This chapter concerns itself with the architectural context of Byzantine worship. Through selected examples from Late Antiquity and Byzantium, it traces the development of ecclesiastical architecture, its symbolism, and their theological significance. Starting with the church building in early Christian commentaries of Maximos the Confessor and Germanos of Constantinople, it follows Byzantine architectural developments through the transitional and middle Byzantine periods up to the final centuries before the fall of Constantinople.

The present chapter provides a brief history of Byzantine hymnography, especially its Palestinian and Constantinopolitan origins, as well as insights into the ways different hymn genres work in presenting theological thought to the hosts of faithful in the church space. This is exemplified through an examination of hymns dedicated to the raising of Lazarus. Finally, there is a brief excursus to the apocryphal influence in Byzantine hymnography and, more broadly, liturgical arts and literature.

This chapter examines the Byzantine Rite Divine Liturgy at Hagia Sophia, the Great Church of Constantinople, roughly in the period after the end of Iconoclasm after 843 until the fall of Constantinople in 1453. The beginning of this period coincides with the liturgical texts of the Divine Liturgy in the oldest extant Byzantine euchologion that serve as the basis for the synchronic and thematic analysis of the preparatory rites, the reading of Scripture, the moments of consecration and the reception of communion. Along with the texts of the prayers of the Divine Liturgy from the euchologion, the diataxis (book of rubrics) of Philotheos Kokkinos and Demetrios Gemistos and liturgical commentaries by St Germanos of Constantinople, Nicholas of Andida, Nicholas Kabasilas and St Symeon of Thessalonike are brought together to present a more complete picture of the Byzantine Divine Liturgy. Nevertheless, this is the perspective of the clergy—and not the faithful—since by this time the prayers were recited inaudibly. For a better understanding of what the faithful experienced during the Divine Liturgy, questions of hymnography, mystagogy, movement and participation are briefly examined. Overall, the Divine Liturgy expressed the theology of the Church as a vision of the glory of God and the celebration of the passion, death, burial and resurrection of Christ. Thus, the church became the dwelling place of God—whether in the Great Church of Constantinople or anywhere the Byzantine Rite was celebrated.

The following chapter examines the reception of Byzantium through the lenses of the Church and Orthodoxy. The conventional term ‘Byzantium’ — though currently disputed — remains the most widely used name for the Eastern Roman Empire. Byzantine reception surpasses mere texts; it encompasses Byzantine literature, art, culture and the liturgical tradition. This brief survey opens with a general discussion on Byzantine reception up to the modern era, offering several examples that illustrate how Orthodoxy and the Church, broadly defined, were (re)appropriated in the period following the Fall of Constantinople. It then delves into aspects of Byzantium’s reception intricately tied to the concept of the Church, encompassing both architectural structures and artifacts, as well as religious identities and traditions.

This article explores the theoretical and functional use of the term ‘schism’ in Eastern Christianity from its earliest use in the New Testament through the thirteenth century. While influential theological authorities such as Irenaeus of Lyon and Basil of Caesarea developed precise, technical definitions for what constituted a schism, the rhetorical excesses of ecclesiastical adversaries often deliberately blurred the distinction between schism and heresy. The article pays particular attention to lesser-known events, such as the Acacian Schism and the inner-Byzantine Schism of the thirteenth century, as well as the more well-known schisms such as the Photian Schism of the ninth century and the permanent break between Rome and Constantinople in 1054. The article concludes with an examination of what was and what was not severed between Christian communities in times in schism.

This chapter explores how lay people participated in liturgical singing in the fourth through sixth centuries. Unlike Byzantine writers who explained or analysed particular emotions, liturgical poets situated singers within, beside and against the feelings animating a particular biblical event and its ritualisation. Three types of liturgical singing are the focus of this investigation: 1) psalmody in Jerusalem, as described by the late-fourth-century pilgrim Egeria and prescribed a fifth-century book of ritual instructions (known today as the Armenian Lectionary); 2) sixth-century hymns composed by Romanos the Melodist for specific feast days in Constantinople; 3) a Jerusalem chantbook, which survives in Georgian translation, which expands on biblical odes sung as part of daily lay worship. Although the melodies of these songs are lost, their lyrics provide valuable insights into lay people’s emotions in early Byzantine Jerusalem and Constantinople. With closer attention to performative dimensions of these songs, historians may better understand the emotional experiences of lay congregations.

