. Portrait work was abundant, but unfortunately few of them have survived. Church walls were decorated with wall paintings; the fragments that remain of those paintings show a raw and crude realism: clumsy hands, short limbs, yellow faces, and strangely groomed hair.

The Byzantine artist was fond of and a master of fine work; the masterpieces remaining from the artists of this period are not wall paintings or panels, but miniatures with which he literally “illuminated” the books of his age — that is, brightened them with color. The book, because it was valuable, was decorated like other precious objects. The miniaturist first drew his design with a pen or fine brush on papyrus, parchment, or folded skin sheet, made a background usually in gold or blue; placed his colors in the image, and decorated the background and margins with beautiful and delicate shapes. First he worked carefully on the first letter of a chapter or page; sometimes he portrayed the author’s face; then he adorned the text with images; finally, as his art progressed, he almost forgot the text and turned to lavish decorations; he worked on floral designs or geometric shapes, or chose a religious symbol and repeated it in various ways, until all the pages became a magnificent collection of color and line, to the extent that the text itself seemed to have forcibly entered that delicate world from a harsh world.

Illumination of manuscripts was already common in pharaonic and Ptolemaic Egypt, and from there it was transferred to Hellenistic Greece and Rome. The Vatican Museum has a volume of the Aeneid and the Ambrosian Library in Milan has a volume of the Iliad, both attributed to the fourth century and, in terms of decoration, having a completely classical style. The transition from pagan miniature to Christian miniature appears in the Christian Topography book by Cosmas Indicopleustes (c. 547). This author earned his title from his journey to India, and his fame from his effort to prove that the earth was flat. The oldest surviving religious miniature is from a volume of Genesis that was copied in the fifth century and is now in the Vienna Library; the text is written in gold and silver letters on 24 sheets of purple parchment; its forty-eight miniatures, painted in white, green, purple, red, and black colors, recount the story of man from Adam’s fall to Jacob’s death. Scrolls from the Book of Joshua in the Vatican Museum, and the illuminated Gospels of Rabbula (a monk from Mesopotamia) from 586, are just as beautiful. From Mesopotamia and Syria came forms and symbols that dominated the iconography of the Byzantine world; these forms and symbols were repeated in a thousand different ways in the minor arts and became clichéd and common and contributed to the deadly stability of Byzantine art.

Since the Byzantine painter loved brilliance and durability, he made mosaic-making his favorite means of artistic expression. For building floors he chose colored marble fragments — and this is what the Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans had done; for other surfaces he used glass or enamel cubes, in different colors, with different sizes, but usually 0.8 square centimeters. Sometimes precious stones were mixed with these cubes. Mosaics were often used to make portable images or icons that were to be placed in churches and houses, or taken as aids to worship and security by travelers; but the mosaicist preferred to choose the surface of church or palace walls. The artist in his workshop, on a colored sailcloth that had a design, arranged his cubes experimentally; here he used all his art to create under his hand that precise gradation and blending of colors that could be felt by others’ eyes from greater distances. At the same time, a layer of heavy mortar, and then a layer of fine mortar was spread on the surface to be covered; then the mosaicist, from his cloth sample, pressed the cubes into it. These cubes usually had cut edges in front to catch the light. Curved surfaces, such as domes and semi-domes of apses, were more desirable, because at different times and angles they received soft light and shadow. It was from this laborious art that the Gothic style later drew some inspiration for making colored glass.

In fifth-century texts such glass is mentioned, but no sample of it has survived; apparently the color of those glasses at that time was external and not part of the glass itself. Glass cutting and glassmaking had a thousand-year history at that time, and Syria, which was its oldest center, was still its center. The art of metal and gem carving had declined since the time of Aurelius; Byzantine jewels, coins, and seals usually have weak design and workmanship. Nevertheless, jewelers sold their products to almost all classes of people, because ornament was the soul of Byzantium. In the capital there were many goldsmith and silversmith workshops; inlays, cups, and boxes of sacred objects adorned many altars; and silver vessels were abundant in the homes of the wealthy.

In every house, and almost on every person’s body, beautiful fabrics were seen. In this industry, Egypt with its delicate, colorful, and figured fabrics — garments, curtains, hangings, and covers — surpassed other countries; the Copts were masters in these fields. Some tapestries of this period are almost identical in technique to Gobelin fabrics. Byzantine weavers made brocades, embroidered fabrics, and even figured shrouds — white fabrics decorated with real images of the deceased. In Constantinople everyone was recognized by the clothing he wore; each class valued a specific type of beauty and elegance in clothing; and the sight of garments in a Byzantine assembly resembled a peacock’s tail.

Music was popular among all classes. In the collective prayer ceremonies of the church, music played a very important role and helped the faithful to blend emotions with faith. In the fourth century, Alypius wrote a musical preface whose surviving parts are now our main guide to understanding Greek musical notation. This notation was replaced in that century by special signs called neumes; these signs were apparently introduced to Milan by Ambrose, to Gaul by Hilary, and to Rome by Jerome. In the late fifth century a Greek monk named Romanus combined the words and notes of religious hymns, which still form part of the Greek liturgy and have never had an equal in depth of feeling and power of expression. Boethius wrote an article entitled On Music that expressed a summary of the theories of Pythagoras, Aristoxenus, and Ptolemy; this small treatise was part of the music textbooks in the universities of Oxford and Cambridge until our time.

One must be an Easterner to understand Eastern art. For a Western mind the essence of Byzantine art means that the East has found a great value in the heart and brain of Greece: in despotic government, in the stability of class hierarchy, in the stagnation of science and philosophy, in the church under state command, in a people under the influence of religion, in luxurious garments and magnificent ceremonies, in loud and spectacular rituals, in the enchanting melody of repetitive music, in the glitter that overcomes feelings, in the defeat of naturalism by imagination, and in drowning performing art in decorative art. The spirit of ancient Greece might have found this situation undesirable and unbearable, but Greece itself was now part of the East. Just when Greek life was facing the renewed threat of Iran and the incredible power of Islam, Asian laxity prevailed over Greece.