EDWARDS AND THE QUESTION OF CHARISMATIC SUCCESSION

Edwards’s Tiberius and the Charisma of Augustus situates itself squarely within one of the most enduring debates in Julio-Claudian historiography: the question of why Tiberius, despite his demonstrable administrative ability and long record of military success, consistently failed to win the affection or ideological loyalty accorded to Augustus. While much scholarship has attributed the problem to personality or optics – the gloomy princeps who never wanted power standing in the shadow of a beloved founder –, Edwards approaches the issue through the lens of charisma as theorised by Max Weber and subsequently adapted by historians of political culture. Her central claim is bold but carefully defended: Augustus did not simply possess charisma; he monopolised and institutionalised it. Tiberius’ ‘failure’ was not a psychological deficit or a communications error but the structural outcome of an imperial system that had been deliberately crafted to concentrate the full moral and symbolic weight of authority in one man.

One of the strengths of the book is Edwards’s insistence on reading charisma not as an innate quality but as a discursive construct. Ancient authors, she argues, cooperated in producing and maintaining the idea of Augustan exceptionality, ranging from the Res gestae and the monumental landscape of Rome to the historiographical traditions that framed Augustus as a restorer, peacemaker and quasi-providential figure. In the most compelling chapters Edwards shows how these expectations constrained Tiberius’ manoeuvrability. The successor could neither imitate Augustus without appearing derivative nor deviate from the model without provoking anxiety. The Principate had been built around a single, unique personality; succession therefore introduced conceptual strain. What emerges is a deeply persuasive re-evaluation of the ‘problem of Tiberius’, reframing it as the problem of charismatic transition in an autocracy built on the myth of beginnings.

Yet the book is not without limitations. Its heavy reliance on Weberian categories occasionally leads to over-schematisation, flattening the nuanced political calculations of Tiberius into a series of inevitable failures of perception. At times, Edwards risks reproducing the very discourse she critiques – treating Augustan charisma as an almost supernatural inheritance rather than as a malleable narrative used by multiple actors for varying purposes. The argument might have been enriched by a more explicit engagement with recent work on Roman exemplarity, political memory and the contingent construction of tradition. Nevertheless, the volume remains an important and methodologically adventurous intervention, one that repositions Tiberius within a larger theoretical framework of authority transfer.

LEWIS AND THE POLITICS OF DIVIDED RULE

If Edwards explores the difficulty of inheriting an over-powerful model of imperial charisma, Lewis’s Division of Empire examines the inverse problem: how to govern when no single inheritor is capable of embodying the imperial ideal. The sons of Constantine – Constantine II, Constans and Constantius II – have long suffered from a reputation for chaos, fratricide and ideological conflict. Lewis’s monograph does not excuse their violence, but it places their actions within a sophisticated analysis of collegiate rule, dynastic fragmentation and the structural pressures of governing a vast, diverse and militarised empire.

Lewis’s central thesis is that the Constantinian settlement of 337 ce was not a botched inheritance but an attempt – partially conscious, partially improvised – to create a new model of imperial collegiality rooted in family legitimacy and territorial oversight. Rather than presenting the three Augusti as rivals from the start, Lewis argues that the triarchy initially functioned within recognisable norms: a shared dynastic identity, an inherited Christian ideological programme and a pragmatic division of labour. Conflict, in this view, did not arise from the impossibility of shared rule but from the specific geopolitical challenges and asymmetric resources facing each emperor. Constans’ dominance in the West, Constantius’ preoccupation with Persia and Constantine II’s overreaching ambition ultimately destabilised collegiality, but Lewis convincingly portrays the system as more durable – and more conceptually coherent – than earlier treatments have allowed.

Where Edwards focuses on charisma, Lewis turns to structures: military dispositions, bureaucratic networks, fiscal arrangements and regional tensions. His political analysis is grounded in a strong understanding of administrative history and late Roman geography, and his treatment of Constantius II is particularly insightful. Lewis depicts him not as a paranoid autocrat but as a shrewd long-term strategist who inherited the least stable portion of the empire and nevertheless achieved a consistent, if fragile, ascendancy by 350 ce.

