Rethinking Constantine: History, Theology, and Legacy. Ed. by Edward L. Smither. James Clarke, 2014. x + 167 pp. $20.00 paperback Rethinking Constantine? An old Chinese proverb says that every phenomenon has three sides—the one that you see; the one that I see; and the one that none of us sees. This is true about Constantine as well. Among scholars, the emperor has been perceived as a mere ‘political pragmatist’ (Burckhardt and Grégoire), a ‘committed Christian’, who had a ‘personal relationship with Christ’ (Odhal), and/or ‘a well-known figure of whom we know too little’ (Edwards). This suggests that perhaps both demonology and hagiography should be avoided in reconstructing this intriguing figure who, no doubt, wanted to be perceived as the first Christian Roman emperor (Origo Constantini Imperatoris 6.33). Evidently, in 2012, there was ‘a number of conversations’ (p. 3) at the annual meeting of the Evangelical Theological Society, which resulted in a collection of articles by seven patristic scholars. Their goal was nothing less than to rethink and reassess Constantine. This is explicitly stated in the editorial Introduction (p. 2), as well as reiterated in the Epilogue (pp. 146-9). Bryan Litfin, the eloquent author of the Epilogue, claims that this book ‘helps us imagine the first Christian emperor in a more accurate way’ (p. 146), as well as corrects ‘some misconceptions that will no longer make their way into the imperial portraiture of Constantine the Great’ (p. 149). However, at least to the current reviewer, this looks a bit like an overstatement. Arguably, the 167-page volume amends the controversial assertions of a few particular Constantine scholars, but it hardly reshapes (for better, of course) the whole field so that no one will ever say the things that the authors of Rethinking Constantine have rejected as inadequate. But why such reservation about this project? The editor, Edward Smither, explains that the reassessment is threefold: it re-examines ‘the history surrounding Constantine’s life’, his connection to the ‘development of Christian theology’, and ‘his legacy regarding the church’ (p. 2). To be frank, every scholar, who has been interested in Constantine and his relation to Christianity, has tried to do this. How would such an approach justify the prefix ‘re-’ in ‘rethinking’? Glen Thompson provides a beautiful opening accord to the whole collection by offering a brief but helpful overview of the current state of Constantinian studies. He highlights the contribution of Timothy Barnes (especially his monograph of 2011), and ends by mentioning the massive study of Jonathan Bardill (2012). After that and with good justification, he wonders about ‘what is meant by Constantine becoming a Christian’ (p. 9). (This intriguing question has most recently been deconstructed by O’Donnell [2015], 142-3.) Thompson proposes to get guidance from the church’s own definition of ‘conversion’ and, of course, finds out that this definition ‘does not seem to fit Constantine well at all’ (p. 10). Constantine saw a vision, which gave him the ‘sign’ with which he could be victorious. His bishop-advisers later helped him to identify the deity in his vision as Christ (VC 1.32) and Constantine publicly supported Christianity ever after. Yet, his ‘conversion’-narrative does not include keywords, such as ‘sin’, ‘grace’, ‘repentance’, ‘forgiveness’, and above all, ‘baptism’. Therefore, Thompson wisely stays away from making any radical claims about Constantine’s Christianity (though still regarding him a ‘devout Christian’ [p. 18]). Instead, Thompson suggests that the notion simul iustus et peccator might be a more adequate way of thinking about the allegedly Christian Constantine. This is definitely better than any of the one-sided verdicts, but perhaps the question remains, ‘At what point the symbiotic alternatives start cancelling each other out?’ Furthermore, it is not difficult to show that Constantine qualified as peccator before his baptism (and Thompson knows this well), but what about simul iustus, if justification is indeed linked to baptism? Brian Shelton focuses on Lactantius’ role in the shaping of Constantine and his religious policies, in order to counter the perception of Constantine as an instigator of the persecution of ‘pagans’. Shelton proceeds by quoting heavily various Lactantius scholars (e.g., Digeser) and is, no doubt, right in what he contends. Yet, what remains unclear is how all this exactly constitutes ‘rethinking Constantine’ (p. 36), as Lactantius and his influence on Constantine has already been taken seriously by various scholars (e.g., Decker, 1978). David Alexander authors the longest essay in the collection (pp. 37-90). It is about Constantine and his role in the Donatist schism which definitely deserves a close study. One wonders nevertheless whether the Synod of Rome in 313 put the church ‘at odds with the bulk of the North African