Justinian I was a busy man, and he wanted his subjects to know just how much he did for them. Take the preface to the first of his Novels— ‘new constitutions’ — issued just three days after Justinian’s revised Codex of all previous imperial legislation came into force. Justinian lists in detail his numerous military victories, before assuring his subjects that he was equally dutiful about solving their private concerns, such as the present aspect of inheritance law. At least in terms of quantity of legislation, Justinian lived up to his boast. Between 535 and 544, 120 novels were issued in great legislative pulses. Thereafter, the pace declined if never entirely ceased. We read of market gardeners conspiring with valuers to defraud landlords (N.64), and property developers using sharp practices to evade the law protecting sea-views in the capital (N.63). We hear of elites suborning imperial soldiers into their own service (N.116) and evading taxes (Edict 13). Homosexuality (N.141), bride abduction (N.143), and even prostitutes dressing up as monks and nuns (N.123) attracted Justinian’s legal ire. We encounter bankers (N.136) and beggars (N.80), foundlings (N.153), and pimps (N.14). It is hard to think of a topic that Justinian did not issue a law about.
The richness of these laws is astounding. It allows us to inspect Justinian’s regime to a degree that is remarkable for the pre-modern world. One can see Justinian adopting the guise of the historian inventing pasts to legitimize provincial reform (Ns.24-30), or of the doctor changing his prescription when his original medicine did not work (N.111). Such rhetorical strategies were united behind a more consistent ideology of the God-chosen emperor bringing order to a constantly changing world. Nor is it just the voice of Justinian that is heard, or indeed those of his immediate successors Justin II and Tiberius, seven of whose laws also survive in this collection. Rather we can trace the influence of ministers, officials, and even petitioners. For instance, we are told of a mother and daughter squabbling over an inheritance, in the process citing different pieces of previous legislation, including by Justinian (N.2).
Scholars have long known that we possessed a treasure house in the form of the 168 Novels—in reality 165, as two were repeated and one survives in Latin and Greek—13 Edicts and assorted appendices contained in volume 3 of the Corpus iuris civilis, edited by Rudolf Schoell and Wilhelm Kroll. Accessing it, however, was not easy, especially for newcomers to the intricacies of the period and Roman law. Generations of scholars should, therefore, delight in the monumental achievement of the late David Miller and of Peter Sarris in not only translating this vast, varied, and often highly complicated body of texts, but also providing a superb commentary to guide the reader.
Previous English translations exist; however, their principal flaw was that they worked from Latin translations, not the original Greek. The current translation has also benefited from decades of philological, legal, and historical scholarship. M. informs us in his brief preface that he has attempted to translate as closely and literally from the original as possible. The result remains eminently readable while at same time conveying the many different tones, by turns triumphant, urgent, florid, hectoring, pedantic, indignant, righteous. As part of that literal translation, M. renders the ubiquitous theios as ‘divine’ rather than ‘imperial’. It can be jarring hearing of ‘divine commands’, ‘divine directives’, or the ‘divine crown treasury’. This is not a criticism. It is useful to be jarred, to be reminded that Justinian’s world was suffused with religious terminology and ideas. On the other hand, translating politeia mostly as ‘realm’, while perfectly legitimate, is more controversial given the trenchant arguments of Anthony Kaldellis in The Byzantine Republic (2015) for the rendering: ‘republic’. Had that been done it would have made the declaration of N.45 that this was the orthodoxos politeia, ‘the orthodox republic’, more striking.
S’s 51-page introduction is excellent. It gives sufficient information about Justinian and his world, the novels themselves, and their transmission, to set the scene. There is also a succinct but powerful case made for these laws being much more than rhetoric—though there is that aplenty—but as both reflecting and shaping society. S. brings an in-depth knowledge of other sources, notably Procopius and the papyri, to bear on the laws, further demonstrating that these laws had real world impact, if not always in the way Justinian anticipated. Each law is given an extensive if not exhaustive commentary, usually consisting of a lengthy first footnote giving the context and key points of the text, followed by shorter notes for particular terms and aspects. For the historian the level of detail is perfectly pitched. For legal scholars there is perhaps a little too much reliance on Berger’s Encyclopaedic Dictionary of Roman Law (1953).
Inevitably, in an ideal world one could add more. For instance, occasional reference is made to later Byzantine law, but more could have been done. A table listing the dates and recipients of the law would be useful. If cost and length were no object, having the facing original Greek would be wonderful. Furthermore, some of the commentary is reliant on a single reference that can lead it astray. For instance, N.12 footnote 1 relies on Goody, Development of the Family and Marriage (1983) for the idea that first cousins were barred from marriage. Yet not only do the Novels not explicitly say this, first cousin marriage was explicitly allowed by the Institutes (I.1.10.4) and the Codex (C.5.4.19). This has an impact on the interpretation of Novels 139 and 154.
These are minor quibbles. This is a superb work that has dramatically improved access to some of the most important texts from the late antique world, and Miller and Sarris should be highly praised for their extensive labours.
