Constantine, the first Christian emperor, has adamantly refused to wear the straightjacket that, for the better part of two centuries, scholars have tried to put him in. What might be called the “orthodox position” holds that the sincerity of Constantine's conversion must be measured by the vehemence of his antipathy to paganism: any sign of compromise or cooperation is prima facie proof that his conversion was not sincere. But such signs abound, often nestled against others of an unwavering commitment to his new faith (see, for instance, his famous “Letter to the Provincials” in Eusebius of Caesarea's Life of Constantine 2.60, where the emperor simultaneously denounces “the customs of the temples and the agency of darkness,” yet permits their continued practice). More than one scholar has succumbed to the temptation to ignore such contradictions in pursuit of a tidy thesis, but with this book, Noel Lenski presents a Constantine who was both—a sincere convert whose position hardened over time, a conclusion he sees as “impossible to deny” (233), yet also “an emperor whose primary concern was always loyalty to his regime rather than strict adherence to his religion” (228).

His approach is what allows Lenski to knit together these seemingly irreconcilable positions. Informed by reception theory, which emphasizes the role that different audiences can play in shaping the meaning of an action, Lenski vigorously rejects the notion of “an essential Constantine” (7), arguing instead for an emperor who should be understood in a dynamic fashion, shaped and reshaped not only by his own evolving understanding, but also by the efforts of his subjects to influence his agenda by means of the process that Fergus Millar identified in The Emperor in the Roman World (Cornell University Press, 1977) as “petition and response.”

This is the reason Lenski links Constantine in his title to “the cities,” rather than the traditional yokemates of “Christianity” or “the Church.” The link does not mean that his book is about administration, even though in many ways it does indeed serve as a tutorial in the late Roman conduct of public affairs. Rather, the title signals an approach that goes beyond Constantine's “self-witness”—a term made popular by H. Dörries, Das Selbstzeugnis Kaiser Konstantins (Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1954)—to embrace the surprisingly full record of Constantine's interactions with a wide variety of cities, large and small, east and west, Christian and pagan. The result is a more nuanced picture of an emperor who, despite his vigorous promotion of a Christian agenda, remained committed to a policy of “pragmatic tolerance” and “uneasy with the idea that he might alienate any constituency” (233). There are scattered instances of coercion, but, for the most part, Constantine negotiated, taking advantage of traditional civic rivalries to reward Christian cities and prod pagan ones.

The book is divided into four parts. The first, “Constantine's Self-Presentation,” is a succinct overview of the Constantine problem that provides all the relevant information and could stand by itself as a “state of the question” study for beginning students. In it, Lenski questions the assumption that there is “an essential Constantine” (7) and cautions against “assuming that this same Constantine was available for viewing to all audiences” (83). Part Two, “The Power of Petitions,” demonstrates a key part of Lenski's thesis through analysis of two famous inscriptions, one from Orcistus in the east, the other from Hispellum in the west. In the third, “Reconstructing the Ancient City,” Lenski gauges the combined effect on civic revenue of Constantine's appropriation of temple treasure and other sources of civic income, as well as the effect of his church-building program and extension of new powers to Christian bishops on traditional power structures. The final section, “Alternative Responses to Constantine,” summarizes the conclusions from earlier sections, but also provides what amounts to case studies of the way Constantine dealt with opposition from and dissent among Christian communities.

If the Devil truly is in the details, then Lenski has defeated the Prince of Darkness on his own turf. His is a richly detailed study, but one that never loses control of evidence garnered from a wide variety of sources, including inscriptions, laws, and archaeology. Instead, these details combine to create a richly textured context that arguably is the greatest of this book's many distinctions. His command of this vast trove of information has broadened the scope of a question that often has been limited to the traditional interests of Church history. Ecclesiastical disputes are by no means absent, but Lenski insists on reading them as part of the traditional environment of civic politics, dismissing the separation of the two as “artificial” (277).

Every chapter is packed with valuable evidence and Lenski's clear-headed reasoning, but two are real standouts. Chapter eight, “Redistributing Wealth,” is a wide-ranging discussion of the legal ramifications of Constantine's confiscation of civic revenues that fleshes out the emperor's religious actions by tying them to specific examples of their effect on city treasuries. Chapter twelve, “Resisting Cities,” uses a postmodern understanding of violence as another form of discourse to re-evaluate instances where Constantine tried to use coercion to suppress dissent, and concludes that such efforts were counter-productive: by attacking those who resisted, Constantine was unable to lay controversies such as “Donatism” to rest; instead, he only hardened the opposition and dragged out the dispute (231).

There are areas that could benefit from a broader perspective. Constantine's views on his relationship to deity, for instance, seem less unique when considered in the context of late Roman imperial ideology, and it is always worthwhile to remember that our own interest in religious rivalry does not necessarily reflect the priorities of civic elites. But these are small concerns about a book that provides precisely what the field has lacked—a coherent theoretical framework for understanding Constantine's disparate and even self-contradictory actions.

There will always be room for one more book about Constantine; most will soon be forgotten. This one will last.