The book’s contribution to Constantinian studies is substantial, but its weaknesses are also clear. Lewis’s reliance on narrative reconstruction occasionally leads to speculative chains of causation, particularly in explaining the psychological motivations of Constantine II and the ideological stance of Constans. More importantly, his emphasis on structural factors sometimes underplays the ideological dimension of the Constantinian project. The Christianisation of imperial authority – so central to Constantine I’s legacy – appears in the monograph primarily as a background assumption rather than as a contested and evolving tool of power. A more robust engagement with the theological politics of the mid-fourth century would have enriched the broader argument. Even so, Division of Empire stands as one of the most balanced and thoughtful studies of Constantinian succession in decades. It challenges the simplistic narrative of inevitable fraternal conflict and instead offers a model of divided rule that was viable until circumstances and personalities stretched it beyond its limits.

MARCOS AND THE INTELLECTUAL NEGOTIATION OF POWER

Marcos’s Emperors and Rhetoricians differs markedly from the other two volumes – not only in chronology, extending into the fifth and early sixth centuries, but also in approach. Rather than focusing on emperors as political actors, Marcos examines the rhetoricians, sophists and bishops who constructed, contested and redefined the language through which emperorship was understood in late antiquity. The result is a deeply stimulating, if occasionally dense, exploration of the ideological ecosystem within which late Roman and early Byzantine authority operated.

The book’s central insight is that rhetorical culture and imperial identity were mutually constituting. Late antique emperors did not merely use rhetoric; they lived within rhetorical expectations. Panegyrists, philosophers and theologians established norms – clementia, providentia, victorious piety, orthodoxy and civic generosity – that the emperor was expected to perform. Imperial ceremonies, court protocols and public appearances became stages on which legitimacy was enacted before a literate and increasingly Christian audience attuned to the subtleties of language. Marcos’s treatment of Themistius, Libanius and Synesius is exemplary in this regard: each represents a different negotiation with imperial power, from cautious praise to philosophical exhortation to ambivalent critique.

The strongest chapters trace how rhetorical traditions adapted to the Christian empire. Marcos argues persuasively that Christian rhetoric did not displace classical political discourse but rather appropriated and reinterpreted it. Emperors were still praised for benefaction and martial virtue, even as bishops introduced new criteria – orthodoxy, divine favour and ecclesiastical cooperation. This hybridity, Marcos contends, allowed for a broader conceptual flexibility than scholars often assume. The emperor could be a philosopher-king, a sacred monarch, a military defender or a penitent ruler, depending on the rhetorical setting. It was this fluidity that enabled late Roman emperorship to survive profound political and religious transformations.

The book’s breadth is both its strength and its weakness. Marcos’s command of sources is formidable, but the density of his argumentation can, at times, obscure the narrative of development. Readers unfamiliar with late antique rhetorical culture may find the book’s structure challenging, and certain sections would benefit from more explicit signposting. Still, as a contribution to intellectual and political history, Emperors and Rhetoricians is impressive: it reframes the exercise of imperial power as an ongoing dialogue between ruler and articulate elite.

COMPARATIVE ANALYSIS: AUTHORITY, LEGITIMACY AND THE RHETORICAL CONSTRUCTION OF POWER

Although the three books differ in chronological focus and methodological approach, they share a set of thematic concerns that illuminate the evolving nature of Roman imperial authority. Each, in its way, addresses the question of how emperors inhabit conceptual roles that are always historically contingent and rhetorically mediated.