Representations of Heaven and Hell were of paramount importance in Byzantine monumental art to help the faithful visualise the eternal consequences of their actions. This chapter will explore the synergy between liturgy and the representations of Heaven and Hell within the space of the Byzantine church. Together they alerted all the senses and created a lasting impact on the faithful congregation, an ‘image’ which they could carry with them outside the spatial confinements of the church to enhance their chances in their quest of Paradise. To achieve this, the chapter will engage four case studies dated to the late Byzantine period: the Chora monastery in Constantinople (terminus ante quem 1321), a monument that epitomises Palaiologan art, and three examples from Venetian Crete, a former Byzantine territory that remained religiously and culturally closely attached to the dying empire until 1453. These examples present distinctly different moments in reaching Paradise: Church of St John the Baptist, Deliana (c. 1300?), where the gates of Paradise are depicted hermetically closed; Chora Monastery and Church of the Holy Apostles, Kavousi (first decade of the fifteenth century), where St Peter is about to open the gates of Paradise; and Church of St John the Baptist, Axos (1390s), where the gates of Paradise are open.

Introduction: In this book, we evaluate the ancient testimonia; investigate production materials from Greek and Roman casting debris; look at bronzes inside and out; apply modern technology to reconstructing the ancient industry; and assess the impact of technique on the way in which we understand classical bronze statuary. Furthermore, recognizing post-antique features in restoration, patina, and display can help to correct long-held misconceptions.

Part III of this book reconstructs expectations of official churchgoing and entanglements with churchmen and Christian institutions in select political environments across the fifth and sixth centuries. Ch. 6 pursues this problem in the best attested of these: the Eastern imperial capital of Constantinople. It begins by charting norms of imperial religious observance. Eastern emperors seem to have attended public churches at major festivals and special occasions. Various reports suggest that when the emperor went to church, those who served them (and the senatorial aristocracy as a collective) were supposed to go too. Within these politics of church attendance, the bishop of Constantinople represents a surprisingly peripheral figure. Although some courtiers and bureaucrats were regular attendees at Hagia Sophia, they seem to have kept themselves at a critical distance from the bishop’s pastoral authority. As with other members of the Constantinopolitan elite, many imperial officials focused their Christian identities on activities within their own households, whether these were dynastic commemorations, building projects, patronage arrangements for clerics, monastic start-ups, or their own ascetic practices. This chapter shows how the religious practices and affiliations of these ‘over-mighty congregants’ were also shaped by the corporate Christianity of the imperial palace, consistory, and Senate.

After defeating Licinius in 324, Constantine ruled as senior emperor with his sons and a nephew as junior emperors. In the eastern provinces dedications honored the emperors. At Orcistus in Phrygia a famous set of inscriptions commemorated Constantine’s patronage. Dedications celebrated the emperor’s support in the new capital of Constantinople, as well as at Ephesus, Antioch, and Athens. At Aksum in Ethiopia inscriptions celebrated the victories of king Ezana.

In 1599, the English organ builder Thomas Dallam prepared an instrument for voyage to the Ottoman Empire, a diplomatic gift for Sultan Mehmed III (r. 1595–1603) on behalf of the English crown. Funded by merchants of the Levant Company, the instrument was installed in Constantinople in the Sultan’s harem, the female-centered space of the Ottoman court. The negotiations for this gift were entrusted to two women who navigated the space between the Sultan and the world outside the court: the Sultana, Ṣāfiye Sultan (d. 1619), and her kira, a Jewish woman by the name of Esperanza Malchi (d. 1600). Women negotiated this musical–diplomatic relationship at a time when England was fiercely pursuing trade with the East. By centering a marginalized individual whose actions were enabled by trust and knowledge, I complicate the notion that the harem was an environment in which sexual transactions were the only economy of power.

This chapter discusses the terms in which collective exile experienced by Constantinopolitan refugees was rendered in architecture, by analyzing how Nicaea was renovated into a new exilic capital, replacing Constantinople (New Rome). Extensive fortifications were built around Nicaea, Nymphaion, Heraclea Pontica, Prousa, Smyrna, Tripolis, and Philadelphia. In analyzing their architectural form and the dedicatory inscriptions embedded in their walls and towers, I describe how Nicaea and its surrounding landscape evoked a collective exilic experience for the refugees it protected. As attested by the built environment, these experiences at times align with but also contrast with literary tropes on exile written about by the period’s chronicler, Niketas Choniates. The era of exile is commemorated in the unusual appearance of Jewish exilic leaders and prophets in several dome mosaics of newly renovated works in Constantinople.

