Richard Feidler, once a comedian in the show Big Gig, back when the ABC was prepared to try new and controversial material, is now an ABC presenter and author. His work "Ghost Empire" takes the reader to places in Turkey that have historical significance; it's halfway between a travelogue and an historical interpretation of, in large part, the Ottoman Empire. I have the book on my must-read list but have not commenced reading it since Richard gave a very detailed account of it in a podcast. I feel I have already read it.
There's nothing really extraordinary about this work other than the fact that, for nearly every Australian, the history of Turkey, the Ottomans and the area in general is a vast empty chasm. The Roman Empire, we were told, collapsed under attack from the barbarians and the Holy Roman Empire emerged from the ashes, clothed in superstition, fragmentation and regression.
The fact is, the Roman Empire did not fall. The western Roman Empire, poorly defended, corrupt and slowly succumbing to 'barbarian' assault collapsed, but the Eastern Roman Empire continued, for about a millennium. The Byzantium (as it was known) laid the groundwork for much of the scientific, artistic and technological development of Europe. The codification of Roman Law became the foundation of all subsequent Byzantine law and, crucially, served as the basis for the legal systems of most modern European countries. Byzantine scholars meticulously preserved and copied thousands of classical Greek manuscripts, including the works of Plato, Aristotle, Homer, Euclid, and Galen. This transmission of knowledge was essential, as it heavily influenced both the Islamic world and the European Renaissance when Byzantine scholars migrated west after the fall of Constantinople in 1453.
The Byzantines solidified key Christian Orthodox doctrines through Ecumenical Councils. Their literary contributions included significant works of history (Procopius, Anna Komnena) and the creation and use of the Cyrillic script by missionaries like Saints Cyril and Methodius, which spread Christianity and literacy to the Slavic peoples. These traditions are still preserved and observed today. The Byzantine style is recognizable by its masterful use of the dome on pendentives, an innovative structural technique that allows a circular dome to rest securely on a square base. The ultimate example is the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople, an engineering marvel for its time.
The Byzantines developed a unique style characterised by mosaics, frescoes, and the iconic religious painting known as the icon. These stylized, spiritual images established the standard iconography for the Eastern Orthodox Church and greatly influenced medieval art across Eastern Europe and Russia. The empire was renowned for its production of opulent goods like silk, finely carved ivories, and intricate gold jewellery.
While scholarship prioritised theology and law, the Byzantium made several significant technological and scientific contributions, especially in engineering and military science. The most famous invention is Greek Fire, a devastating incendiary liquid weapon (akin to a flamethrower) that could burn on water and was crucial for defending Constantinople. They also made use of counterweight trebuchets and developed an advanced signalling system using beacons across Asia Minor.
The Byzantines established the concept of the hospital as a charitable institution offering comprehensive medical care and the possibility of a cure, furthering the medical traditions of Galen and other predecessors. Architects and mathematicians, notably Isidore of Miletus and Anthemius of Tralles (who designed the Hagia Sophia), applied complex mathematical formulas in their bold architectural designs.
While the western empire focussed on destruction of knowledge, shown in the obliteration of the library of Alexandria, the East maintained the flow of knowledge from generation to generation.
Feidler's journey is one of the discovery of wonders, each which 'blow his mind'. No doubt he, like most Australians, had scant historical understanding of Constantinople (eventually Istanbul), because for us the defeat of our troops at the hands of the Turks was all we needed to know about these people who were, inconveniently for the Empire, defending their homeland. ANZAC Day taught us that they were the enemy. It rarely taught us why they were fighting.
But Gallipoli was not a noble crusade for freedom. It was a late-stage imperial smash-and-grab, a desperate British attempt to break an empire while pretending to save one. We weren’t liberators. We were junior partners in an invasion of a sovereign nation that posed no threat to Australia. Our troops died not for “King and country,” but for a British strategic fantasy drawn up in London by men who would never see the cliffs they sent us to climb.
Had we known the real history of the region — the centuries-long struggle of the Ottomans to hold their world together while European empires carved up anything that couldn’t fight back — we might have told a completely different story on April 25. A story where the Turks weren’t faceless opponents but people defending their last foothold against yet another encroaching empire. A story where the ANZACs were brave, yes, but also pawns in somebody else’s war.
Maybe then, instead of mythmaking about sacrifice, we’d talk honestly about how Australia’s first great bloodletting was spent serving the ambitions of a collapsing empire, not the needs of a young nation or was about brave young Turks defending their country.