This is an engaging study in how history is narrativised. The assumptions that Drake draws and frameworks that he establishes make for an enlightening read, even if one might quibble with the utility of certain concepts, despite qualification (for example, ‘conversion’). At the heart of his analysis rest key questions on how individuals and social groups of the fourth century ce used various rhetorical and strategic means to turn supernatural events into a defence of religion and empire. He calls this use and abuse of miracles the ‘governing idea of the century’ (p. 2) and focuses his attention on the figures and miracles associated with Christianity.
This page-turner reads like a serialised novel on the real schemers and scoundrels of the late Roman Empire, written by a seasoned scholar well-versed in the ancient source material and scholarly landscape. Drake's good humour and varied, supporting references (for example, movies, material culture) will interest a wide audience; although his occasional parallelisms with contemporary politics and diversions into ancillary issues may not satisfy all readers.
Spanning eleven short and digestible chapters, Drake begins by defining his project in light of recent theoretical objections to formerly-established descriptive terms, including ‘miracles’, ‘pagan’ and so forth. His discussion of these matters is fair-minded; however, his rationale(s) for continuing to adhere to terms like ‘monotheism’ or ‘paganism’ are not terribly convincing. He runs into additional trouble with certain distinctions; for example, when pitting the gods of the Pantheon against the Jewish/Christian god by virtue of the former's propensity for demonstrating displeasure via ‘natural phenomena – floods, droughts, earthquakes’ (p. 17). Arguably a distinction without a difference. But in adopting a category like ‘miracle’, he is able to ask what work such terms do for those who wield them – in particular fourth-century Christians alternatively facing persecution or exercising power, all while questioning what protections they might reasonably expect from the Christian high god.
Chapter ii begins with an evaluation of the rhetoric of Christian victory with Theodoret's description of Theodosius’ battlefield achievements. Drake begins at the end, as it were, in order to assess how Christians ‘learned to tell’ (p. 28) tales of triumph since Constantine's ‘vision’. As Ambrose attests, Theodoret represents the inflated discourse of the victor. Of particular interest in this chapter is Drake's analysis of the ways in which the ‘pagan’, ‘barbarian’ and ‘heretic’ are constructed as a foil among the proto-orthodox, even against Eugenius (whose Christianity was ultimately ouk hygiōs). Eminently readable, this weaving together of fact and theory unfolds like a historical biopic. Taking a cue from Drake's own political analogies, a figure like Ambrose emerges as the Mitch McConnell of Milan, strategically rebuffing and manipulating the ruling elite through the power of the weaponised sermon dictating, among other things, which miracles of the age are valid.
Chapter iii challenges the anachronistic (and propagandistic) claims to proto-orthodoxy that trouble analyses of Constantine and his so-called battlefield conversion. Here Drake reveals an interest in authenticity that also characterises subsequent chapters. Among the issues he raises is the accuracy and nature of the Chi-Rho described by Lactantius and Eusebius, turning as far afield as ice crystals in southern France (the ‘halo phenomenon’) for a rational explanation (pp. 62–3). He stakes a similar position when playfully debating whether subterranean fireballs at the site of the Temple were caused by methane gas deposits (p. 194) or whether the emperor Julian was on the autistic spectrum (chapter viii n. 14). Selective judgements on which sources are ‘literary fictions’ (p. 66) attend character studies (for example, Constantine, Julian) and the reconstruction of certain events (for example, Acts is taken at face value in chapter x). Concern for historical reliability also finds its way into analyses of material culture – for example, chapters v and vi wherein Drake debates whether the miraculously revealed landmarks of Jesus’ death and resurrection are plausible on the basis of supposed memory tradition(s) (for example, pp. 98ff.). Whether one finds this kind of argumentation useful will likely depend on where one's critical sensibilities lie.
Chapter iv, ‘Miracle doctors’, continues to scrutinise imperial propaganda with an examination of Constantine's strategic association with the Apostle Paul and his conversion. If Paul imagined himself as a new Jonah, Constantine's rhetoric (‘Isapostolos’) found a way to carry this arc forward. Drake considers the revisionist history of Lactantius and Eusebius in detail, including their comparative appeals to the ‘classical’ gods and claims to cohesion. On this latter point, Helena's quest for a material connection to the historical Jesus further establishes orthodox narrative via miraculously discovered relics and spaces. Indeed, the so-called discoveries and ‘royal embellishment[s]’ (p.102) of the august family are the principal focus of chapter v.
