For those feeling disillusioned by years spent on ineffective globalist policies, Marco Rubio’s recent speech in Athens was, perhaps, a refreshing change. He argued that nations ought to prioritize their individual interests, regain faith in their heritage, and collaborate from a position of strength rather than weakness. This perspective almost feels too obvious, right?
Rubio’s chosen venue underscored his message. Standing at the Pnyx near the Acropolis, he encapsulated the essence of America’s heritage through significant historical milestones—from Athens to Rome, and onward through Christendom, medieval Europe, and England. He urged the West to rekindle its ambition, confidence, and sense of national power, delivering his message in notably grandiose terms.
Yet, there was a notable absence in his address. One key part of history—namely the thousand-year stretch of the Eastern Roman Empire—was largely overlooked. This empire, based in Constantinople, played a critical role as the bastion of a Roman Christian civilization that endured long after the Western political structures had disintegrated.
It’s striking to consider that the last refuges of Byzantium fell just decades before Columbus set sail for the Americas. Reflecting on that time, thirty years back marked the arrest of the Unabomber and the arrival of the Motorola flip phone, a particularly iconic moment in tech history.
It’s probably not surprising that Byzantium received limited attention during Rubio’s speech. The Eastern Roman Empire has often been neglected by the West, despite its long history following the fall of its Western counterpart. There are multiple reasons for this oversight. One might be that the contemporary West has focused obsessively on its own political evolution—revolutions, constitutions, ideological conflicts—while the East seemed to stagnate, trapped in an outdated narrative.
In the Western view, “Byzantium” has become a metaphor for decay, intrigue, and despotism. The action shifted to the Latin West, which framed itself as the victorious civilizational force against Islamic advances. This narrative, however, is quite a narrow self-perception. Ignoring the Eastern Roman Empire strips the West of crucial lessons that could guide it through today’s complex geopolitical realities.
The Eastern Romans endured centuries of strife, constantly defending themselves against formidable neighboring powers. Their long-standing rivalry with Persia climaxed in destructive wars, leaving both sides weakened. Before long, Arab armies streamed into territories that had been contested for centuries. Moreover, one of the worst blows to Byzantium came not from outside but from within, when the Fourth Crusade misguidedly targeted Constantinople in 1204, leading to its sacking. Although it was restored in 1261, it never regained its former glory.
The crux of the matter isn’t that the modern West should formally apologize to Byzantium—although a touch of historical humility would be beneficial. Rather, the essence lies in recognizing that civilizations sometimes find themselves in prolonged, often grueling battles that demand a sober reflection on spiritual resilience. Presently, the West seems dangerously lured by visions of quick, glorious victories, overlooking the complex nuances of the geopolitical landscape.
Some Byzantine emperors were aware of this seduction. Nikephoros II Phokas, who ruled in the late 10th century, achieved significant military victories against Islamic forces and sought religious acknowledgment for his fallen soldiers as martyrs. However, the church denied his request, citing the spiritual principle that military success doesn’t automatically entail holiness. This serves as a prudent reminder for contemporary leaders—that defeating adversaries by any means does not equate to moral high ground.
Furthermore, healthy, independent churches play an essential role in checking political leaders who might overreach in their authority. Polyeuctus’ response to Nikephoros points to a greater truth: true spiritual leadership emerges not from top-down power but from individuals committed to genuine self-improvement and moral integrity.
It could be beneficial for the West to realign its political practices in this direction—not as a retreat into obscurity, but to gain clarity and responsibility amid significant divisions and uncertainties. Much of the current chaos stems from attempts to translate political power, bolstered by advanced technology, into a new form of authority.
Rubio’s call for the West to remember its identity is pertinent. Nevertheless, merely looking back to Athens and Rome is insufficient. “Christendom” feels a bit hollow if we disregard the Eastern Roman Empire, which preserved Roman Christianity for a millennium while the West was undergoing immense transformations.
Overlooking the Eastern Romans—or assuming they have nothing relevant to offer—leaves us not only poorer but also more arrogant and ill-prepared for future challenges.