Edwards places charisma at the centre of early imperial authority. For her Augustus’ unique status created a paradox for his successors: the more exceptional the founder, the more constrained the inheritor. Lewis, by contrast, explores an institutional alternative to charisma: the bureaucratic and territorial logic of shared rule. His triarchic model highlights the negotiations required when authority is distributed rather than concentrated. Marcos, finally, shifts attention to the intellectual frameworks that shape expectations of imperial behaviour. His emperors are neither fully charismatic nor strictly bureaucratic; they are participants in a rhetorical world that both empowers and limits them. Taken together, these models – charismatic, collegiate, rhetorical – offer complementary lenses through which to understand the longue durée of Roman monarchy. All three authors show that legitimacy is neither static nor guaranteed. It is constantly renegotiated, contested and reframed through discourse, performance and institutional adaptation.

The problem of succession is the most striking point of comparison. Edwards shows how Augustus inadvertently set a trap for his successors by personalising power. Lewis demonstrates that Constantine’s heirs sought to avoid this trap by dividing power along familial lines, only to encounter new difficulties. Marcos reveals that late antique emperors faced their own ideological challenges: they had to persuade rhetoricians and bishops that their reigns aligned with established norms – norms that were themselves evolving. This comparative view underscores a fundamental continuity: Roman imperial power never fully solved the problem of succession, because legitimacy was never fully institutionalised. Whether through Augustus’ charisma, Constantine’s dynasty or late antique rhetorical norms, each new regime had to renegotiate its symbolic foundations.

All three authors implicitly engage with the gap between ideology and political practice. Edwards exposes the disjunction between Augustan myth and Tiberian administration. Lewis highlights the difference between the ideal of harmonious collegiate rule and the realities of regional power. Marcos juxtaposes the rhetorical ideals of justice, piety and philosophic rulership with the often violent and unpredictable realities of late antique politics.

The comparative lesson is clear: emperorship is best explored not as a set of institutions but as a dynamic process of negotiation among actors, discourses and historical circumstances. Each book makes a significant contribution to its respective area of imperial studies: Edwards revitalises the study of Tiberian legitimacy, moving beyond personality-driven accounts and tying the problem to structural charismatic transition. Lewis offers one of the most balanced reassessments of the sons of Constantine, challenging entrenched narratives of inevitable fratricide and elevating the conceptual coherence of late Constantinian rule. Marcos reframes late antique emperorship as a dialogic relationship between rulers and intellectual elites, thereby bridging political history and history of ideas. As a group, the books collectively underscore three major trends in current scholarship: a renewed interest in political culture rather than political narrative; a growing appreciation for the rhetorical and ideological dimensions of power; and a willingness to rethink succession as a conceptual, not merely dynastic, problem. Despite their strengths, all three studies reveal the challenges inherent in synthesising political, ideological and rhetorical history.

Edwards’s Weberian framework, while illuminating, occasionally reifies charisma as a monolithic explanatory device, obscuring the polyvalent nature of Roman exemplarity. Lewis’s structural emphasis downplays theological and ideological change, missing an opportunity to integrate his political narrative with the intellectual history highlighted by Marcos. And Marcos, for all his erudition, sometimes loses narrative clarity in his desire to map the shifting landscape of political discourse. Yet these criticisms reflect the ambition of the works, not their failure. Each author attempts to integrate large theoretical frameworks with detailed historical case studies, and the resulting tensions are productive rather than detrimental.

These three monographs offer a triptych of Roman imperial authority at three transformative moments: the establishment of the Principate, the Christianisation and dynastic consolidation of the fourth century, and the intellectual refinement of imperial ideology in late antiquity. Each study reframes familiar material in innovative ways, and their combined effect is to deepen our understanding of how imperial legitimacy was crafted, contested and reimagined over six centuries of Roman rule. What emerges from this comparative review is a portrait of Roman emperorship not as a static institution but as a constantly evolving conversation between ruler, dynasty, elite and audience. Whether through charisma, collegiate governance or rhetorical persuasion, authority had to be performed and believed. These books show, with admirable clarity, how fragile that performance could be – and how creatively Roman political culture met the recurring challenge of legitimising power.