church’ (p. 61; cf. p. 68, n. 135; 80; and a qualification on p. 86) over the theological issue of rebaptism. This had actually been the dividing issue since the time of Cyprian and Stephen, as well as the decision of eighteen Numidian bishops at the Council of Carthage in 255. Another issue is whether the Council of Arles and its decisions provide ‘a unique window into Constantine’s personal spiritual and religious development’ (pp. 71 and 87). What comes to mind here is Drake’s wise warning that imperial policies, even if they concern the church, should not be mistaken for anyone’s personal beliefs (1989, 43-51). Edwards seconds, ‘All history warns us not to deduce the religious beliefs of a monarch from his political morality’ (2015, 183). In addition, Constantine learning new stuff during the controversy about the church in various regions—which is beyond doubt and skillfully described by Alexander— still does not add up to make the claim that Constantine ‘had personally experienced God’s grace’ (p. 88) in that time period. True, Constantine’s post-conciliar letter (Optatus, c. Don. App. 5) stands out because it is the first time that the emperor mentions Christ in his correspondence. Yet again, this fact may testify to the emperor’s growing knowledge of Christianity, but it does not necessarily say anything definite about his own religious convictions. One’s knowledge about a religion does not make him/her a follower of this religion and vice versa, one’s ignorance of a religion does not prevent him/her from being a follower of a given religion. In any case, Alexander’s essay certainly provides a clearer picture of how the early Donatist controversy shaped Constantine’s relation to the church and his later dealings with it. Good stuff! Jonathan Armstrong promises to provide new evidence from Eusebius’ Commentary on Isaiah (the translation of which he published in 2013) on his Trinitarian theology. No doubt, one needs to read Eusebius as much as one can, because his writings are among the best contemporary sources about Constantine. But Armstrong goes further than that. He urges his readers to reconsider the semi-subordinationist Eusebius in the light of the allegedly ‘orthodox’ statements that he makes in his late biblical commentary, and consequently also to trust his earlier comments about the Council of Nicaea as true in the historical sense. The problem is, however, that the evidence that he provides for ‘a clearly orthodox Trinitarian theology’ (p. 94) of Eusebius, just does not make him either ‘orthodox’ or pro-Nicene. Speaking about the ‘divinity’ of the Son, Eusebius still thinks of the ‘only-begotten divinity’ of the Son and not the ‘unbegotten divinity’ of the Father (cf. Dem. ev. 4.3; and the quote given on p. 96). The unbegotten divinity of the Father ‘precedes the Son, and has preceded him in existence’, not in time, but ‘before all ages’ (Dem. ev. 4.3, 5.1; cf. p. 95). Thus, the nebulous statement about the Father and the Son ‘being from one beginning’ (p. 100) neither indicates co-eternity nor overrules Eusebius’ earlier and more clear statements about the Trinity. It is also not ‘orthodox’ and definitely not pro-Nicene. At least, this reviewer is not convinced that ‘Eusebius had fully accepted Nicene orthodoxy at the end of his life’ (p. 104) and that consequently, Eusebius’ portrayal of Constantine and his role at the Council of Nicaea has to be rethought (cf. p. 148). Only the middle section of Paul Hartog’s essay on Sunday observance concerns Constantine. The rest is about the ‘fall of the church’ paradigm and the contemporary denominational justification of keeping (or not) the Lord’s Day. Yet again, the contention that Sunday was already observed before Constantine’s edict of 321 (e.g., shown by Giradet [2008], 344-57) hardly constitutes a rethinking of Constantine and his role in traditional Sunday observance. Edward Smither assesses the continuation of missions in the Constantinian ‘state-church paradigm’ (p. 131) and begins by correcting Leithart, who had called Constantine the ‘first Christian emperor’ (p. 132)—a baptized(!) King Trdat (Tiridates III) beat him by decades. However, the rest of the article is again about other things than Constantine. Despite all criticisms and the fact that this book does not amount to a grand-scale rethinking of Constantine (nor to Constantine being ‘touched up and redrawn’ [p. 149]), this collection of essays is a stimulating one after all. Perhaps the primary reason is that Emperor Constantine never ceases to fascinate. His story is like a good tale which has something for everyone—a quest for power, military campaigns, political intrigue, scandal, murder, religious disputes, demonstrations of piety, and lavish projects. No wonder that throughout the centuries, he has provoked various interpretations, debates, and speculation. It has never been dull and boring with him. Tarmo Toom Georgetown University