The transition from early modern Edo to modern Tokyo, from Edoites to Tokyoites, occurred in fits and starts. Some, including leaders of the young Meiji government, sought to remake the city into a showcase of modernity to win the respect of major powers of the Western world and protect their new nation’s sovereignty. A modern railroad and emperor and the capital itself were to be emblems of “civilization” and “progress.” So rose the Shinbashi railroad station, a renovated Imperial Palace, and Ginza Bricktown. Innovations such as the railway changed people’s notions of space and time, and experiences of travel and leisure. At the same time, Tokyo was remade only in bits and pieces, its Edo past leaving an imprint on life in the city and its pastiche of neighborhoods. Pockets of the “low city,” or Shitamachi, swelled with migrants and the urban poor, even as the government and industrialists tried to put a sheen on the government and commercial buildings in the city center. As the nineteenth century turned into the twentieth, the city of Tokyo was becoming not just a modern national capital but also an imperial capital: the home of the emperor and the nucleus of an expanding empire.

One of the most common tenets of royal and messianic ideologies is the notion that the king ruled by divine favor. This ideology was variously signaled, very often by way of omens, dream visions, as well as other predictive mechanisms, epithets, and even the direct intervention of the gods. Chapter 1 explores the way that this ideology takes shape in non-Jewish kingship treatises as well as various early Jewish texts, focusing especially on messianic figures which serve as archetypes for Revelation’s Christ, including King David and the Danielic and Enochic Son of Man.

We then explore Revelation’s appropriation of this ideology, including especially the preponderance of messianic titles as well as the investiture scene in Revelation 5, where the Lamb’s reception of the scroll from the right hand of God signals divine favor and his right to rule on God’s behalf. These strategies for designating Jesus as God’s chosen vicegerent are viewed in light of similar tropes in other early Christian texts.

One of the most common tenets of royal and messianic ideologies is the notion that the king ruled by divine favor. This ideology was variously signaled, very often by way of omens, dream visions, as well as other predictive mechanisms, epithets, and even the direct intervention of the gods. Chapter 1 explores the way that this ideology takes shape in non-Jewish kingship treatises as well as various early Jewish texts, focusing especially on messianic figures which serve as archetypes for Revelation’s Christ, including King David and the Danielic and Enochic Son of Man.

We then explore Revelation’s appropriation of this ideology, including especially the preponderance of messianic titles as well as the investiture scene in Revelation 5, where the Lamb’s reception of the scroll from the right hand of God signals divine favor and his right to rule on God’s behalf. These strategies for designating Jesus as God’s chosen vicegerent are viewed in light of similar tropes in other early Christian texts.

This chapter examines the organisational structure of the ecumenical synods. First, a new interpretation of their organisation is proposed. Whereas earlier scholars have argued for a (con)federal structure consisting of a leading group in Rome and quasi-independent local branches in the provinces, the sources indicate that the ecumenical synods were much more uniformly organised, with a central headquarters in Rome, local headquarters in certain cities and mobile delegations travelling along the agonistic circuits. Next comes an overview of synod officials and a discussion of the finances of the two associations. The chapter then proceeds to discuss the relationship between the synods and the emperor. Whereas several other scholars believe that the synods were a tool with which the emperor kept the agonistic world under control, it appears that the synods had more agency than was earlier assumed. Finally, this chapter analyses other agonistic associations in the Roman empire and their relationship with the ecumenical synods.

This section provides the main argument of the book, followed by historical background on the development of doctrine and devotion to the Virgin Mary up to the end of the fifth century and the flourishing of the cult from that period onward. This section is followed by one on literary genre, which attempts to justify the structure and argument of the book as a whole. A section on gender, which takes into account recent approaches to this subject in the Byzantine context, develops a methodology for studying the cult of the Virgin Mary. The Introduction finishes by outlining once again the goal of this study: it is to assess early and middle Byzantine texts on the Byzantine Virgin according to the diverse settings and audiences for which these were intended.