The Introduction discusses the role of Constantinople as capital and center of the Byzantine Empire, the so-called Palaiologan Renaissance, and the historiographic consequences of both, particularly upon the study of the Laskarid dynasty during the years 1204−1261.

This chapter focuses on the newly excavated and restored palace at Nymphaion, renowned for its salutary waters and gardens, which had become a secondary imperial capital during exile, and its resemblance to the Palace of the Porphyrogennitos in Constantinople, built in the early Palaiologan period. The architectural form of a rectangular, block-shaped palace with a bath in the lowest story appeared at Nymphaion for the first time and was subsequently brought back to Constantinople and replicated by Michael VIII after 1261. Known as the Tekfur Sarayı, it contains Laskarid imperial iconography on the palace’s columns and walls, illustrating Michael VIII’s reliance on Laskarid artistic sources even after usurping the throne.

Volume I offers a broad perspective on urban culture in the ancient European world. It begins with chronological overviews which paint in broad brushstrokes a picture that serves as a frame for the thematic chapters in the rest of the volume. Positioning ancient Europe within its wider context, it touches on Asia and Africa as regions that informed and were later influenced by urban development in Europe, with particular emphasis on the Mediterranean basin. Topics range from formal characteristics (including public space), water provision, waste disposal, urban maintenance, spaces for the dead, and border spaces; to ways of thinking about, visualising, and remembering cities in antiquity; to conflict within and between cities, economics, mobility and globalisation, intersectional urban experiences, slavery, political participation, and religion.

Byzantine travel accounts written in Greek belong to a wide variety of literary genres and are contained in texts that cross such boundaries as may have existed, given that the concept of genre for the Byzantines was not coherent. The narratives falling within the orbit of Byzantine travel literature vary significantly in goals and approaches; taking the form of – or, in some cases, being incorporated in – pilgrims’ accounts, saints’ lives, memoirs, correspondence, reports of official missions, poetry, chronicles, and prose romances. However, travel writing cannot be said to have been a genre flourishing in Byzantium during the middle and the late Byzantine periods. The travellers’ accounts that came down to us were written by clergymen, male officials, and secular literati. Female-authored ones do not survive; the sole exception being the Alexiad written by Anna Comnena which includes passages describing journeys and expeditions that took place during her father’s Alexios reign.

Ottoman wars from the mid-fifteenth century through the end of the eighteenth century fundamentally changed the geopolitics of Southeast Europe, West Asia, and the Middle East. The Ottomans emerged in West Asia Minor toward the end of the thirteenth century. Known as “Turks” in contemporaneous Europe, the Ottoman ruling elite incorporated people of a wide variety of ethnic origins who considered themselves the followers and descendants of Osman (d. 1324?), the dynasty’s founder. Those loyal to the dynasty of Osman used the Turkish designation of “Osmanlı” (Turkish, “of Osman”), which over time came to be rendered in English as “Ottoman.” Within three generations after Osman’s death, the Ottomans had either conquered or subjugated into vassalage most of the preexisting polities and rival dynasties in the Balkans and Asia Minor. Timur Lenk’s victory over the Ottomans near Ankara in 1402 temporarily checked Ottoman expansion. Still, the dynasty recovered, and by 1453 Sultan Mehmed II (r. 1444–46, 1451–81) sealed the Ottomans’ status as a formidable military power by conquering Constantinople, the capital of the thousand-year-old Byzantine or Eastern Roman Empire. Expansion through conquest continued well into the sixteenth century. Ottoman battlefield victories under Sultan Selim I (r. 1512–20) against the Safavids of Persia (Chaldiran in 1514) and the Mamluks of Syria and Egypt (Marj Dabiq in 1516 and Raydaniyya in 1517) and under Sultan Süleyman (r. 1520–66) against the Hungarians (Mohács in 1526) resulted in spectacular Ottoman territorial gains in eastern Anatolia, Azerbaijan, Syria, Egypt, and Hungary.