Hadrian and the Triumph of Rome (2009) by Anthony Everitt

It is impossible to pinpoint the high watermark of the Roman Empire, but one could make a strong argument for the reign of Hadrian (117-138 AD). His long, sober and steady leadership was a conscious emulation of Augustus, the first and arguably greatest Caesar – modest, congenial and wise.

Just as Hadrian was a worthy, but unequal successor to Augustus, so too is this biography, coming on the heels of Everitt’s popular biography of the Princeps. The writing is as compelling as ever, but the lacunae in the historical record hamper the tightness of the narrative. I suppose there is nothing Everitt can do about that. But his attempt to fill in the blanks reminded me of another phenomenal biography of an ancient great where fact and myth blend into a foggy concoction: Robin Lane Fox’s “Alexander the Great.”

There is little doubt that Hadrian’s reign was a watershed. Although he guided the empire for a generation, his entire career, Everitt suggests, was defined by decisions made at the very outset: dropping the conquests of Trajan in the East; consolidating the borders of the realm; and his bloody move against the four ex-consuls.

I found Hadrian’s role in reforming the army to be particularly interesting. He recognized the importance of training, discipline and morale in a world where war was actively avoided, precisely the areas of deficiency often attributed to the fall of Rome in the fifth century. It all reminded me a bit of Dwight Eisenhower as president in the 1950s: a soldier’s soldier who counseled restraint and retrenchment in the face of foreign threats, who was adulated by the troops yet reviled by the civilian, Chickenhawk elites.

Everitt makes much of Hadrian’s lifelong fascination with the occult. At an early age, a relative told him that he had foreseen that Hadrian would one day be emperor; a vision that could have easily been fatal had it spread beyond his close family circle and one that possibly guided his entire life. Hadrian was, like Nero, a philhellene. He made wearing a beard fashionable. He loved architecture and was something of a dilettante in that field, contributing directly (how much no one knows) to the design of his sprawling estate at Tivoli and the Pantheon, arguably the greatest and most enduring monument to his reign. His commitment to the dark arts drew him to participate regularly in the Mysteries of Elysisus, likely another formative influence later in life.

Perhaps most significantly, Everitt suggests that this faith in “magic” explains the mysterious death of the emperor’s beloved homosexual partner, Antinous, by drowning in the Nile in 130 AD. He writes that it is quite possible that Antonius was offered up – either voluntarily or without his foreknowledge – as a sacrifice to save Hadrian, who had been plagued by various physical ailments for years, afflictions so ably reconstructed in Yourcenar’s “Memoirs of Hadrian.” He writes boldly: “Hadrian had believed that the death of Antinous would cure him of his chronic ailment.” Everitt notes that the circumstances around Antonius’death are unknown and on the surface are rather suspicious. It is highly unlikely that a young man of Antinous’ health and importance could have accidently drowned in the Nile with no one seeing it. Moreover, the Nile supposedly held magical qualities; it was believed that non-suicide deaths in the great river led to immediate deification. The author further notes that Hadrian made Antinous a god immediately upon his death without consulting the Senate. It was one thing to deify royal family and emperors -but the boyfriend of an emperor hailing from Bithynia on the remote coast of the Black Sea? Interestingly, the cult of Antinous grew in his death. Thousands of statues and temples were cut to his likeness. At one point, Everitt says, he rivaled Jesus Christ in his following.

Hadrian had many enemies, but few were as vexing as the great Jewish freedom fighter, Simon Bar Kokhba. After spending a year in southern Afghanistan and absorbing myself in the cruel realities of counterinsurgency, this aspect of Hadrian’s narrative resonated deeply with me

The Jewish revolt broke out in 132, driven by the Roman ban on circumcision and the building of the Aelia Capitolina in Jerusalem, acts that were part of the larger effort to Hellenize Judea, a pet project of Hadrian’s. The Jewish insurgency – and that’s what Everitt calls it, noting that the Jews used a complex system of tunnels just like the Viet Cong – was at first successful, at least outside Jerusalem, where the legions were defeated and for three years a new Judea emerged, independent and free. Hadrian sent his very best general, Julius Severus, all the way from Britain to deal with the revolt and gave him as any as 12 legions to finish the job, an overwhelming force that succeeded with brutal efficiency in massive clear and hold operations. Bar Kokhba was defeated; his head literally brought to Hadrian. The Jews were removed from Judea, pagan shrines built over their temples, Mosaic law forbidden, the province of Judea formally abolished and folded into a new province known as Syria Palestina – the first time the name Palestine was employed. In a sense, Everitt says, this sweeping victory was a defeat for Hadrian. He aimed to recruit imperial leadership from the provinces, but the Jews refused and a veritable genocide was the result. If Hadrian’s policy of imperial incorporation was unsuccessful, it was clear that the army’s method of annihilation was not.

In summary, Everitt writes that Hadrian was never truly popular and always struggled with the Senate and elites, a tense relationship that bordered on Domitian-like hostility, especially at the beginning and end of his tenure with the executions of the four ex-consuls and his great nephew and his brother-in-law, Servianus, respectively (and possibly his estranged wife, Sabina, at the end). His work to improve the training and discipline of the legions was successful and stands as a powerful legacy. His policy of imperial non-aggression was wise, if unpopular. His attempt at pan Hellenism was more mixed and reaction it engendered among the Jewish community initiated the greatest crisis of his reign and demonstrated that in the end the power the empire rested only on physical force. “Despite his defects of character, Hadrian meant well,” Everitt charitably concludes.

“Hadrian” doesn’t live up to the standard of “Cicero” or “Augustus,” but it is an engaging biography and serves as a fantastic preparatory reading for Marguerite Youcenar’s “Memoirs of Hadrian.” It’s highly recommended for any “weekend classicist.”