This section provides the main argument of the book, followed by historical background on the development of doctrine and devotion to the Virgin Mary up to the end of the fifth century and the flourishing of the cult from that period onward. This section is followed by one on literary genre, which attempts to justify the structure and argument of the book as a whole. A section on gender, which takes into account recent approaches to this subject in the Byzantine context, develops a methodology for studying the cult of the Virgin Mary. The Introduction finishes by outlining once again the goal of this study: it is to assess early and middle Byzantine texts on the Byzantine Virgin according to the diverse settings and audiences for which these were intended.

This chapter is mainly concerned with the political ideology, norms and behaviour associated with the Byzantine monarchy. It focuses on how the ceremonial and hierarchies of power played out in Constantinople, assessing contemporary expectations of the role and conduct of the emperor. Such expectations were often revealed most clearly in time of instability, as contemporary accounts of coups indicate. The chapter outlines the ceremonial life of the court and discusses the sacred and secular topography of Constantinople as the stage for the continuous display of elite power. The visual and non-verbal qualities to Byzantine ceremonial culture are stressed, as is the centrality of law to imperial authority, political office and spatial organisation. The principal imperial hierarchies of power (military, civil and clerical) and the relationship of the emperor and patriarch are explored, with women and eunuchs seen as integral to the workings of official hierarchies. Alternative concepts of power began to emerge in the later period, when the empire’s territorial integrity was eroding, yet the long-term resilience of traditional ideology, ceremonies and hierarchies is noteworthy.

This chapter explains how the imperial urban system expanded into south China. After the fall of the Han Dynasty, fighting in the north caused southern migration, particularly after the An Lushan Rebellion in 755. This led to the growth of commercial cities in the Lower Yangzi Delta, which were linked to the northern capitals via the Grand Canal after the reunification of China under the Sui Dynasty. At the same time, Chinese cities were linked to the medieval international world over land along the Silk Road, and over sea via Guangzhou. In northern capitals, which reflected the influence of the Kaogongji, cities continued to be walled and divided into wards. However, in the Lower Yangzi Delta commercial cities were more open plan. Meanwhile, the arrival of Buddhism and Daoism into China brought monasteries and temples into cities, while monks began to take responsibility for aspects of urban governance along with imperial officials. Wards divided cities socially as well as physically. The wealthy enjoyed lavish lifestyles, built palaces and mansions, donated to monasteries, and constructed gardens. Goods and people from outside China made cities more cosmopolitan, and writers reflected on this and other aspects of urban life in their poetry.

The chapter describes how the Chinese imperial urban civilization emerged. The urban system developed from a loosely linked collection of cities into an imperial network with the main capital, Chang’an, as the political, economic, and cultural centre. Roads and waterways allowed goods and people to move around the empire, and trading routes to the west linked China to central Asia and beyond. From their origins as small settlements with earthen walls, Chinese cities developed according to prescribed plans that linked imperial power on earth with divine power in heaven. These were set out in the Record of Investigation of Crafts (Kaogongji), an ancient Chinese text. Chinese cities became nodes in an imperial bureaucracy, and although there was no autonomous municipal government, in Chang’an and other capital cities, officials were responsible for urban management. Chinese cities had an urban culture. Kings and emperors lived in their palaces, only emerging to conduct rituals such as sacrifices to ancestors and gods. An imperial administrative elite ran the empire, and merchants, shopkeepers, and artisans traded goods and set up businesses in markets in Chang’an and other cities, which were described in poems that reflected on urban life.

During the Tang-Song transition, urbanization created regionally distinct hierarchical networks of large and small cities, market towns, and villages, which were closely connected in complex economic, social, and political relationships. The Lower Yangzi Delta was the most urbanized region of China, and remained linked to northern capitals via the Grand Canal. Within Chinese capitals, emperors, aristocrats, and officials remained enclosed within palace and imperial cities. Outside, the ward system broke down, and in many smaller cities there were no walls at all. Now commerce could be found along every street, and it also brought new forms of social organization and governance. Merchants organized different trades into guilds and took their place alongside the state and religious institutions in governing urban life. In capital cities, imperial families continued to assert their symbolic right to rule through participation in now well-established rituals. Elsewhere, people from all social classes were more invested in the urban life of their city, and distinct urban cultures emerged. Local gentry wrote urban histories and guides, bought and sold property, and invested in businesses or religious institutions. They describe lives of urban men and women in levels of detail that do not exist for earlier eras.

