January 17, 2025

The Origin of the Carolingian Empire

Many years ago, I rescued a copy of Peter Munz’s essay The Origin of the Carolingian Empire as it was being unceremoniously binned by the University of Copenhagen. At the time, I assumed it dealt with the decline of the Merovingians and the rise of the Carolingians—two topics that, frankly, have always felt a bit like trying to decipher medieval Latin after one too many glasses of wine. With great enthusiasm, I opened it, eager to finally untangle this hazy process with the help of a proper scholarly essay.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that this delightful academic exercise is not so much about how the Carolingians replaced the Merovingians, but rather about the legitimacy, interpretation, and consequences of Charlemagne’s coronation as emperor in Rome on Christmas Day in the year 800. A pleasant detour, no doubt—but not quite the map I was expecting.

Munz’s Main Argument (Sort Of)
The essay’s thesis, in its essence, is that the various historical sources documenting Charlemagne’s coronation are not irreconcilably at odds. Instead, they reflect the perspectives and motivations of different historical actors: Charlemagne himself, Alcuin (his advisor and theologian), the Frankish administrators (who seem to have forgotten they weren’t Machiavelli), and Pope Leo III. If you combine these sources—accepting them as different viewpoints on the same event—you can construct a coherent, if ambitious, narrative of what “empire” meant to each of these groups.

Charlemagne, we’re told, fancied himself a biblical king—think less Thor swinging Mjolnir, more David singing psalms. He followed St. Augustine’s ideas and saw himself as a divinely appointed leader, justly ruling over his Christian flock.

Alcuin envisioned something broader: an imperium that bound church and state, with Charlemagne leading the populus Romanus (a nice Latin flourish for “people under Roman influence,” though no one had asked the Byzantines what they thought).

The secular-minded administrators in Aachen were, according to Munz, less interested in heavenly kingdoms and more preoccupied with earthly power. Their ambitions involved creating an empire with Aachen as its center, free of Roman baggage and built purely on political pragmatism.

Finally, Leo III, at the outset, wasn’t thinking about empire at all. He just wanted Charlemagne’s help to keep those pesky Lombards and other threats at bay. However, he didn’t find his goals incompatible with Charlemagne’s and Alcuin’s loftier visions, which is a diplomatic way of saying he went along with it because it worked out for him.

Munz argues that the coronation wasn’t some grand, premeditated event signaling a unified vision for a new empire. Rather, it was the result of political jostling between these factions, with the coronation itself being a moment of improvisation— though based on an agreed upon compromise.

As someone whose expertise doesn’t extend into the finer points of Carolingian diplomacy, I’ll admit that assessing Munz’s argument is no small task. However, even a humble reader can sense where the essay occasionally takes liberties. For example, Munz seems a bit vague when it comes to Charlemagne’s personal ideas about empire, beyond his penchant for biblical imagery. Likewise, the portrayal of the administrators as secular-minded pragmatists rests on thin evidence, leaving one to wonder if Munz is overreaching to fit his framework.

The essay’s interpretation of multiple viewpoints is undoubtedly clever, but it sometimes feels like watching an overly ambitious juggler: you admire the effort, but you suspect some balls have been dropped.

One area where Munz is particularly convincing is his treatment of Byzantium. He effectively argues that the Eastern Roman Empire played a surprisingly small role in the political calculations of Rome and Aachen.