Chapter vi, ‘Jews in miracles’, expands on Helena's efforts, beginning with her interrogation of ‘all the leading Jews’ (p. 115) in Jerusalem in her pursuit of the true cross. The ensuing whodunit invokes deathbed confessions, murky timelines and threats and acts of torture (citing Epiphanius’ Panarion, among other sources). Here Drake offers interesting commentary on the anachronism of anti-semitism (for example, pp. 122, 128, 132). And he again highlights the importance of counterpoints in material culture (for example, the Hammat Tiberias mosaic) to help nuance our understanding of how these various religious groups continually negotiated (and renegotiated) their relationships.
Chapter vii champions the advent of the desert saints and their supernatural struggles, linking the ‘tsunami’-like (p. 141) popularity of Athanasius’ Antony both to the developing ‘century of miracles’ (p. 136) and to its allied monastic movement. Perhaps one of the more compelling aspects of this chapter is Drake's use of economic language – that is, language of entrepreneurship and late capitalism – as an antidote to the usual theological discourse (pp. 150ff.). Referring to the ‘relatively young field of “religious economics”’ (p. 151), Drake translates the activities and interests of a man like Antony into a supply and demand chain of ascetic strategies designed to address acute demonic threats. This corner of the field is far more established than Drake attests; none the less, his endorsement offers food for thought on alternative frameworks and their risks. Antony qua holy magnate, for instance, arguably forgets too much of Athanasius’ interests and demands qua author. But the parallel that Drake draws between what he terms ‘postmodernism’ and the ‘language of miracles’ (p. 156) is a helpful, explanatory model for how we might reimagine our traditional approaches to late antique discourse.
Chapters viii and ix address the ways in which ‘proof of divine support’ (p. 159) – more often than not, miracles – was cited, alongside strong rhetoric, as evidence of supernatural favour and superiority. Chapter viii, ‘Miracles on trial’, challenges the worn notion of a ‘pagan revival’ (p. 161) under Julian and suggests a revision in perspective that acknowledges how ‘Julian's Christian upbringing continued to shape his outlook’ (p.168) on matters both civic and moral-psychological. Part of this ‘insider's knowledge’ accounts for Julian's ability to turn the tables on Christian elites and their arguments for exclusivity and exceptionalism. Chapter ix, ‘Failed miracles’, charts the ‘ancient and honorable art of defamation’ (p.182) coopted by Christians who used both miracle predictions and postgame analyses to justify the relative successes and failures in all manner of conflict. From Galerius’ karmically putrefying entrails, to universally ominous earthquakes, miracles were the ultimate in ‘I told you so.’
Chapter x begins with Alaric's sack of Rome and the symbolic significance of the date 410 – not as the end of the Pax Romana, but the end of the century of miracles. This dramatic change in fortunes raises the central question: What did the fall of Christian Rome reveal about the ‘ability of good Christians to be good Romans’ (p. 203)? As Drake playfully notes, she had survived eight hundred years under the rule of the ‘old gods’ (p. 204) and the emperor's genius, yet after twenty years under Christ we find Rome on the brink. Enter Augustine. He of the dual cities innovates on Rome's fall by rhetorically creating the ‘ideal Christian’ (pp. 212ff.) who is but a mere visitor in the earthly realm and whose real residency is in a more spiritual and eternal place. In short, Christian concerns are elsewhere. Miracles were now the currency of individuals, not states. Drake expands upon this closing thesis in his epilogue (chapter xi, ‘The story of Titus’) with the case studies of Titus and Daniel the Stylite and Porphyry of Gaza.
There is a degree to which, in reading this book, one cannot help but reflect on our contemporary moment and political climate (and, indeed, Drake invokes the Cold War throughout). In his first chapter, Drake notes that ‘For the first two centuries of our Common Era, relative stability on the frontiers had allowed Rome's rulers to avoid confronting some basic problems, such as who was responsible for choosing the emperor, how large their military should be and where it would come from, and … who was going to pay for it’ (p. 11). Such insight arguably applies to the ‘empires’ of today, contending with the consequences of avoidance and wilful ignorance. Thus, the relevance of this monograph extends far beyond the century of miracles.