Completing the trajectory of the book through text, illustration, recitation, architecture, and iconography, this final chapter looks at a case study for the intersection of text, image, and sound in Hagia Sophia. By looking at a sixth-century plaque from the church’s original construction and its afterlife over the centuries, the chapter studies how iconographies develop and change through various uses and contexts of display, and how these shifts alter the resonances with which the reading of the Gospel in the church was understood. The chapter seeks to unsettle our expectations of iconography and how ritual and space intersect with one another.

This chapter examines the role that the Roman imperial court played in the genesis of imperial imagery intended for public display. It argues that the realities of court society have implications for hypothetical reconstructions of who commissioned, designed, and approved such images: ostensibly independent sites of decision-making – ‘senate’, ‘inner circle’, ‘moneyers’, ‘emperor’ – were deeply interconnected. Furthermore, the influence and power of different individuals and groups at court ebbed and flowed, and although such changes never guaranteed particular images, they set new limits on what was possible. With controversial images, artists and their patrons could also exploit the fact that viewing is always conditioned by the viewer’s background knowledge and assumptions, so different audiences could be encouraged to see different things in the same image. A detailed case study of public images of the emperor in the presence of members of his guard units is used to illustrate how some images became more (and then less) possible over time, and how different types of viewers were invited to see varying things in the same image.

Discussions of the Emperor Meiji are typically absent from histories of modern Japan’s interstate relations; modern Japanese diplomacy does not feature in the many extant studies of the emperor. I propose that these are shortcomings that need addressing. In this chapter, I argue that the Meiji emperor played a critical role in the development of modern Japan’s interstate relations, and that he did so by deploying what I call “ornamental diplomacy.” “Ornamental diplomacy” refers to the emperor’s engagement with foreign sovereigns through the exchange of collars, cordons, medals and ribbons, those material objects that constitute all modern honors systems. I explore the fashioning of the modern Japanese honors system in the early Meiji period, and its deployment by the emperor in rituals of diplomacy within the imperial palace. I highlight the strategic, contested nature of this sovereign-centered diplomacy by making special reference to the ornamental dimension to Japan’s relationship to China and to Britain. The time frame for this discussion is 1868 to 1894.

Command hierarchy is as much in evidence as status hierarchy in this first age of papal decretals, though the two structures do not map tidily on to each other. By the end of the fourth century a complex chain of command with many levels had developed in the Christian Church. The bishop in his city played a pivotal role, but below bishops were large communities of clerics, sometimes running their own churches, and between an ordinary bishop and the bishop of Rome there might be two layers in the hierarchy of authority. This hierarchy of power regulated elections to bishoprics. It went with an increasingly precise geographical division of the Christian world into dioceses. Could a cleric move from one diocese to another? This was the kind of practical problem that arose.

This chapter reconstructs the liturgical context of two chronicle entries about Princess Olga of Kiev: the account of her baptism in Constantinople in 955 and the panegyric following her death in 969. The chapter demonstrates that the tale of the princess’ baptism derives, in part, from the tenth-century baptismal rubrics of Hagia Sophia in Constantinople. In the liturgical manuscripts, every word and action for the baptismal ritual is spelled out for the priest performing the service. In the chronicle, the prelate and princess act out these ritual behaviours between baptiser and baptised, precisely as they are prescribed in the church books. The chapter also uncovers the liturgical typologies in the text. In 955, Princess Olga is depicted as a ‘Slavic Mary’ using hymns from the major feasts of the Mother of God, and in 969 she is cast as the ‘Slavic Forerunner’ using hymns from a series of feasts surrounding the conception and birth of major sacred figures, such as Saint John the Baptist. The ‘blessed Olga’ is thus best understood not as a biblical or hagiographical creation but rather as a liturgical one. She is a textual figure fashioned from the songs, prayers, and readings of the Byzantine rite.